A Favor for Tabor

I will be spending most of the day at the Children's Garden tomorrow as part of an environmental expo for the county.  I will be on my feet all day as will my hubby.  We have helpers to work with the little kids, so I am hoping the day will not be too chaotic.

Today has been one of those days where I have been running from pillar to post.  Grocery shopping, then moving gravel and soil at the Children's Garden and tidying it all up for the coming exposition and then getting the lists and sign-up sheets and all that bureaucratic stuff ready for tomorrow.

Tonight we have sorted various plants and pots for the kids to plant tomorrow.

I just made stuffed peppers and roast potatoes and I am heading for the bathtub while dinner cooks.  Oh is that bubble bath calling my name!

I really need some down time, but not seeing a break in activities until Thursday or Friday!  I sat for just a minute on my deck yesterday and was so sad when I realized I had not had time to do some spring migration bird watching.  Not one bit!  A few of the bird houses have occupants, but I am too busy to enjoy even that.  I grab a small handful of meal worms and dump them on the front door of the blue bird house and then make sure the seed feeders have feed these next few weeks.  But mostly, I have been working hard on the yard getting ready for a yard visit by a bay wise check group in about 10 days! This is an important visit that I have promised this group for over a year.  I hope I pass their test, but what they really want to see is a living shoreline that we put in.

Do me a favor.  Scratch all that stuff off your list and enjoy spring for me.  Tell me what you see and how you feel.  Thank you.

Rainy Mondays or Tuesdays or Whatever

During rainy days, instead of sitting back and reading or watching TV, I let that Puritan work ethic define most of the hours as I discover lots of little chores to complete indoors.  These are chores that I put off because they usually offer little reward when they are finished and many of them are tasks that I will have to re-do again and again in the months ahead.  It seems that I have this impracticable goal of getting everything tidy and pristine permanently.  All I need to do is just try hard enough.  I naively think that once things are straightened I just have to use some self-discipline and they will stay straightened indefinitely.  After all, there are no more children or pets to rearrange my life.

But there IS still me, myself and I!   All three of us are like dervishes with a consumer fetish.  I have an endless dyslexic reading habit, leaving small piles of magazines, bits of mail, brochures and maps, to-do lists and various books (even with the Kindle) upon coffee and bedside tables and counters.  The piles grow in height until they start to lean, then slide and then in gay abandon tumble to the floor in a loose fan of spontaneity.  You are about to enter the dark world of Tabor, which guests never see!

I have an endless photography habit and leave my cameras, lenses, filters, binoculars, batteries, chargers and manuals in little corners and on shelves, where I place them out of the way but not out of sight, until the photography bug bites me again with a special angle of the sun or sunset or tweak of bird.  The tripod must not be closed into compaction and stands with legs askew to trip unwary visitors (or burglars) at the front door, because who knows when I might need it?  (That elephant artwork was done by my oldest grandson and will hang in that space until I die.)

My camouflage jacket will hang carelessly over the bannister until warm weather prevents me from using it at all.

My huge, it IS huge, walk-in closet becomes a repository for a small pile of garden garb worn just that morning that is not dirty enough to put into the laundry but it is still too dirty to put away.  (This habit is a hangover from living on a farm where one saved work clothes for just a while longer.)  My closet also has the overnight bag, from a recent visit to my daughter's, that I have not yet unpacked, sitting in the middle of the floor.  Then there is the exercise apparel draped over a chair that sometime in this century I will wear once again for a brief session in the basement in my attempt to remain forever young.

My box of purses sits on the floor under other containers just to the side since the transition to spring causes me to go through a series of selections of ugly bags before I finally settle on something to get me through the summer.  None of these are designer items, and therefore, they are really ugly.  (Not to say that designer bags are always lovely, and not to say that with courage I could throw half of these purses away and never miss them.)

The kitchen always needs tidying up, but we actually eat at home, so that is and always will be a normal endless task.

The garage has a fertility corner where pots reproduce like rabbits and garden tools form a tangled clutter like wall flowers at a Sadie Hawkins dance.  I restack them once again.  For some reason, long after fall has retreated, dried leaves tuck themselves everywhere and must be swept out monthly.  Various plant stakes and wire supports tend to lean away from the wall where they have been carefully hung to grab me with devilish glee as I unload groceries, so on a monthly basis I tuck them flat again and again.

And, one of these days, I will remember to get at all those cobwebs that weave and wave on all the hanging light fixtures hanging nine feet above my head and which I only notice five minutes before company arrives.

Bring on the rain.  Rainy days never ever get me down.  I am too wicked, and anyway, there is no rest for people like me.

Buying Love

Have you ever paid for love?  I think that is what I was doing last night but not consciously.  Really.  I invited my daughter out with her husband for dinner in honor of her 39th birthday.  There is no way I am celebrating her 40th!  I said I would pay for the babysitter and dinner.  (Did you know babysitters get $17.00 an hour where she lives?)  I told her to pick the restaurant (the more expensive was already booked, thank goodness) and she wanted very much to try some new one that had just opened in March on the Harbor in Georgetown in Washington, D.C.  We invited my son and his wife to join us in this birthday celebration of their sister/sister-in-law.

The pre-dinner special cocktails were grand - mine was Stella Credente (rum and lime juice).  The appetizers were marvelous and exotic - mine was blue runner jack sashimi with fried sea beans. The salads we did not try to save room for entrees.  The entrees were small and sophisticated - mine was a half order of smoked potato gnocchi followed by olive poached halibut.  All were delicious and different.  The desserts were good and even some were great.

This restaurant sits on Washington Harbor and as a good omen, the heavy rain stopped and the sun broke out just as we got there!  We stayed for about an hour and a half and did not leave until dark.  We laughed, told jokes on each other, shared memories of recent trips, bragged and complained about the grandchildren, and in general, had a MAHVELOUS evening.

Kennedy Center in the background.

I could look around the spacious dining room and the main crowd did not even start showing up until 8:00 P.M.  The customers were so high-end that even hubby, who has not a clue about fashion, mentioned to son-in-law, "Did you see those guys in the power suits at that long table?"  (My daughter wore dress jeans, so you realize nothing is formal anymore.)

The Chef's wife who is the "Director of Customer Relations," stopped by to see if we enjoyed our meal, which we most certainly did, and joked with us and talked about her Italian husband.  They also own another high end restaurant in the city.

I sprung for the 6 dinners, drinks and asked S.I.L and son to pick up the tip. Perhaps, most of you would find the amount of the bill a jaw-dropping shocking amount, as did I,  and a few others of you would be pretty passive about such figures if you are in a higher income bracket, but I really wanted to treat them all and I cannot take money with me into the next life.  I do not think I have ever spent this much money for a night out!  And the wine was not $100 a bottle! Young folks as my daughter who take clients to dinner, do not think twice about spending money like this on a dinner, but we are on a fixed income and not that cavalier on a monthly basis.

Maybe I was buying love, but I felt I was throwing a party!  You can't take it with you and there is always the chance that someone will take it away from us in future years the way this world is going.  Anyway, if you are ever in town, get someone to take you there and pick up the tab!

Bragging Rights II

While I pay people to work in my yard I also spend time doing hard labor in others' yards.  Last week work was done on the Children's Garden.  Below you can see four raised beds for the vegetables that will get grown this summer and taken to the food pantry.  Hubby in his eagerness overplanted so...

We requested space to expand, double the space, to another four raised beds.

That area above that is mud and packed clay is just waiting for us to add the wood frames, the landscape cloth, the gravel and then fill the beds with soil.

This, of course, took more than one morning to accomplish.  Hubby had to dig drainage ditches below the beds and lay that black pipe in the background once the cloth was tacked down.

Meanwhile I and another much stronger dude shoveled gravel for the paths.

Then the other two worked this gravel over the drain pipes.

I was so exhausted at completion that I failed to get the photos of the final garden...but maybe in the coming weeks once the lettuce and peas are growing, I will share.

Not Really Alone

I wrote that I was alone on Easter, but that was not exactly true.  I had a yardman and his younger brother working on our vast front and back yard.  Here in the photos below, they were moving some very heavy logs.  This man, whom I will call Oscar, has two daughters that are teenagers. They live in Mexico along with the rest of his family and from March until the end of November he lives in our country and works as a supervisor for a landscape company and also brings along a few of his many brothers back with him on work permits.  He and my husband have become friends and so many Sundays he comes and helps us.  Think about living away from those you love for nine months each year so that they can have money to go to college and eat and maintain a nice home!

Below is his youngest brother...sweet and so totally bored with all through his life's view.  He see's this world through those young and complaisant eyes and his life may be somewhat different in this river of the ever-changing.

Oscar is a little stocky in the photo above but by the end of summer he will be lean and mean once again.  He reminds me a little of my dad who was often outside in dusty jeans.

Oscar is a multi-talented person.  He can do construction, is a skilled mason, and can fix almost any small and large engine.  He is honest and pleasant, and yes, we love him.  Totally he could be our son!  We pay him well, I feed him lunch and I tell him when I will be gone on the weekends if I need him, because I have no fear that he or his brothers would ever do anything nefarious to our house.

Only a few people can carry the title "salt of the earth."  It is a most prestigious title in my life book and Oscar definitely wins that award.  I feel lucky to know him.

This Sunday

Home alone on this Easter morning while hubby is on travel for the week.  Daughter and family are celebrating in Florida and son and DIL perhaps in PA.?  Still I am wishing those of you who are rejoicing the resurrection a good and song filled holiday.

 
Wishing those of you looking for brightly colored orbs and chasing the Easter Bunny, a laugh filled morning and a chance for a nap when the little ones come down from the sugar high.

And for me I will wait for warming in the afternoon and do some more planting in my yard.

New Silhouettes

When you move into a new house you find your budget is pretty much depleted.  So, sometimes you put off getting things like drapes or window coverings until you have the money.  My husband has been adamant about not having window coverings in our bedroom.  I have been pushing for them, as I like the coziness of closing off the night, the lack of my neighbors garage light shining in my face, the fact that I can dress and undress in the bedroom, and the way they can reduce heat/cold exchange.

We have lived in this house for six years now. (Oh my.)  AND I finally got my bedroom window coverings last week.  I am not a drape person and so I went with the clean lines of Roman shades. Below you can see why hubby hates to cut off the view of the river.

But there was an interesting aspect of these drapes I had not expected.  They even play nicely against the sunset.  On the window ledge are silhouettes of bottles that I collected off of a reef while living in the South Pacific decades ago.  They are probably hospital medicine bottles with one ink bottle (the largest) from a Japanese hospital that was there in the 1900s.

I am now a happy camper.

Volunteers

I went out today with a group of volunteer ladies that work regularly on the nearby museum grounds.  I had become in involved in this volunteer effort full force last year taking leadership responsibility for the bureaucratic problems in trying to buy plants, getting the mulch scheduled, sending out updates via email, maintaining email lists, coordinating suggestions and editing plant lists and keeping it all on an environmental track.  I discovered that it was a bit like herding cats.  Some of the women were at the museum several days weekly and took it upon themselves to make plant removal decisions or schedule other decisions without letting everyone know.  Their husbands volunteered in other departments at the museum and they were there more often than I.

The hired maintenance staff (two men) while praising us when they saw us, clearly saw their job as sitting on a mower once a week and maintaining stuff indoors.  When they wear white shirts to work, you know they do not see themselves as landscape staff!  They actually seemed to think that 60-year-old and older women could maintain the rather large grounds of the museum on our own.  They made little effort to assist with hose repairs, getting the water unlocked, and keeping wheelbarrows easily available from the storage shed although I must admit they are very, very polite.  Today we actually had to lift the wheelbarrows out and over some new-fangled BBQ machinery that had been slid in right at the door for pulling out.  I also had to help these gals lift 40 pound bags of soil this morning as I was afraid someone was going to injure their back.  I am thankful that I can still do stuff like that at my age, but I also am very careful each time I do lifting anyway. Keeping moving...keeping moving.

As you may remember, at the end of the last season I let the dear ladies know I was resigning as leader and would volunteer as I could, but my relationship to the museum was not as regular as theirs.  (There were also other politics going on that I was not sure of..."he said we should do it this way and she said to do it that way"... and that made me more than irritated some days.)

Well, now I show up when I can squeeze in a morning.  Nothing, of course, has changed.  No one seems to know what is going on.  We had to redo two beds by the front gate and the water had not been turned on, so the plants were transplanted in the hot afternoon waiting for tonight's' rain.  I had been willing to haul plastic buckets of water to the gate...but since no one could find the water key, even that effort was not useful!  One dear lab technician went to his tool kit behind one of the labs and tried a small wrench, but to no avail.  A huge aster that was supposed to be divided and replanted in the fall never got scheduled and so I was told to shovel and pull and dig and tear at this monster with its new spring growth already 4 inches high.

The museum director is a good guy, but he is in the middle of a huge remodel and a grand re-opening in just a few weeks, so I could not even begin to approach him on the issue and his assistant is gone somewhere---wise woman.  They will just have to throw money at brightly colored annual plants the week before and plant then everywhere that is needed.

This is a textbook case in how to NOT treat volunteers that save you thousands of dollars in your budget. 

Bragging Rights

There is something in my family's genes about getting old that makes us determined to proved we are not.  I remember well the time my 80-something father was up on the roof helping my brother put down shingles on his newly built house.  This was made even more of a concern to us when we drove up and found brother had to run and get nails and dad remained up there waiting!

Well I got a little of that gene. Yesterday we helped son level his lawn to his newly purchased home.  The side lawn was full of dog holes and tree root veins that had collapsed.  It was a great place for spraining an ankle or twisting a back in a fall.  We had agreed to help him with this (which I failed to mention in the prior post) and thus stuck by our word.  We had just not been good about getting a time solidified and that was why it was a bit of a surprise.

In the photo below are 12 bags of top soil and compost...each weighing a ton.  He had to have them delivered this way because he does not have a driveway or garage and companies would only deliver like this.  The four of us moved all 12 tons, spread it on the lawn in two layers, pulled a 250 pound roller after each layer, then seeded with lawn seed, and raked it in.  Today, if son makes it out of bed, he is going to cover the area with peat moss (could not get straw/hay bales) and then spend the next two weeks watering it carefully twice a day.  My bragging rights are that I can now say I helped move 12 tons of soil in one day.

I do know about lawns, and reminded him that the real fun starts when the grass begins growing like weeds and involves LOTS of mowing! 

My joints ache just a little today, so I guess my body is admitting defeat in fighting me on this journey.  Today I work on my herb garden and planting those annuals that I have been trying to get into seedling pots.

REST

This time in the early spring morning the world is in a waking dream.  The birds sing gently.  The surface of the river is like a clear, perfect mirror.  In the tranquil air, the few dead leaves remaining on the trees hang placid as if forgetting they are hanging by a thread.  Everything lies still waiting for the surprising warmth that is sure to come.  But right now the temperature is perfect.  It is light sweater weather.  It is morning coffee weather.  I check the porch of the big bird house to see if the meal worms I left yesterday are still scattered there.  Blue birds have come and taken them all when I was busy cleaning house. I had company last night and all the dishes were washed in the dishwasher.  This should be my reward time.  A day to plant some annual seeds such as zinnias and sunflowers.  A day to watch birds build nests and dance with their mates.

But I have other obligations yet and again!  My son called last night to tell us he has ordered a truckload of soil and if we could bring up our shovels and the wheelbarrow he plans to level and reseed his back yard on this find Saturday spring day!

Somewhere in Isaiah is written "There is no rest for the wicked," although the word rest is replaced with peace.  My Lord I have plenty of peace in my heart...but I must be very very wicked, because I am still waiting for some rest.

Speaking of Joints

While pot smoking is being legalized, and where not legal, legal consequences are being reduced across the United States, I went to a pot party this afternoon.  Okay...I will wait for you to close you mouths.

The party was being held at the extension office and in attendance were master gardeners and it was called a pot party.  We potted about 700 plants for our plant sale.  None of the plants were cannabis.  I am guessing that is one of the few Latin plant names that most people recognize

I am still running in circles with yard work, spring cleaning and volunteer gardening and hope to get back to real blogging someday soon.

Where is Tabor?

Joints.
Lots of them all over the place.
Some are even new to me.

They do not move.  They ache.
Yes, THOSE joints.  I have washed dock benches, washed patio chairs, washed all the bird poop from the deck railings, moved all (well, 90%) of the leaves hiding in the corners of the patio and under the stairs and around the container pots and behind the air conditioner back into the woods. 

I have pruned the pomegranate tree.  One sucker was 6 feet high!

I have weeded two flower beds and pruned back shrubs and roses in those beds.  Now I wait to see what survived this difficult winter.  I lost my large rosemary plant and perhaps the four new shrubs I planted this fall on the retaining wall and certainly a rose or two.

I have taken away the firewood rack and replaced it with the metal bench for the front porch.

Hubby and I took down two bird houses that had rotted and put up three new ones.

I have bleached the bird bath and removed the covers on the outside tables.  I put up all the hoses and found those hiding hose nozzles.

My indoor plants (some) are now outside and I cleaned out the plant corner in the kitchen that was covered in millions of white petals from the citrus trees.

I ache.   I can barely move.  Just turning my head is an effort.  My hands are dried prunes even though I wore gloves.  I am lying like a melted gumby on the couch as I write this.  (I still have lots of stuff to do in the coming days...if I am still here.)

Oh...and there were two birthday parties and a concert by Keb Mo that were squeezed in last week!    Ehhhh!  That is where Tabor has been hiding.

Touching

I used to feel I wanted to be touched.
I waited for not only the physical whispering touch
on the palm of my hand,
but the sweeping touch on my heart,
and the powerful touch on my mind.

The touch that would make me swallow my breath,
give me flight
to soar over the universe
and see all and conquer all
and understand all.

The touch that made me into

             Superwomanwarrior.

The touch 
Kindling a fire that never failed to
burn bright and white hot
for its brief time.

The touch that reduced the impossible
to possible.

The years now trail politely behind me
offering only faint memories of smoke and ash
and little warmth, with a few glowing coals
as I walk away
to meet the not so distant future.


This is the time in my exploration
of the universe
I realize that
I want to be that touch.

I want to electrify,
to be the contingency in others before I die.

I want to punch potency
into others hearts and minds.
I want to send them up on a
spiraling cloud of heat rising
to see the universe with new eyes
and new possibilities.

And
My ego
Wants them to remember my touch
when they face their not so distant future.

On the Turn of a Dime!

Spring began to venture into our neck of the woods this weekend.  On the turn of a dime it went from 40F to 70F in a matter of hours.  And with that dime still turning, I persuaded hubby to go on a small hike with me.  We selected a nature preserve that was a long drive from home, but we like looking out the car window, anyway.  Below is where we sat, at the end of a small 1.5 mile hike, at the end of the trail to eat our lunch of granola bars, jerky and apples that had been thrown carelessly into the back pack.  Yes, the ground was prickly and stickery, but I managed to enjoy the first real day of a spring hike in spite of the pine needle floor.

The hike back was quick so we decided to also stop at nearby state park on the bay.  There were others with dogs and kids and all other enjoying this first spring day.  The two in the photo below were probably looking for sharks teeth.

This beach walk was also short so we headed into the seaside town for a Thai-French dinner at an award winning restaurant we had discovered a few years ago.  It was never a disappointment.  I had red curry and hubby had a shrimp noodle special.  We started with wine and spring rolls and glowed like two lovers on a spring day chatting away with three other diners at the next table.

As we left the restaurant, I decided on the turn of a dime, to drive around the little town.  We followed a small road past the central church toward the waters edge where an old dock had not survived the test of time.  An osprey had returned to build his nest and the sun glowed through the clouds with such loving reward, I took more photos.

Then since it was late and we had almost two hours to get back home we regretfully got back in the car and set out GPS for home.  As often happens with technology leading the way, we tend to daydream more than hurry.  About an hour into our trip we had to slow down as several cars were pulled to the side of the road and the cars ahead of us, those that did not pull over, were pumping their brakes and flashing brakes lights.   A young couple were sauntering beside the road, the girl on the phone and the man carrying her purse and other items.  From their demeanor, one figured they had not a care in the world.

Once the cars ahead of us moved past below is what we saw.

We did not stop to assist as so many before had already lined the road.  We hurried by so that we would not be involved in some tank explosion.  The young couple had their day completely changed, on the turn of a dime yesterday.  And, yet, they have much to be thankful for.

The Horse is Now Dead

Not to beat a dead horse on women's rights but...regarding equal pay for equal work:

"...Beth Cubriel, executive director of the Texas Republican Party weighed in further on the issue. “Men are better negotiators, and I would encourage women, instead of pursuing the courts for action, to become better negotiators,” I agree with Ms. Cubriel that women need to be better negotiators as our culture does not make it easy for a woman to take a more aggressive stance at the table, but that is NOT the reason for the pay disparity in the early years of a woman's career.  I think women are excellent negotiators, but they do it far more well for others than for themselves.

"You don't deserve equal pay on the merits, you just need to find out you're being discriminated against, then argue your way into equal pay. That is totally a sustainable solution that in no way privileges a certain class of women who can negotiate their wages or even find out they're being discriminated against and is way more efficient and effective than just paying workers the same amount for the same job regardless of their sex!"  I think this was the counter argument.

A most recent study proved that across ALL professions except for humanities, women are 20% behind in pay after their FIRST year of employment right after getting their college degree.  This is before they get married, have babies, and even have time to negotiate for a raise which are the various reasons given for not paying women as much.  This gap increases from 80 cents on the dollar to 70 cents on the dollar in some professions as the years go by even after controlling for variables such as part time work, lack of experience, etc..  Women are left struggling to pay their college loans with less income and permanently behind the economic spectrum and being blamed for not really negotiating well?

This reminds me of my friend who was a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy decades ago.  He felt that women did not belong in the Navy because the minute they show up aboard ship they affect morale and command because they flirt.  Really?  Female engineers graduating from the Academy have a flirting problem?  Well, men harass sexually and even rape, which I do feel affects morale and command structure, so that makes it even in my book.  (Not really, just trying to be snide.)  

This war is ongoing and women (and their men) are going to have to stand up and demand fair treatment, whether it is a promotion or an honest criticism of their work, but it has to be fair and transparent.   Thank goodness I am married to a fair and hard working man that agrees with me and sees this disparity and wants his daughter to get a fair chance in her career.

Maybe a Rerun?

I have just spent the better part of this early morning (4:30 A.M.) looking through my past posts to see if I ever blogged about my last day of junior high school.  I am sure that I wrote about this, but being rather casual about blog labels and being more cryptic than necessary with blog post titles, I could not find it.  Therefore, today you are in for a re-run.

I was reminded of my last day of junior school because of some of the comments in my prior post.  Some readers wondered why I was so passive in those situations.  Perhaps, some of it had to do with my being brain tired at the time, maybe I was a little intimidated by the elevated position of each of these rude men, but I actually think it was a more practical decision,  a decision of picking ones battles carefully.  I would not have changed them or the world much by a female outburst.  Remember those scenes in the bar where one man gets accidentally bumped by another and then the bumped man confronts the other man with a snarl and in-your-face response?  Well, the snarling one is the one who always comes off looking like the idiot or the ego-centric oaf while the person who did the bumping comes off as being apologetically distracted.  These men did not impact my job or my family...just that brief time at that moment.  I did not let them ruin my day either.

While I am not one of those in-your-face feminists, I have held my ground on issues when necessary and have tried to give that philosophy to my daughter.  OK...what does this have to do with my last day of junior high school and perhaps my very first feminist protest?

I went to school in the mid-1960's.  This was the first decade of drugs, sex and rock and roll.  It was also a decade of the beginning of the women's liberation movement.  Liberation from dishes and babies to working 50 hour weeks and then coming home to dishes and babies.  I went to a tiny school in a farming community in the mid-west, which was pretty much sheltered from all of this.  An out-of-wedlock pregnancy was the most shocking thing that happened there.  Pot had not moved into the small town culture and we had sock hops in the new gymnasium for our rock and roll experience.  Girls danced with girls and the guys stood around trying to look cool except for the bad boys who would sneak outside the gym for a smoke. 

The last day of school was only half a day and there were no formal classes.  We cleaned out our lockers, cleaned out various classrooms, ran errands for teachers, got our annuals and spent time getting them signed by classmates and talking about about starting high school in the fall.  The day was really a wash, and perhaps, that was why two of my best friends and I decided to shake it up a little.  We were thirteen and thus just becoming rebellious teenagers and women.   I wish that I could say I was the ring-leader, but one of the other girls has instituted the idea.  We had decided to wear jeans on the last day of school!  I felt it was a very practical idea since we had to spend time clean up dusty shelves and lockers.  But I also knew that it was against the school rules for girls to wear pants to school.  We lived in jeans on weekends, because we all lived on farms and had chores, but this public school required skirts or dresses.

I don't think my parents had a clue, because they said nothing when I left the house in neat dark blue jeans, white tennis shoes and a shirt.

We didn't make it past first period when the Home Economics teacher, a tremendously prim and proper little tornado standing 5 feet and weighing 100 pounds, came huffily into the classroom and announced that we would have to leave the school building!  When we asked her where we were supposed to go, she said to wait outside until "they" decided what they were going to do with us.  She glared and fussed and indicated that "This was going to go on our school record" as we carefully hid our smirking.  I do not think we knew what a quandary we had them in, because we were all top students and had held various leadership positions in the school.  But we were certainly having fun being rebellious, something that as "good" girls we had not considered before.

We sat on the lawn on a lovely June morning for about 20 minutes talking and defending our position to ourselves. We could see the principal and the Home Ec teacher standing at the office window looking at us and talking and we somehow knew that we had the upper hand.  The whole thing seemed more than ludicrous to us and that is probably what won the argument, the total idiocy of the idea.  I do not know if they called our parents, but I am sure that my friend's mother would have given them a real piece of her mind over being interrupted by something so insignificant.

While I am sure they had considered sending us home to change as the very least of what they could do, we finally were allowed to go back inside.  Within an hour we had forgotten we were in jeans as had all the other students and the last day of school continued without further event.  I wish I could say that this changed the dress code for the school, but it did not.  I don't think I was allowed to wear pants to class until college where crossing a snow filled campus pretty much demanded better leg cover.

Anyway, that was my first but not my last feminist protest movement.  (Chuckle.)

That Small Feeling

A number of years ago I was crossing the lobby in a fancy hotel in Cairo, Egypt, to see if our reservation was ready.  It had been a rough airplane trip, a hot and sticky and dusty cab ride and I was already feeling jet lag.  I had almost approached the check-in desk with my last bit of energy when two tall men in white thobes covered by the traditional bisht trimmed in gold moved in front of me only inches from my face and called the clerk over.  They made no apology or even gave recognition that someone, a woman - me, had been brushed aside by their rude behavior.  They completely turned their broad backs to my face and began the check-in process.  I could have given them the benefit of the doubt, except I have been given the impression that Saudi men treat women as a much lower class and make all kinds of pretend excuses for the way the culture makes women behave and dress.  Clearly I was a level lower than their well-dressed women in my Western dress.  They wore shiny large watches and talked in firm voices and did not once look my way as they walked away to the elevators.  I could have been a potted plant.  They really did not see me!  How can you be rude to a potted plant?

A few years later my husband and I had been invited to a reception in the South Pacific to celebrate the completion of a large bridge.  There were drinks and hors d'oeuvres.  Hubby and I had our brief chat with one of the high chiefs and every single time I made a comment during the conversation I was totally ignored while the Chief turned to my husband to talk.  The third time that this happened I walked away and got more wine and perused the table until hubby was done.

A few years later my daughter and I had just finished a special tour of the catacombs and St. Peter's resting place beneath the Vatican (my daughter's MIL is Catholic and this tour was for her).  Once again I was tired from having been in an area with little oxygen and listening to rather dry history and having to stand for over an hour in close quarters.  We had walked up stairs into one of the many alcoves of St Peters church, and I was just turning to view but one more tomb of one more saint when two Cardinals dressed in crisp black robes and blood red sashes and red head cover walked right in front of me at a deliberate and slow saunter.  ONCE AGAIN I had become the potted plant.  The area was not filled with tourists and there was plenty of room for them to move away from me.  They walked so closely I lost my balance for just an instant and felt the robe of one against my ankle.  Not once did they apologize or act as if they had seen me.  They were deeply involved in some miraculous thought I am guessing, and when you are planning miracles how can you bother with a low level tourist.  If I had been Catholic I might have been forgiving and even a little honored, but because I have long had black issues with this church, I just frowned and turned away looking for fresh air and less gilded stuff.

I could list other times like this happening at work or at meetings.  I am a women and for some reason on this planet the other gender does try to keep us feeling small.  Well, times are changing all over, if ever so slowly both by men and women to a fairer world.

Too Many People

1. There are too many poor people in this world.
2. There are too many people with physical and mental challenges.
3. There are too many ignored artists.
4. There are too many parent-less children.
5. There are too many homeless people.
6. There are too many billionaires.
7. There are too many obese people.
8. There are too many couples searching for children.
9. There are too many underpaid hard workers.
10. There are too many people who do not like their reflection in the mirror.
11. There are too many people who call names instead of suggest specific plans and ideas.
12. There are too many people waiting in line for the next best thing. (photo)
13. There are too many people staying at Yellowstone in August!!

(The black arrow in the photo above points to the guard who was letting people into the Apple store very slowly this past December as they waited to spend money.  #11 is what I gathered from my painful watching of CPAC as I tried hard to understand their ideas.  #13 is about my plans to share the geological west with grandson this summer and being forcedto stay in a much more expensive room!  I am guessing that you think there are too many people of some sort or other.)

The Ripples

What I posted a few days ago did stir a ripple or two among my readers and that is perfect, because what in the heck is blogging all about if not a communal mind meld...aka Spock now and again? 

The prior post may have sounded more down than I wanted.  I AM a happy person.  I am in the prime of my life just like Jean Brody, but I also feel the ups and down of this roller coaster ride that I am on and I do feel I am missing something.

One of my readers made a comment in response to my last post that among her goals she had hoped her blog would be more powerful, would reach more readers, would affect more minds.  What a really cool idea.  I had never thunk that!  I probably would not have even started writing this blog if my goal had been that interesting and powerful.  I would have been way too intimidated thinking I might reach hundreds or thousands of readers.  I had the mind set that if a few read it and no one commented, that was jolly fine with me.  I was writing for myself anyway.  I would re-read posts and check over my shoulder at past ideas and learn something from my digital musings.  (Besides in the very beginning of blogging when everyone, not just writers, was out there testing the waters, I had a few brief cross-postings with some rather 'liberal' young people and their subject matter was, well, I had long ago left that place in my life, so I quietly shut the door on that and assumed their blogging was more about shocking and testing the shocks than thinking.  I even got to the point where I linked them to some "safety" products.)

But, other readers did show up as the year moved on!  Readers did comment!  And when I ventured out and commented on others' blogs I got even more comments.  I started to write for my readers and not for me so much.  But I soon learned that I had not entered this medium just to comment and write and then see what people said back.  It is too important to treat it so shallowly.  I have come to realize the personalities of some of the other bloggers and find that my feelings force me to comment on their blogs. I think that is much of the key, getting the essence of the blogger's soul. 

I decided to review the history of my posts and the two top ones which each got thousands of views were titled:  "Did You Know...any of these Thursday 13? #37 in a Boring Series" and "Bloody Murder at Tabor's Yard."

Besides being very poorly written titles, I am not sure why they were viewed at all, except for the bloody murder.  I am sure if I had put s*x in any of the post titles that would have been really popular.

I have found when people get very personal, discovered a serious illness, have some tragedy in their family or with themselves, the comments do soar for a bit.  This does not mean that the good writers fail to get comments in the three figures almost always and do not have to be fighting cancer to do that.  But blogging is a crap shoot.   I mean you have to be funny, sexy, and at least a little youthful to draw a crowd these days.

My readers also suggested in response to the prior post that should I make a list of what I want to change or do.  I am working on that.  And if it gets solidified I will share.  Even if it fails, I will share that also, because then the replies will grow in number ;-)

Anyway, today is very spring-like so I should at least clean the deck.  I, sometimes always the realist, am hoping it lasts and we do not have the hot weather by the end of April, because this HAS been the warmest year globally in history and those of us in the Northern hemisphere are going to get our share soon.

Rat a Tat Tat

One of my volunteer groups had its beginning planning meeting yesterday.  Some of us had not seen each other for months during the winter hiatus.  We are 8 little old ladies of similar cultural, educational and economic backgrounds.  The main part of the meeting had little substance as we all knew what we were going to do and just had to detail the when and where.

Instead we discussed several of the ladies winter trips, one to India, another around the world and another to visit relatives up north.  The the jewelry beader among us discussed buying beads in India that were more expensive than here while showing off her newly made earrings and the lady with the doctorate in forestry talked about her graduate school alumni around-the-world trip where they hired a converted jet that seated 80 and thus everyone flew first class!  We all talked briefly about our health and the awful weather.  Then we departed into the cold to head home or to run errands.

I was somewhat dismayed when I got home and dropped the mail on my desk.  I am a full-fledged cliche.  I am that person I promised I would never become.  I am ego-centric enough to have never seen myself as one of the "ladies who lunch."   There is nothing wrong with that group, but I always wanted to be the edgier one, the one who was REALLY making a difference, the one whom others liked but also looked a little askance at since I marched to my own drummer and they could not hear the beat of that drum.  I wanted to be the one that accomplished something special.  I wanted to be the one that was warmed deep inside by what I had accomplished, what I had given or helped complete.

I guess I am going to have to think harder about how I am running this last part of my life!