Spring has finally decided to make a legitimate appearance and with it comes a plethora of fauna that was holding back due to the cold and rainy weather.
Bees of every conceivable variety are attempting to set up housekeeping on our property, and based on past encounters with these lovely creations of God, I am not amused.
Like my sister is fond of saying, "Who's idea was it to load up the ark and invite flies, lice and pests aboard?" I can alter that sentiment with one of my own: "Just who's idea was it to load up yellow jackets, hornets, wasps and borer bees onto my personal 'ark'"?
While standing in the laundry room (why this particular room is the magnet for stinging insects is beyond me...), I heard an uncomfortably familiar sound buzzing nearby. Trying hard to keep my control, I called out to Thomas who had come in from his college class just a bit earlier.
"Bring in the swatter thingy and come get rid of this wasp!!!!"
Leisurely hardly describes the lack of haste. Glacial would be more like it.
He came into the room and after a couple of experimental waves chased it into the LIVING ROOM. Not cool!
Expressing my fear that the nasty little critter would simply avail himself of the privilege of using the phone to invite other unwanted guests into this larger space, I asked Thomas to stop yanking around and just smack the snot out of the critter.
By this point, my adrenalin level was high enough to have made an epi-pen unwarranted.
"But Mom, I'm not even sure this IS a wasp..."
My shrewd rejoinder: "I DON'T CARE WHAT THE HECK IT IS, BOY, KILL IT!!!!!"
This is a mercy killing for sure and for certain, because if it doesn't get killed, mercy will be begged by the recalcitrant bearer of the swatter-thingy who refused and was derelict in his duty to save me without laughing at my distress.
I'm sure he didn't mean to laugh... but he did.
All of this spring has sprung stuff is wonderful and it's already wearing thin. If the idea of enjoying nature means that I have to also endure the presence of stinging insects that view me as a moveable feast, I'm thinking that being a hermit is looking better and better with every passing moment.
I guess the frustration of this entire Shakespearian tragedy is not so much the possibility of my demise. I'm reasonably sure they CAN get along without me. Rather, the frustration comes in the absolute certainty that what I believe deep within every molecule of my being to be important RIGHT NOW just doesn't register as even a fractional blip on the radar of the average man in my household.
Their understanding of NOW comes nowhere near my timetable of action for same.
Now to the average male in my household means:
1. When I have reached the next level on the game I'm playing
2. When I have indexed and added this most recent dead person who needs temple work
3. When the show goes to commercial unless the commercials are really good or maybe even better than the show I was not watching until you called me
4. When I know by the tone in your voice that not only will you do it instead of waiting any longer, but you will remind me of it for all eternity even if we don't end up in the same kingdom
Just to be fair, I'm quite sure I'm in the non-responsive category on a lot of their own personal checklists of 'ways I have failed to improve their lives'. But dang it, when my life is threatened by some buzzing stinging thing, I don't care if the show or the game is in the last crucial seconds of play, my life ought to count just a bit more than that cute commercial for bathroom tissue with the talking bears.
I love nature.
I just wish nature loved me back and respected my need for some of them to love me at a distance without the 'you'd taste good with gravy' look in their beady little eyes.
May 4, 2010
April 29, 2010
In My Wildest Dreams
Having an imagination combined with the sleep that comes when you are truly exhausted produces some strange dreams.
Last night, I was a world traveler in my dreams, yet each time it was Sunday, I was seated in church in my home ward, yet oddly surrounded by not only the local ward members, but the people from wherever I had been traveling.
I try not to over analyze these oddities in my dreams, but sometimes, I do wonder about it a bit...
Rick said it was all possible through beaming technology, which would sort of be cool to have.
I was also holding somebody's baby and giving it a bottle of formula. Adding to the visual display of odd and truly random thoughts in my dreamscape, my best friend from college years was sitting beside me in church as I was taking care of this very cute, fuzzy-headed baby.
The dreams I have often involve travel, feats of skill which I lack the simple animal cunning to duplicate and bravery beyond the norm. I don't know why I dream these things and Freudian analysis is too expensive and would probably ruin my dreams anyway.
Some of my favorite dreams are the episodic ones that seem to pick up where they left off the night before. I guess they are my personal version of "must see TV" to make up for the abyssmal lack of decent programming on television.
There are times where I wake up at a crucial, but cliff-hanging moment only to pick right up the next night as if the waking hours were simply an extremely long commercial break. Which sort of makes sense, since I had to get up to go to the bathroom anyway, the break made perfect sense and was rewarded by coming back into the "program" right where I had left off.
Then, there are the nights that I am plagued by horrible dreams that no one should ever see or experience. I deem these nights the horror shows of my mind and try to flush their ill effects from my memory as quickly as possible. I haven't ever liked scary movies, and to have a reel of horror show images in my head is often more than my sleep-deprived body can bear.
While reading the comics section of the newspaper years ago, I came across a comic that was talking about dreams. I believe it was from "They'll Do It Every Time". The woman was prancing about in the first frame in a beautiful meadow dream. The caption read... "have a beautiful dream you wish you could repeat, and it is gone forever". The second frame showed the same woman sweaty, frazzled and horrified as a dream filled with skulls and horrible images was pictured. The caption to this side read, "But have a nightmare, and it last forever!" The woman was pictured as saying "Oh, no, not again!"
That is precisely my point. Although I do sometimes get the beautiful repeating dreams, I also often experience the dreams that are horrifying yet repeat as if they want to ensure that I will lose even more of my well earned beauty rest.
Thankfully, it seems those nights of bad dreams aren't too frequently. And when they do come, I know what to do to combat them.
At any rate, I would like to enjoy some of the places my soul apparently vacations when not encumbered by my body. And I know it would be great because on Sunday, I could still attend church with family and friends in my home ward while I am still in church with the natives from whatever locale I am popping in on during my dreams.
God bless and sweet dreams to you later on tonight!
Last night, I was a world traveler in my dreams, yet each time it was Sunday, I was seated in church in my home ward, yet oddly surrounded by not only the local ward members, but the people from wherever I had been traveling.
I try not to over analyze these oddities in my dreams, but sometimes, I do wonder about it a bit...
Rick said it was all possible through beaming technology, which would sort of be cool to have.
I was also holding somebody's baby and giving it a bottle of formula. Adding to the visual display of odd and truly random thoughts in my dreamscape, my best friend from college years was sitting beside me in church as I was taking care of this very cute, fuzzy-headed baby.
The dreams I have often involve travel, feats of skill which I lack the simple animal cunning to duplicate and bravery beyond the norm. I don't know why I dream these things and Freudian analysis is too expensive and would probably ruin my dreams anyway.
Some of my favorite dreams are the episodic ones that seem to pick up where they left off the night before. I guess they are my personal version of "must see TV" to make up for the abyssmal lack of decent programming on television.
There are times where I wake up at a crucial, but cliff-hanging moment only to pick right up the next night as if the waking hours were simply an extremely long commercial break. Which sort of makes sense, since I had to get up to go to the bathroom anyway, the break made perfect sense and was rewarded by coming back into the "program" right where I had left off.
Then, there are the nights that I am plagued by horrible dreams that no one should ever see or experience. I deem these nights the horror shows of my mind and try to flush their ill effects from my memory as quickly as possible. I haven't ever liked scary movies, and to have a reel of horror show images in my head is often more than my sleep-deprived body can bear.
While reading the comics section of the newspaper years ago, I came across a comic that was talking about dreams. I believe it was from "They'll Do It Every Time". The woman was prancing about in the first frame in a beautiful meadow dream. The caption read... "have a beautiful dream you wish you could repeat, and it is gone forever". The second frame showed the same woman sweaty, frazzled and horrified as a dream filled with skulls and horrible images was pictured. The caption to this side read, "But have a nightmare, and it last forever!" The woman was pictured as saying "Oh, no, not again!"
That is precisely my point. Although I do sometimes get the beautiful repeating dreams, I also often experience the dreams that are horrifying yet repeat as if they want to ensure that I will lose even more of my well earned beauty rest.
Thankfully, it seems those nights of bad dreams aren't too frequently. And when they do come, I know what to do to combat them.
At any rate, I would like to enjoy some of the places my soul apparently vacations when not encumbered by my body. And I know it would be great because on Sunday, I could still attend church with family and friends in my home ward while I am still in church with the natives from whatever locale I am popping in on during my dreams.
God bless and sweet dreams to you later on tonight!
April 23, 2010
Official Weather Watchers
We are now in the throes of waiting for weather in the Tennessee Valley. The news says we could be in for a wild night. Possible tornadoes, possible hailstones, possible straight line winds, possible, possible, possible...
We all HOPE it just stays "possible". Weather can go from mild to Bible-thumping apocalyptical fury in a moments notice here in Alabama, and if often does. A mild and breezy spring day can shed its veneer of civility to bare a brazen spectral vision of horror. I recall a couple of years ago, there was a man on television talking about the aftermath of what the local idiot weatherman was calling 'a little straight line wind'. The roof of his new storage building was about half a mile down the road in crumpled heaps looking so much like little wads of tinfoil.
The official weather watchers from the local sheriff's office and various Emergency Management personnel were keeping the information flowing through all appropriate channels, but I had to wonder what wise words the local fellow with the ruined storage building would have offered to the weather watchers and the arrogant meteorologist.
I also wondered if any of them showed up to help him with his building. I think I know that answer is a big, old whopping "NO".
Back years ago, I remember listening on my walkie-talkies to the primitive weather watchers who kept saying pretty redneck sounding things. I hate to say it, but we have a really bad history during tornadoes of speaking of the rushing winds as 'the sound of a roaring freight train'. Diction and elocution didn't run too strong in the spotters and it came out sounding more like "Wooeee! That tornadee come down on them trailers at the Dixie Trailers like a freight train 'cross that ol' tressle up by E'kmont! Durned near took the double pipes off'n the Peterbilt!"
But then again, in the stead of those who are reporting with deadpan faces and non-dialectcally distinctive voices, I think I like the sound of people who are local. The current crop of Columbia Broadcasting graduates sound a little too homogenized.
Now, we are given 'official reports' through the long hours of the crisis - either real or manufactured. These are people who are educated and trained to say things like "anvil shaped cloud' and 'tornadic velocity' all with nary the slightest trace of their raisings near Anderson.
That is kind of sad.
Sure, we are able to hunker down in the hall bathroom and crowd around our battery powered radio and watch a DVD on the laptop, but it just isn't the same as riding out the tornado listening to the dulcet tones of Bobby Lee telling us all about the coming danger.
I hope we are all safe tonight.
We all HOPE it just stays "possible". Weather can go from mild to Bible-thumping apocalyptical fury in a moments notice here in Alabama, and if often does. A mild and breezy spring day can shed its veneer of civility to bare a brazen spectral vision of horror. I recall a couple of years ago, there was a man on television talking about the aftermath of what the local idiot weatherman was calling 'a little straight line wind'. The roof of his new storage building was about half a mile down the road in crumpled heaps looking so much like little wads of tinfoil.
The official weather watchers from the local sheriff's office and various Emergency Management personnel were keeping the information flowing through all appropriate channels, but I had to wonder what wise words the local fellow with the ruined storage building would have offered to the weather watchers and the arrogant meteorologist.
I also wondered if any of them showed up to help him with his building. I think I know that answer is a big, old whopping "NO".
Back years ago, I remember listening on my walkie-talkies to the primitive weather watchers who kept saying pretty redneck sounding things. I hate to say it, but we have a really bad history during tornadoes of speaking of the rushing winds as 'the sound of a roaring freight train'. Diction and elocution didn't run too strong in the spotters and it came out sounding more like "Wooeee! That tornadee come down on them trailers at the Dixie Trailers like a freight train 'cross that ol' tressle up by E'kmont! Durned near took the double pipes off'n the Peterbilt!"
But then again, in the stead of those who are reporting with deadpan faces and non-dialectcally distinctive voices, I think I like the sound of people who are local. The current crop of Columbia Broadcasting graduates sound a little too homogenized.
Now, we are given 'official reports' through the long hours of the crisis - either real or manufactured. These are people who are educated and trained to say things like "anvil shaped cloud' and 'tornadic velocity' all with nary the slightest trace of their raisings near Anderson.
That is kind of sad.
Sure, we are able to hunker down in the hall bathroom and crowd around our battery powered radio and watch a DVD on the laptop, but it just isn't the same as riding out the tornado listening to the dulcet tones of Bobby Lee telling us all about the coming danger.
I hope we are all safe tonight.
April 13, 2010
Reunions
1980 doesn't seem like that long ago until I look at a calendar. Only then do I realize that 30 years have stroked by with a lot of changes in between the senior moments of the class of 1980 and the senior moments of wondering where in the heck I've left my glasses... only to discover them on top of my head.
Looking at my yearbook from then, I see the men and women to be with their eyes pointed to an uncertain future with the certitude of youth guiding them to what they believe will be a life flush with success. Untempered and untried by the challenges of adult life beyond the confines and protections of home, we all anxiously spread our wings and, like the eagle chicks we all were, took to the skies in search of our own futures.
Each of us had designs and plans that would lead us to experiences which would shape who we have become in the 30 years that filled the gap between 1980 and 2010. There were flashes of brilliance in the golden rays of the sun-filled sky of achievement and lowering clouds of despair for those failings that sometimes haunt our memories even now.
Life shapes us all. The rough edges of inexperience are honed by the sharp winds of adversity and trials through which only the passage of time can tutor our souls. Our dreams of what we'll be when we grow up turn into a steely resolve to be more than just the sum of our parts and our educational opportunity. Some marry. Some don't. Some make it a habit.
Children come to willing and not so willing parents. And some who yearn for children never have them at all. Wrinkles appear for most, but not all. Weight changes, hair grays and laugh lines deepen as our life's experiences create from the smooth canvas of our youth a portrait of the aging adult who depends upon God more than the smiling face in the yearbook ever did.
Some have seen the world from well traveled jobs. Others have seen in through the sights of a gun. Some have held the hand of a parent who has been called home just when we have begun to appreciate their counsel and advice, and their friendship.
Students of yesterday have become the caregivers of today. Parents age and needs shift from all-powerful, all-knowing bulwark of strength to frail and forgetful shells of what once was.
The sand in the hourglass shift for some and leave a visible reminder of time spent on the earth fighting a losing battle with DNA and human genetics that are not always playing fair.
But inside the concerned and sometimes bewildered adult of today beats the heart of the teenager who cruised the Square and enjoyed a milkshake at Limestone Drug with a group of friends that have never left our hearts even if life carried them to a distance point on the map.
Those same teenage hearts have carried us through the times when we laughed in giddy remembrance over shared humor that only got better with time, cried for those who are either no longer with us or whose life circumstances have been less than ideal. Our hearts have rejoiced for the lost that are found and for those who finally got a clue, even if that one was ourself.
We recall the smoke breaks, the ice storms, the grape Jell-O in the cafeteria and the endless repetition of the band music that had to be absolutely perfect before Friday night. Our minds wander back to the ballgames, the touchdowns and the girls who yelled themselves hoarse to encourage the fans to cheer for the Golden Eagles in good times and bad.
Memories are a powerful thing. They send us in a time warp back to when 'our music' was cool, not dated or played in the dentist office. Our momentary flashes of the past remind us of that "one" in class who made the heart beat just a bit faster...
Then, graduation came. We had worked for it, we had longed for it, and now that it was finally here, some of us actually cried. Diploma in hand, we left the hallowed halls with their striped carpeting for a world painted in kaleidoscopic hues.
Now, we can gather and renew friendships, embrace the new people we have all become and remember the foundation upon which this opportunity was built.
It's kind of funny, it doesn't seem like it's been thirty years... until I look in the mirror. Then I realize that girl of yesterday grew up, kept the memories she could and built a life that hopefully has faith, endurance, and meaning beyond self.
Maybe that is the real reason we have reunions. So we can take the things we remember of our past together and say "This is what I have done with my life since then - please approve of me and what I have become."
Reunion.
Looking at my yearbook from then, I see the men and women to be with their eyes pointed to an uncertain future with the certitude of youth guiding them to what they believe will be a life flush with success. Untempered and untried by the challenges of adult life beyond the confines and protections of home, we all anxiously spread our wings and, like the eagle chicks we all were, took to the skies in search of our own futures.
Each of us had designs and plans that would lead us to experiences which would shape who we have become in the 30 years that filled the gap between 1980 and 2010. There were flashes of brilliance in the golden rays of the sun-filled sky of achievement and lowering clouds of despair for those failings that sometimes haunt our memories even now.
Life shapes us all. The rough edges of inexperience are honed by the sharp winds of adversity and trials through which only the passage of time can tutor our souls. Our dreams of what we'll be when we grow up turn into a steely resolve to be more than just the sum of our parts and our educational opportunity. Some marry. Some don't. Some make it a habit.
Children come to willing and not so willing parents. And some who yearn for children never have them at all. Wrinkles appear for most, but not all. Weight changes, hair grays and laugh lines deepen as our life's experiences create from the smooth canvas of our youth a portrait of the aging adult who depends upon God more than the smiling face in the yearbook ever did.
Some have seen the world from well traveled jobs. Others have seen in through the sights of a gun. Some have held the hand of a parent who has been called home just when we have begun to appreciate their counsel and advice, and their friendship.
Students of yesterday have become the caregivers of today. Parents age and needs shift from all-powerful, all-knowing bulwark of strength to frail and forgetful shells of what once was.
The sand in the hourglass shift for some and leave a visible reminder of time spent on the earth fighting a losing battle with DNA and human genetics that are not always playing fair.
But inside the concerned and sometimes bewildered adult of today beats the heart of the teenager who cruised the Square and enjoyed a milkshake at Limestone Drug with a group of friends that have never left our hearts even if life carried them to a distance point on the map.
Those same teenage hearts have carried us through the times when we laughed in giddy remembrance over shared humor that only got better with time, cried for those who are either no longer with us or whose life circumstances have been less than ideal. Our hearts have rejoiced for the lost that are found and for those who finally got a clue, even if that one was ourself.
We recall the smoke breaks, the ice storms, the grape Jell-O in the cafeteria and the endless repetition of the band music that had to be absolutely perfect before Friday night. Our minds wander back to the ballgames, the touchdowns and the girls who yelled themselves hoarse to encourage the fans to cheer for the Golden Eagles in good times and bad.
Memories are a powerful thing. They send us in a time warp back to when 'our music' was cool, not dated or played in the dentist office. Our momentary flashes of the past remind us of that "one" in class who made the heart beat just a bit faster...
Then, graduation came. We had worked for it, we had longed for it, and now that it was finally here, some of us actually cried. Diploma in hand, we left the hallowed halls with their striped carpeting for a world painted in kaleidoscopic hues.
Now, we can gather and renew friendships, embrace the new people we have all become and remember the foundation upon which this opportunity was built.
It's kind of funny, it doesn't seem like it's been thirty years... until I look in the mirror. Then I realize that girl of yesterday grew up, kept the memories she could and built a life that hopefully has faith, endurance, and meaning beyond self.
Maybe that is the real reason we have reunions. So we can take the things we remember of our past together and say "This is what I have done with my life since then - please approve of me and what I have become."
Reunion.
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