Catch Her in the Wry

60 years in 48 days - Fearing Dark Clouds

2009-12-09T08:52:00.013-06:00

I kept glancing out of the classroom window that faced the south. It was so hot and humid in the classroom despite the windows being open and there was no breeze coming it. Every few minutes my eyes were distracted from the teacher and back to the window. There were black clouds on the horizon and they were rolling closer and looming larger. I saw tall trees in the distance bending so that their tops touched the ground. Finally a boy in the room yelled "Tornado!" and the wind suddenly gusted as the teacher hustled all of us into the adjoining hallway and told us to cover our heads.

We were frightened huddling there as the wind roared around us and we wondered what was happening outside and if our families were safe. The school was spared, although some homes and trees in the neighborhood were damaged, and our families were all safe. But that dark cloud wasn't the only one we faced that year.

By October, 1962 any sheltered innocence I had of world politics had come to an end. After a year of fear, it was time to face the reality that life was most likely coming to an end - that everything we knew was about to be destroyed by people in power, not by the weather, and we children had no control over what was about to happen. For fourteen days in October, nuclear annihilation was knocking on the door.

But the big bad wolf went away and we survived. The atomic cloud hung over my head for years following the Cuban missile crisis. I still attribute my adult mentality of expecting the worst and always having contingency plans in place as directly resulting from those frightening years of 1961-1962.

It is not difficult to understand why those children who experienced that Date with Doom spent the next decade living for the moment with little regard of consequences, rebelling and questioning government and parental authority, and promoting peace, love and understanding in various forms. Conservatives would soon grow their hair long and radicals would become domestic terrorists. All of us were simply happy to be alive, and everyone and everything was beginning to change... ...including me. I had cut my hair and gained pubescent fat and an older cousin had taught me how to dance.

Here's one of my all time favorite songs that just happened to be on the charts in 1962.

60 years in 49 days - Hiding places

2009-12-08T08:01:00.003-06:00

There were some nasty things going on over in Berlin, Germany in 1961. The Communists were building a wall to keep all the East German people from escaping to freedom. President Kennedy asked for increased funding for the armed services and public buildings were being identified for use as fallout shelters. Discretely, many homeowners were building their own private solid concrete fallout shelters. If construction workers were hired, everyone around would know they had a fallout shelter and neighbors might commandeer it in an emergency. People weren't trusting each other.

If they didn't have the talent to build a concrete shelter themselves, they were, at a minimum, stock-piling food, water, and life necessities in basement rooms.

We did not have a concrete fallout shelter, but we did have a basement under the house. There were small windows near the top of the walls, and I was always skeptical of just how safe we would be in there from any radiation in the air. But there were cans of food, jugs of water, blankets, pillows, games and such that gave some false hope of safety.

Our school started having civil defense drills when all the children in the school would quietly traipse down into the old, dirty basement of the antiquated school building. As we stood there, I remember looking around in the semi-darkness, at the old brick walls and the snakes of radiator water pipes and thinking how I really did not want to spend weeks down there if a war broke out. I kept thinking about Ann Frank and how horrible it must have been for her to live in that attic in so much fear.

I was afraid as was most everyone else - not only of war, but of the BIG BOMB.

60 years in 50 days - Kids with a cause

2009-12-07T11:22:00.000-06:00

Four of us girls (ages 6-10) in my neighborhood got the idea that we should raise money to help our local hospital. Our mothers were involved in the local hospital auxiliary women's club so I am sure we had overhead conversations about their group raising funds for special projects.

Our first endeavor was charging neighbors to watch our circus performance in one of our backyards. Cost of admission was 10 cents for adults, 5 cents for kids, which included hand-made programs to all ticket holders. Well, you get what you pay for and you pretty much got to watch kids doing what they generally do while they are hanging on a swing set trapeze, plus an added bonus of a few somersaults and cartwheels and some ballet dancing. But the audience was kind and applauded adoringly so much so we felt it was a great success. All proceeds from the event went to our cause - all $2.45.

We decided it might be better if we started some type of formal club so that we could be more productive and efficient with our projects. Hospital Charity Club was formed in 1960 and eventually we had about 9-12 dues paying members. We slowly got better with our fund-raising, but we found our calling doing live theater performances.

1960 newspaper pic of us selling tickets

Our next play was called "A Day in the Hospital" and was performed in the basement of a local church. Our lofty goal for the event was $5.00 We raised $33.15.

We decided to raise ticket prices for the next two productions and we did so to 25 cents. The local movie theater had dressing rooms and a small stage, and we were able to gain use of the place for our next performances. Our two productions there were sell-outs - over 400 people.

Our final theater production was a play written by the mother of one of the club members. We had been learning about Clara Barton, the founder of the American Red Cross and thought a play could teach others about this part of American history. We had to recruit some boys for the civil war portion of the production, but it was surprisingly easy to find the boys, with some arm-twisting by their mothers.
In addition to the plays, we had bake sales, used toy sales, numerous refreshment stands, and a Pepsi Cola bottle collection (redeeming used bottles for cash). One of our final fund raisers was a "record" dance featuring a local TV celebrity who hosted a show similar to American Bandstand (a DJ by today's definition).

After four years, we disbanded the club because we were getting older and more involved with school activities. In those four years, we donated all of our net proceeds (which amounted to $707.27 over the initial $2.45) to the hospital. It doesn't sound like much today, but back then a dollar bought a whole lot more than now. According to a news article listing our accomplishments, we purchased:

Aqua Pad unit & attachments $126.21
Redecorating of one hospital room $130.00
Surgical equipment for emergency operating room $175.00
90 inch sleeping couch for doctors' lounge $169.40
and additional cash donations $106.66

Unfortunately the hospital is no longer in existence.

60 Years in 51 Days - Puke bags and over-ripe bananas

2009-12-06T09:00:00.000-06:00

My baby brother had been potty trained for a while, so in 1959 my mother thought it was finally time to start taking family vacations.

My father was way too much of a gentlemen to curse like Clark Griswold, but he did stop the car many times to make various threats. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I feel very fortunate that my parents were able to take us to see so much of our country; however, I found that getting there and back was total torture.

The first trips were taken in large sedans (all the cars were big back then) with no air-conditioning. Mother always took bananas along for snacking and to help keep everyone "regular" (in an intestinal way). Also in the travel pack were crayons, books, cards, and paper sacks for vomiting.

Generally I was seated in the middle of the back seat between my younger brothers. This kept them from fighting and punching each other and instead allowed four hands to punch me. When a child is seated in the middle of the back seat between siblings and she is short to begin with (remember, no car seats back then), there is a major view problem.

One cannot see out the windshield because she is too short and she cannot see out the side windows because her brothers are blocking them with their heads. Therefore the gentle rock of the car begins to gently roll her stomach contents and before she knows it, she's yelling"GET ME A PUKE BAG, QUICK!"

Of course car-sickness affected all three of us sooner or later on each trip. The luxury was having a seat next to the window so that one could get some fresh air up his nose to help postpone the inevitable.

The vomiting added to the screaming, fighting and whining from the back seat (at which times the stopping of the car was threatened) and the never ending question "Are we there yet" times three and the statement "I've gotta pee" times three. It's a wonder my dad continued to take us anywhere.

We loved it when Dad pulled into a Stuckey's to get gas. It was a wondrous unique store at the time and if we had been good, sometimes we'd get giant lollipops after eating lunch at the snack bar. If we went to a regular gas station, there was always time made to grab an icy-cold bottle of Coke or Pepsi from the coin-operated machine.

It was also a real treat if there was a Howard Johnson's Motor Lodge to stay in, although the boys generally got the extra double bed and I was relegated to a fold-up roll away bed. Those motels always had a swimming pool and sometimes there was water in it. Mom and Dad liked the restaurant for our dinners and always purchased a box of salt water taffy to add to the travel pack in the car.

After a day or two, the odors in the car became unbearable to my sensitive sense of smell. The remaining bananas started to become over-ripe, the salt water taffy added additional fruity and mint smells, gas was being passed because we were all off our regular diets, and there were way too many stinky feet with no shoes over them. I wanted to be back home.
Another part of the trips was my dad coordinating our overnight stops where major league baseball teams were playing. We probably attended a game in every major league stadium that existed between 1959 and 1967. Now this was very exciting for my dad and brothers, my mother tolerated it, and I was in Hell. I wanted out of there, but I was trapped.

The 1959 trip was to the western states of South Dakota, Nebraska, Wyoming, Colorado and others. I think we traveled to or through at least 42 of the lower 48 states in all our travels. My baby brother so much enjoyed those childhood vacations that as an adult he revisited all those sights with his own family, including the baseball parks that were still standing.

Here is a picture I took of my brothers on that 1959 trip:

48 years later, my older daughter sent me this lovely Hallmark birthday card:

60 Years in 52 Days - To Gradma's House We Go

2009-12-05T08:00:00.016-06:00

A large four-square home built after the turn of the century by their father was the childhood residence of my maternal grandmother and her many siblings. By 1958 my grandparents occupied the home along with my great-grandmother, and my grandfather had assumed the role as head of the farming operations.

My family spent many Sunday afternoons, holidays, and overnight weekends at the farm, and it was a delightful change of pace from our life in the near-by small town. Long before big machinery and massive farm operations, this farm was typical of its era, with cattle, hogs, chickens, dogs, kittens, a pony, vegetable and flower gardens, orchard, grape arbor, and corn and soybean fields - just about as sustainable and self-sufficient as a farm could be.

My brothers, cousins and I seemed to have the whole world to explore there. The only rules were to be careful around the pile of stored grain (so we wouldn't fall in and smother) and to stay away from the rooster. That meant playing in the hay loft, hanging on the fence and snorting at the pigs and cows, chasing chickens around the yard, discovering kittens in tiny hiding places, and plucking grapes and raspberries from the vine directly into our mouths.

But the best place to play, in my opinion, was the large walk-up ballroom attic, especially on rainy days. The attic was an entire unfinished third floor treasure trove of discarded, forgotten, or unneeded items that belonged to all the great-aunts and uncles who had formerly live on the farm.

There were old dolls with pocked faces and melted arms from the summer heat.

There were dozens of rag balls that were perfect for bowling on the bare attic floor or for tossing in a game of catch.

There were lines strung from rafter to rafter, holding old dresses, suits and coats, and boxes of various hats; books, paper, kitchen items, furniture and everything a child could dream of to play with and yet plenty of room to run around.

My favorite things up there were leftovers from a closed beauty shop that one of my great-aunts had operated. There was a three mirrored dresser, filled with combs, brushes and scissors, for one cousin to gaze in as another hooked him/her up to the permanent wave machine that looked like some electronic monster (especially in the dark).

Christmas Eve every year was a time when all of Grandmother's siblings and all their children along with their children would come back to the home place. A large pot of strong coffee on the stove along with pots of chili and oyster stew simmered throughout the evening. Other tables held cookies, candies, and nuts in the shell to crack, and some Norwegian lefse served with butter and sugar.

Around 9 pm, Santa Claus would show up on the front porch with a bag full of presents for all the cousins. Before presents were distributed, we each had to sing or play a song or recite something from our Sunday School Christmas program. I absolutely hated getting up in front of all those people and was always a nervous wreck, but I wanted my present, so with a little coaxing, I'd get the job done.

In later years, some smart cousin figured out that it was one of the uncles in that red suit and awful Santa mask, but we were deceived for a long time and we kept the secret from the younger ones who later discovered it themselves.

Here's an earlier picture of me with some of the female second cousins showing off our recent gifts:

60 years in 53 days - Beanies and bladders

2009-12-04T08:59:00.002-06:00

1957

For some reason I was excited to join the Brownies. I think it was the official looking uniforms and the beanie felt hats. Brownies was the junior class (ages 7-9) of the Girl Scout program. This photo is of our investiture ceremony where we had to recite the pledge, Girl Scout law, and motto. My mom and another mother were the leaders and our basement was the meeting place (and for subsequent boy scout meetings).

Pledge: On my honor, I will try: To serve God and my country, to help people at all times, and to live by the Girl Scout Law.

Girl Scout Law:
I will do my best to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong, and responsible for what I say and do, and to respect myself and others, respect authority, use resources wisely, make the world a better place, and be a sister to every Girl Scout.

Motto:
Be Prepared.

I never went to overnight Scout camps, but I did attend day camps. One time we were hiking in the woods and stopped to rest. Everyone sat down on the ground, except me because I really had to pee and I needed to jump around. I was way too shy to urinate there in the woods, so I held it until we got back to the campground. The next day everyone else had bad cases of poison ivy because in the rest period they had made themselves comfortable in the middle of a patch. I had been spared thanks to my bladder.

No wide open smiles in this one - there weren't any front teeth.

60 years in 54 days - Speaking softly with a big stick

2009-12-03T09:29:00.001-06:00

1956

Miss Henry taught my first grade class from fall 1955-spring 1956. She was an eccentric spinster of slight build who dressed in mismatched bold-colored clothing and wore her hair in a tightly wound bun on the top of her head.

As she conducted class, she would amble up and down the aisles of desks while she tapped a ruler in the palm of her hand. If she found a sleepy-eyed student, WHAM! the ruler was smacked on his desk, generally resulting in an equal reaction of him rising out of his seat five or six inches.

Should any student dare to speak in class or throw a paper wad, WHAM! the ruler was smacked directly upon the fingers of the perpetrator, followed by writing some direct command 100 times with swollen fingers. Needless to say, the class was fairly well behaved after the first few days of school. The pair of male slow-learner hooligans who didn't adjust at least brought us some comic relief in an otherwise rigid academic environment.

She was, of course, not really the beast most pupils thought her to be. I rather liked her eccentricity and she must have felt that too. She let me help her grade papers and tutor other kids in the class. Classmates teased me being "teacher's pet" but I just felt I was being useful and helping her out with a large classroom of students when I had already completed my own studies. It made me feel good that what I did pleased her. Thus began my few decades journey of being a people pleaser.

As Miss Henry grew older and retired from teaching, her eccentricities seemed to grow larger. People would point at her and children would laugh as she walked to town in her bright purple coat, long skirt and various hats. (Now she would be embraced by the Red Hat Society). We renewed our relationship in later years when she became a client of mine and I visited her several times in her equally peculiarly decorated home. She died a few years later.

Unfortunately I have no picture of her.

60 years in 55 days - First Lessons of Life

2009-12-02T09:29:00.000-06:00

Year 5:

That year brought two major events in my life: I started kindergarten and my paternal grandfather died.

At only age 74 when he died, I am shocked that he looks much older than my father, 89, does now.

I was very excited about going to school. I loved learning new things and was able to make new friends. The school was only a three block walk from my house and gave me my first sense of independence.

Kindergarten 1955

The October day of my grandfather's funeral, my dad was sitting at the kitchen table and told me how sorry he was that I had to miss school that day since I so much loved attending. Then I saw tears drip from his eyes. This was a totally new experience. It had never before occurred to me that dads could cry. I felt very, very sad upon discovering that fact.

60 years in 56 days - Party Girl

2009-12-01T09:34:00.010-06:00

Year 4:

Most of the information I know about the first few years of my life comes from the information lovingly recorded by my mother in a baby book. The first child of any family generally has every page filled with anecdotes, pictures, news articles, medical information, pieces of hair and teeth. As more children are added to the family, the number of baby book pages completed for each new child becomes fewer and fewer, so that by the third or fourth child there may not even be a baby book for him.

There were two major traditions in my childhood: birthday parties and Christmas pictures taken in front of the fireplace. For my fourth birthday, according to the the entry in my baby book, there was a party attended by "12 little people and 8 mothers."

I have faint memories of these little people:

but that may be from a trip to the Smokey Mountains a year or two earlier where we visited some kind of storybook land.

There aren't any pictures of the guests from the 4th birthday party, but if it had been up to me I would definitely have included these little people. (as I said previously I'm a sucker for a sucker)

Anyway, it must have been one helluva party, because the party girl passed out in the chair right after the guests left, still holding on to some gift that must have meant something special to her.

1954

60 years in 57 days - Big candy & small package

2009-11-30T18:14:00.003-06:00

Year three:

I have scant memories of life those first three years. This picture, I have been told, was of the winner and runner-up of a local toddler contest. People voted in various stores by placing money in jars with one cent counting as one vote. I am sure the money went to some local charity. You can tell who won because he got the big trophy, but we both got suckers so I'm sure I was quite happy. I'll still do just about anything when enticed with candy.

1953

This boy and I are the same age; we went to grade and high school together. In first grade he always held the chair for me as I stood tip-toe on it to trace drawings enhanced by the window light. I was always concerned he would look up my dress (which was most likely a legitimate concern), but I also thought he was very cute.

He is of average height, so you can see I am not joking when I say I am short.

Short people got business

2008-07-25T14:53:00.001-05:00

Recently the world’s tallest (7 feet 9 inches) man and the world’s shortest (2 feet 4 inches) man met. The tiny fellow crawled on top of a table in order to shake the hand of the tall guy.

I'm short, but I've never had to stand on a table to shake hands with someone tall. I have gotten a crick in my neck from social conversations with tall people at parties. You get to be a pretty good acrobat when you're short: climbing onto the kitchencounter to get something out of the cabinet, hoisting your body weight on the grab bar to get up into the pickup truck, jumping up and down so you can see over the heads and shoulders at sporting events, sitting with your legs tucked under your body as a booster seat at the movie theater.

There are some dangers as a short person. Sometimes your feet dangle in the air when you're sitting in a chair. This is especially difficult if you're sitting on a bar stool and the foot rest is 3-5 inches away from your foot. I have been known to fall out of a bar stool before I've even had one drink. You’re welcome to use that as an excuse, too.

Physical shortcomings make you adapt. For example, I try to avoid crowds as much as possible. It's claustrophobic for a small person trapped in sea of much taller people. Besides, I get rather tired of smelling armpits and rear ends.

I am now officially the shortest person in my extended family. My daughters passed me up a decade ago and the youngest nephew hit that goal at age 12. I quit growing at 13. Now I'm facing the fact that I'll probably be shrinking in the coming years. I'm melting, I'm melting! Yet I’m looking forward to being the little old lady behind the wheel of the car that looks like it is driving itself.

I have discovered a couple good things about being short. First, people think short women are younger than they are. This was a problem when I was 25, but in middle age it gives me great joy. Another thing I discovered was that a whole bunch of really sexy women are/were short - Mae West (4'11"), Elizabeth Taylor (5'2"), Dolly Parton (5'), Susan Lucci (5'2"), Marilyn Monroe (5'4'), and Scarlet Johansson (5'4"). I like to think of myself as halfway between Dolly and Liz with half the wit of Mae.

My husband is always singing "Short People Got No Business" to taunt me, despite knowing that I've managed several businesses simultaneously during the past three decades. I just respond with my favorite saying, "Dynamite comes in small packages." We may just look like little sticks, but boy can we make an impact when our fuses are lit.

60 years in 58 days - Chipmunk cheeks and spots

2009-11-29T20:13:00.005-06:00

Year two -

There weren't many vaccines for childhood diseases in 1952, and I seemed to have contracted all the minor ones in the early years. The picture below is what mumps looks like for those of you lucky enough to have never had them. Although I remember nothing about being sick, I certainly don't appear to be suffering at all.

Later I had chicken pox, rubella (German meales), measles, and pertussis (whooping cough). Fortunately, I had the polio and small pox vaccines which could have caused far worse consequences. I remember many older children in my childhood who had deformed limbs due to polio from earlier years.

For those who are afraid of vaccinating their children, take a look at the list above of all the diseases your children do not need to experience because of the benefit of vaccines. Kids get sick enough without wasting precious childhood days being ill with diseases that are preventable.

60 years in 59 days - Recipe for a life

2009-11-28T19:34:00.002-06:00

Year one -
Paternal grandparents:

Both were born of Swedish immigrants and both had the same last name. They weren't related, but just try sorting through your ancestry when everyone has similar names. He was a trolley conductor for a short time, then managed farms. He died when I was 5. She was a homemaker who wrote poetry and canned the most delicious pears.

Maternal grandparents:

Married in 1925, she was 22, of Norwegian stock, sweet, personable and loved being outdoors, especially gardening. She had attended a "normal school" and was teaching. He was 19, of German stock, a stoic man of few words, but when he did speak he "always said something" (as his father told him to do). His father was notoriously intelligent and educated, but grandpa was the rebel and was the only one of his siblings not to attend college. In fact he never finished high school, but I always remember him reading when he wasn't working on the farm.

Yes, the older woman got the younger fella. Mother was born about four months later. Grandpa's punishment was having his mother-in-law live with them until her death.

Parents:

My parents began dating when she was in high school at age 16 and he was 21 and employed in business with his uncle and brother. They married after WWII. Dad had joined the Coast Guard because he was too puny for the other branches of service. His knowledge of typing and shorthand kept him in office duty on the ships. He was one of the last to come home after the war ended because he was bringing everyone else back. He has always given those guys the credit for being the real veterans. Mom worked at the ration board while he was gone and became the typical homemaker of that era.

So, when one takes

1 set blue eyes, round face, and no chin from father and paternal grandmother

1 dimple on left check and smile from maternal mother and maternal grandmother

Generous dose of stoicism and hard work and rebellion from maternal grandfather

Plus a dash of intelligence and an affinity for numbers from paternal grandfather and maternal great-grandfather,

One ends up with this:

60 years in 60 days

2009-11-27T15:27:00.005-06:00

The countdown has begun. Within my wishful thinking mind, in 60 days my life will be 2/3's over. Time, as many older wise ones have proclaimed, speeds exponentially, especially to those over 40; I now believe it a fact. The problem is that the brain doesn't keep up. The body ages, but the mind still views life through the eyes of a much younger, albeit quite more experienced, chick.

OMG! I could be his mother!

What's my age again? I can only hope I will retain my mind.

PS That's short, gray haired me singing the solo.

Eat, drink, be merry

2009-11-25T09:06:00.009-06:00

Each year I have to post my favorite Thanksgiving comic:

And for those who get a long weekend away from work (you probably work for the government):

My baby's with the dingoes

2009-11-22T12:09:00.004-06:00

My older daughter and husband arrived yesterday in Australia (or today in Australian time) for a three week vacation. Although I've never been there myself, I have viewed many Australian-made movies over the years. Here's a quick list of those I can recall (astericks indicated those I highly recommend):

Australia (2008)
The Piano (1993)*
The Castle (1997)
Dead Calm (1989)
A Cry in the Dark (1989)
Mad Max(1979)
Rabbit Proof Fence (2002)*
Strictly Ballroom (1992)
Dark City (1998)*
My Brilliant Career (1979)
The Man from Snowy River (1982)*
Lantana(2001)*
Gallipoli (1981)*
Crocodile Dundee (1986)
Breaker Morant (1980)*
The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994)
Age of Consent (1969)
December Boys (2007)
Shine (1996)*
Moulin Rouge! (2001)
Romulus, My Father (2007)*
The Tracker (2002)*
The Proposition (2005)

Three in One

2009-11-21T08:39:00.003-06:00

Just because I am fascinated with Auto-Tune and space and two scientists:

Speaking of mirrors

2009-11-20T16:05:00.009-06:00

Not feeling like writing today so here's a repeat of an old post from a couple years ago:

Driving back from the bigger town Sunday morning, I glanced in my rear view mirror at a car behind me and caught a glimpse of it. I wasn't sure if it was real, so I looked in the mirror again. Because the sun was brightly shining, there was no mistake about it. That line just below my right lower lip wasn't a wrinkle as I had hoped. No, it was dark, and about an inch long, and it was back.

It all started with the sustenance of a mole that developed on my lower lip in high school.

Not like this one:

Similar to this:

The mole appeared during puberty, and in adolescence it was easy to dismiss it as a "beauty mark." But in my twenties, the mole started producing hair, especially a certain dark long one that seemed to stand out among the tiny blond fuzz around it. It was just screaming to be plucked and so began the battle.

A decade of plucking my uni-brow had yielded two separate eyebrows with no further yanking necessary. So, I thought, would be the demise of this renegade mole hair. Every six weeks I would pluck it out of the mole mound and six weeks later the strand would reappear, as long and dark as ever. It never seemed to have any sort of growing cycle. It simply reappeared fully grown at that entire inch size.

After fifteen years of unrelenting plucking and regeneration, the "aha" moment occurred. If the mole is providing fodder for the follicle, get rid of the mole. A 45 minute out-patient procedure with a plastic surgeon, five stitches, $2500 out of my pocket, and I was rid of the mole and the hair forever - or so I thought. Two weeks after the six week healing process, it returned.

For almost 40 years now, the war between stubborn hair and stubborn host continues. Neither will acquiesce. We both intend to win the war, despite each losing battles along the way. Both a little more gray and withered than our youth, our uncompromising determination is never shaken, although the battles have become fewer.

The hair has now changed tactics: it doesn't reappear quite so regularly and often at unsuspecting times, especially in the car or at a movie theater. Perhaps my eyesight just doesn't catch it nearly so soon, but when it is discovered, I've gotten considerably better at jerking the thing out with just my fingernails.

We've gotten a bit more comfortable with each other, but we're still not quite friends. It is truly a love-hate relationship. If I do win the war, and I fully plan to, I admit I'll miss tugging on that hair in moments of quiet desperation far away from tweezers. But not that much.

Today's update:

Here's recent picture of my older daughter. You can see that she has a much bigger problem than I have.

I really need to look in the mirror more often.

2009-11-19T15:20:00.005-06:00

I've been on TV three times in my life. The first time I was in the audience of the local station's afternoon kids' show with Sheriff Sid . My brother was interviewed and I got just enough face time to show my smile, as my relatives told me.

The second time I was 25 years old and on a noon chat show of a Birmingham, AL station with three elders from my then hometown promoting a weekend centennial festival. I was assigned to speak about a specific part of the festival, but the mayor (as all politicians seem to do when on camera) talked and talked and talked and talked and they ran out of time before it was my turn, but I got enough face time to show my smile, as my friends told me.

So last night, at a press conference, I was around TV cameras again, this time in a pan of the speakers' table and milling around in the background. I've never actually seen myself on TV so I turned on the news when I got home and watched for the story. We were watching the coverage of the event, and my husband asked me who I was talking to. Who? "There, you're there on the left hand side." What? And it was over.

I saw that woman with long silver hair on the left hand side of the screen talking to some guy I know. It didn't register that that woman was me. I didn't recognize myself. But I got enough face time to show my smile, as my husband told me.

We keep going greener.

2009-11-18T14:41:00.004-06:00

I'm part of a press conference late this afternoon announcing the details of one of these that we hope will be built in our area. The technology alone is exciting and the application can solve a great part of the waste problems of the world.

We are a small rural county but we have an ethanol plant, 9 wind farms in development, the only wind powered drive in movie theater in the country, downtown solar street lamps, and a community that has promoted and taught sustainability for over 30 years.

We may look like hicks, but we ain't stupid. We know when to ride on the wave of a trend.

Parental Pride

2009-11-18T14:33:00.003-06:00

One of these outstanding business/community leaders is my daughter.

Success can come if you labor long hours, even if you're working with a bunch of animals in a "crappy" environment.

Censoring can change perception

2009-11-14T08:28:00.002-06:00

Bleeping one innocent word gives a whole new meaning to this muppet song:

Thanks to my lovely daughter for sharing this.

This week in review

2009-11-13T08:10:00.000-06:00

I wrote three posts on Monday, then disappeared most of the week. Perhaps someone in this world has missed me, so here's some of the things occupying my time this week:

Tuesday I had a board meeting at which I volunteered to fill all the huge empty planters downtown with evergreen boughs as part of the holiday decorations. The Christmas Parade (sorry, we are politically incorrect in this town) is in two weeks. Wednesday I drove 40 miles over to my daughter's farm and clipped a truck load of long-needle pine and cedar branches and filled the pots. I only had enough to complete half, so today it's back for another truckload. The entire project should be finished this weekend after I put in some ribbon and berry accents.

Next week I'm giving a program at the local Chamber of Commerce luncheon about "How businesses and communities can adapt to a changing economy." I've been organizing everything into a power-point presentation because I think people absorb information so much easier when they see it, especially with full stomachs.

I've also been working on a statement for a press conference that same day. We'll be announcing a huge project that our local task force has been working on for over a year. I'm so excited about the facility and the technology that is involved, plus it will be creating new jobs that everyone so desperately needs. I'll blog more about that next week.
The First Time Homebuyers Credit is popular. I've completed several amended 2008 tax returns this week alone, and many more previously, so the $8000 refunds will get here before the end of the year. As you may be aware, there is now a $6500 homebuyer credit for existing homeowners, as long as they have lived in their homes 5 consecutive years out of the last 8. There are income restrictions too. Get your "free" money while supplies last.

Between episodes of "V", "The Biggest Loser", and "The Office," I've been sorting through piles of magazines from the past three years. Because of all my previous business ventures, I receive many offers of $10 or less subscription rates to some of the best magazines, and who can refuse at those prices?

Alas, some of the home/cooking magazines are now gone for good, so I needn't worry about collecting them in the future: Gourmet, Cottage Living, Southern Accents to name a few. Much of the information in them I can get on the Internet, but how I love the photography!

Considering the value of my time, and the time and gas spent hauling them to the recycling center now, I am certain they've cost me more than had I subscribed at the regular rate (which I would never have done in the first place). I've torn out pages that I may refer to at some point in the next few years (at which time I'll be culling from that pile).

The rest of my time was occupied with the daily hum-drum of office work, fixing dinners, and sleeping. That's my boring week so far. No encounters with finger-lickin' clerks or bitter feminists. It's actually been rather nice, but I hope the weekend will bring better blog fodder.

A Plug for a Friend

2009-11-12T21:15:00.005-06:00

Kind Eyes. Now available. The first novel by an old friend, a successful attorney in Little Rock, (and a heckuva nice guy, too) who grew up in Central Illinois.

Now your news, now

2009-11-09T21:49:00.003-06:00

One area TV station's tag line is "Your news leader." It should be "Your news now." They continuously over-use the word now. Just tonight, their Springfield reporter used the word now 7 times in a 60 second news story.

The beginning of this post was also mocking them. Their promos always include "one area school" or "one area town" or "one area business."

It hasn't gotten better since I wrote my rant last year.