Not so long ago, I was challenged to remember my teachers' names through the years. (It was a Facebook thing.) Because of our nomadic Navy life when I was a child, I often had two teachers in one grade due to location changes. I had to sit down with a piece of paper to write down my teachers' names...and there were blanks.
Kdg--California--Can't remember the name.
First half of 1st grade--California--can't remember the name.
Second half of 1st grade--Cannon School, Danville, IL--can't remember the name.
First half of 2nd grade--Douglas School, Danville, IL--Mrs. Gunnar...maybe.
Second half of 2nd grade--Northeast School--Danville, IL--Mrs. Purkey.
Third grade--Danville, IL--Mrs. Gaumer?
Fourth grade--Danville, IL--Mrs. Rowe
First half of 5th grade--Sasebo, Japan--Miss Bruntz
Second half of 5th grade--Woodland School, rural Streator, IL--can't remember the name.
Sixth grade--Oak Park, IL--Mr. Maas
Seventh grade--Oak Park, IL--Miss Lindfors
Eighth grade--Oak Park, IL--Mrs. Buenz (Miss Lindfors got married.)
Truth be known, I can't even remember exactly what year I was in which school.
So, what DO I remember? In fact, what do WE remember about our childhood? In my experience, we remember the really good things and the things that hurt us. Nothing in between.
I was a good student and a good kid. (That was both a blessing and a curse.) In elementary school, I was a straight-A student and fairly basked in everyone's approval. Teachers loved me, or so I wanted to believe. Along about second grade, I ran into a teacher who horrified me by shaming me, twice, in front of the class. The first time came in November of that year. We were finger-painting, told to paint whatever we wanted. I saw that everyone was doing turkeys. I didn't want to do what everyone else was doing, so I just did a design. One other girl did the same. As the papers were spread out on the floor along the walls to dry, the teacher took the other girl and me around the room to shame us: "Look what the other children did. They did turkeys. And what did YOU do? Nothing!" I was mortified. If we had been told to do a turkey, I would have done a turkey--such was my make-up.
The next time, we were given math worksheets. Everyone had a different sheet. Mine was a subtraction sheet of story problems. The tag line for each problem was "Was the change right?" I read it as "Was the chance right?" And although it didn't make much sense to me, I thought that every chance of getting change, no matter the problem, was okay with me. The next day, the teacher was reading my paper (without naming me, but I knew) in front of the class and making it seem as though I was a terrible person for making so many wrong answers.
And that is ALL I remember about that year and that teacher.
What else do I remember? The next second grade teacher that I had recognized my abilities. She gave me a book to read on my own, which she didn't do with anyone else. I remember it well. It was Miracle on 34th Street. I felt special.
I remember once--ONCE--when my mother sat on the floor and played the Uncle Wiggly board game with me. We had just moved to Danville, IL, from Hawaii where Dad had been stationed when his ship was in dry dock. I was in first grade. We were in a rental home that wouldn't be ours for long. Most of the time, "us kids" were expected to entertain ourselves, but I was in a strange house in a strange town in a strange school, and knew no one. Probably giving in to my whining, Mom actually gave up whatever it was she was doing to get down on my level and play with me. It was special enough that I have glimpses of that as one of my earliest memories.
I remember where I was and what I was doing when President Kennedy was assassinated, and how much we all cried in the days that followed. I remember the day Dr. Martin Luther King was killed, and waking up in my college dormitory room awhile later to the news that Robert Kennedy had also been assassinated. I remember sitting up and crying out, "What has become of us??"
In my career, I was entrusted with teaching other people's children. I did the best I could NOT to give them the awful moments that they might remember later. Once...ONCE...I gave in to sarcasm and student shaming. A kid I had in a high school--the son of a police officer--had left one of his graded-and-returned papers behind on the floor. On it, he had written "F*** you, Ms. McNary". The next day, he was challenging me about something in front of the class. I said, "By the way, I got your love note." What transpired after that went something like this:
HE: What love note?
ME: The one that said "F*** you, Ms. McNary." (The boys that sat around him started to hoot.)
That is probably the nicest thing anyone said to me all day. I mean, I am single. I appreciate that you are encouraging my love life.
HE: (Blushing and quite embarrassed.) Can I have the paper back?
ME: No. I am keeping it for evidence.
I never had another moment's problem with that kid. I never did anything with the paper at all. I didn't call his parents. I just let him stew about when the shoe would fall. To this day, I wonder if that was one of the only ugly moments he would remember about me.
I remember the details when my grandparents and parents died. I remember the details of when my dear sister and I got emotionally sideways for a couple of months over a comment that was alcohol-driven, and my reaction that was also alcohol-driven. I remember the awful hurt/betrayal/depression that I endured when my daughter decided to go a different direction than anything I had ever imagined she would do.
By the preponderance of the evidence, it would appear that what we--or at least I--remember in the long-ago past has to do with pain. I can remember even tiny details about my former husband's marital transgressions, to the degree that I don't think well of him. If we had ever been able to sit down and talk about it on an honest level, things would be different. It just never happened, and won't. Meanwhile, I moved on, long ago.
Yet all of those long-ago memories are still in my brain. Thank God, I learned to forgive the trespasses as I have asked other to forgive mine. Old age regrets? Not too many!
Friday, January 26, 2018
Monday, January 22, 2018
My Faults
I don't have any faults, right?
My ex-husband, daughter, and probably grandchildren will likely tell you otherwise! I just keep on living my life in the assumption that everyone understands that, like what Maya Angelou said, "When you know better, you do better." Some old dogs CAN be taught new tricks.
I love my family to the very core of my existence. Does it matter in each moment? Apparently not so much. My daughter and I have a communication problem. I say something that she takes issue with, and the result isn't always pretty. Still, it doesn't change anything about how I feel about her. I am sometimes blindsided by what she fights me on, considering that I would never do anything deliberately to upset her. I'm her mother, for Pete's sake. I'm on her side! Still, it is what it is.
I have the same communication problem with a niece. She draws the foul, making it so easy to take pot-shots on social media--or at least what she considers to be pot-shots from me. The truth is that I love her to pieces. I just don't have much respect for her profane ways or the constant shoulder chip that she veritably brags about. Instead of pretending to be rough and tough and strong, why not simply admit that she is lost in a sea of self-loathing and poor self-esteem, and ask for emotional support at an emotional level? I don't have much patience for internal dishonesty when everyone externally can see the truth.
Oops! I guess that's a fault of mine. What other faults do I have?
I am guilty of being so concerned about how I come off to new people that I don't pay attention to their names when introduced. Five minutes later, I have to ask again what their names are. Embarrassing? Yes. Understandable? Probably.
I had a very dear friend, now deceased, who would call me every day to discuss his world. In the beginning of our telephone friendship, I was full of respect for him. He loved that. And then, familiarity crept in. He was confessing to me the same complaints day after day after day, with no pretension of how to fix them, over many years of conversations. In the end, I was propping him up every day. I would change the subject so he could be distracted from the stresses that he put himself under. I wasn't dishonest with him. I tried to be compassionate with how he felt, even though I knew he was way out of line with reality. And then he suddenly died. I am somewhat convinced that his compulsive behaviors added to his stress, which added to his death. And I was terribly, terribly sad.
One of the things my friend did in our phone conversations was to turn everything back to him. If he asked me a question and I answered, he responded with something about himself. After awhile, I actually stopped answering his questions because I understood that he wasn't really listening to stories about my world. And when I got frustrated with that, I came to understand that I did it, too! My reasons for doing so are different than his, however. I offer personal anecdotes in a response in an effort to show the person I'm talking to that he/she is not alone in what he/she is feeling. Still, it may seem that I am trying to turn the attention to me and my experiences. Not my intention. Please forgive me!
I have another habit borne out of my semi-deafness in one ear. When I can't hear things, I say "Huh?" Problem is, I do it ALL the time! There is a piece in Reader's Digest that says the expression is the same in all languages, but no one knows why. **I** know why. I just have to find better ways to express the question about what I haven't heard. I do it a lot, unconsciously.
According to my daughter, I tend to express things in a way that seems unchallengeable, so she is forced to challenge it...or something. I'm not sure if the problem is mine for my method of expression, or hers for the way she takes what I say. I have my reasons, and apparently, so does she. It has been a problem.
I am a queen of procrastination. Tomorrow. I'll deal with things tomorrow, then days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. Then, seemingly suddenly, the deadline is upon me. It has also been a problem.
I've also developed another fault that troubles me some. I trust everyone until they give me reason not to, and then I'm done with them. (Family excluded, obviously.) This came about as the result of my divorce, over time. I used to be the queen of second chances. Mess with me, get a warning. Mess with me again, okay...maybe I can handle you in my life, but you've got to do better. Mess with me a third time, you're out. Once is a coincidence. Twice could also be a coincidence. But three times is a pattern that shows neither of us learned anything about the first two times. Gone! Unfortunately, as I get older, second and third chances go by the wayside. This is why I am no longer in the romance game. I want and crave companionship. I just don't want more responsibilities. All my life, I've been a caregiver. Put myself in that position, unfortunately. That's another fault, and that is compounded by the fact that I also can't ask to be cared for! Another fault!
I think I should quit because admitted faults are creating others, and suddenly I'm tired of feeling so bad about myself. That's another fault. Who wants to compound shame and guilt all at once?
I'm outta here!
My ex-husband, daughter, and probably grandchildren will likely tell you otherwise! I just keep on living my life in the assumption that everyone understands that, like what Maya Angelou said, "When you know better, you do better." Some old dogs CAN be taught new tricks.
I love my family to the very core of my existence. Does it matter in each moment? Apparently not so much. My daughter and I have a communication problem. I say something that she takes issue with, and the result isn't always pretty. Still, it doesn't change anything about how I feel about her. I am sometimes blindsided by what she fights me on, considering that I would never do anything deliberately to upset her. I'm her mother, for Pete's sake. I'm on her side! Still, it is what it is.
I have the same communication problem with a niece. She draws the foul, making it so easy to take pot-shots on social media--or at least what she considers to be pot-shots from me. The truth is that I love her to pieces. I just don't have much respect for her profane ways or the constant shoulder chip that she veritably brags about. Instead of pretending to be rough and tough and strong, why not simply admit that she is lost in a sea of self-loathing and poor self-esteem, and ask for emotional support at an emotional level? I don't have much patience for internal dishonesty when everyone externally can see the truth.
Oops! I guess that's a fault of mine. What other faults do I have?
I am guilty of being so concerned about how I come off to new people that I don't pay attention to their names when introduced. Five minutes later, I have to ask again what their names are. Embarrassing? Yes. Understandable? Probably.
I had a very dear friend, now deceased, who would call me every day to discuss his world. In the beginning of our telephone friendship, I was full of respect for him. He loved that. And then, familiarity crept in. He was confessing to me the same complaints day after day after day, with no pretension of how to fix them, over many years of conversations. In the end, I was propping him up every day. I would change the subject so he could be distracted from the stresses that he put himself under. I wasn't dishonest with him. I tried to be compassionate with how he felt, even though I knew he was way out of line with reality. And then he suddenly died. I am somewhat convinced that his compulsive behaviors added to his stress, which added to his death. And I was terribly, terribly sad.
One of the things my friend did in our phone conversations was to turn everything back to him. If he asked me a question and I answered, he responded with something about himself. After awhile, I actually stopped answering his questions because I understood that he wasn't really listening to stories about my world. And when I got frustrated with that, I came to understand that I did it, too! My reasons for doing so are different than his, however. I offer personal anecdotes in a response in an effort to show the person I'm talking to that he/she is not alone in what he/she is feeling. Still, it may seem that I am trying to turn the attention to me and my experiences. Not my intention. Please forgive me!
I have another habit borne out of my semi-deafness in one ear. When I can't hear things, I say "Huh?" Problem is, I do it ALL the time! There is a piece in Reader's Digest that says the expression is the same in all languages, but no one knows why. **I** know why. I just have to find better ways to express the question about what I haven't heard. I do it a lot, unconsciously.
According to my daughter, I tend to express things in a way that seems unchallengeable, so she is forced to challenge it...or something. I'm not sure if the problem is mine for my method of expression, or hers for the way she takes what I say. I have my reasons, and apparently, so does she. It has been a problem.
I am a queen of procrastination. Tomorrow. I'll deal with things tomorrow, then days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. Then, seemingly suddenly, the deadline is upon me. It has also been a problem.
I've also developed another fault that troubles me some. I trust everyone until they give me reason not to, and then I'm done with them. (Family excluded, obviously.) This came about as the result of my divorce, over time. I used to be the queen of second chances. Mess with me, get a warning. Mess with me again, okay...maybe I can handle you in my life, but you've got to do better. Mess with me a third time, you're out. Once is a coincidence. Twice could also be a coincidence. But three times is a pattern that shows neither of us learned anything about the first two times. Gone! Unfortunately, as I get older, second and third chances go by the wayside. This is why I am no longer in the romance game. I want and crave companionship. I just don't want more responsibilities. All my life, I've been a caregiver. Put myself in that position, unfortunately. That's another fault, and that is compounded by the fact that I also can't ask to be cared for! Another fault!
I think I should quit because admitted faults are creating others, and suddenly I'm tired of feeling so bad about myself. That's another fault. Who wants to compound shame and guilt all at once?
I'm outta here!
Sunday, January 21, 2018
What We Don't Want People to Know
I was watching one of Oprah's Super Soul Sunday episodes today. She was interviewing the author of a book entitled The Shack. (Please don't make me look up his name because his name really isn't important, unless you are into selling books.) He is just an average blue-collar guy, raised as a preacher's kid in a household of Christian missionaries, sexually molested as a boy (not by family), and ending up cheating on his wife, which brought his life into new focus. As with so many of these stories in which molestation is involved, the words "shame" and "guilt" come up often. Then Oprah said something, in corroboration with him, that hit me like a ton of bricks.
"Shame is about who we are. Guilt is about what we did."
I have been trying for years to understand why certain people hide behind a facade of their own making, to seem like "nice guys" when their actions show otherwise. Is it a lie? Self-deception? Double standard? Hypocrisy? All of the above? Or is it just a psychological self-defense mechanism to save ourselves from facing what we think is the truth about us? In light of this, I would like to amend the statement:
"Shame is about who we THINK we are. Guilt is about what we did."
Dr. Phil has had more than one show during which he confronted someone who was pretending to be someone/something that he/she wasn't. "What is it that you believe is so shameful about yourself that you feel would change the way other people see you, if they knew?" Most can't or don't answer honestly because they have spent so many years making excuses for themselves that they no longer see the forest for the trees. Self-revelation can be risky. What if I tell them the truth and they don't like me anymore? What if the life I've lived has been a lie, and I will live out my old age in emotional pain because of it? What if I find out that the people around me only love the lie that I have presented them, and not me for who I really am? The only way around it is to be flat-out honest with oneself and everyone else, but at what cost honesty? Fear tends to drive lives.
Every single human on the planet has one or more skeletons in his/her closet--things they don't want others to know for fear of being shamed by the truth. But how much more embarrassing it is to be caught lying than to be honest in the first place! Personal integrity is at stake. (The present political leader of our country right now is the Poster Child for being caught in lies, but no one seems to care. Yet, if you are an otherwise public figure, you will be fried in the Court of Public Opinion, whether or not it is deserved.)
I have my own skeletons, with one exception: with each one, there are at least two other people know about them. I have never, ever, been able to hide all of my failings but chose how to let out the information. To that degree, my confidantes respect my wishes to keep them under wraps. And none of my reasons for wanting confidence have anything to do with preserving my dignity. Mostly, it has to do with preserving the feelings of others. Or so I tell myself. Is that a self-lie? Maybe. I'm not sure. I only know that I have TRIED to live my life so as to have no regrets when the final bell tolls my demise. I've had quite a remarkable life, although there will be no monuments to my departure. I hope I have not let anyone down in an effort to hide my faults.
And so it goes. Happy Sabbath, dear readers. I didn't go to church today, due to sleep problems, but I didn't need to. My lesson for today came from Oprah!
"Shame is about who we are. Guilt is about what we did."
I have been trying for years to understand why certain people hide behind a facade of their own making, to seem like "nice guys" when their actions show otherwise. Is it a lie? Self-deception? Double standard? Hypocrisy? All of the above? Or is it just a psychological self-defense mechanism to save ourselves from facing what we think is the truth about us? In light of this, I would like to amend the statement:
"Shame is about who we THINK we are. Guilt is about what we did."
Dr. Phil has had more than one show during which he confronted someone who was pretending to be someone/something that he/she wasn't. "What is it that you believe is so shameful about yourself that you feel would change the way other people see you, if they knew?" Most can't or don't answer honestly because they have spent so many years making excuses for themselves that they no longer see the forest for the trees. Self-revelation can be risky. What if I tell them the truth and they don't like me anymore? What if the life I've lived has been a lie, and I will live out my old age in emotional pain because of it? What if I find out that the people around me only love the lie that I have presented them, and not me for who I really am? The only way around it is to be flat-out honest with oneself and everyone else, but at what cost honesty? Fear tends to drive lives.
Every single human on the planet has one or more skeletons in his/her closet--things they don't want others to know for fear of being shamed by the truth. But how much more embarrassing it is to be caught lying than to be honest in the first place! Personal integrity is at stake. (The present political leader of our country right now is the Poster Child for being caught in lies, but no one seems to care. Yet, if you are an otherwise public figure, you will be fried in the Court of Public Opinion, whether or not it is deserved.)
I have my own skeletons, with one exception: with each one, there are at least two other people know about them. I have never, ever, been able to hide all of my failings but chose how to let out the information. To that degree, my confidantes respect my wishes to keep them under wraps. And none of my reasons for wanting confidence have anything to do with preserving my dignity. Mostly, it has to do with preserving the feelings of others. Or so I tell myself. Is that a self-lie? Maybe. I'm not sure. I only know that I have TRIED to live my life so as to have no regrets when the final bell tolls my demise. I've had quite a remarkable life, although there will be no monuments to my departure. I hope I have not let anyone down in an effort to hide my faults.
And so it goes. Happy Sabbath, dear readers. I didn't go to church today, due to sleep problems, but I didn't need to. My lesson for today came from Oprah!
Saturday, January 20, 2018
The Real Skinny About Dieting
I think I have talked before about my diet quest. As of now, I have officially been watching my weight for 35 weeks. What's special about that is that 1) it's the longest I have ever stayed on a weight-loss diet, 2) I have lost more weight on a diet than ever before, and 3) it ain't over yet!
For reasons known only to God--aloneness, boredom, stress, physical pain--I allowed myself to get over 200 pounds on my small-boned frame. I'm 5' 5" tall, which is about average for a female, but I couldn't blame big bones for my weight. I just liked to eat. Was raised in a family that appreciated food. It rewarded me and consoled me and became an absent-minded function of my life, until, one day, I couldn't reach my feet. Couldn't pull down the tray on an airplane without impaling my belly. Could not abide seeing myself in a mirror. Pictures of me showed a bloated face and a bloated body. I talked about it endlessly. Complained about it endlessly. Then 35 weeks ago, inspired by my daughter's efforts at weight loss, I just decided to quit bitchin' and do something about it. I recognized that losing weight was the ONLY thing I had physical control of in my life. Can't fix my back. Can't change my circumstances, but by damn, I CAN lose weight. And so I have. In those 35 weeks, I am down almost 33 pounds. I am nothing if not patient!
What have I discovered about myself in this process?
1. I am stronger than I ever believed I was.
2. I feed off of the successes of my daughter and my co-grandmother-in-crime. As they encourage, so do I.
3. Losing weight can be an adventure in figuring out better food choices and lightening food recipes.
4. I can trick myself into being happy about food choices. More about that later.
5. I can never again go back to eating the foods I like with abandon. This is a life-long change. If I go back, I gain weight. Do I want to be fat again? Not on your life! Honestly? I'm still fat. I have at least 20 pounds to go before I can consider myself out of the woods, but there is a fine line to walk.
Since I get absolutely NO exercise, I am living proof that one can reduce one's weight by simply limiting food intake...and it doesn't have to be ugly.
6. Mind games work well. You can substitute lower-fat or lower-calorie ingredients to favorite foods. They don't taste quite as good, but acceptance of that has to do with the choices. Am I willing to eat the stuff that doesn't taste as good as the "real thing", or would I rather not have it at all? Guess what I choose?! Potato salad, here I come!
What are the benefits of losing weight? Not going to talk about the medical things here (although I really considered my risk of diabetes when I was heavier). I can reach my feet again. I can sleep on my back again, although it makes me snore more. I can feel a dip between the sides of my rib cage when I am on my back. The last time I was on an airplane, I could pull down the tray and not have it cut off my belly. Body parts feel softer. The steering wheel on my car is farther away. I don't hate my mirror profile quite as much as I used to.
What are the disadvantages? I look like a deflated balloon! I can hide body wrinkles with clothes, but the new wrinkles on my face are disturbing. Nothing to be done about it, but it hurts. The only other disadvantage that I can think of is that I can't always have what I want to eat when I want to eat it--which is kind of ridiculous because my diet allows for indulgences as long as they are counted.
My "nosy neighbor" Fred told me a couple of months ago that he didn't actually notice my weight loss because I wear such baggy clothes. He's right. It woke me up. I'm still in the "I don't care" season of the year, but as soon as the temps warm up, I am due for a refreshed wardrobe. Maybe just one item per month. I look forward to that, but I hate to shop. Ugh!
Sorry to bore you with something as mundane as a diet, but it has been so much a part of my life for the past 35 weeks that I couldn't resist. One of my Facebook friends put it perfectly: Congratulations on your weight loss! You don't have to make that infamous New Year's resolution!
Oh, how right she was...and how much it soothed me to see her say it!
(And, btw, the woman who said it was "our" ex-husband's first wife. I really, truly, respect her!)
For reasons known only to God--aloneness, boredom, stress, physical pain--I allowed myself to get over 200 pounds on my small-boned frame. I'm 5' 5" tall, which is about average for a female, but I couldn't blame big bones for my weight. I just liked to eat. Was raised in a family that appreciated food. It rewarded me and consoled me and became an absent-minded function of my life, until, one day, I couldn't reach my feet. Couldn't pull down the tray on an airplane without impaling my belly. Could not abide seeing myself in a mirror. Pictures of me showed a bloated face and a bloated body. I talked about it endlessly. Complained about it endlessly. Then 35 weeks ago, inspired by my daughter's efforts at weight loss, I just decided to quit bitchin' and do something about it. I recognized that losing weight was the ONLY thing I had physical control of in my life. Can't fix my back. Can't change my circumstances, but by damn, I CAN lose weight. And so I have. In those 35 weeks, I am down almost 33 pounds. I am nothing if not patient!
What have I discovered about myself in this process?
1. I am stronger than I ever believed I was.
2. I feed off of the successes of my daughter and my co-grandmother-in-crime. As they encourage, so do I.
3. Losing weight can be an adventure in figuring out better food choices and lightening food recipes.
4. I can trick myself into being happy about food choices. More about that later.
5. I can never again go back to eating the foods I like with abandon. This is a life-long change. If I go back, I gain weight. Do I want to be fat again? Not on your life! Honestly? I'm still fat. I have at least 20 pounds to go before I can consider myself out of the woods, but there is a fine line to walk.
Since I get absolutely NO exercise, I am living proof that one can reduce one's weight by simply limiting food intake...and it doesn't have to be ugly.
6. Mind games work well. You can substitute lower-fat or lower-calorie ingredients to favorite foods. They don't taste quite as good, but acceptance of that has to do with the choices. Am I willing to eat the stuff that doesn't taste as good as the "real thing", or would I rather not have it at all? Guess what I choose?! Potato salad, here I come!
What are the benefits of losing weight? Not going to talk about the medical things here (although I really considered my risk of diabetes when I was heavier). I can reach my feet again. I can sleep on my back again, although it makes me snore more. I can feel a dip between the sides of my rib cage when I am on my back. The last time I was on an airplane, I could pull down the tray and not have it cut off my belly. Body parts feel softer. The steering wheel on my car is farther away. I don't hate my mirror profile quite as much as I used to.
What are the disadvantages? I look like a deflated balloon! I can hide body wrinkles with clothes, but the new wrinkles on my face are disturbing. Nothing to be done about it, but it hurts. The only other disadvantage that I can think of is that I can't always have what I want to eat when I want to eat it--which is kind of ridiculous because my diet allows for indulgences as long as they are counted.
My "nosy neighbor" Fred told me a couple of months ago that he didn't actually notice my weight loss because I wear such baggy clothes. He's right. It woke me up. I'm still in the "I don't care" season of the year, but as soon as the temps warm up, I am due for a refreshed wardrobe. Maybe just one item per month. I look forward to that, but I hate to shop. Ugh!
Sorry to bore you with something as mundane as a diet, but it has been so much a part of my life for the past 35 weeks that I couldn't resist. One of my Facebook friends put it perfectly: Congratulations on your weight loss! You don't have to make that infamous New Year's resolution!
Oh, how right she was...and how much it soothed me to see her say it!
(And, btw, the woman who said it was "our" ex-husband's first wife. I really, truly, respect her!)
Friday, January 19, 2018
The Rubik's Cube
Last summer, my grandchildren came for a week-long visit with both sets of Plainfield grandparents. We do so look forward to our time together. In fact, I get to see them more than I get to see my own daughter because their father lives just north of Chicago. When they come to see him, he shares...and I'm so grateful for that.
In the last summer visit, my grandson produced a Rubik's Cube, scrambled it, and solved it right in front of my eyes. I was dazzled! In my entire life, I have never been able to solve a cube, nor have I been able to understand how others can. In that moment--and a few moments thereafter--I discovered that there is an entire world-wide community of "cubers" who enter competitions and do what seems impossible to me.
My grandson is a cuber. He has every kind of cube imaginable, and there are many. He has spent an enormous amount of time working on solving cubes in times measured in seconds. He is relatively new to this but has entered two competitions--not with the notion of winning, because there is always someone who will be faster, but with the notion of trying harder and doing better each time. I'm so proud of him! He also has found two friends who are equally as dedicated to cubing. He needs more of that!
Because much of Ryan's life is about solving cubes, his Christmas gifts to others focused on giving cubes. I got one. It is the only Rubik's Cube I have ever owned. It's a 3 x 3 x 3, and it is on a stand on top of my computer hutch. I like it. I have it as a gift from him. That makes it pretty special, and it is perfect. Each face is the same color. It means so much; HOWEVER, I can't use it. If I were to scramble it, I have no hope of ever being able to solve it without him here, no matter how hard I try! He has tried to show me tips, but I just don't get it. So, for now, my cube will be enshrined until I can find the confidence to try, or get him here to fix it after I mess it up.
In competitions (World Cube Association), the action is measured in seconds. The cubes are scrambled by computer algorithms. Ryan's best time for a 3x3x3 is just under 20 seconds. Think that is good? You betcha! But here is the real talent. Watch it and weep!
https://imgur.com/f4omGhI
In the last summer visit, my grandson produced a Rubik's Cube, scrambled it, and solved it right in front of my eyes. I was dazzled! In my entire life, I have never been able to solve a cube, nor have I been able to understand how others can. In that moment--and a few moments thereafter--I discovered that there is an entire world-wide community of "cubers" who enter competitions and do what seems impossible to me.
My grandson is a cuber. He has every kind of cube imaginable, and there are many. He has spent an enormous amount of time working on solving cubes in times measured in seconds. He is relatively new to this but has entered two competitions--not with the notion of winning, because there is always someone who will be faster, but with the notion of trying harder and doing better each time. I'm so proud of him! He also has found two friends who are equally as dedicated to cubing. He needs more of that!
Because much of Ryan's life is about solving cubes, his Christmas gifts to others focused on giving cubes. I got one. It is the only Rubik's Cube I have ever owned. It's a 3 x 3 x 3, and it is on a stand on top of my computer hutch. I like it. I have it as a gift from him. That makes it pretty special, and it is perfect. Each face is the same color. It means so much; HOWEVER, I can't use it. If I were to scramble it, I have no hope of ever being able to solve it without him here, no matter how hard I try! He has tried to show me tips, but I just don't get it. So, for now, my cube will be enshrined until I can find the confidence to try, or get him here to fix it after I mess it up.
In competitions (World Cube Association), the action is measured in seconds. The cubes are scrambled by computer algorithms. Ryan's best time for a 3x3x3 is just under 20 seconds. Think that is good? You betcha! But here is the real talent. Watch it and weep!
https://imgur.com/f4omGhI
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
As Others See Us
"Oh would some power the gift give us,/ To see ourselves as others see us."
~Robert Burns, in his poem "To a Louse".
You know what a louse is, right? It's the singular of lice. A vermin that preys on the heads of people--mostly children--that causes us to feel unclean. The poet was sitting in church and noticed a louse on the head of the woman in front of him, and what resulted was a whole poem about the vermin's place in the world, and how horrified that woman would be had she known.
In all my years of teaching literature, my excuse for doing so was that students could take a single line or theme of literature with them in life. This is one of those lines. We live our lives the way we think is best but can be blindsided by the sometimes sudden revelation that others don't think of us the way we think of ourselves.
Once upon a time, in a land not far away but long ago--early 90s--my ex-spouse and I were on the phone debating his financial responsibility for our daughter's college expenses. It wasn't going well. He considered his new spouse's benefit of 50% off tuition since she worked for the university complex to be his share. In short, he had contributed his 50% via a gratuitous situation. I, however, had to pay the other 50% out of pocket. At one point in the conversation, he told me that he was just "a nice guy". Considering that he had cheated on me (with his new wife), lied to me, and stolen from me--all the while maintaining that he should be a role model for young folks in his job as a school administrator--I saw red. In response to his "nice guy" statement, I blurted, "THAT is a matter of opinion!"--and hung up the phone.
I have no idea if my words had any impact on him. I doubt it because he has a different opinion about himself, in spite of his behavior. I, however, understand that people often don't see us the way we see ourselves. And sometimes, it hurts.
I am frequently surprised to see myself in the eyes of my only child--my daughter. We get along at a distance, but face-to-face encounters can sometimes be less than satisfactory. I can make what I think is an innocuous statement, and she quickly corrects it. It happens so much that I finally mentioned it to her. "You correct everything I say." Her response? "Not everything!" I rest my case.
So what is my take-away from this? WHY does my child think I could be anything other than on her side in any given situation? I was against her in her adult years once. Once. In 2009. We are still dealing with it, but I have trouble believing that she could ever think that I haven't been supportive of her. I have begun to figure out that she doesn't see me in the same light that I see myself. What do I need to do to change that????
When one gets to old age, such as me--70--one understands that people assume situations can't change. "Set it their ways"--or so the story goes. Wrong! I change every day. I love "bigly" every day and pray for mercy and kindness every day. I don't care what others think of me. I just care how those that I love consider me. I don't have too many regrets, thankfully. I just keep on trying to be a better person, as others see me.
~Robert Burns, in his poem "To a Louse".
You know what a louse is, right? It's the singular of lice. A vermin that preys on the heads of people--mostly children--that causes us to feel unclean. The poet was sitting in church and noticed a louse on the head of the woman in front of him, and what resulted was a whole poem about the vermin's place in the world, and how horrified that woman would be had she known.
In all my years of teaching literature, my excuse for doing so was that students could take a single line or theme of literature with them in life. This is one of those lines. We live our lives the way we think is best but can be blindsided by the sometimes sudden revelation that others don't think of us the way we think of ourselves.
Once upon a time, in a land not far away but long ago--early 90s--my ex-spouse and I were on the phone debating his financial responsibility for our daughter's college expenses. It wasn't going well. He considered his new spouse's benefit of 50% off tuition since she worked for the university complex to be his share. In short, he had contributed his 50% via a gratuitous situation. I, however, had to pay the other 50% out of pocket. At one point in the conversation, he told me that he was just "a nice guy". Considering that he had cheated on me (with his new wife), lied to me, and stolen from me--all the while maintaining that he should be a role model for young folks in his job as a school administrator--I saw red. In response to his "nice guy" statement, I blurted, "THAT is a matter of opinion!"--and hung up the phone.
I have no idea if my words had any impact on him. I doubt it because he has a different opinion about himself, in spite of his behavior. I, however, understand that people often don't see us the way we see ourselves. And sometimes, it hurts.
I am frequently surprised to see myself in the eyes of my only child--my daughter. We get along at a distance, but face-to-face encounters can sometimes be less than satisfactory. I can make what I think is an innocuous statement, and she quickly corrects it. It happens so much that I finally mentioned it to her. "You correct everything I say." Her response? "Not everything!" I rest my case.
So what is my take-away from this? WHY does my child think I could be anything other than on her side in any given situation? I was against her in her adult years once. Once. In 2009. We are still dealing with it, but I have trouble believing that she could ever think that I haven't been supportive of her. I have begun to figure out that she doesn't see me in the same light that I see myself. What do I need to do to change that????
When one gets to old age, such as me--70--one understands that people assume situations can't change. "Set it their ways"--or so the story goes. Wrong! I change every day. I love "bigly" every day and pray for mercy and kindness every day. I don't care what others think of me. I just care how those that I love consider me. I don't have too many regrets, thankfully. I just keep on trying to be a better person, as others see me.
Monday, January 15, 2018
Washington, Part III
More things I learned about Washington versus Indiana:
1. There is a "no idling" sentiment. If you are in a parking lot in Washington, waiting for family to come out of a store, you don't leave your car running. It just isn't done. In Indiana, people start and run their cars, and leave them running while they just make a mad dash into a store. Idling unattended.
2. No one smokes. Period. There are few "no smoking" signs, nor are there places to deposit cigarette butts outside of establishments. If you smoke, you are in a definite minority. In Indiana, there are signs about no smoking everywhere, but there are also places to put cigarette butts, if you do. And I wish I had money for every time I departed my car in an Indiana parking lot to discover a pile of butts where someone simply dumped their ashtray on the pavement.
3. Trash is trash, right? Wrong! Where my daughter lives in Washington, they have three trash bins. One is for recyclables; one is for trash; and one is for compost. And they pay for it. Interestingly, the smallest bin is for the land fill trash. Yikes! Here, the trash bins are not provided by the trash collectors, except for a small tub for recyclables. There are no observable limits to what goes into your bins, and recycling is only barely supported. We pay for it, but not much. One dollar per month in my community.
4. Flimsy plastic grocery bags are under attack in many places, including Washington. People are encouraged to carry reusable sacks. And so it is here; HOWEVER, Indiana (under then-Governor Mike Pence) passed a law that forbids any city or county in the state from banning the use of those plastic bags. Indiana showed its Republican roots on that one... Why should WE worry about the environment??
5. In Indiana, you won't find dogs on leashes out in public unless being walked or taken into Petsmart or a veterinarian. That doesn't mean that they aren't taken along on trips. Sometimes, they are taken and left in vehicles inappropriately, when the outside temperatures threaten the lives of the critters. (I am particularly sensitive to this because my ex-husband left our Irish Setter in the car while he had lunch with friends on a hot day, and she died--especially since the last thing I said to him that day before going to work was, "Don't leave Ann in the car. It's supposed to be hot today." I was, as you might suspect, devastated.) Of course, since a really hot day is rare in my daughter's part of Washington, the "dog status" isn't quite so worrisome. Dogs there are quite happy to be out and about in public and do not seem to be bothered by other people or other pets.
6. This is something that works on me. Here in Indiana, we are land-locked. Fish comes into grocery stores frozen, usually, and is expensive. It isn't locally caught, and most Hoosiers don't care for it. Hence, no real market for it. (Or so it seems.) So...not much demand. Supply is limited, but so is demand. Why is it then more expensive than beef? Okay...so I go out to Washington where fish and crab are plentiful and people like it. They catch some of it themselves. The supply is plentiful, and so is the demand, but it's still expensive. I don't get it. I always thought that the principles of supply-and-demand controlled prices. Inquiring minds want to know. I'm listening.
Life goes on in Indiana. I suspect it goes on in Washington without me, too!
1. There is a "no idling" sentiment. If you are in a parking lot in Washington, waiting for family to come out of a store, you don't leave your car running. It just isn't done. In Indiana, people start and run their cars, and leave them running while they just make a mad dash into a store. Idling unattended.
2. No one smokes. Period. There are few "no smoking" signs, nor are there places to deposit cigarette butts outside of establishments. If you smoke, you are in a definite minority. In Indiana, there are signs about no smoking everywhere, but there are also places to put cigarette butts, if you do. And I wish I had money for every time I departed my car in an Indiana parking lot to discover a pile of butts where someone simply dumped their ashtray on the pavement.
3. Trash is trash, right? Wrong! Where my daughter lives in Washington, they have three trash bins. One is for recyclables; one is for trash; and one is for compost. And they pay for it. Interestingly, the smallest bin is for the land fill trash. Yikes! Here, the trash bins are not provided by the trash collectors, except for a small tub for recyclables. There are no observable limits to what goes into your bins, and recycling is only barely supported. We pay for it, but not much. One dollar per month in my community.
4. Flimsy plastic grocery bags are under attack in many places, including Washington. People are encouraged to carry reusable sacks. And so it is here; HOWEVER, Indiana (under then-Governor Mike Pence) passed a law that forbids any city or county in the state from banning the use of those plastic bags. Indiana showed its Republican roots on that one... Why should WE worry about the environment??
5. In Indiana, you won't find dogs on leashes out in public unless being walked or taken into Petsmart or a veterinarian. That doesn't mean that they aren't taken along on trips. Sometimes, they are taken and left in vehicles inappropriately, when the outside temperatures threaten the lives of the critters. (I am particularly sensitive to this because my ex-husband left our Irish Setter in the car while he had lunch with friends on a hot day, and she died--especially since the last thing I said to him that day before going to work was, "Don't leave Ann in the car. It's supposed to be hot today." I was, as you might suspect, devastated.) Of course, since a really hot day is rare in my daughter's part of Washington, the "dog status" isn't quite so worrisome. Dogs there are quite happy to be out and about in public and do not seem to be bothered by other people or other pets.
6. This is something that works on me. Here in Indiana, we are land-locked. Fish comes into grocery stores frozen, usually, and is expensive. It isn't locally caught, and most Hoosiers don't care for it. Hence, no real market for it. (Or so it seems.) So...not much demand. Supply is limited, but so is demand. Why is it then more expensive than beef? Okay...so I go out to Washington where fish and crab are plentiful and people like it. They catch some of it themselves. The supply is plentiful, and so is the demand, but it's still expensive. I don't get it. I always thought that the principles of supply-and-demand controlled prices. Inquiring minds want to know. I'm listening.
Life goes on in Indiana. I suspect it goes on in Washington without me, too!
Saturday, January 13, 2018
That Little Soup Packet
Many long years ago, in Oak Park, Illinois, we lived in a place that had what would be called neighborhood schools. Basically, that meant that everyone who lived within the school boundaries would go to that particular school, and the school was within walking distance. In Oak Park, we lived only three blocks from Oliver Wendell Holmes School, where my brother and I attended.
Because it was a neighborhood school, and because (in those days) someone was expected to be at home to supervise the children, there was no school cafeteria, nor was there a bus system. Students walked to school in the morning, back home for lunch, then back to school for the afternoon...then home for the day.
I became a student at Holmes School at the beginning of 6th grade. (It was a K-8 school.) That meant that, for three years, I walked home for lunch. I had a stay-at-home mother (and a younger brother, although I really don't remember our eating lunch together). So what did we have for lunch?
Funny you should ask! In most situations, I wouldn't remember, but I DID remember some of my lunches at home during this time: soup and a sandwich.
Most of the soups that I remember came from the Lipton Chicken Noodle Soup packet. It was easy for Mom, and delightful for me. Along with that would normally be something like a grilled cheese sandwich or--which was my favorite--cinnamon toast. Mom's cinnamon toast was like no other. She buttered the bread, then put cinnamon and sugar on it, and put it under the broiler. OMG! It was good! The butter/sugar/cinnamon combination made a crust on top of the bread. I have never been able to replicate it.
Two days ago, I was at the store and decided to buy some of the Lipton soups of my past. Somehow, they don't seem to remind me of those happy days, but how much different can they be? I think the difference is the love. My mommy was taking care of me at lunch. That's all that mattered.
Because it was a neighborhood school, and because (in those days) someone was expected to be at home to supervise the children, there was no school cafeteria, nor was there a bus system. Students walked to school in the morning, back home for lunch, then back to school for the afternoon...then home for the day.
I became a student at Holmes School at the beginning of 6th grade. (It was a K-8 school.) That meant that, for three years, I walked home for lunch. I had a stay-at-home mother (and a younger brother, although I really don't remember our eating lunch together). So what did we have for lunch?
Funny you should ask! In most situations, I wouldn't remember, but I DID remember some of my lunches at home during this time: soup and a sandwich.
Most of the soups that I remember came from the Lipton Chicken Noodle Soup packet. It was easy for Mom, and delightful for me. Along with that would normally be something like a grilled cheese sandwich or--which was my favorite--cinnamon toast. Mom's cinnamon toast was like no other. She buttered the bread, then put cinnamon and sugar on it, and put it under the broiler. OMG! It was good! The butter/sugar/cinnamon combination made a crust on top of the bread. I have never been able to replicate it.
Two days ago, I was at the store and decided to buy some of the Lipton soups of my past. Somehow, they don't seem to remind me of those happy days, but how much different can they be? I think the difference is the love. My mommy was taking care of me at lunch. That's all that mattered.
To My Bothell (Washington) Friends
Hello from frozen Indiana! I've only been home about three weeks, but I miss the Pacific Northwest (and my family) immensely! Why? When I got here, the temperatures crashed to 0 degrees and below for the new year. All one can do in a case like this is prepare for the worst and pray that the power stays on.
I decided to write to you on my blog rather than clog up the Bothell Community Facebook site with my blather. I spent so much time posting on the Bothell site about the differences between life in the Midwest and life in the PNW, I thought I would put some perspective on some of what I have concluded about both. As I found out, many of you have ties in the MW, but just as many of you don't. Want to know what winter is like in Hoosierland, O ye who live where snowfall only averages four inches per year? Let me count the ways!
You have the ocean, Puget Sound, and two mountain ranges that dictate your weather. Generally, it doesn't get too hot in the summer or too cold in the winter where you are. Here on the plains, however, we only have Lake Michigan to the north that actually affects our weather. ("Lake effect snow" is a constant for folks in our northern counties.) Beyond that, nothing stands between us and Mother Nature in all her brutal glory. We don't have mudslides because we don't have hills. We don't have wildfires because we don't get that dry. We don't have earthquakes, so no tsunamis. We don't have hurricanes because we are inland. What we do have, however, are thunderstorms and tornadoes in the summer, and snow and/or ice storms in the winter. (In all of my 70 years, I have never experienced a tornado. Close, but no cigar.)
Snow and/or ice storms can be quite crippling. Schools put potential "snow days" into their calendars. Businesses do the best they can to stay open, however difficult that may be. So how does the average person/family get by? We have to have a strategy! Some of you may not have thought about this, but here is my take on winter strategies:
The minute the last autumn leaf has been raked or blown, it's time to prepare for the next season. Find the snow shovel. Buy some ice melt crystals to have on hand. Have two ice scraper/brushes--one to be kept in the car, and one to stash in the house. (Because, like umbrellas, if you need it one place, it will be in the other!) Dig out the gloves and the hats and the boots. Change the furnace filters and have a furnace tune-up. Establish an external source of heat if your water pipes are at risk of freezing. Stock up on batteries for flashlights, etc.
At the first forecast of a snow/ice storm, take stock two days in advance. Most people can dig themselves out in two days or so...so how long can you and your family survive on what you have on hand without having to make a mad dash out? Alcohol? Cigarettes? Milk? Bread? Ingredients with which to cook? Things that the kids will ask for only because they know you can't just rush out and get?
When the snow falls, shovel it soon. Even dry snow will melt on the surface to make a crust that is harder to shovel. If you are lucky, as I am, and your town plows your street often and well, what they DON'T do is come back to dig out the ridge of snow that they push up at the end of your driveway! Clear it now because, in a few days, it will freeze into an impenetrable crust...and God help you if there is another snowfall on top of it. The closest you can come to pavement, the quicker the stuff will melt. My street is actually dry. My driveway? Not so much...
Speaking of shoveling, the temptation is just to make a path through it all. Resist! Clear it as far back as you can because the next freeze and the next snowfall will narrow your path even further. And so it goes.
Remember how I commented about the lack of umbrellas when I was in the PNW, and how natives seem to take the attitude that "this is our weather, so live with it?" Interestingly, I have seen some of that same sentiment here at home. People who complain about the snow, cold, and ice are told, "It's winter in Indiana. What do you expect?" It doesn't stop the complaining, but I get it. I really do.
Our latest storm started Thursday night after a day of almost 60-degrees, with rain, which then turned to freezing rain, then sleet, then snow. What resulted was stuff that looked white and fluffy but was actually just a crust of ice. It wasn't much precip. Maybe an inch or slightly more. My neighbor, God bless him, came over and blew a path to my door. I went out this afternoon to dig out my car because the sun was shining brightly and the radiance of Ol' Sol makes a huge difference. I got the job done, with some effort. I even ventured out to the store. Aren't you proud of me??
We have 1" to 3" of new snow on the way Sunday into Monday. I'm ready as long as the power stays on. Such is life in the Midwest. We all know that spring and summer will show up, eventually. Like you who endure the rainy season in the PNW, Midwesterners know that this is just something to endure. To be honest, I hate it because I am somewhat incapacitated, but I can't think of anywhere that doesn't have its challenges.
Thanks to you all for your moral support and helping to make an old lady feel useful! Here we are at the Ides of January, and I'm still alive and kicking!
Peg
I decided to write to you on my blog rather than clog up the Bothell Community Facebook site with my blather. I spent so much time posting on the Bothell site about the differences between life in the Midwest and life in the PNW, I thought I would put some perspective on some of what I have concluded about both. As I found out, many of you have ties in the MW, but just as many of you don't. Want to know what winter is like in Hoosierland, O ye who live where snowfall only averages four inches per year? Let me count the ways!
You have the ocean, Puget Sound, and two mountain ranges that dictate your weather. Generally, it doesn't get too hot in the summer or too cold in the winter where you are. Here on the plains, however, we only have Lake Michigan to the north that actually affects our weather. ("Lake effect snow" is a constant for folks in our northern counties.) Beyond that, nothing stands between us and Mother Nature in all her brutal glory. We don't have mudslides because we don't have hills. We don't have wildfires because we don't get that dry. We don't have earthquakes, so no tsunamis. We don't have hurricanes because we are inland. What we do have, however, are thunderstorms and tornadoes in the summer, and snow and/or ice storms in the winter. (In all of my 70 years, I have never experienced a tornado. Close, but no cigar.)
Snow and/or ice storms can be quite crippling. Schools put potential "snow days" into their calendars. Businesses do the best they can to stay open, however difficult that may be. So how does the average person/family get by? We have to have a strategy! Some of you may not have thought about this, but here is my take on winter strategies:
The minute the last autumn leaf has been raked or blown, it's time to prepare for the next season. Find the snow shovel. Buy some ice melt crystals to have on hand. Have two ice scraper/brushes--one to be kept in the car, and one to stash in the house. (Because, like umbrellas, if you need it one place, it will be in the other!) Dig out the gloves and the hats and the boots. Change the furnace filters and have a furnace tune-up. Establish an external source of heat if your water pipes are at risk of freezing. Stock up on batteries for flashlights, etc.
At the first forecast of a snow/ice storm, take stock two days in advance. Most people can dig themselves out in two days or so...so how long can you and your family survive on what you have on hand without having to make a mad dash out? Alcohol? Cigarettes? Milk? Bread? Ingredients with which to cook? Things that the kids will ask for only because they know you can't just rush out and get?
When the snow falls, shovel it soon. Even dry snow will melt on the surface to make a crust that is harder to shovel. If you are lucky, as I am, and your town plows your street often and well, what they DON'T do is come back to dig out the ridge of snow that they push up at the end of your driveway! Clear it now because, in a few days, it will freeze into an impenetrable crust...and God help you if there is another snowfall on top of it. The closest you can come to pavement, the quicker the stuff will melt. My street is actually dry. My driveway? Not so much...
Speaking of shoveling, the temptation is just to make a path through it all. Resist! Clear it as far back as you can because the next freeze and the next snowfall will narrow your path even further. And so it goes.
Remember how I commented about the lack of umbrellas when I was in the PNW, and how natives seem to take the attitude that "this is our weather, so live with it?" Interestingly, I have seen some of that same sentiment here at home. People who complain about the snow, cold, and ice are told, "It's winter in Indiana. What do you expect?" It doesn't stop the complaining, but I get it. I really do.
Our latest storm started Thursday night after a day of almost 60-degrees, with rain, which then turned to freezing rain, then sleet, then snow. What resulted was stuff that looked white and fluffy but was actually just a crust of ice. It wasn't much precip. Maybe an inch or slightly more. My neighbor, God bless him, came over and blew a path to my door. I went out this afternoon to dig out my car because the sun was shining brightly and the radiance of Ol' Sol makes a huge difference. I got the job done, with some effort. I even ventured out to the store. Aren't you proud of me??
We have 1" to 3" of new snow on the way Sunday into Monday. I'm ready as long as the power stays on. Such is life in the Midwest. We all know that spring and summer will show up, eventually. Like you who endure the rainy season in the PNW, Midwesterners know that this is just something to endure. To be honest, I hate it because I am somewhat incapacitated, but I can't think of anywhere that doesn't have its challenges.
Thanks to you all for your moral support and helping to make an old lady feel useful! Here we are at the Ides of January, and I'm still alive and kicking!
Peg
Friday, January 5, 2018
Washington, Part II--People/Weather
Indiana isn't a very big state. Climatically, if you drive north, it will be colder; south will be slightly warmer, with the magical line being the I-70 "corridor". (I live probably 1 1/2 miles northwest of the Plainfield exit on I-70.) It is part of the temperate Midwest. Cold in winter; hot in summer. No mountains or huge bodies of water (beyond Lake Michigan on the northwestern border) to affect weather. Sunrise and sunset are somewhat reasonable in that one can expect the sun to be overhead at noon, regardless of the time of year. Sort of.
Since the Pacific Northwest is so much farther north, one would expect the weather to be colder with more snow, etc. That's not the case. And during the winter months, the sun never comes up high enough in the sky to burn off ground moisture. The Pacific Ocean controls part of the climate, and the mountains--on both sides of where my daughter lives--control the rest. Washington State is a miniature version of universal climate and topography of the world, all within a hundred miles or so. West of the Cascade Mountains, there is lots and lots of rain during parts of the year, while east of the mountains is a desert. On the Olympic Peninsulas, there is a rain forest. To the east, there is a Wild West desert feel. Washington, you are bi-polar! You are also beautiful!
On this trip to the area, I noted that it rained every day for the first 12-15 days I was there. That's normal for November. People there don't carry umbrellas, generally, nor do they feel that they need raincoats. It's rarely heavy rain. They just feel the need to protect their heads from the moisture. Hoodies are the jackets of choice. One day, my grandson had a friend come home with him after school. I was aghast because the young man came in a short-sleeved t-shirt. When I commented about that, he told me that he didn't need a jacket because it wasn't raining. (Never mind that it was only 40-something degrees.) Shortly thereafter, we were greeted by at least eight days of sunshine, which is almost unheard of for that time of year. We took advantage of every sunny day we could.
Things I noticed about the people of Washington:
1. Everyone is nice. As in Canadian Nice. Store clerks, people on the street, drivers, etc. Everyone seemed delightful to deal with.
At Pike Place Market ("where they throw the fish"), I was on my own and headed down a steep ramp with my rollator. (A rollator is a walker on wheels, with a seat in the middle.) A young man passed me, the turned back to ask if I needed assistance. He guided the rollator while I held onto the rail and did the ramp. I really appreciated that. More than once, when I was using my rollator in public, people have offered assistance--even sometimes when I didn't need it.
Then there was the evening when I was Christmas shopping in a mall with my son-in-law and granddaughter. We had split up but had arranged for a rendezvous at a Starbucks at the center of the mall. At one point, I was DONE. I found some seating near the Starbucks to wait for them. Starbucks doesn't sell soft drinks, and I don't do coffee. I plopped down in a chair and asked the young lady in the chair next to me what she was drinking. When she said, "Diet Coke", I asked where she got it...and off she went to get me one. She refused my offer of funds and would not hear my protests that she didn't have to do that. I felt like a homeless person in need of charity, but was happy at the same time. I was worn out!!
2. People are passionate about looking after their communities. Post something on the Facebook site, and you will be met with others who are supportive and empathetic, UNLESS you are complaining about fireworks set off for a Seahawks game. Suddenly, things get nasty. You no like the fireworks? Get over yourself! It's gonna happen whether you like it or not, no matter what your reasons. The contrast is striking.
3. Folks take their dogs with them everywhere. I would not have noticed this had my daughter not pointed it out to me, but once she did, it became quite obvious. Interestingly, all of the dogs were so well socialized that they were not a problem out in the real world.
4. People seemingly can disagree without name-calling. Here in Indiana, that is a rarity. Yeah!
5. I've already mentioned that raincoats and umbrellas are a no-no in the Seattle area. So how does one be stylish in the rain? I saw more than one college student wearing very stylish knee-high boots that were made of leather-looking rubber, and many more wearing hiking shoes/boots. Hoodies are the order of the day.
6. Cultural diversity is the name of the game! Where I live in Indiana, one might encounter an African-American or a woman in a hijab once in awhile. Hispanic neighborhoods are just a couple of miles away. In suburban Seattle, being full-blooded white is seemingly a minority. I am delighted that my grandchildren's pals are of differing cultural origins and gender identifications. Out there, no one seems to notice or care. Viva la difference!
In spite of the things that separate us, culturally or climatically, people are people. We all want and need the same things. My way is no better than yours. I sleep easier knowing that my family is in good hands in the Pacific Northwest. It's interesting out there. Wish we here in the Midwest could offer the same beauty and diversity. There is nothing quite so thrilling as seeing Mount Rainier rise above the clouds, or noticing that yours might be the only white face in a supermarket. We have so much to see and learn in this great country. Hope everyone can take advantage of opportunities like that.
Since the Pacific Northwest is so much farther north, one would expect the weather to be colder with more snow, etc. That's not the case. And during the winter months, the sun never comes up high enough in the sky to burn off ground moisture. The Pacific Ocean controls part of the climate, and the mountains--on both sides of where my daughter lives--control the rest. Washington State is a miniature version of universal climate and topography of the world, all within a hundred miles or so. West of the Cascade Mountains, there is lots and lots of rain during parts of the year, while east of the mountains is a desert. On the Olympic Peninsulas, there is a rain forest. To the east, there is a Wild West desert feel. Washington, you are bi-polar! You are also beautiful!
On this trip to the area, I noted that it rained every day for the first 12-15 days I was there. That's normal for November. People there don't carry umbrellas, generally, nor do they feel that they need raincoats. It's rarely heavy rain. They just feel the need to protect their heads from the moisture. Hoodies are the jackets of choice. One day, my grandson had a friend come home with him after school. I was aghast because the young man came in a short-sleeved t-shirt. When I commented about that, he told me that he didn't need a jacket because it wasn't raining. (Never mind that it was only 40-something degrees.) Shortly thereafter, we were greeted by at least eight days of sunshine, which is almost unheard of for that time of year. We took advantage of every sunny day we could.
Things I noticed about the people of Washington:
1. Everyone is nice. As in Canadian Nice. Store clerks, people on the street, drivers, etc. Everyone seemed delightful to deal with.
At Pike Place Market ("where they throw the fish"), I was on my own and headed down a steep ramp with my rollator. (A rollator is a walker on wheels, with a seat in the middle.) A young man passed me, the turned back to ask if I needed assistance. He guided the rollator while I held onto the rail and did the ramp. I really appreciated that. More than once, when I was using my rollator in public, people have offered assistance--even sometimes when I didn't need it.
Then there was the evening when I was Christmas shopping in a mall with my son-in-law and granddaughter. We had split up but had arranged for a rendezvous at a Starbucks at the center of the mall. At one point, I was DONE. I found some seating near the Starbucks to wait for them. Starbucks doesn't sell soft drinks, and I don't do coffee. I plopped down in a chair and asked the young lady in the chair next to me what she was drinking. When she said, "Diet Coke", I asked where she got it...and off she went to get me one. She refused my offer of funds and would not hear my protests that she didn't have to do that. I felt like a homeless person in need of charity, but was happy at the same time. I was worn out!!
2. People are passionate about looking after their communities. Post something on the Facebook site, and you will be met with others who are supportive and empathetic, UNLESS you are complaining about fireworks set off for a Seahawks game. Suddenly, things get nasty. You no like the fireworks? Get over yourself! It's gonna happen whether you like it or not, no matter what your reasons. The contrast is striking.
3. Folks take their dogs with them everywhere. I would not have noticed this had my daughter not pointed it out to me, but once she did, it became quite obvious. Interestingly, all of the dogs were so well socialized that they were not a problem out in the real world.
4. People seemingly can disagree without name-calling. Here in Indiana, that is a rarity. Yeah!
5. I've already mentioned that raincoats and umbrellas are a no-no in the Seattle area. So how does one be stylish in the rain? I saw more than one college student wearing very stylish knee-high boots that were made of leather-looking rubber, and many more wearing hiking shoes/boots. Hoodies are the order of the day.
6. Cultural diversity is the name of the game! Where I live in Indiana, one might encounter an African-American or a woman in a hijab once in awhile. Hispanic neighborhoods are just a couple of miles away. In suburban Seattle, being full-blooded white is seemingly a minority. I am delighted that my grandchildren's pals are of differing cultural origins and gender identifications. Out there, no one seems to notice or care. Viva la difference!
In spite of the things that separate us, culturally or climatically, people are people. We all want and need the same things. My way is no better than yours. I sleep easier knowing that my family is in good hands in the Pacific Northwest. It's interesting out there. Wish we here in the Midwest could offer the same beauty and diversity. There is nothing quite so thrilling as seeing Mount Rainier rise above the clouds, or noticing that yours might be the only white face in a supermarket. We have so much to see and learn in this great country. Hope everyone can take advantage of opportunities like that.
Thursday, January 4, 2018
General Observations About the Pacific Northwest, Part I
I have visited Washington State three times now. (Four, if I count the few hours spent there in 1958, when our ship docked in Bremerton when we returned from Japan. I was 10-years-old then, so I don't generally acknowledge that as an actual visit.) My reason for visiting? My daughter and family moved there two years ago. They live in Bothell, WA, which is almost-Seattle, in the same way that I live in Plainfield, IN, which is almost-Indianapolis. Thus, I tell people at home that I visited Seattle, and I tell people out there that I live in Indianapolis. It simplifies things, although neither statement is really true.
Visit #1 occurred in late-May, to early-June, 2016, for a couple of weeks. This was a scant two months after the family moved into their new home. At that time, they were experiencing an unusually warm and early springtime. Worked for me!
Visit #2 occurred in early December of 2016, for 12 days or so. I was accompanied by my newly-widowed sister who truly needed a break from the drama and stress of being the caregiver for her husband of 55 years who had suffered from dementia. The visit included her 75th birthday.
Visit #3 just happened. I left home on November 11th, and didn't return until December 27th, 2017. Six weeks! I am unsure how welcome the length of my visit was. (Mother-in-law jokes aside.) I tried my best to fit in...to help out...to provide support rather than be in need of it, myself. This trip encompassed: my grandson's 14th birthday, my daughter's (successful) cardiac ablation procedure, Thanksgiving, my granddaughter's school holiday concert, and Christmas. (I am sooo thankful I could be there for all of that!)
Months before the latest visit, I joined two closed Facebook pages for both Woodinville, WA, and Bothell, WA. (Although the family lives in Bothell, they are close to Woodinville. In fact, my granddaughter goes to Woodinville High School.) I was allowed in as a non-resident, mainly to spy on what is/was going on in their neck-of-the-woods, since I live so far away. Before my visit, I started posting on the Bothell site, telling them that I was on my way. "Look out! Here I come!"
What I got in return for my Bothell posts was a wonderful barrage of welcomes. Quite of few of the responding posts to what I wrote were from former Hoosiers. Bloomington, Elkhart, Indy, Fishers. One even told me that she was raised in Plainfield. Small world! One fellow asked me to eat a tenderloin sandwich for him--(tenderloins are an Indiana specialty)--and to bring White Castle to Washington. Wish I could, just for him! Everything I posted was met with understanding and support. Some asked me to adopt them. Some asked if they could party with me. More than one expressed appreciation at seeing their state from the eyes of a "foreigner". Most everyone agreed with my confusion over street names--even the old-timers. One...ONLY one...was sensitive to my list of differences between the PNW and the Midwest. (She, like many others, has been bitten by the way out-of-staters move in, then complain about traffic, etc. The Seattle area is a major victim to this, where the infrastructure--including housing prices-- hasn't been able to keep up with the onslaught of move-ins. Truly, I don't blame her at all!)
Truth be known, my connection to the Bothell Facebook site gave a huge boost to my positive mental attitude. I was feeling somewhat useless and unnecessary. These people, who didn't know me, haven't been down the same roads I've traveled and shouldn't care, gave me courage and validation. I mean, I had hundreds of responses. Obviously, I was fresh fish! I even had to tell my daughter the same thing she told me when she was in middle school and I was making a presentation at her school: These people think I'm wonderful. Don't blow my cover!
Having set the scene, Act I will follow shortly.
Did I mention that it is COLD in Indiana right now?
Visit #1 occurred in late-May, to early-June, 2016, for a couple of weeks. This was a scant two months after the family moved into their new home. At that time, they were experiencing an unusually warm and early springtime. Worked for me!
Visit #2 occurred in early December of 2016, for 12 days or so. I was accompanied by my newly-widowed sister who truly needed a break from the drama and stress of being the caregiver for her husband of 55 years who had suffered from dementia. The visit included her 75th birthday.
Visit #3 just happened. I left home on November 11th, and didn't return until December 27th, 2017. Six weeks! I am unsure how welcome the length of my visit was. (Mother-in-law jokes aside.) I tried my best to fit in...to help out...to provide support rather than be in need of it, myself. This trip encompassed: my grandson's 14th birthday, my daughter's (successful) cardiac ablation procedure, Thanksgiving, my granddaughter's school holiday concert, and Christmas. (I am sooo thankful I could be there for all of that!)
Months before the latest visit, I joined two closed Facebook pages for both Woodinville, WA, and Bothell, WA. (Although the family lives in Bothell, they are close to Woodinville. In fact, my granddaughter goes to Woodinville High School.) I was allowed in as a non-resident, mainly to spy on what is/was going on in their neck-of-the-woods, since I live so far away. Before my visit, I started posting on the Bothell site, telling them that I was on my way. "Look out! Here I come!"
What I got in return for my Bothell posts was a wonderful barrage of welcomes. Quite of few of the responding posts to what I wrote were from former Hoosiers. Bloomington, Elkhart, Indy, Fishers. One even told me that she was raised in Plainfield. Small world! One fellow asked me to eat a tenderloin sandwich for him--(tenderloins are an Indiana specialty)--and to bring White Castle to Washington. Wish I could, just for him! Everything I posted was met with understanding and support. Some asked me to adopt them. Some asked if they could party with me. More than one expressed appreciation at seeing their state from the eyes of a "foreigner". Most everyone agreed with my confusion over street names--even the old-timers. One...ONLY one...was sensitive to my list of differences between the PNW and the Midwest. (She, like many others, has been bitten by the way out-of-staters move in, then complain about traffic, etc. The Seattle area is a major victim to this, where the infrastructure--including housing prices-- hasn't been able to keep up with the onslaught of move-ins. Truly, I don't blame her at all!)
Truth be known, my connection to the Bothell Facebook site gave a huge boost to my positive mental attitude. I was feeling somewhat useless and unnecessary. These people, who didn't know me, haven't been down the same roads I've traveled and shouldn't care, gave me courage and validation. I mean, I had hundreds of responses. Obviously, I was fresh fish! I even had to tell my daughter the same thing she told me when she was in middle school and I was making a presentation at her school: These people think I'm wonderful. Don't blow my cover!
Having set the scene, Act I will follow shortly.
Did I mention that it is COLD in Indiana right now?
Tuesday, January 2, 2018
Pity the Poor Cabbie
I'm back! Came home from six weeks in the Seattle area visiting my daughter and family. My next few posts will be about all that, but I probably won't post things in the order in which they happened.
So let's start with my trip home. The end before the beginning.
In order to travel, I have to have wheelchair support. Airports are big and my back/legs/lungs don't allow for that. Thankfully, airlines provide wonderful services without cost to provide for that. Each airport is different, of course, and each "wheelchair pusher" is different as well.
On December 27th, my daughter and son-in-law delivered me to Sea-Tac Airport in Seattle for the haul home. The trip to the airport was without incident. There was curbside check-in, and the wheelchair showed up while I was still on the curb, even before my family could pull out to leave. Nice! I was taken to a holding site for handicapped for a few minutes, but then a "pusher" showed up to take me to the gate. This was an older man--50s probably--a very kind Indian with an accent.
This man was the quintessential model of someone who knew the ropes but cared.
He cut right into the line at security. No one gave him a problem about that. He told me what to do, etc., and when we got past the metal detectors and x-ray machines, he told me to check things to make sure everything was untouched. Check for ID. Check for wallet. Check for phone. Check! He was the first handicapped assistant I've ever had that was willing to wait while I rifled through things to make sure I had everything. And I did.
On our way to the gate, Mr. Nice Indian Man bent over from behind to ask me if I needed to use the restroom. He was quite discreet about that, which I really appreciated. I did ask him if we could stop at a kiosk for a bite to eat. No problem. It was morning, so I purchased a cup of cut fruit, and we continued to the gate--two elevators and a tram--where he and I parted company. What a nice helper! I tipped him well.
As a handicapped passenger, I would be boarded first, but I also had to be at the gate earlier than most. Interestingly, my flight is the ONLY non-stop flight to Indianapolis on any given day. The waiting area is tiny. Four chairs. As I sat, I noticed a sign painted on a pillar about boarding outside, due to construction. In short, I would be wheeled down to ground level, then would be expected to walk up tarmac stairs to the airplane. (Not sure how people incapable of doing stairs would be boarded, but they manage, I guess.)
The actual flight was easy. We left the airport late because we were 23rd in line to take off, but actually arrived in Indy 30 minutes before scheduled due to a tailwind. No turbulence or any other reason to be concerned. (Seattle to Indy in 3 hours and 21 minutes for a flight that was scheduled to take about four-and-a-half hours. I'll take it!)
Touchdown in Indy occurred at about 4:00 PM. Still light out. It took forever to get off the plane because I was so far back, but everything was orderly. There was a wheelchair waiting for me. Unfortunately, only three out of five "pushers" for Alaska Airlines were on the job that night. A quick stop at a restroom, attention from managers, etc., kept me from being abandoned. It all went smoothly.
When we got to the baggage claim area, my bags were just about the last ones on the carousel! The little gal that was pushing me was new on the job and being supervised by a manager. When I told her I would need a cab, she had no idea what to do. (I could have told her, but the manager did before I could.) It took two wheelchairs to get me to the curb--one to hold my two checked bags, and one to hold me, my carry-on bag, and my personal bag.
I had decided long in advance to take a cab home. The fare from the airport to my home is just a tad over $20. Well worth it not to inconvenience friends who are ready and willing to sit in the cell phone lot to wait for me. When one is dealing with flights--especially in winter--one never knows about delays or cancellations. I felt better just knowing that I wasn't causing inconvenience to others for my travel choices.
The cab showed up at the curb soon after summoned. (There was traffic, so he had to maneuver, shamelessly, to be there for me.) Thankfully, the vehicle was warm! After I directed him to where we were going to go, we chit-chatted some. He had an accent. I asked where he was from. Morocco. I jokingly asked, "Morocco, Indiana?" He got a chuckle out of that. And then I heard about HIS story. Apparently, although he had been at the airport all day, I was his first fare of the day. (It was probably 5:45 PM.) He has to pay $40 a day for car rental...blah, blah...and yesterday he only had one fare, also...so he isn't able to meet his expenses...blah, blah. We pulled into my drive; he pulled my bags just into the house. The fare was $21. I gave him $35. He was happy, and I was home!! I feel bad for people who have to work (and wait) so hard to make a living. I just can't help everyone. I try!
Thus endeth today's epistle according to St. Margaret. I have so many things to say about my trip. Stay tuned!
So let's start with my trip home. The end before the beginning.
In order to travel, I have to have wheelchair support. Airports are big and my back/legs/lungs don't allow for that. Thankfully, airlines provide wonderful services without cost to provide for that. Each airport is different, of course, and each "wheelchair pusher" is different as well.
On December 27th, my daughter and son-in-law delivered me to Sea-Tac Airport in Seattle for the haul home. The trip to the airport was without incident. There was curbside check-in, and the wheelchair showed up while I was still on the curb, even before my family could pull out to leave. Nice! I was taken to a holding site for handicapped for a few minutes, but then a "pusher" showed up to take me to the gate. This was an older man--50s probably--a very kind Indian with an accent.
This man was the quintessential model of someone who knew the ropes but cared.
He cut right into the line at security. No one gave him a problem about that. He told me what to do, etc., and when we got past the metal detectors and x-ray machines, he told me to check things to make sure everything was untouched. Check for ID. Check for wallet. Check for phone. Check! He was the first handicapped assistant I've ever had that was willing to wait while I rifled through things to make sure I had everything. And I did.
On our way to the gate, Mr. Nice Indian Man bent over from behind to ask me if I needed to use the restroom. He was quite discreet about that, which I really appreciated. I did ask him if we could stop at a kiosk for a bite to eat. No problem. It was morning, so I purchased a cup of cut fruit, and we continued to the gate--two elevators and a tram--where he and I parted company. What a nice helper! I tipped him well.
As a handicapped passenger, I would be boarded first, but I also had to be at the gate earlier than most. Interestingly, my flight is the ONLY non-stop flight to Indianapolis on any given day. The waiting area is tiny. Four chairs. As I sat, I noticed a sign painted on a pillar about boarding outside, due to construction. In short, I would be wheeled down to ground level, then would be expected to walk up tarmac stairs to the airplane. (Not sure how people incapable of doing stairs would be boarded, but they manage, I guess.)
The actual flight was easy. We left the airport late because we were 23rd in line to take off, but actually arrived in Indy 30 minutes before scheduled due to a tailwind. No turbulence or any other reason to be concerned. (Seattle to Indy in 3 hours and 21 minutes for a flight that was scheduled to take about four-and-a-half hours. I'll take it!)
Touchdown in Indy occurred at about 4:00 PM. Still light out. It took forever to get off the plane because I was so far back, but everything was orderly. There was a wheelchair waiting for me. Unfortunately, only three out of five "pushers" for Alaska Airlines were on the job that night. A quick stop at a restroom, attention from managers, etc., kept me from being abandoned. It all went smoothly.
When we got to the baggage claim area, my bags were just about the last ones on the carousel! The little gal that was pushing me was new on the job and being supervised by a manager. When I told her I would need a cab, she had no idea what to do. (I could have told her, but the manager did before I could.) It took two wheelchairs to get me to the curb--one to hold my two checked bags, and one to hold me, my carry-on bag, and my personal bag.
I had decided long in advance to take a cab home. The fare from the airport to my home is just a tad over $20. Well worth it not to inconvenience friends who are ready and willing to sit in the cell phone lot to wait for me. When one is dealing with flights--especially in winter--one never knows about delays or cancellations. I felt better just knowing that I wasn't causing inconvenience to others for my travel choices.
The cab showed up at the curb soon after summoned. (There was traffic, so he had to maneuver, shamelessly, to be there for me.) Thankfully, the vehicle was warm! After I directed him to where we were going to go, we chit-chatted some. He had an accent. I asked where he was from. Morocco. I jokingly asked, "Morocco, Indiana?" He got a chuckle out of that. And then I heard about HIS story. Apparently, although he had been at the airport all day, I was his first fare of the day. (It was probably 5:45 PM.) He has to pay $40 a day for car rental...blah, blah...and yesterday he only had one fare, also...so he isn't able to meet his expenses...blah, blah. We pulled into my drive; he pulled my bags just into the house. The fare was $21. I gave him $35. He was happy, and I was home!! I feel bad for people who have to work (and wait) so hard to make a living. I just can't help everyone. I try!
Thus endeth today's epistle according to St. Margaret. I have so many things to say about my trip. Stay tuned!