Finding out that hubby got to go to work today was a bit of a blow.
I had a significant 'honey do' list I was prepared to whip into action when I knew he had an off day to do all that highwire work that I shun when home alone because I am a total weenie when it comes to ladders.
I can go off the side of a cliff clinging to a small rope but I hate ladders. Go figure.
So, rather than cracking the whip today, I am going to Plan B.
Since my broom has gone AWOL, seriously, it is missing and I have the feeling it is taking an unscheduled ride in the back of hubby's pickup, I am left to improvise on floor maintenance. Did you know that the vaccuum isn't just for carpet. That little gem sucks up the pet hair and cobwebs and strange bits of clutter that gather in my house like this is some sort of primordial mating ground for messes.
Employing its noisy self to do what is generally a thankless task, I get the floors ready to mop.
Let's not kid ourselves here. Whomever thought about women and their special needs so much as to invent a mop that you can THROW AWAY when you are done with the floors should be canonized, knighted, given the Nobel Peace Prize and elected to some high office of Homeland Cleaning.
The very idea of putting a nasty string mop into a bucket to 'rinse' before trying it out again in a dubious 'cleaning' of the floor is just . . . well. . . NASTY. They always seem to smell faintly musty or have that soured smell that reminds me of an old ladies' house who has been on her own a week or two too long.
And the sponge mops on a tiled floor leave little wet giblets of themselves behind in a secret molting process that defies complete removal. I have found tiny blue sponge pieces stuffed into the uneven seams of the floor MONTHS later. Zero fun. Especially when this discovery occurs either when I am trying to have a nice dinner party or when my MIL is visiting and must honestly believe I never clean my home between their once a decade visits.
To be fair, I do like having a clean home. I am just not fanatical about it. My fantasy is to win free maid service forever. Hey! You have your dreams . . . I have mine!
I finished "Swiffering" my floors and they are lovely. For now.
Any woman who is so deluded as to believe that the work she does in her home will be a permanent change needs a vacation - and fast.
But the fact that I can do the wash and leave a row of crisply hot shirts for the next week of work for hubby, or that the dishes are done and acutally put away instead of resting calmly in the dish drainer for the next meal makes me feel like I have done something of value.
It actually doesn't really bother me that it will need doing all over again. It isn't a bad thing to be needed. There is something almost comforting in knowing that the socks and undies swirling in the hot dryer are for MY family and that they will be able to function because we have a reasonably clean and orderly home with clean clothes in the closets and drawers.
I must confess that there is still the secret wish that it would be done by fairy elves on the days I am booked from dawn to dusk with outside activities and appointments.
It reminds me of the story I heard of the woman who had come home from a full day and was seeing herself coming and going as she went through the house to clean it. Her husband, who sat reading the paper, remarked, "Why are you doing all of this stuff? Isn't tomorrow the day the maid comes?"
To which the woman replies "Yes! But I can't have her come here and see this mess!"
Well, the dryer called and needs attention on the clothes that I will have to iron if I don't get them out right now. And speed is of the essence. The shirt that isn't removed from the dryer and put on the hanger right this moment will otherwise require ironing . . .
April 5, 2008
April 4, 2008
The Catwalk
While I can claim with reliable photographic evidence in abundance that I once was smaller than a bread truck, I have never fit the ideal of a catwalk model.
And frankly, I cannot imagine what the attraction could possibly be for a skeletally thin, bony and angular woman.
Then, add to that visual the disturbingly uncomfortable 'sexy underwear' that is alleged to be some sort of catnip to the male of the species and you have a truly strange vision.
Though I am not a prude, I also am not a regular subscriber to the Victoria's Secret mailers.
They just don't sell things in 'bread truck with extra bumpers' sizes and if they did, I am quite certain that diaphanous and flowing would be replaced with dumpy and fluffy. Most certainly not the spark a romantic flame might need for ignition. I am thinking more on the lines of total darkness here.
Just who decided what body type is 'THE ONE' for everyone?
Who got the authority to be able to grant women a pass if they shop in the toddler aisle and a fail if their hips are bigger than a breadbox.
Oddly enough, when it comes to breast size, the same people who fail the gals with ample hips are the same dolts who decide that a women who must employ flying buttresses to support cleavage that was enhanced by something from Dow Chemical is some sort of goddess due their full attention. It's a definite pass to the head of the class if you have a bra size that figures more in the hardware department rather than in fabrics.
Having studied my fair share of psychology and human sexuality during my college days both in and out of the classroom. Nothing like college students to provide the 'laboratory portion' of the classroom experience on a night at the drive in - I dang near dropped my root beer when I saw it.
I have decided that we need to be more realistic in what is expected of a WOMAN. Since God didn't see fit to use some sort of casting process to vet which one body type was all that he would allow on this Earth, I'm figuring that somewhere in the great beyond is the angel of the zaftig who has so many glorious gifts that size is never even thought of much less mentioned.
Since we in our relative physical imperfections as we see them are all God's children, how can the body he gave us be a mistake?
Everyone wasn't meant to be able to walk the catwalk or be catlike in grace and movement. Some of us were meant to be something entirely different.
All we need to do is become more like our Father and realize that different doesn't mean wrong when it comes to our shapes and sizes. Sometimes, we are too hard on what we see in the mirror without any thought at all as to what beats inside the heart of that woman who, for whatever reason, doesn't fit any mold or type.
God must have liked wondrous variety indeed just as the line from the movie Robin Hood suggested. If it were not so, there would have been only one kind of man for one kind of woman. That being the case, the rest of us could have just sat on the edge of a cloud, used our Cliff Notes and waited for the exams to pass our Earthly knowledge portion of life.
Here's hoping that one day the catwalk will be filled with women and men who are not models in magazines but models in their everyday conduct of how to fulfil the measure of their creation as our brothers and sisters and family of God.
And frankly, I cannot imagine what the attraction could possibly be for a skeletally thin, bony and angular woman.
Then, add to that visual the disturbingly uncomfortable 'sexy underwear' that is alleged to be some sort of catnip to the male of the species and you have a truly strange vision.
Though I am not a prude, I also am not a regular subscriber to the Victoria's Secret mailers.
They just don't sell things in 'bread truck with extra bumpers' sizes and if they did, I am quite certain that diaphanous and flowing would be replaced with dumpy and fluffy. Most certainly not the spark a romantic flame might need for ignition. I am thinking more on the lines of total darkness here.
Just who decided what body type is 'THE ONE' for everyone?
Who got the authority to be able to grant women a pass if they shop in the toddler aisle and a fail if their hips are bigger than a breadbox.
Oddly enough, when it comes to breast size, the same people who fail the gals with ample hips are the same dolts who decide that a women who must employ flying buttresses to support cleavage that was enhanced by something from Dow Chemical is some sort of goddess due their full attention. It's a definite pass to the head of the class if you have a bra size that figures more in the hardware department rather than in fabrics.
Having studied my fair share of psychology and human sexuality during my college days both in and out of the classroom. Nothing like college students to provide the 'laboratory portion' of the classroom experience on a night at the drive in - I dang near dropped my root beer when I saw it.
I have decided that we need to be more realistic in what is expected of a WOMAN. Since God didn't see fit to use some sort of casting process to vet which one body type was all that he would allow on this Earth, I'm figuring that somewhere in the great beyond is the angel of the zaftig who has so many glorious gifts that size is never even thought of much less mentioned.
Since we in our relative physical imperfections as we see them are all God's children, how can the body he gave us be a mistake?
Everyone wasn't meant to be able to walk the catwalk or be catlike in grace and movement. Some of us were meant to be something entirely different.
All we need to do is become more like our Father and realize that different doesn't mean wrong when it comes to our shapes and sizes. Sometimes, we are too hard on what we see in the mirror without any thought at all as to what beats inside the heart of that woman who, for whatever reason, doesn't fit any mold or type.
God must have liked wondrous variety indeed just as the line from the movie Robin Hood suggested. If it were not so, there would have been only one kind of man for one kind of woman. That being the case, the rest of us could have just sat on the edge of a cloud, used our Cliff Notes and waited for the exams to pass our Earthly knowledge portion of life.
Here's hoping that one day the catwalk will be filled with women and men who are not models in magazines but models in their everyday conduct of how to fulfil the measure of their creation as our brothers and sisters and family of God.
April 3, 2008
Memory Lane
Sitting here late in the evening, I am listening to a veritable catalogue of the musical sins of my past. Country, jazz, pop, disco, samba, rock & roll, classical, church music and some really jammin' stuff from bygone days.
I have eclectic tastes. So sue me.
Although I am no longer 29, I still like the music that made me happy then. And the 18 year old who is desperately trying to work her way out of the old woman who has trapped her inside can't get enough of Steely Dan.
Between my sordid affliction centered around various country music that defines portions of my psyche and the hard driving guitar rock that I love to jack the speakers to the max for that concert experience, there is a plethora of other music that fills in the gaps between my moments of sanity and madness.
Like an oasis in the desert, I have some classical music that provides the soul watering and refreshing strains of inspired hands that penned the notes which calm and soothe on days that are less than wonderful. On long nights when I cannot find rest and sleep has fled as a thief in the night, I turn on the selections that are my guarantee to peace, if not always to rest.
On days that the wild inside wants to reach out, I love the hard edged music of the rock and roll selections in my collection. I'd like to say I can stop anytime. But that is like eating only one potato chip and sanguinely placing the bag away 'for another day'. Lacking both the belief that someone has that kind of willpower and absolutely knowing that I don't possess that sort of restraint, I turn the sound up as loudly as circumstances allow and grab the secret drumsticks that I have hidden all over my desk. I have several pair that are used - all dependent upon mood and music.
Old and flabby I may be, but a really kicking drum part to play along with can be as much of a workout as my weights. And sweat flies while I find the groove that I once played about a million years ago.
Now, I can't remember the complex sticking nor the patterns of the rhythms on the cymbals and bass drum that required the independent thought of hands and feet separate from each other in a harmony of music provided by one person.
When I am old, dotty and in a wrapper somewhere at the Pleasant Gardens of Senility Nursing Home, I hope someone will make sure my iPod stays charged up with my music stuffed on it to keep me going.
By then, they may have some sort of beaming technology that provides a virtual jukebox for me to enjoy. Who knows?
My dear husband got me a turntable for Christmas and not only can I play the pile of records I have in a big box, but I can make them into mp3 files and jettison the original records to fans of the DeFranco Family on Ebay.
The only question I have is how much should I charge for the gems of musical miscreant behavior in my collection? Everything from the Doobies to Olivia Newton-John, the Mo Tab to the Eagles and stuff I just won't put out for public consumption.
"Suddenly I See" by kt tunstall is currently playing. Good song. I like the feel of the song. It just makes me happy.
Maybe that is why my music collection is so odd. It's just the music I like from my past that reminds me of sunny days on the back of a Harley touring the backroads or the lazy afternoons that I was spending with someone special. There's the inevitable breakup music that reminds me just why I ended things with one particular guy that I still get worked up when I hear it. better than 25 years later and I could still slap the ever loving snot out of him if I saw him.
There is the music that was played at our wedding reception when my husband and I stood in the receiving line doing the typical meet and greet wanting nothing so much more than to just cut and run. Hee hee! That would have been SO cool to do, but the sense of propriety kept us there shaking hands, hugging and kissing people for hours. But the music was good.
Got some David Sanborn, which hubby says is 'makeout music', on the docket for later on.
So much of my life is defined by the music that was in the background when something happened that was memorable or significant in some way.
To this good day I hate one particular song because it was playing on the radio when my cat was hit by the neighbor's car. And all these many years later, when I hear that song, I am 11 years old and mourning my cat all over again.
Then, there are others that take me to times that I was studying for finals and the music floated out of the speakers lulling me away for a break so that I could come back refreshed and ready to remember just what function the spleen actually has.
I think it was the cartoon "The Emporer's New Groove" where one of the characters is going along humming their own theme music. I just loved that idea!! Maybe other people do too, and that is why we like our little personalized theme music playing on our iPods or other devices to carry us through the moments of our lives.
The one thing I truly feel sorry for deaf people to miss is the good music out there in the world. While there are conversations and loving words that are great to hear, they seem to be eclipsed by the music that accompanies our daily life. I may well be wrong about that idea, but it works for me because I can't always remember what people tell me.
I may be ready for that room at the nursing home sooner than I'd like to think. All I know is that I want to have my theme music with me. It won't change my circumstances, but it will change my mood.
That's the attraction right there. The music makes the moods.
I have eclectic tastes. So sue me.
Although I am no longer 29, I still like the music that made me happy then. And the 18 year old who is desperately trying to work her way out of the old woman who has trapped her inside can't get enough of Steely Dan.
Between my sordid affliction centered around various country music that defines portions of my psyche and the hard driving guitar rock that I love to jack the speakers to the max for that concert experience, there is a plethora of other music that fills in the gaps between my moments of sanity and madness.
Like an oasis in the desert, I have some classical music that provides the soul watering and refreshing strains of inspired hands that penned the notes which calm and soothe on days that are less than wonderful. On long nights when I cannot find rest and sleep has fled as a thief in the night, I turn on the selections that are my guarantee to peace, if not always to rest.
On days that the wild inside wants to reach out, I love the hard edged music of the rock and roll selections in my collection. I'd like to say I can stop anytime. But that is like eating only one potato chip and sanguinely placing the bag away 'for another day'. Lacking both the belief that someone has that kind of willpower and absolutely knowing that I don't possess that sort of restraint, I turn the sound up as loudly as circumstances allow and grab the secret drumsticks that I have hidden all over my desk. I have several pair that are used - all dependent upon mood and music.
Old and flabby I may be, but a really kicking drum part to play along with can be as much of a workout as my weights. And sweat flies while I find the groove that I once played about a million years ago.
Now, I can't remember the complex sticking nor the patterns of the rhythms on the cymbals and bass drum that required the independent thought of hands and feet separate from each other in a harmony of music provided by one person.
When I am old, dotty and in a wrapper somewhere at the Pleasant Gardens of Senility Nursing Home, I hope someone will make sure my iPod stays charged up with my music stuffed on it to keep me going.
By then, they may have some sort of beaming technology that provides a virtual jukebox for me to enjoy. Who knows?
My dear husband got me a turntable for Christmas and not only can I play the pile of records I have in a big box, but I can make them into mp3 files and jettison the original records to fans of the DeFranco Family on Ebay.
The only question I have is how much should I charge for the gems of musical miscreant behavior in my collection? Everything from the Doobies to Olivia Newton-John, the Mo Tab to the Eagles and stuff I just won't put out for public consumption.
"Suddenly I See" by kt tunstall is currently playing. Good song. I like the feel of the song. It just makes me happy.
Maybe that is why my music collection is so odd. It's just the music I like from my past that reminds me of sunny days on the back of a Harley touring the backroads or the lazy afternoons that I was spending with someone special. There's the inevitable breakup music that reminds me just why I ended things with one particular guy that I still get worked up when I hear it. better than 25 years later and I could still slap the ever loving snot out of him if I saw him.
There is the music that was played at our wedding reception when my husband and I stood in the receiving line doing the typical meet and greet wanting nothing so much more than to just cut and run. Hee hee! That would have been SO cool to do, but the sense of propriety kept us there shaking hands, hugging and kissing people for hours. But the music was good.
Got some David Sanborn, which hubby says is 'makeout music', on the docket for later on.
So much of my life is defined by the music that was in the background when something happened that was memorable or significant in some way.
To this good day I hate one particular song because it was playing on the radio when my cat was hit by the neighbor's car. And all these many years later, when I hear that song, I am 11 years old and mourning my cat all over again.
Then, there are others that take me to times that I was studying for finals and the music floated out of the speakers lulling me away for a break so that I could come back refreshed and ready to remember just what function the spleen actually has.
I think it was the cartoon "The Emporer's New Groove" where one of the characters is going along humming their own theme music. I just loved that idea!! Maybe other people do too, and that is why we like our little personalized theme music playing on our iPods or other devices to carry us through the moments of our lives.
The one thing I truly feel sorry for deaf people to miss is the good music out there in the world. While there are conversations and loving words that are great to hear, they seem to be eclipsed by the music that accompanies our daily life. I may well be wrong about that idea, but it works for me because I can't always remember what people tell me.
I may be ready for that room at the nursing home sooner than I'd like to think. All I know is that I want to have my theme music with me. It won't change my circumstances, but it will change my mood.
That's the attraction right there. The music makes the moods.
March 30, 2008
Heroes
After watching the movie "October Skies" for about the umpteenth time tonight, I noticed something that really struck me differently than ever before.
Homer's Dad was giving him a hard time about meeting Dr. Von Braun and not knowing that he had met his hero. It was then that Homer told his Dad that while they didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things, that he did want to be the kind of man his father was and that Dr. Von Braun was not his hero.
It took a while as he was walking away for his father to realize just what Homer had said.
How often do the people who really stand heroic in our eyes truly come to know just what an impact they have had in your day to day existence?
Were it not for so many people who have influenced the course and direction of my life in very specific ways at certain points in my life, I would be a very different person than I am now.
Without the gentle push from family, friends, and sometimes, from total strangers, whom would I have become?
Just as Homer's father didn't realize the impact that he had on his son all through his life, most of our heroes never get the honor and privilege of knowing just how much they have shaped us and molded our life into something which we, and hopefully they, could be proud.
It isn't often in our lives that we have our "Academy Award Speech" where we can truly thank those who make up the difference between what we start out as and the final and hopefully polished product. While all of the names aren't always known, the actions that change our course and move us to be more than just the sum of our parts deserves at least a passing thanks and recognition.
It is to those who help us guide our lives away from danger and toward something safer or help us achieve success in a subject that had been our nemesis, or to impel us to seek for a needed change that was so frightening to us that without their guiding hand we would have simply given up that we owe our debt of gratitude.
It goes without saying all too often that we are thankful for the help we have received, but that we forget to utter the words. Not only to mankind do we owe thanks, but to our God who granted us the opportunity that we have to make from our life something better than just a pile of clay.
How often I fall short in my reminder that the ultimate in hero worship is not to a mortal construct or ideal but to a Heavenly template that brings divinity and dignity to the process of emulation.
Without that key ingredient, we cannot ever be more than just a good person. What we lack in our lives is the spark of divine that turns us from hero seekers to willing participants in worshipping Him whose right it is to receive our worship, our love and our full devotion.
While God the Father and Jesus Christ will not cease to exist if we refuse to perform our duty toward them, we will. Of this I am firmly convinced. Anything we do in this mortal circumstance is amplified by our relationship and our reverence for God. Without that reverence, we are merely a hollow form which bears only a shallow and fragile use.
But add that worship of the true Heroes of our lives, God the Father and Jesus Christ, and that worship takes on all new meaning. These are heroes that DO NOT falter. They will never disappoint nor will they ever forget us because of ego and fame. Those are characteristics that they simply do not possess. For they transcend the mortal and are divine in character, purpose and intent. They don't have a hidden agenda nor do they place unreasonable demands upon us for the opportunity to be blessed by their favor.
I remember reading in the Bible where it speaks of the Lord having us engraven upon his hands and before Him always.
Of course.
On the very hands and feet and side of my Hero are the marks of love he bears for filling that sacred role as the one who is truly Mighty to save. He won't ever let me down. He won't ever forget me, even when there are times that I have forgotten Him. And He will reach out to me to remind me tenderly that He is calling to me to come back to His fold when I have lost my way.
While we need a mark in mortality to begin our quest for being better than ourselves, there comes a point at which we must surely realize that mortality isn't our goal and that we must aim higher for not only our goals but for our Hero.
I am thankful that there is more than just the self-absorbed preening of a mortal hero who all too soon forgets who it was that helped him fill the role of hero to start the ball rolling. I am thankful that my Hero is more than just a mere idol of the moment and instead is someone who knows no bounds in his kindness and love.
Without the love that is freely offered to us from Our Father and Jesus Christ, we would have a pretty sad circumstance. I am thankful that the One to whom all reverence belongs is more than just a momentary hero.
Our Father and His Son are heroic through all time and eternity.
Homer's Dad was giving him a hard time about meeting Dr. Von Braun and not knowing that he had met his hero. It was then that Homer told his Dad that while they didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things, that he did want to be the kind of man his father was and that Dr. Von Braun was not his hero.
It took a while as he was walking away for his father to realize just what Homer had said.
How often do the people who really stand heroic in our eyes truly come to know just what an impact they have had in your day to day existence?
Were it not for so many people who have influenced the course and direction of my life in very specific ways at certain points in my life, I would be a very different person than I am now.
Without the gentle push from family, friends, and sometimes, from total strangers, whom would I have become?
Just as Homer's father didn't realize the impact that he had on his son all through his life, most of our heroes never get the honor and privilege of knowing just how much they have shaped us and molded our life into something which we, and hopefully they, could be proud.
It isn't often in our lives that we have our "Academy Award Speech" where we can truly thank those who make up the difference between what we start out as and the final and hopefully polished product. While all of the names aren't always known, the actions that change our course and move us to be more than just the sum of our parts deserves at least a passing thanks and recognition.
It is to those who help us guide our lives away from danger and toward something safer or help us achieve success in a subject that had been our nemesis, or to impel us to seek for a needed change that was so frightening to us that without their guiding hand we would have simply given up that we owe our debt of gratitude.
It goes without saying all too often that we are thankful for the help we have received, but that we forget to utter the words. Not only to mankind do we owe thanks, but to our God who granted us the opportunity that we have to make from our life something better than just a pile of clay.
How often I fall short in my reminder that the ultimate in hero worship is not to a mortal construct or ideal but to a Heavenly template that brings divinity and dignity to the process of emulation.
Without that key ingredient, we cannot ever be more than just a good person. What we lack in our lives is the spark of divine that turns us from hero seekers to willing participants in worshipping Him whose right it is to receive our worship, our love and our full devotion.
While God the Father and Jesus Christ will not cease to exist if we refuse to perform our duty toward them, we will. Of this I am firmly convinced. Anything we do in this mortal circumstance is amplified by our relationship and our reverence for God. Without that reverence, we are merely a hollow form which bears only a shallow and fragile use.
But add that worship of the true Heroes of our lives, God the Father and Jesus Christ, and that worship takes on all new meaning. These are heroes that DO NOT falter. They will never disappoint nor will they ever forget us because of ego and fame. Those are characteristics that they simply do not possess. For they transcend the mortal and are divine in character, purpose and intent. They don't have a hidden agenda nor do they place unreasonable demands upon us for the opportunity to be blessed by their favor.
I remember reading in the Bible where it speaks of the Lord having us engraven upon his hands and before Him always.
Of course.
On the very hands and feet and side of my Hero are the marks of love he bears for filling that sacred role as the one who is truly Mighty to save. He won't ever let me down. He won't ever forget me, even when there are times that I have forgotten Him. And He will reach out to me to remind me tenderly that He is calling to me to come back to His fold when I have lost my way.
While we need a mark in mortality to begin our quest for being better than ourselves, there comes a point at which we must surely realize that mortality isn't our goal and that we must aim higher for not only our goals but for our Hero.
I am thankful that there is more than just the self-absorbed preening of a mortal hero who all too soon forgets who it was that helped him fill the role of hero to start the ball rolling. I am thankful that my Hero is more than just a mere idol of the moment and instead is someone who knows no bounds in his kindness and love.
Without the love that is freely offered to us from Our Father and Jesus Christ, we would have a pretty sad circumstance. I am thankful that the One to whom all reverence belongs is more than just a momentary hero.
Our Father and His Son are heroic through all time and eternity.
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