Of slight interest: My Aunt Millie is related to my sister's Aunt Myrtle and this post is actually intended for our church newsletter, so if you're a church friend reading this, sorry about the repeat! (grin)
Would you believe I never put the Christmas decorations away last year? I intended to return them to their appropriately festive red and green plastic tubs in the basement, but time has a tendency to skip merrily along, so there sit the ribbons and gold angels, in a laundry basket on top of the refrigerator. Occasionally, they call my name - usually when I’m reaching in the fridge for a spoonful of the chocolate frosting that I’ve hidden on the bottom shelf (behind the science project growing in a sandwich bag). I don’t mean to ignore them, but time has a tendency to skip merrily along. The angels’ identity could have been better preserved if I had remembered to follow through on my idea of covering the basket with a towel to prevent a dust colony from taking up residence. I thought I would get to that eventually, but time has a tendency to skip merrily along.
Christmas lists formerly requesting gifts inspired by Blue’s Clues step aside for gift suggestions inspired by Blue Man Group. Lego's and toy soldiers lie forgotten in the attic, while PlayStation and XBox endlessly amuse. Matchbox cars give way to car keys. Barbie, replaced by mascara and eye shadow, is relegated to a storage room. Clothing was rarely a cherished gift; gift certificates for American Eagle are now perfectly acceptable, because time has a tendency to skip merrily along.
The problem with the whole time-skipping thing is that it just keeps doing it, with no regard to how I feel! It seems like just yesterday the kids were waking us at 5:00 am to tell us Santa had brought presents. Now they’re all old enough to be content with opening presents at a respectable hour, after eating breakfast. Before long, they’ll be calling us to find out what time Christmas dinner is being served.
Maybe I shouldn’t refer to it as “time-skipping”. Maybe a better phrase is “time-saving”. Not taking a short cut, but rather a remembrance of time - a mental scrapbook, so to speak. I’m sure I’m not the only person who gets so involved in daily routine that I forget to enjoy the daily routine. The little things. The “remember when...” The rituals and traditions, especially holiday traditions. One of our family traditions is to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” while we’re decorating our Christmas tree. This tradition causes the ritual eye-rolling to commence, and someday will offer the “remember when” conversations. This is an opportunity to time-save.
This Christmas, what can you do to time-save? What is important in your life? Are there things that you can eliminate to help you better appreciate the real reason we have Christmas? Have you considered the idea of slowing down? Do you really need to attend 74 family functions in 2 days? Will Great-Great Aunt Millie really have that breakdown she’s been promising if you don’t let her spend the holidays at your home? Maybe you like your mother-in-law’s fruitcake - tell her! What about starting a new tradition, like inviting a lonely co-worker to Christmas dinner? or temporarily, for the holidays, adopting a family less fortunate than you? or taking a family vacation instead of buying gifts that don’t fit, require too many batteries, won’t start, are ugly colors, and/or aren’t worth remembering two days later? or just taking a few days off work to relax? It’s ok to do that, really!
Have a blessed holiday season, and remember that Jesus came to give you life abundant, so enjoy!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Ron Paul, Please Come to Ohio and Watch the Buckeyes with Us
A sign that perhaps my kids actually do hear me when they’re pretending to ignore me: the other night, Tom was watching the Ohio State game.
Ok, before I go any further, I must tell you about HOW Tom watches the game.
We recently decided that paying for satellite TV is not only not in the budget, but that it offers so many choices, most of them meaningless, of shows to watch that we would do away with it altogether. (Perhaps a temporary decision, but that remains to be seen.) Regardless of the permanency of the viewing options, football remains a sport that we all love to watch, particularly when it comes to the Buckeyes. With the exception of Preston, who adamantly remains a loyal Wolverines fan, our entire family is quite supportive of OSU football.
Ok, again before I go any further: Mom is a little more than supportive - Mom is sometimes a raging fanatic who screams at the television to the point of embarrassing the kids when there isn’t even any one not related to us in the house. “Mom, give it a rest, would you?!?” But I digress...
Anyway, after borrowing a ladder from the nice neighbors, Tom and the boys disassembled the necessary components and returned them to the service provider. We were all a little sad to see the TV screen go to static, but as soon as I had the cords properly reconnected between the DVD/VCR players and the back of the television, we at least had a wonderful shade of blue nothingness to look at when Lightning McQueen finished the final round of the race by pushing The King across the finish line to the roar of the sold-out stadium.
So now, we were left to our own devices (the church I grew up in would probably consider it a vice, as opposed to a device, but again I digress so I’ll save that post for another day) when it came time to figuring out how we would survive without cheering on our favorite team, led by gray-haired Jim Tressel who reminds me of my own red-haired Uncle Jim. Tom attempted to repair the outside antenna, but considering his disability in scaling buildings sans Spiderman-like capabilities, combined with his dislike of ladders at heights greater than his own height, he was quite limited in what he could actually accomplish from ground level.
To compensate, my ingenious husband did the following: placed the 9 inch TV on a kitchen chair near a window; connected a cable to the TV and pushed the other end of this cable through a small opening by the window frame; attached the outdoor end of the cable to indoor rabbit ears located on the porch; climbed on a step ladder perched on the wheelchair lift and hoisted the rabbit ears into the eave spout; taped the rabbit ears firmly in place; yelled for Mom to watch the screen, relay information to Bucky, Bucky to stand by the door and yell the relayed information to Dad; yelled “better?” dozens of times as he fidgeted with the rabbit ears until Mom relayed to Bucky to yell to Dad that it was good; strolled back inside with a satisfied grin on his face and promptly sat down to enjoy a stirring, if slightly fuzzy but victorious, sporting event.
But as for the idea that my kids ingest and retain information I freely spout, again I say this may be a reality. My reasoning behind this theory is this: while Tom was watching the football game last weekend, Savannah and I were sitting on the couch with him. During a commercial break, one of the advertisements that aired was a political ad for Steve Buehrer, who is campaigning to become the next U.S. Representative for the 5th Congressional District of Ohio. The statements being made were about lowering taxes, but no names had been mentioned. Savannah pipes up and says "Ron Paul!"
Maybe next week she’ll be toting signs around town with the words "Hope for America, Hope for My Generation" emblazoned in bright blue and red.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
So Much More Than Pro-Life
I lived in Cincinnati when the first election in which I exercised my right to vote occurred. (For whatever reason, I had apparently not been politically-minded enough to show up for the first Presidential election I could have participated in 2 years earlier. My shoes and purse probably didn't match, or something.) It was 1990, and Ohio was, among other things, electing a governor (Voinovich won), deciding if it wanted a casino (Ohio didn't), choosing whether or not to amend the state constitution to allow the government to provide housing assistance through private lenders (yes, but not by a wide margin). Having not been provided quality education in government class, and having not been inclined to study on my own, I was severely un-informed about how the whole system worked. I knew that my family spouted Republican mantras, (though I was completely unaware if anyone in my family actually voted), and that Republicans were supposedly "pro-life". I was "pro-life". Hmmmmmm...
(Maybe I should mention here that up to this point in life, the only political experience to which I could personally attest was introducing Geraldine Ferraro, portrayed by a fellow student for whom I wasn't fond, at our school's mock election in 1984. Hmmmmmmm...)
That first Tuesday in November of 1990 dawned, and feeling a bit excited, I reported for duty at the over-sized church down the street from my apartment. After checking in with the little old ladies manning the frontlines, I received instructions and cast my first official ballot.
I must admit, I did waver when I got to the choice of Secretary of State, but let me explain why. Earlier that spring, near the beginning of April, I had the opportunity to walk in the Cincinnati Reds' Opening Day Parade, which was a fun, albeit unseasonably chilly, experience in itself. I was actually allowed this privilege because my then-current employer was herself an employee of Sherrod Brown, who was running for Secretary of State - on the Democratic ticket. This presented a minor dilemma since I actually KNEW the man - sort of - after all, I had smiled, waved, and probably passed out candy and tablets of writing paper in support of Mr. Brown, while he sat like a king on the back of a convertible, riding through the streets of downtown Cincinnati. (Would this qualify as another personally-attested-to political experience?) But in the end, once I stood behind the curtain at the voting booth, common sense and tradition won out. My family and I were "pro-life". My family, and therefore I, were Republican. So, straight down the ticket, wherever it said "Republican", I said "Count on me". Besides, I no longer worked for that lady, so I figured my loyalty couldn't be called into question. Exiting from the church with my "I Voted Today" sticker on my shoulder, (I always envied my elementary teacher, Miss Beal, when she arrived at school wearing hers), I sensed patriotism exuding from my very being. (I've been waiting for an opportunity to use the word exude for decades!)
Two years later, when the next Presidential election rolled around, I was prepared. By that time, I was married, had one baby, and another one on the way. I really CARED this time! I cared so much, I even dragged my baby, in the pouring rain, to the Toledo Airport, so I could SEE and HEAR incumbent Republican President Bush stand on the steps of Air Force One and pledge everything but the kitchen sink to us. I was an American. I was a Republican. President Bush was "pro-life"! My heart sank, and I was sure America would fall apart when Bill Clinton won the election. But then four years later, he won again! Although America hadn't yet fallen apart, surely it would during this four years of Democratic nonsense. By this time, I had realized that not only were Republicans "pro-life", they were also "pro-gun", which the Democrats hated. My dad and brother were hunters when I was growing up, so I certainly couldn't be anti-guns! Charleton Heston was Moses! Moses was in the Bible! The Bible is PRO-LIFE!!
Year 2000 - I had 4 children now. I had slightly more knowledge about how to vote, but that knowledge was, for the most part, related to local school levies, and state representatives' stand on issues (were they "pro-life", mostly, but also school choice positions and homeschool friendliness - I was testing the waters). I had some reservations about the Republican party, but the Republicans were a whole lot better than Al Gore! Who knew what road HE might lead America down! He was a Global Warming freak anyway! My defense for the lack of more thoughtful voting was that I had so many other fires to fight with having a special needs child that I couldn't be expected to know EVERYthing. It wasn't a false statement. I do have a special needs child who requires a lot of non-typical care. My ballot reflected the usual choices and I breathed a giant sigh of relief when the last hanging, dimpled, illegal CHAD was counted and the result was a Republican Presidency.
2004 and I am having major issues with some of the Republicans issues. I have no interest in the Democratic Botox King, but even as I cast my standard vote, I am questioning why I'm doing this. I am doubting my choices, yet figuring they can't be as bad as the others.
As I stood in the voting booth in November of 2006, it took me much longer to put the final decision on paper. I, for the first time, deliberately did NOT vote on some lines, because there was no good choice. Does the end justify the means? Is it OK to hunt down Saddam? I thought 9/11 was to be blamed on the Taliban.?? Oh come on! Everyone knows he had WMD somewhere! I waffled between being happy he's gone (he was a bad guy, you know!) and a sadness at the loss of a life God created. Why is my library record any one's business but my own? Why does Washington need to know what I'm researching on the Internet? When did my right and responsibility to make Godly decisions regarding my children's health become the government's business? How long before my local government decides they need my back yard for some greater good? Who sent the Census Bureau worker to my front door to ask how many toilets our home has and what time we go to work? Why did he persist, to the point of having to be forcibly escorted off our porch by my husband, when we refused to tell him anything more than how many people we have in our home? Should I hand him the dictionary with "enumerator" highlighted? Are my pockets supposed to be open to the public for funding expensive new facilities for a failing school system? Why is my family required to participate in paying for education practices that directly contradict our own beliefs? Will I be able to legally exercise Biblical principles in disciplining and training my children and grandchildren in the years to come? Am I SURE that "pro-life" really means "pro-life"? EVERYwhere? Why is the American public content to accept what it is told, as truth, when that "truth" is completely made-up hogwash? Are there still any true conservatives?
I can complain about circumstances until I'm out of breath. I can point at corrupt politicians until my fingers fall off. I can mutter about apathy until I'm old enough to wear a red hat. I can sing till the cows come home. What that will get me is cracked ribs from CPR, a visit to a prosthetic specialist, snickered at by my sisters, and a neighborhood BBQ in my backyard. While the BBQ might be a good idea, I don't much relish anything else on that list. (The red hat thing should also get me a trip to a psychiatrist, but that's another post.)
What I want is answers to my questions. Now it's much more important to me that I understand WHAT I'm voting for, rather than only WHO. One of the things I enjoy the most about homeschooling my kids is that as I'm teaching them, I'm learning or re-learning right along with them. In researching Presidential candidates over the last several months, I've realized that too many people and organizations have the flawed idea, as I did, that you vote for someone that you think can win, or think can beat Hillary. I've been trying to teach my kids for years to do the right thing no matter what everybody else does, but was I living that principle?
I still am pro-life. I still think having guns is a pretty good thing. I still detest having to pay for the new public school being built two blocks from my home. I still like Moses, and I still say I'll never (?) wear a red hat.
And yes, Virginia, there are still CONSERVATIVES. Here's one!
(Maybe I should mention here that up to this point in life, the only political experience to which I could personally attest was introducing Geraldine Ferraro, portrayed by a fellow student for whom I wasn't fond, at our school's mock election in 1984. Hmmmmmmm...)
That first Tuesday in November of 1990 dawned, and feeling a bit excited, I reported for duty at the over-sized church down the street from my apartment. After checking in with the little old ladies manning the frontlines, I received instructions and cast my first official ballot.
I must admit, I did waver when I got to the choice of Secretary of State, but let me explain why. Earlier that spring, near the beginning of April, I had the opportunity to walk in the Cincinnati Reds' Opening Day Parade, which was a fun, albeit unseasonably chilly, experience in itself. I was actually allowed this privilege because my then-current employer was herself an employee of Sherrod Brown, who was running for Secretary of State - on the Democratic ticket. This presented a minor dilemma since I actually KNEW the man - sort of - after all, I had smiled, waved, and probably passed out candy and tablets of writing paper in support of Mr. Brown, while he sat like a king on the back of a convertible, riding through the streets of downtown Cincinnati. (Would this qualify as another personally-attested-to political experience?) But in the end, once I stood behind the curtain at the voting booth, common sense and tradition won out. My family and I were "pro-life". My family, and therefore I, were Republican. So, straight down the ticket, wherever it said "Republican", I said "Count on me". Besides, I no longer worked for that lady, so I figured my loyalty couldn't be called into question. Exiting from the church with my "I Voted Today" sticker on my shoulder, (I always envied my elementary teacher, Miss Beal, when she arrived at school wearing hers), I sensed patriotism exuding from my very being. (I've been waiting for an opportunity to use the word exude for decades!)
Two years later, when the next Presidential election rolled around, I was prepared. By that time, I was married, had one baby, and another one on the way. I really CARED this time! I cared so much, I even dragged my baby, in the pouring rain, to the Toledo Airport, so I could SEE and HEAR incumbent Republican President Bush stand on the steps of Air Force One and pledge everything but the kitchen sink to us. I was an American. I was a Republican. President Bush was "pro-life"! My heart sank, and I was sure America would fall apart when Bill Clinton won the election. But then four years later, he won again! Although America hadn't yet fallen apart, surely it would during this four years of Democratic nonsense. By this time, I had realized that not only were Republicans "pro-life", they were also "pro-gun", which the Democrats hated. My dad and brother were hunters when I was growing up, so I certainly couldn't be anti-guns! Charleton Heston was Moses! Moses was in the Bible! The Bible is PRO-LIFE!!
Year 2000 - I had 4 children now. I had slightly more knowledge about how to vote, but that knowledge was, for the most part, related to local school levies, and state representatives' stand on issues (were they "pro-life", mostly, but also school choice positions and homeschool friendliness - I was testing the waters). I had some reservations about the Republican party, but the Republicans were a whole lot better than Al Gore! Who knew what road HE might lead America down! He was a Global Warming freak anyway! My defense for the lack of more thoughtful voting was that I had so many other fires to fight with having a special needs child that I couldn't be expected to know EVERYthing. It wasn't a false statement. I do have a special needs child who requires a lot of non-typical care. My ballot reflected the usual choices and I breathed a giant sigh of relief when the last hanging, dimpled, illegal CHAD was counted and the result was a Republican Presidency.
2004 and I am having major issues with some of the Republicans issues. I have no interest in the Democratic Botox King, but even as I cast my standard vote, I am questioning why I'm doing this. I am doubting my choices, yet figuring they can't be as bad as the others.
As I stood in the voting booth in November of 2006, it took me much longer to put the final decision on paper. I, for the first time, deliberately did NOT vote on some lines, because there was no good choice. Does the end justify the means? Is it OK to hunt down Saddam? I thought 9/11 was to be blamed on the Taliban.?? Oh come on! Everyone knows he had WMD somewhere! I waffled between being happy he's gone (he was a bad guy, you know!) and a sadness at the loss of a life God created. Why is my library record any one's business but my own? Why does Washington need to know what I'm researching on the Internet? When did my right and responsibility to make Godly decisions regarding my children's health become the government's business? How long before my local government decides they need my back yard for some greater good? Who sent the Census Bureau worker to my front door to ask how many toilets our home has and what time we go to work? Why did he persist, to the point of having to be forcibly escorted off our porch by my husband, when we refused to tell him anything more than how many people we have in our home? Should I hand him the dictionary with "enumerator" highlighted? Are my pockets supposed to be open to the public for funding expensive new facilities for a failing school system? Why is my family required to participate in paying for education practices that directly contradict our own beliefs? Will I be able to legally exercise Biblical principles in disciplining and training my children and grandchildren in the years to come? Am I SURE that "pro-life" really means "pro-life"? EVERYwhere? Why is the American public content to accept what it is told, as truth, when that "truth" is completely made-up hogwash? Are there still any true conservatives?
I can complain about circumstances until I'm out of breath. I can point at corrupt politicians until my fingers fall off. I can mutter about apathy until I'm old enough to wear a red hat. I can sing till the cows come home. What that will get me is cracked ribs from CPR, a visit to a prosthetic specialist, snickered at by my sisters, and a neighborhood BBQ in my backyard. While the BBQ might be a good idea, I don't much relish anything else on that list. (The red hat thing should also get me a trip to a psychiatrist, but that's another post.)
What I want is answers to my questions. Now it's much more important to me that I understand WHAT I'm voting for, rather than only WHO. One of the things I enjoy the most about homeschooling my kids is that as I'm teaching them, I'm learning or re-learning right along with them. In researching Presidential candidates over the last several months, I've realized that too many people and organizations have the flawed idea, as I did, that you vote for someone that you think can win, or think can beat Hillary. I've been trying to teach my kids for years to do the right thing no matter what everybody else does, but was I living that principle?
I still am pro-life. I still think having guns is a pretty good thing. I still detest having to pay for the new public school being built two blocks from my home. I still like Moses, and I still say I'll never (?) wear a red hat.
And yes, Virginia, there are still CONSERVATIVES. Here's one!
Monday, September 24, 2007
Flights of not-so Fancy
Let me begin by stating a disclaimer, perhaps two or three: 1. I love my husband. 2. I’m not prone to panic attacks in the least. C. I’m not afraid to board or fly on a jet.
Tom has had his private pilot’s license since well before we met. Over the past 16 years, he has asked me to go flying with him, and I’ve always managed to skillfully avoid doing so. Twice he has managed to convince me to ride with him at the local 4th of July fly-in, both of us as passengers in a cramped 4-seat aircraft. These adventures into the sky were nerve-wracking and I was grateful when they ended, but they were manageable.
Flying is costly, and having not yet achieved “independently wealthy” status, along with having a family to support, (side note: refer to “oxymoron” in Webster’s Dictionary to define preceding portion of sentence) Tom has not had opportunity to pursue his interest nearly as much as he would like. His dreams and goals require that he attains a minimum number of hours in flight, and he has been working toward that.
One of the many advantages to building flight time is that Tom can take passengers with him. The kids have flown with him, and loved it. Friends have flown with him, and loved it. I, as mentioned, have remained firmly planted on the ground, and loved it. I’ve heard, however, that all good things must come to an end.
Over the past few weeks, I had been pondering the idea of telling Tom that I would like to fly the friendly skies with him. Not so much because I had a burning desire to watch the buildings below me reach smaller and smaller proportions, but rather because I knew it would mean a lot to Tom if I showed more interest in his interests. I’ve been reading several books on making marriages stronger, and wouldn’t you know it, they all say that couples should spend more time together pursuing common recreational activities. (No, not THAT activity, although that's not a bad idea, either!) Figuring I probably wouldn’t be successful at convincing him that sewing, baking, or yakking on the phone are all wonderful ways to enrich our lives together, I swallowed my fears and rode to the airport with Tom and Savannah recently. It didn’t take too long for that fear to be regurgitated several times over.
Tom has told me many times that he is very cautious when flying, and exerts extra effort in performing pre-flight inspection, etc. I do not doubt that one bit. I watched him go through his routine with precision, both outside and in the cabin. He made sure the doors were secured, seat belts were in position, and all the equipment was in proper working order. He started the engine. I swallowed. He finished checking the panel, and began taxiing out to the runway. I readjusted my shirt, blew out a deep breath, and swallowed. He radioed his activity. (I’m sure there’s a technical name for that!) He got the plane in position on the runway, and we were off.
Lamaze class was in full operation at this point! It’s difficult to deep breathe, pray, squeeze your eyes tight shut...and swallow...all at the same time. I seem to recall during Lamaze class that we were taught to have a Focal Point. I seem to recall that requires keeping the eyes open. I was actually thinking all these things as I felt the plane lift off. “Oh my gosh. Oh geez. Oh my gosh.” I stopped short, by a mere millimeter, of an actual plea for help. I was cognizant of Savannah’s presence in the back seat, and didn’t want to seem like a complete idiot to someone who was flying for the second time! She was doing well, and I wished to avoid transplanting any portion of my current anxiety issues to her malleable mind.
We had been airborne for about a minute when I opened my eyes for the first time. I thought it would help me realize the difference in flying and roller coasters, which I absolutely hate! That long climb up the rickety, clanking track, knowing the inevitable lift-your-backside-off-the-seat force is waiting for you, not to mention fearing your heart is literally going to explode out your ears on the down drop....I hate roller coasters. Looking down at the fields, I reassured myself we weren’t at Cedar Point, and I could DO this!
Opening my eyes encouraged panic, and closing my eyes encouraged dizziness...and possibly other problems I didn’t care to deal with. I really wasn’t interested in exiting this plane covered in a second helping of my lunch - it wasn’t my favorite the first time around. At some point, I ceased the deep breathing exercises, as they weren't tremendously helpful. Besides, the last time I used the practice, I at least got to cuddle with the fruit of my labor after the last "hee hee hee ha"...I resorted to the last technique for maintaining my dignity...
“I want to go back, now.”
Tom immediately obliged and began the descent. I’m fairly certain I didn’t make this statement forcefully, so it must have been my current skin tone (green face, white knuckles) that convinced him that my flying career needed to be put on hold. The landing was uneventful (and unseen by writer). 6 minutes of flight time can now be added to my “I Think I Can, I Thought I Could” list.
I tried to avoid telling this story to anyone while my kids were in earshot, but alas, my boys overheard Tom tell someone that we were only 300 feet in the air when I requested re-entry. Suffice to say, it's a good thing I don't embarrass easily! I also found out that the reason it seemed to take so long to land is that Tom had to climb another 500 feet to be able to get into the landing pattern. Had I known that, I might have just taken my chances with the secured door, and prayed for a trampoline to miraculously appear!
I have flown on jets many times, and other than an initial adrenaline rush during take-off, it’s always been a pleasant experience. I can’t explain this by saying I’m afraid to fly. I am afraid of heights to a degree, but this phobia isn’t incapacitating in any way. I simply avoid ladders and edges of tall buildings! I’ve been riding with Tom on the ground for 16 years without incident. I know he’s more conscientious about his flying habits than he is about driving, and neither situation has ever been called into question. The problem lies with me. It’s an opportunity to hire a Flight Therapist! However, a temporary solution to this problem will have to be implemented.
I suggest that Tom help me bake brownies.
Roger that!
Tom has had his private pilot’s license since well before we met. Over the past 16 years, he has asked me to go flying with him, and I’ve always managed to skillfully avoid doing so. Twice he has managed to convince me to ride with him at the local 4th of July fly-in, both of us as passengers in a cramped 4-seat aircraft. These adventures into the sky were nerve-wracking and I was grateful when they ended, but they were manageable.
Flying is costly, and having not yet achieved “independently wealthy” status, along with having a family to support, (side note: refer to “oxymoron” in Webster’s Dictionary to define preceding portion of sentence) Tom has not had opportunity to pursue his interest nearly as much as he would like. His dreams and goals require that he attains a minimum number of hours in flight, and he has been working toward that.
One of the many advantages to building flight time is that Tom can take passengers with him. The kids have flown with him, and loved it. Friends have flown with him, and loved it. I, as mentioned, have remained firmly planted on the ground, and loved it. I’ve heard, however, that all good things must come to an end.
Over the past few weeks, I had been pondering the idea of telling Tom that I would like to fly the friendly skies with him. Not so much because I had a burning desire to watch the buildings below me reach smaller and smaller proportions, but rather because I knew it would mean a lot to Tom if I showed more interest in his interests. I’ve been reading several books on making marriages stronger, and wouldn’t you know it, they all say that couples should spend more time together pursuing common recreational activities. (No, not THAT activity, although that's not a bad idea, either!) Figuring I probably wouldn’t be successful at convincing him that sewing, baking, or yakking on the phone are all wonderful ways to enrich our lives together, I swallowed my fears and rode to the airport with Tom and Savannah recently. It didn’t take too long for that fear to be regurgitated several times over.
Tom has told me many times that he is very cautious when flying, and exerts extra effort in performing pre-flight inspection, etc. I do not doubt that one bit. I watched him go through his routine with precision, both outside and in the cabin. He made sure the doors were secured, seat belts were in position, and all the equipment was in proper working order. He started the engine. I swallowed. He finished checking the panel, and began taxiing out to the runway. I readjusted my shirt, blew out a deep breath, and swallowed. He radioed his activity. (I’m sure there’s a technical name for that!) He got the plane in position on the runway, and we were off.
Lamaze class was in full operation at this point! It’s difficult to deep breathe, pray, squeeze your eyes tight shut...and swallow...all at the same time. I seem to recall during Lamaze class that we were taught to have a Focal Point. I seem to recall that requires keeping the eyes open. I was actually thinking all these things as I felt the plane lift off. “Oh my gosh. Oh geez. Oh my gosh.” I stopped short, by a mere millimeter, of an actual plea for help. I was cognizant of Savannah’s presence in the back seat, and didn’t want to seem like a complete idiot to someone who was flying for the second time! She was doing well, and I wished to avoid transplanting any portion of my current anxiety issues to her malleable mind.
We had been airborne for about a minute when I opened my eyes for the first time. I thought it would help me realize the difference in flying and roller coasters, which I absolutely hate! That long climb up the rickety, clanking track, knowing the inevitable lift-your-backside-off-the-seat force is waiting for you, not to mention fearing your heart is literally going to explode out your ears on the down drop....I hate roller coasters. Looking down at the fields, I reassured myself we weren’t at Cedar Point, and I could DO this!
Opening my eyes encouraged panic, and closing my eyes encouraged dizziness...and possibly other problems I didn’t care to deal with. I really wasn’t interested in exiting this plane covered in a second helping of my lunch - it wasn’t my favorite the first time around. At some point, I ceased the deep breathing exercises, as they weren't tremendously helpful. Besides, the last time I used the practice, I at least got to cuddle with the fruit of my labor after the last "hee hee hee ha"...I resorted to the last technique for maintaining my dignity...
“I want to go back, now.”
Tom immediately obliged and began the descent. I’m fairly certain I didn’t make this statement forcefully, so it must have been my current skin tone (green face, white knuckles) that convinced him that my flying career needed to be put on hold. The landing was uneventful (and unseen by writer). 6 minutes of flight time can now be added to my “I Think I Can, I Thought I Could” list.
I tried to avoid telling this story to anyone while my kids were in earshot, but alas, my boys overheard Tom tell someone that we were only 300 feet in the air when I requested re-entry. Suffice to say, it's a good thing I don't embarrass easily! I also found out that the reason it seemed to take so long to land is that Tom had to climb another 500 feet to be able to get into the landing pattern. Had I known that, I might have just taken my chances with the secured door, and prayed for a trampoline to miraculously appear!
I have flown on jets many times, and other than an initial adrenaline rush during take-off, it’s always been a pleasant experience. I can’t explain this by saying I’m afraid to fly. I am afraid of heights to a degree, but this phobia isn’t incapacitating in any way. I simply avoid ladders and edges of tall buildings! I’ve been riding with Tom on the ground for 16 years without incident. I know he’s more conscientious about his flying habits than he is about driving, and neither situation has ever been called into question. The problem lies with me. It’s an opportunity to hire a Flight Therapist! However, a temporary solution to this problem will have to be implemented.
I suggest that Tom help me bake brownies.
Roger that!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Rules are Made to Be Broken
This has served me well for a couple of years now. Some people appreciate my sense of humor and ask for a copy of the list for their own use. Others aren't quite so amused. (ouch???...)
--------------------
To Family, Friends, Bill Collectors, Salesmen, and other nefarious do-gooders: (especially those of the salesmen category)
School has begun!! Woo Hoo!!
In the best interest of my sanity, and therefore everyone around me, I do hereby establish some ground rules for homeschooling efficiency:
1. If I don’t answer the phone, it’s probably because we are knee-deep in a complicated pre-algebra problem. Use the answering machine, please.
2. Don’t expect your call to be returned promptly, unless you’re legitimately screaming “9-1-1” - NOTE: If it’s legitimate, you shouldn’t be calling me anyway: Call the real “9-1-1”!!
3. Unless your name is Ed McMahon, (is he still alive?) please don’t just “drop by for a spot of tea”. It will be a detriment to our routine and extend our school day, which will not make for a happy evening at our home. Besides, I don’t drink tea.
4. If there is a “Do Not Disturb” billboard in our front yard, (or a small sign on our front door) please don’t take it too personally. I KNOW you need to show me your latest hair color, but chances are good that it won’t fade before we get through this darn grammar lesson, so hold your horses. Oh, the above-mentioned Bill Collectors CAN take the billboard personally - go away.
5. Kids play outside during the day. That does not mean our school day is over.
6. We are busy learning. This takes precedence over phone conversations, laundry, mopping the kitchen, doughnuts, and even Wal-mart! (Believe it or not!!!)
7. These rules are not written in stone, but it’s some pretty sturdy half-set cement that will take a lot of water to dissolve, so don’t expect much to change.
8. These rules apply to EVERYONE.
9. These rules apply Monday through Friday, 8 AM to 3 PM.
---See Tom with questions!
--------------------
To Family, Friends, Bill Collectors, Salesmen, and other nefarious do-gooders: (especially those of the salesmen category)
School has begun!! Woo Hoo!!
In the best interest of my sanity, and therefore everyone around me, I do hereby establish some ground rules for homeschooling efficiency:
1. If I don’t answer the phone, it’s probably because we are knee-deep in a complicated pre-algebra problem. Use the answering machine, please.
2. Don’t expect your call to be returned promptly, unless you’re legitimately screaming “9-1-1” - NOTE: If it’s legitimate, you shouldn’t be calling me anyway: Call the real “9-1-1”!!
3. Unless your name is Ed McMahon, (is he still alive?) please don’t just “drop by for a spot of tea”. It will be a detriment to our routine and extend our school day, which will not make for a happy evening at our home. Besides, I don’t drink tea.
4. If there is a “Do Not Disturb” billboard in our front yard, (or a small sign on our front door) please don’t take it too personally. I KNOW you need to show me your latest hair color, but chances are good that it won’t fade before we get through this darn grammar lesson, so hold your horses. Oh, the above-mentioned Bill Collectors CAN take the billboard personally - go away.
5. Kids play outside during the day. That does not mean our school day is over.
6. We are busy learning. This takes precedence over phone conversations, laundry, mopping the kitchen, doughnuts, and even Wal-mart! (Believe it or not!!!)
7. These rules are not written in stone, but it’s some pretty sturdy half-set cement that will take a lot of water to dissolve, so don’t expect much to change.
8. These rules apply to EVERYONE.
9. These rules apply Monday through Friday, 8 AM to 3 PM.
---See Tom with questions!
The Pepper Mill
Note to self:
1. When they say “wear gloves” if you’re messing with Hob-n-Arrow peppers, do it!
2. If you forget to follow this advice, prepare to spend the next 8 hours with your hands wrapped around ice cubes and dunked in freezing water.
3. Vow to always, always, always! refill the ice tray as soon as you empty it.
4. Plan to figure out a way to sleep comfortably with your hands in the water bowl (and remember to pray that the ol’ “dip a sleeping person’s fingers in water and see if the person wets the bed” trick is just a myth).
5. Forget the suggested methods of milk, vegetable oil, and vinegar baths for curing the burning sensation.
6. Imagine that your entire body was suffering from this burning sensation and once again thank God for sending his Son to save you from eternal damnation!
7. Blame the imagination mentioned in number 6 on the Rex Bullock and Wayne Friday revival services you were dragged to each fall, with said revival services always coinciding with the Hillsdale County fair
8. Remind your kids that you aren’t as strict as they think you are, because you actually let them go to their own local county fair, seeing as how you don’t think it’s a particularly sinful activity.
9. Toss into this conversation how you weren’t allowed to wear pants, cut your hair, wear jewelry (although you were permitted to accept a pretty gold watch from a boyfriend because it was “useful”), say the word “butt”, OR watch TV (except when you snuck over to your Granny’s friend, Opal’s, apartment to watch “Dynasty” with your sister, who would never tell because she idolized Linda Evans).
10. Leave out the part about how you liked Jackie Collins while wondering if Linda Evans is still married to Yani (or was it Kenny G?).
11. Laugh hysterically at the memory of you and your sister figuring out that you could LISTEN to Dynasty on the radio if you cranked it up really loud, while you WATCHED Dynasty from your dining room window through the neighbor’s living room window, and how mad you got if Mom had a Friday night off work.
12. Don’t explain to the kids why you’re laughing hysterically. They might doubt their current hopeful misconception that you’re actually sane, and will have nothing in later life to justify the expense of 4 therapists.
13. Avoid the whole process by saying “Thanks, but no thanks” if your niece, who eats green peppers like apples, offers you anything hotter than a warm day in January!
1. When they say “wear gloves” if you’re messing with Hob-n-Arrow peppers, do it!
2. If you forget to follow this advice, prepare to spend the next 8 hours with your hands wrapped around ice cubes and dunked in freezing water.
3. Vow to always, always, always! refill the ice tray as soon as you empty it.
4. Plan to figure out a way to sleep comfortably with your hands in the water bowl (and remember to pray that the ol’ “dip a sleeping person’s fingers in water and see if the person wets the bed” trick is just a myth).
5. Forget the suggested methods of milk, vegetable oil, and vinegar baths for curing the burning sensation.
6. Imagine that your entire body was suffering from this burning sensation and once again thank God for sending his Son to save you from eternal damnation!
7. Blame the imagination mentioned in number 6 on the Rex Bullock and Wayne Friday revival services you were dragged to each fall, with said revival services always coinciding with the Hillsdale County fair
8. Remind your kids that you aren’t as strict as they think you are, because you actually let them go to their own local county fair, seeing as how you don’t think it’s a particularly sinful activity.
9. Toss into this conversation how you weren’t allowed to wear pants, cut your hair, wear jewelry (although you were permitted to accept a pretty gold watch from a boyfriend because it was “useful”), say the word “butt”, OR watch TV (except when you snuck over to your Granny’s friend, Opal’s, apartment to watch “Dynasty” with your sister, who would never tell because she idolized Linda Evans).
10. Leave out the part about how you liked Jackie Collins while wondering if Linda Evans is still married to Yani (or was it Kenny G?).
11. Laugh hysterically at the memory of you and your sister figuring out that you could LISTEN to Dynasty on the radio if you cranked it up really loud, while you WATCHED Dynasty from your dining room window through the neighbor’s living room window, and how mad you got if Mom had a Friday night off work.
12. Don’t explain to the kids why you’re laughing hysterically. They might doubt their current hopeful misconception that you’re actually sane, and will have nothing in later life to justify the expense of 4 therapists.
13. Avoid the whole process by saying “Thanks, but no thanks” if your niece, who eats green peppers like apples, offers you anything hotter than a warm day in January!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Botulism, Anyone?
This week, I accomplished something I have planned to do for years - I actually SUCCESSFULLY canned something! Well, I use "successfully" with the term "right to recall the witness" attached, since the true test of success will be some months down the road, after we have popped the seal, partaken of the jar's contents...and remained alive.
When I was little, Mom canned with a pressure cooker. "You kids stay out of here, this thing could blow up!" I think everyone I've ever mentioned that to nodded their heads in agreement. And we kids get yelled at for running with scissors?? At least if we fall, it's only ourselves we hurt - we don't demolish an entire neighborhood block in the name of storing food for winter - harumph!
Anyway, I now have several jars of salsa and tomatoes for chili sitting on my stove, waiting to find a home on a shelf somewhere. Aren't you supposed to put these things in a root cellar, or something? I'd store them in my basement, but I have bats down there. (Some people have bats in their belfry, but I find they work much better if I keep them where I can see them.)
I'm going to cross something off my Life's Goal checklist - red pen, please.
When I was little, Mom canned with a pressure cooker. "You kids stay out of here, this thing could blow up!" I think everyone I've ever mentioned that to nodded their heads in agreement. And we kids get yelled at for running with scissors?? At least if we fall, it's only ourselves we hurt - we don't demolish an entire neighborhood block in the name of storing food for winter - harumph!
Anyway, I now have several jars of salsa and tomatoes for chili sitting on my stove, waiting to find a home on a shelf somewhere. Aren't you supposed to put these things in a root cellar, or something? I'd store them in my basement, but I have bats down there. (Some people have bats in their belfry, but I find they work much better if I keep them where I can see them.)
I'm going to cross something off my Life's Goal checklist - red pen, please.
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