Aah, the last day of April...We had the "spring showers" this past Sunday. Actually, it was a monsoon. It poured steadily all day. We are now 2 inches over the average "rain fall". We watch the "rain fall" closely, what with this being farm country and all, and we all believe the experts lie-like-dogs about it. Nothing like a "crisis" to spike ratings. Being simple country folk, if it grows: great! If it dies, pull it up by the roots and start over next season, or file for a federal subsidy, depends on how savvy you are. Crisis can be profitable. If it's too dry, drought; too wet, flood - win,win.
I am not CYNICAL. Ok, maybe a little cynical, in the best way. Wary, sceptical...curmudgeonly? I'm getting older, but not on purpose.
I don't have a problem with age. I'm 51 years old. What I'm not particularly fond of is the physical and mental decline. Fifteen years ago, I ate nothing, slept 4 hours on a good night, and worked 80 or 90 hours a week at the "un-job". Ten years ago, I could leg press 540 pounds, and do pull ups, 3 sets of 10 reps. Six years ago I ran 10K's in under an hour. Then I broke. It really hasn't been a steady decline. It's one day I'm fly, the next comatose. At 50, I knew I'd have to do something about the marathon dream. It was, quite literally, "now or never". I made it...barely. My former 5-day a week weight lifting fix is down to a kickboxing class on Wednesday evenings. My 25 mile a week running schedule has been downsized to two, three mile runs...in a good week. I walk a lot with Daughter, grandsons, and Tall One, but walking used to not count! That was just how I got around. I have a Nordic track machine that I use now more than ever...days that are too cold, too wet, too dark, too hot. It didn't used to matter. I took a yoga class. I liked it.
And mentally? I've lost the ability to multi-task. It's one thing at a time or I short out. At 25, I had three children three and under, I canned our food, made our clothes, sewed and babysat for extra money, and was very, very involved in our church and neighborhood. Ten years later, we had three active kids in school and sports, a thriving business, I was involved in volunteer pursuits, and the previously mentioned "un-job". Ten years after that, the "kids" are young adults finishing High School and college, I'm still working at the "un-job", my mother requires more and more time (she doesn't drive anymore and lives an hour away), the business is still growing, volunteering still needs to be done, and we've moved in to the Barn. I make time to exercise. Since then, there have been three weddings, two grandsons, and Nana has been downsized and moved close. Today, when I get up from this computer to put a load of laundry in the dryer, I will forget that I have been blogging. I will come back later, sit down, continue writing and the coffee I'm warming in the microwave will get cold again and I'll find it tomorrow morning when I go to make the instant oatmeal. And let's not get started on "word search". If you talk to me in the grocery store, I am not this glib. In fact, I'm a blithering idiot. I make no sense. I forget names, don't finish my sentences, and murder metaphors. I'd worry about Alzheimer's except that I still know where I am and what I'm doing, I'm just inept. I still try to talk on the phone and do other things at the same time, but I find myself more and more just sitting down and trying my damnedest to have a coherent conversation. And should I even get started on sleeping? Three or four hours max.- that was sleeping in! Shut-eye was the enemy! Get up and hit the ground running, don't sit down all day, and do it again tomorrow! "I'll sleep when I'm dead", the mantra repeated manically as I consumed my third pot of black coffee! Now, after 8 to 10 hours of being dead-to-the-world (except the multiple trips to the bathroom), it's only with sheer strength of will that I manage to crawl back from the abyss, totter to the bathroom yet again, somehow make coffee (only two small cups with fat-free half & half), then breakfast, the paper, a little of "The Today Show", and usually after an hour or two of this drivel I can begin to think about doing something constructive...then it's time for a nap.
I am 51. And I believe I would be better able to handle the decline if society wasn't screaming at me, "50 is the new 30!". I just saw it again this morning. The 68 year old author of a book extolling the virtues of our golden years, "Gracefully, Looking and Being Your Best at Any Age". After a stay-at-home career of 25 years and six children, she reenters the work force at 53 and at 63 decides she needs a challenge. So she becomes a model! A fifty year old women just qualified for the Olympic Marathon. Sharon Stone is still showing up in the tabloids, and not as a joke. This is NOT real life. The trouble is that these "superheros" are being touted as the norm, the expected, the REQUIRED! After five decades of life, why am I STILL being exhorted to "HAVE IT ALL...AT THE SAME TIME...FOREVER!"
I believe in the power of a positive attitude and good nutrition and proper exercise. I will continue to learn, continue to grow, contribute in any way that I can. I will influence the lives I touch. I have experience, I have tempered my emotions, I have learned patience, and I don't have time to lose, which makes me fearless. I really don't want to squander a minute in the vain pursuit of being "forever young". I don't want to be YOUNG - I want to be VENERABLE.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Frittering the Present, Contemplating the Future
I keep trying to post a remembrance of Tall One's and my trip to Egypt, it was a sensational trip...but I keep getting sidetracked. I have just very effectively wasted an entire afternoon. Ok, the hour nap was necessary, but now it's a quarter to five and I have done nothing since 2:30pm but look up useless information on the BBC America website. Last night, I watched the season finales of both, "Torchwood" and "Doctor Who", so maybe I'm just a little depressed. Fortunately, the SciFi channel has episodes of "Doctor Who" on Friday nights so I will survive, plus, I have the whole seasons of both shows on DVR. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic....
As I sit here, in front of this infernal monitor, I can see out a large window to the world beyond. It's a beautiful spring day. I love spring. So full of promise, so cliche. Seriously, I love the flowering trees and the dandelions. I love the fresh smells; cut grass, blooming trees, warm rain, freshly plowed fields...manure. This is, after all, farm country. We live within spitting distance of a small dairy farm. They grow corn for the cows. The corn fields used to border on our property. Now they border on the housing development that borders on our property. Major construction has come to our little burg.
When we moved here 30 years ago there was one traffic light on Main Street, now there are at least eight, and more in the works. We have three major unfinished housing projects (a forth, butts up against the borough, but is technically in another) and two strip malls. There are two industrial parks, (another that borders us) two Turkey Hills, one Sheetz, three diners, seven bars (six within walking distance), three pizza places, a dozen churches, two grocery stores...you get the idea. We have a new grade school. It's mammoth. When Daughter, Older Son, and PhD were in school, there were two grade schools, one at each end of the Borough. They were single story, horseshoe shaped, and each class had it's own entrance. There was an "all purpose" room where the students ate lunch and had gym and recess on days when it was just too inclement to play outside.
But, all is not lost. We still have a buffer zone of -blank- acres (I can never remember if it's 3/4 of an acre or 3 acres! I'll check with Tall One, who knows, and get back to you.). We have older-than-god trees, and lots of new trees planted. There's plenty of grass for the grandsons to run on and dig up. There's more than enough yard work for a small platoon of illegals, if only they would migrate this far northeast. And, I've mentioned that well within running distance, there is some extremely fine farm land. Picturesque to the nth degree.
And, I'm not opposed to progress. I really don't subscribe to the "not-in-my-backyard" philosophy of amelioration. I was happy that the zoning for the houses behind and to the side of our property was not changed to high density, low income, but if it had been, I wouldn't have protested. I would really like to see a Walmart built at the entrance/exit to/from the highway leading out of/in to town. Sure, I don't want the increased taxes that the school district needs. I don't want to HAVE TO hook up to the sewer (but, I hate the thought of our septic drain field, so I like the idea of the sewer, just not the mandatory part, and the paying for it part), I don't want to HAVE TO put in a sidewalk (but, it would make walking our road that much safer). Yin, Yang. Que sirrah, sirrah.
It seems that my parent's generation, the greatest generation, has moved into the 21st century, kicking and screaming. They really, really believe that life was better "then". The "boomers" are adapting. We remember "then", but we've witnessed progressive change at an exorbitant rate. We're taking the good, and working to minimize the "bad". We're adapting. Our children are just streaming along the highway of change. They don't know any different. And, their children? I can only imagine. I can only hope I'm here to see it all.
I'm still a little bitter about no flying cars, transporter beams, or food replicators. And no, the "Segway" doesn't count for anything.
P.S. We have two acres.
As I sit here, in front of this infernal monitor, I can see out a large window to the world beyond. It's a beautiful spring day. I love spring. So full of promise, so cliche. Seriously, I love the flowering trees and the dandelions. I love the fresh smells; cut grass, blooming trees, warm rain, freshly plowed fields...manure. This is, after all, farm country. We live within spitting distance of a small dairy farm. They grow corn for the cows. The corn fields used to border on our property. Now they border on the housing development that borders on our property. Major construction has come to our little burg.
When we moved here 30 years ago there was one traffic light on Main Street, now there are at least eight, and more in the works. We have three major unfinished housing projects (a forth, butts up against the borough, but is technically in another) and two strip malls. There are two industrial parks, (another that borders us) two Turkey Hills, one Sheetz, three diners, seven bars (six within walking distance), three pizza places, a dozen churches, two grocery stores...you get the idea. We have a new grade school. It's mammoth. When Daughter, Older Son, and PhD were in school, there were two grade schools, one at each end of the Borough. They were single story, horseshoe shaped, and each class had it's own entrance. There was an "all purpose" room where the students ate lunch and had gym and recess on days when it was just too inclement to play outside.
But, all is not lost. We still have a buffer zone of -blank- acres (I can never remember if it's 3/4 of an acre or 3 acres! I'll check with Tall One, who knows, and get back to you.). We have older-than-god trees, and lots of new trees planted. There's plenty of grass for the grandsons to run on and dig up. There's more than enough yard work for a small platoon of illegals, if only they would migrate this far northeast. And, I've mentioned that well within running distance, there is some extremely fine farm land. Picturesque to the nth degree.
And, I'm not opposed to progress. I really don't subscribe to the "not-in-my-backyard" philosophy of amelioration. I was happy that the zoning for the houses behind and to the side of our property was not changed to high density, low income, but if it had been, I wouldn't have protested. I would really like to see a Walmart built at the entrance/exit to/from the highway leading out of/in to town. Sure, I don't want the increased taxes that the school district needs. I don't want to HAVE TO hook up to the sewer (but, I hate the thought of our septic drain field, so I like the idea of the sewer, just not the mandatory part, and the paying for it part), I don't want to HAVE TO put in a sidewalk (but, it would make walking our road that much safer). Yin, Yang. Que sirrah, sirrah.
It seems that my parent's generation, the greatest generation, has moved into the 21st century, kicking and screaming. They really, really believe that life was better "then". The "boomers" are adapting. We remember "then", but we've witnessed progressive change at an exorbitant rate. We're taking the good, and working to minimize the "bad". We're adapting. Our children are just streaming along the highway of change. They don't know any different. And, their children? I can only imagine. I can only hope I'm here to see it all.
I'm still a little bitter about no flying cars, transporter beams, or food replicators. And no, the "Segway" doesn't count for anything.
P.S. We have two acres.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Responsibility, not!
Wow, I'm tired. I'm so tired I decided to change fonts, just to be different! I know a lot about fonts because of our business. Tall One is napping. It's 7:15 in the evening...that is how pathetic we've become. Fonts and naps....
Tonight, I have resolved NOT to refill my wine glass until it is empty. I'm thinking that this way I will have a more accurate measure of how much wine I'm actually drinking. Doesn't that sound reasonable? I'm feeling quite responsible.
Lately, we have become, as we were in the past, responsible. Life was so good, for an extended period of time, that we'd forgotten to be responsible. Business was good, the credit cards were so handy and we don't really believe in global warming...so we've become a bit conspicuous in our spending and habits. I am using the plural personal pronoun on purpose. I am not taking sole irresponsibility responsibility. The decline has been a group effort.
So, now, once again, we are on a "budget". We have these envelopes, in our desk, in a drawer, in a file folder (hanging). Every two weeks, Tall One goes to the bank and brings home CASH to put into these envelopes. We then spend according to our budget. I have taken this very seriously! You should see me with the "grocery" money. The envelope is actually marked "Food", but, this amount needs to cover things like toilet paper, detergent, and feminine hygiene products. I have accepted this without a whimper. I've always clipped coupons, but, now, it's a means for personal artistic expression! I'm planning meals around "specials". This is something I have not done since the children were in diapers. I am operating within "budget". I'm experiencing a great deal of satisfaction from this.
I have my own "personal" envelope, as does Tall One. I am operating within budget on this, too. I have used "my" money for greeting cards, alcohol, and some food items. I do not feel particularly "put upon". I'm feeling proud. I am contributing to our greater good. I am operating UNDER budget on the "gas" money! Woo Hoo! Even with soaring prices...I AM THE MAN! Even with an 800 mile round trip to and from Ohio...I AM A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW! We are now planning how to blow the windfall! Stay tuned.
We have become environmentally responsible as well. We have replaced a great deal of our light bulbs with the government approved florescent curlicue ones. They're ok, I'm getting used to them. Although, I did read an editorial that if one of them breaks, you need to call in a hazmat team 'cause of the mercury vapor. What is it about mercury? Thank GOD for digital thermometers! If we could only control it in tuna!
We have also retired our second refrigerator. According to Tall One, the refrigerator is a behemoth energy sucker. Thank GOD for my organization skills! We'll use a cooler for parties!
I'm also more than willing to keep our thermostat at a constant temperature. Thank GOD for my forbearance! And cute cardigans...and ceiling fans in the summer!
We recycle. Thank GOD!
Responsibility begins at home, and in the home business. Tell Oprah, or Dr. Phil, or even Rachel Ray. I'll divide the honorarium among the envelopes. And you better believe we'll be squandering any excess!
Tonight, I have resolved NOT to refill my wine glass until it is empty. I'm thinking that this way I will have a more accurate measure of how much wine I'm actually drinking. Doesn't that sound reasonable? I'm feeling quite responsible.
Lately, we have become, as we were in the past, responsible. Life was so good, for an extended period of time, that we'd forgotten to be responsible. Business was good, the credit cards were so handy and we don't really believe in global warming...so we've become a bit conspicuous in our spending and habits. I am using the plural personal pronoun on purpose. I am not taking sole irresponsibility responsibility. The decline has been a group effort.
So, now, once again, we are on a "budget". We have these envelopes, in our desk, in a drawer, in a file folder (hanging). Every two weeks, Tall One goes to the bank and brings home CASH to put into these envelopes. We then spend according to our budget. I have taken this very seriously! You should see me with the "grocery" money. The envelope is actually marked "Food", but, this amount needs to cover things like toilet paper, detergent, and feminine hygiene products. I have accepted this without a whimper. I've always clipped coupons, but, now, it's a means for personal artistic expression! I'm planning meals around "specials". This is something I have not done since the children were in diapers. I am operating within "budget". I'm experiencing a great deal of satisfaction from this.
I have my own "personal" envelope, as does Tall One. I am operating within budget on this, too. I have used "my" money for greeting cards, alcohol, and some food items. I do not feel particularly "put upon". I'm feeling proud. I am contributing to our greater good. I am operating UNDER budget on the "gas" money! Woo Hoo! Even with soaring prices...I AM THE MAN! Even with an 800 mile round trip to and from Ohio...I AM A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW! We are now planning how to blow the windfall! Stay tuned.
We have become environmentally responsible as well. We have replaced a great deal of our light bulbs with the government approved florescent curlicue ones. They're ok, I'm getting used to them. Although, I did read an editorial that if one of them breaks, you need to call in a hazmat team 'cause of the mercury vapor. What is it about mercury? Thank GOD for digital thermometers! If we could only control it in tuna!
We have also retired our second refrigerator. According to Tall One, the refrigerator is a behemoth energy sucker. Thank GOD for my organization skills! We'll use a cooler for parties!
I'm also more than willing to keep our thermostat at a constant temperature. Thank GOD for my forbearance! And cute cardigans...and ceiling fans in the summer!
We recycle. Thank GOD!
Responsibility begins at home, and in the home business. Tell Oprah, or Dr. Phil, or even Rachel Ray. I'll divide the honorarium among the envelopes. And you better believe we'll be squandering any excess!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Babysitting and Other Weighty Matters
Babysitting, from where did this term come? First of all, there are no babies involved. Yes, I know we still call the smallest one "Baby", but that's only to differentiate him from the larger one. He's walking and talking and exerting his personal preferences in typical male fashion (he either ignores us or throws a giant tantrum)...he is no longer an infant. The "new car smell" is gone. The larger one is almost fully functional. He can argue.
So, this week I am "babysitting". We've established the fallacy in the "baby" part, trust me, there is no "sitting" involved,either. They do not sit, I do not sit. Nobody sits, ever. Until dinner, then they go home and I sit....with a glass of wine. Whew.
They love me. Sometimes, they prefer me. I always prefer them.
Two blond boys. All boy. Climbing, running, screaming, hitting, riding, throwing, laughing, crying, happy, sad, mad, intoxicating, suffocating, spontaneous boys.
One eats, one doesn't. One loves to read books, the other turns pages. They both like to play outside. They love construction vehicles. They throw balls in the house. They throw food on the floor. They have been known to throw up. This place is a sty. Wouldn't have it any other way. At least they're good sleepers. This wasn't always the case.
The larger one wouldn't sleep for months, except when he was held...tightly. Daughter would hold him all night, every night, tightly, for months, six months, at least. I would hold him for naps, tightly, for hours. Finally, sleep deprivation set in, Daughter, not him. We got on the....internet....spooky. Started to research "sudden infant death syndrome", cause it seemed the larger one slept well on his tummy, but never, ever, ever on his back. We only know this because of "constant vigil". We would place the baby on his belly and then stare at him for the entire time he slept. Just to make sure he didn't stop breathing. Cause we were warned!
Being the "grandmother", I put my babies to sleep on their tummies. What did I know? That was what we were supposed to do. None of them died. All of them slept. But, now, that is the WORST offense a parent can commit. Apparently, the baby will DIE immediately upon being placed on its tummy. The best thing you, as a parent, can do for your child is to develop a misshapen head...from NEVER, EVER laying them on their tummies. This is concrete evidence that you are conforming to the accepted mode of child rearing. Proof that you are a parent extraordinaire! And their heads do eventually revert to "normal". Or is that just creative hair design?
Anyway, Daughter and I began researching, and found the data pertaining to the placing of the infant on it's stomach to sleep and the potential for dying suddenly, unconvincing. There is a HUGE correlation between S.I.D.S. and parental smoking, parental drinking, parental drug addiction, parental neglect, you get the picture...and, just think about the huge blitz to educate on these factors. When I was pregnant, a mere 30 years ago, women still smoked, and drank alcohol, not a worry in world with caffeine, O.T.C. drugs, prescription drugs...do I hear marijuana? There was only the faintest buzz about maternal habits and fetal health. The generation before, my mother's generation was even more "ignorant". Could, just possibly, education and intervention, social programs, increased care and emphasis on healthy-baby practices during pregnancy, infant health care, knowledge being broadcast ad nauseum to the masses, be accountable for the statistical drop in S.I.D.S.? I've read articles about the need for better post mortem reporting. Could this lower the figures even further? Even the S.I.D.S. sites are unable to convincingly demonstrate how or why BACK sleeping is directly responsible for eliminating S.I.D.S. No one knows why it "works". What appears to be provable, is that an infant sleeping on its back is never sleeping soundly. Therefore, the least outside stimulus will awaken the baby. Does this not infer that we are raising a generation or two of sleep deprived people (and I'm not talking about the PARENTS)? Could this not contribute to the increase in autism and A.D.H.D.? Sleep deprivation is huge! These guys are tiny.
I am not advocating disobeying the experts or your pediatrician. I am NOT telling anyone to do ANYTHING! I have no credentials, no degrees, I am basically a moron. I am not saying that S.I.D.S. is in any way a parent's fault. There are hurting, ravaged people who have lost an infant for no discernible reason, and I do not, in any way, ever, ever, mean to imply that they are in anyway at fault. Please, do not misunderstand me. But, when Daughter and Surfer Dude looked at the evidence (and after consulting with me, Grammy, and a few close friends), they came to the conclusion that it was worth the risk to put THIS child to bed on his belly. He slept like a log. Has for years. We are still dealing with the guilt. Huge guilt.
The other thing we found....lots, and lots, of other parents are dealing with the same guilt. And lying through their teeth to their pediatricians...
So, this week I am "babysitting". We've established the fallacy in the "baby" part, trust me, there is no "sitting" involved,either. They do not sit, I do not sit. Nobody sits, ever. Until dinner, then they go home and I sit....with a glass of wine. Whew.
They love me. Sometimes, they prefer me. I always prefer them.
Two blond boys. All boy. Climbing, running, screaming, hitting, riding, throwing, laughing, crying, happy, sad, mad, intoxicating, suffocating, spontaneous boys.
One eats, one doesn't. One loves to read books, the other turns pages. They both like to play outside. They love construction vehicles. They throw balls in the house. They throw food on the floor. They have been known to throw up. This place is a sty. Wouldn't have it any other way. At least they're good sleepers. This wasn't always the case.
The larger one wouldn't sleep for months, except when he was held...tightly. Daughter would hold him all night, every night, tightly, for months, six months, at least. I would hold him for naps, tightly, for hours. Finally, sleep deprivation set in, Daughter, not him. We got on the....internet....spooky. Started to research "sudden infant death syndrome", cause it seemed the larger one slept well on his tummy, but never, ever, ever on his back. We only know this because of "constant vigil". We would place the baby on his belly and then stare at him for the entire time he slept. Just to make sure he didn't stop breathing. Cause we were warned!
Being the "grandmother", I put my babies to sleep on their tummies. What did I know? That was what we were supposed to do. None of them died. All of them slept. But, now, that is the WORST offense a parent can commit. Apparently, the baby will DIE immediately upon being placed on its tummy. The best thing you, as a parent, can do for your child is to develop a misshapen head...from NEVER, EVER laying them on their tummies. This is concrete evidence that you are conforming to the accepted mode of child rearing. Proof that you are a parent extraordinaire! And their heads do eventually revert to "normal". Or is that just creative hair design?
Anyway, Daughter and I began researching, and found the data pertaining to the placing of the infant on it's stomach to sleep and the potential for dying suddenly, unconvincing. There is a HUGE correlation between S.I.D.S. and parental smoking, parental drinking, parental drug addiction, parental neglect, you get the picture...and, just think about the huge blitz to educate on these factors. When I was pregnant, a mere 30 years ago, women still smoked, and drank alcohol, not a worry in world with caffeine, O.T.C. drugs, prescription drugs...do I hear marijuana? There was only the faintest buzz about maternal habits and fetal health. The generation before, my mother's generation was even more "ignorant". Could, just possibly, education and intervention, social programs, increased care and emphasis on healthy-baby practices during pregnancy, infant health care, knowledge being broadcast ad nauseum to the masses, be accountable for the statistical drop in S.I.D.S.? I've read articles about the need for better post mortem reporting. Could this lower the figures even further? Even the S.I.D.S. sites are unable to convincingly demonstrate how or why BACK sleeping is directly responsible for eliminating S.I.D.S. No one knows why it "works". What appears to be provable, is that an infant sleeping on its back is never sleeping soundly. Therefore, the least outside stimulus will awaken the baby. Does this not infer that we are raising a generation or two of sleep deprived people (and I'm not talking about the PARENTS)? Could this not contribute to the increase in autism and A.D.H.D.? Sleep deprivation is huge! These guys are tiny.
I am not advocating disobeying the experts or your pediatrician. I am NOT telling anyone to do ANYTHING! I have no credentials, no degrees, I am basically a moron. I am not saying that S.I.D.S. is in any way a parent's fault. There are hurting, ravaged people who have lost an infant for no discernible reason, and I do not, in any way, ever, ever, mean to imply that they are in anyway at fault. Please, do not misunderstand me. But, when Daughter and Surfer Dude looked at the evidence (and after consulting with me, Grammy, and a few close friends), they came to the conclusion that it was worth the risk to put THIS child to bed on his belly. He slept like a log. Has for years. We are still dealing with the guilt. Huge guilt.
The other thing we found....lots, and lots, of other parents are dealing with the same guilt. And lying through their teeth to their pediatricians...
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
That's Greek to Me (Part 1)
I've got a few minutes. Let's talk about Greece. Tall One and I left for Athens on March 17 and returned on the 23rd, Easter. Hosanna.
Our Greek guide (not god, unfortunately) was very knowledgeable, and I enjoyed her commentary. She was enthusiastic about the language (platypus from the Greek platy: meaning flat, and pus: meaning foot. Platypus means "flat foot"! You can do this with Oedipus (as in Rex); Oedi: meaning swollen, like in edema, and pus: foot. Viola: Oedipus actually means, "Swollen Foot".....I did not know that.).
She explained some Greek social differences:
1. They don't eat breakfast, maybe, just a cup of coffee (explains the less than stellar selections at the buffets). Here's why. The Greek's begin their day at maybe 9 or 10am, they work until 1pm when they break for a big meal (need it, don't eat breakfast) and three hour nap. At 4pm they go back to work till 9pm, go home, go out, eat (big meal), see a movie (start time for early show is 11:30pm), stop for a snack, bed time around 2am. Repeat.
2. The men of the Greek countryside don't work. Instead, they go and sit on their reserved seats (I'm not being cute, they have their own chairs at the small stores or cafes where they always sit), drink coffee or Ouzo (depending on the time of day or their predisposition), and play with their worry beads (again, not a euphemism, these are beads on a string that they manipulate with their hand) while they try to solve their problems. Their problems include their first wife. Old and nasty before her time, she works in the fields, at a cottage industry, bears and raises the children, and does every bit of domestic work. We're talking about a severely depressed economic situation. These women grow their food, barter for necessities, and I don't even want to think about the plumbing concerns. When they're done - they die. Which leads to another problem for the man to solve: getting a new wife from Romania. With this done, they can concentrate on the real problems of failing socialism, rolling blackouts, government strikes, historic draughts, and bankrupt pensions. But they don't. Repeat.
3. Did I mention that women do all the domestic work? All of it. This is not a progressive country. Even in the cities, the professional women who have husbands who have jobs, do all the domestic work. The men do not help. At all. I can not stress this enough. Our guide shared her personal experience. When she leads a tour, she cooks all of the food for the time she will be away and labels it for her husband. Expecting him to heat it himself is a huge imposition. Actually, he's an anomaly. He takes care of the dog....but only when she's traveling. Bless him. Repeat.
Our Greek guide (not god, unfortunately) was very knowledgeable, and I enjoyed her commentary. She was enthusiastic about the language (platypus from the Greek platy: meaning flat, and pus: meaning foot. Platypus means "flat foot"! You can do this with Oedipus (as in Rex); Oedi: meaning swollen, like in edema, and pus: foot. Viola: Oedipus actually means, "Swollen Foot".....I did not know that.).
She explained some Greek social differences:
1. They don't eat breakfast, maybe, just a cup of coffee (explains the less than stellar selections at the buffets). Here's why. The Greek's begin their day at maybe 9 or 10am, they work until 1pm when they break for a big meal (need it, don't eat breakfast) and three hour nap. At 4pm they go back to work till 9pm, go home, go out, eat (big meal), see a movie (start time for early show is 11:30pm), stop for a snack, bed time around 2am. Repeat.
2. The men of the Greek countryside don't work. Instead, they go and sit on their reserved seats (I'm not being cute, they have their own chairs at the small stores or cafes where they always sit), drink coffee or Ouzo (depending on the time of day or their predisposition), and play with their worry beads (again, not a euphemism, these are beads on a string that they manipulate with their hand) while they try to solve their problems. Their problems include their first wife. Old and nasty before her time, she works in the fields, at a cottage industry, bears and raises the children, and does every bit of domestic work. We're talking about a severely depressed economic situation. These women grow their food, barter for necessities, and I don't even want to think about the plumbing concerns. When they're done - they die. Which leads to another problem for the man to solve: getting a new wife from Romania. With this done, they can concentrate on the real problems of failing socialism, rolling blackouts, government strikes, historic draughts, and bankrupt pensions. But they don't. Repeat.
3. Did I mention that women do all the domestic work? All of it. This is not a progressive country. Even in the cities, the professional women who have husbands who have jobs, do all the domestic work. The men do not help. At all. I can not stress this enough. Our guide shared her personal experience. When she leads a tour, she cooks all of the food for the time she will be away and labels it for her husband. Expecting him to heat it himself is a huge imposition. Actually, he's an anomaly. He takes care of the dog....but only when she's traveling. Bless him. Repeat.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
True Love Promotes Necessary Escape
I love my DVR. I don't know how I lived without it. Time before we had a DVR seems dim and distant with a slight tinge of yellow around the edges, like a fading black and white photograph that wasn't developed very well on cheap paper (or enhanced with the Sienna setting in Photoshop)....
I have one DVR timer set to record "Torchwood". If I'm ever sad or burned out or bored, or if I'm happy and a new episode's just been recorded, I watch multiple times, over and over, until I have them memorized. I skip backward and forward to get all the dialog's nuances. I like all the "Torchwood" characters. I really like Capn' Jack. I wish he were in charge of my life. He HAS got it all figured out, but, he lets the "team" work out destiny for themselves. He exerts just the right amount of control and he's never, ever wrong. I like Ianto, too. Perfect manservant with a sharp mind of his own, and an understated sense of humor. I always like the women on the BBC. They are just so normal. Not perfect looking. Real. I like all the rift activity, and aliens, and abnormal, paranormal, psychic ....whatever. The characters never appear self-conscience even though they find themselves in very compromising situations. Alright, Tosh may be a little timid and apologetic about her unrequited love of Owen. And, I do think that Owen gets shot just entirely too much.
I also record and watch "Doctor Who". Eons ago, I watched "Doctor Who" on PBS. The TV was about 4 inches square and a one hour episode took about 4 1/2 to watch because of all the fund raising breaks. But, the kids were little and Tom Baker's "Doctor Who" was the only escape going. It's hard when the Doctor regenerates, but I've gotten used to every one. Same with the ever changing side-kicks.
I wish I could time travel. I wish I had a Tartis that was the size of a police box on the outside, but big as a stadium inside, with gadgets, and levers and screens, and buttons and lights, and the distinctive, "whoosh, whoosh" demented washing machine sound. I don't know where I'd go first. Just spin the dial and take my chances. I'd take Capn' Jack and Ianto along. Gwen could hold down the "Torchwood" fort till we got back, 10 minutes later - time travel and all, after saving nearly extinct species on the brink of universal obliteration while battling the Daleks and engaging in witty banter over the kick-ass soundtrack. All this, after I regenerated into someone strongly resembling a cross between Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2 with Sigorney Weaver in Aliens. Oh, yea....
I have one DVR timer set to record "Torchwood". If I'm ever sad or burned out or bored, or if I'm happy and a new episode's just been recorded, I watch multiple times, over and over, until I have them memorized. I skip backward and forward to get all the dialog's nuances. I like all the "Torchwood" characters. I really like Capn' Jack. I wish he were in charge of my life. He HAS got it all figured out, but, he lets the "team" work out destiny for themselves. He exerts just the right amount of control and he's never, ever wrong. I like Ianto, too. Perfect manservant with a sharp mind of his own, and an understated sense of humor. I always like the women on the BBC. They are just so normal. Not perfect looking. Real. I like all the rift activity, and aliens, and abnormal, paranormal, psychic ....whatever. The characters never appear self-conscience even though they find themselves in very compromising situations. Alright, Tosh may be a little timid and apologetic about her unrequited love of Owen. And, I do think that Owen gets shot just entirely too much.
I also record and watch "Doctor Who". Eons ago, I watched "Doctor Who" on PBS. The TV was about 4 inches square and a one hour episode took about 4 1/2 to watch because of all the fund raising breaks. But, the kids were little and Tom Baker's "Doctor Who" was the only escape going. It's hard when the Doctor regenerates, but I've gotten used to every one. Same with the ever changing side-kicks.
I wish I could time travel. I wish I had a Tartis that was the size of a police box on the outside, but big as a stadium inside, with gadgets, and levers and screens, and buttons and lights, and the distinctive, "whoosh, whoosh" demented washing machine sound. I don't know where I'd go first. Just spin the dial and take my chances. I'd take Capn' Jack and Ianto along. Gwen could hold down the "Torchwood" fort till we got back, 10 minutes later - time travel and all, after saving nearly extinct species on the brink of universal obliteration while battling the Daleks and engaging in witty banter over the kick-ass soundtrack. All this, after I regenerated into someone strongly resembling a cross between Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2 with Sigorney Weaver in Aliens. Oh, yea....
Monday, April 7, 2008
Running Wild
Last night, before I went to bed, I thought, "Think I'll run tomorrow". When I woke up this morning, I was almost giddy with anticipation.
To celebrate my 50 birthday year, I ran the Columbus Marathon. It was on October 15, 2006 (I know this, not only because it's the day I ran and finished a marathon, but also because it was Tall One's and my 29th wedding anniversary). My younger son, PHD, and his lovely wife, Master's, live in Columbus, so Tall One and I stayed with them for the weekend. Master's went with me to register and pick up my race packet the day before the "Big Day", Tall One and PHD saw me off at the start, and all three of them (Tall One, PHD, and Master's) welcomed me across the finish line. It was the best run of my life. I have pictures of me smiling and waving crossing the finish line. The day was cool, the sky was blue, the course was flat, and I ran like the wind.....well, not really but poetic license....
I'm actually a really, really slow runner. I do not run significantly faster that I walk. Seriously. That's why my run/walk ratio of 3min/2min yielded a finish time of 5 hours and 18 minutes. I could not have run it that fast. I could not have finished at all running all 26.2 miles. My body would have disintegrated.
I know this because of all the training I did. I trained for 10 months. During that time, I increased my long run from 3 miles to 24 miles. I would start in the dark, in the rain, in the wind, in the cold. I endured colds, inflamed tendons, sore muscles, once when I ran 20 miles in the rain in a sports bra that had seen better days, a breast infection. For 10 months I was sick or hurt. But, it was so worth it. I have finished a marathon. The only thing I regret is that I did not beat Oprah's time. But, she has connections.
Today, I ran. I ran three miles. I ran a truly lovely course. There is farmland with cows, and sheep and baby sheep (lambs). I always tell the sheep how nice their babies are. Because they are truly nice. I talked to construction workers. I learned that the route I ran today will be widened by twenty two feet. That's good and bad. Maybe good because it will improve the road conditions, bad because the traffic will travel at twice the speed of light on the new, improved road. I thought of how I envy construction workers two days a year. On the brilliant, blue sky, 65 degree days of spring. And, how I feel their pain on the other 363 days. And, then, I thought about nothing.
It took me a long time to recover physically from the marathon training. It has taken me a much longer time to recover mentally. Today, finally, I have once again experienced the joy of running. I am not going to ruin that by training for anything.
To celebrate my 50 birthday year, I ran the Columbus Marathon. It was on October 15, 2006 (I know this, not only because it's the day I ran and finished a marathon, but also because it was Tall One's and my 29th wedding anniversary). My younger son, PHD, and his lovely wife, Master's, live in Columbus, so Tall One and I stayed with them for the weekend. Master's went with me to register and pick up my race packet the day before the "Big Day", Tall One and PHD saw me off at the start, and all three of them (Tall One, PHD, and Master's) welcomed me across the finish line. It was the best run of my life. I have pictures of me smiling and waving crossing the finish line. The day was cool, the sky was blue, the course was flat, and I ran like the wind.....well, not really but poetic license....
I'm actually a really, really slow runner. I do not run significantly faster that I walk. Seriously. That's why my run/walk ratio of 3min/2min yielded a finish time of 5 hours and 18 minutes. I could not have run it that fast. I could not have finished at all running all 26.2 miles. My body would have disintegrated.
I know this because of all the training I did. I trained for 10 months. During that time, I increased my long run from 3 miles to 24 miles. I would start in the dark, in the rain, in the wind, in the cold. I endured colds, inflamed tendons, sore muscles, once when I ran 20 miles in the rain in a sports bra that had seen better days, a breast infection. For 10 months I was sick or hurt. But, it was so worth it. I have finished a marathon. The only thing I regret is that I did not beat Oprah's time. But, she has connections.
Today, I ran. I ran three miles. I ran a truly lovely course. There is farmland with cows, and sheep and baby sheep (lambs). I always tell the sheep how nice their babies are. Because they are truly nice. I talked to construction workers. I learned that the route I ran today will be widened by twenty two feet. That's good and bad. Maybe good because it will improve the road conditions, bad because the traffic will travel at twice the speed of light on the new, improved road. I thought of how I envy construction workers two days a year. On the brilliant, blue sky, 65 degree days of spring. And, how I feel their pain on the other 363 days. And, then, I thought about nothing.
It took me a long time to recover physically from the marathon training. It has taken me a much longer time to recover mentally. Today, finally, I have once again experienced the joy of running. I am not going to ruin that by training for anything.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Grammy's Here!
Well, here we are again. I've spent an inordinate amount of time refining the appearance of the blog and my profile. Talk about an exercise in narcissism, and talk about futility (but not literally, cause that would be futile). It's nice to have this time, but could I put it to better use?
I should have a lot of "extra" time this week. My grandsons' Grammy from California is here to visit.
Daughter and Surfer Dude were married six years ago. They have graciously presented the world with two of the most beautiful, intelligent boys ever birthed. They live close to Tall One and me, so I get to see them almost every day! Actually, not just "see" them. We play and walk, they nap at our house (Daughter helps Tall One in The Business), we "talk" on the phone, and shop, watch t.v. and play "play-doh", go to the play ground, visit, laugh and scream and roll around like idiots, eat, drink, and, well, create huge amounts of tender, funny, heartwarming potential story lines. It's my job. When Grammy is here, it's HER job. (So I guess that would make me "laid off"? But, I'm not worried. I'm pretty sure they're going to rehire me. It's cyclical.)
Before the wedding, Grammy (she wasn't Grammy then but has since changed her name) and Grampa (same deal with name changing), came all the way east for the traditional "meeting of the in-laws". It was love at first sight.
Now, believe me, I know that there is a natural animosity between the mother-of-the-groom and the bride's mother. I have subsequently experienced that animosity to the nth degree with one of the other progeny's spouse's mother. But, in spite of the pressure of wedding preparations, obscene long distance, and the fact that Grammy is an intelligent, educated and accomplished professional, not to mention tall, sophisticated, attractive, slim, blond, did I mention tall (the real root of any envy or bitterness), we formed an immediate bond that has grown stronger and more appreciated with time and the birth of the mutual grandsons. She is my dear friend.
She is such a dear friend and this relationship is so much fun that, 1) she stays at our home (not with her son and my daughter) when she travels east, at least, four times a year at great expense and personal sacrifice. (She isn't a good flyer, and exceptional rates involve multiple layovers. It probably takes her longer to fly here than it would to drive straight through.) 2) Tall One added a room (well ok, just the walls, but we modified the layout) to make the accommodations more comfortable and to encourage those quarterly visits. For her part, Grammy is self-sufficient, never imposes and makes me laugh. She even cleans before she leaves...and, gives us presents. 3) She and Grampa are making plans to relocate after retirement. We are looking forward to this. 4) We have vacationed together as a family, twice! We rented a condo at the shore for a week! A week! Twice. We take their kids and our kids, with grandkids, and stay in the same condo, together, for seven days. We have done this two times. We are planning to do it again. 5) She calls me when I'm troubled. And I actually want to talk to her. And when we're finished talking I feel better. 6) My daughter, her daughter-in-law, loves her and I'm not jealous. 7) The grandsons love her, very, very much and I'm still not jealous.
The only problem I have with her is that before she changed her name to Grammy she was known as "The Tall, Attractive, Blond Woman".
I should have a lot of "extra" time this week. My grandsons' Grammy from California is here to visit.
Daughter and Surfer Dude were married six years ago. They have graciously presented the world with two of the most beautiful, intelligent boys ever birthed. They live close to Tall One and me, so I get to see them almost every day! Actually, not just "see" them. We play and walk, they nap at our house (Daughter helps Tall One in The Business), we "talk" on the phone, and shop, watch t.v. and play "play-doh", go to the play ground, visit, laugh and scream and roll around like idiots, eat, drink, and, well, create huge amounts of tender, funny, heartwarming potential story lines. It's my job. When Grammy is here, it's HER job. (So I guess that would make me "laid off"? But, I'm not worried. I'm pretty sure they're going to rehire me. It's cyclical.)
Before the wedding, Grammy (she wasn't Grammy then but has since changed her name) and Grampa (same deal with name changing), came all the way east for the traditional "meeting of the in-laws". It was love at first sight.
Now, believe me, I know that there is a natural animosity between the mother-of-the-groom and the bride's mother. I have subsequently experienced that animosity to the nth degree with one of the other progeny's spouse's mother. But, in spite of the pressure of wedding preparations, obscene long distance, and the fact that Grammy is an intelligent, educated and accomplished professional, not to mention tall, sophisticated, attractive, slim, blond, did I mention tall (the real root of any envy or bitterness), we formed an immediate bond that has grown stronger and more appreciated with time and the birth of the mutual grandsons. She is my dear friend.
She is such a dear friend and this relationship is so much fun that, 1) she stays at our home (not with her son and my daughter) when she travels east, at least, four times a year at great expense and personal sacrifice. (She isn't a good flyer, and exceptional rates involve multiple layovers. It probably takes her longer to fly here than it would to drive straight through.) 2) Tall One added a room (well ok, just the walls, but we modified the layout) to make the accommodations more comfortable and to encourage those quarterly visits. For her part, Grammy is self-sufficient, never imposes and makes me laugh. She even cleans before she leaves...and, gives us presents. 3) She and Grampa are making plans to relocate after retirement. We are looking forward to this. 4) We have vacationed together as a family, twice! We rented a condo at the shore for a week! A week! Twice. We take their kids and our kids, with grandkids, and stay in the same condo, together, for seven days. We have done this two times. We are planning to do it again. 5) She calls me when I'm troubled. And I actually want to talk to her. And when we're finished talking I feel better. 6) My daughter, her daughter-in-law, loves her and I'm not jealous. 7) The grandsons love her, very, very much and I'm still not jealous.
The only problem I have with her is that before she changed her name to Grammy she was known as "The Tall, Attractive, Blond Woman".
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
April Fool
It must be April 1st...posting two days in a row.
I hate April Fool's Day....I hate practical jokes. OK, hate is a strong word and should be reserved for truly vile situations, but I'm not in a Thesaurus kind of mood.
Maybe it's the perverse sense of humor my mother exhibited from my earliest memory. The old, "your shoe's untied" in grade school, followed by maniacal laughter, progressed in my early adulthood to a frantic, hysterical, incomprehensible phone call, followed by maniacal laughter, or, as she grew older the hoarse, barely intelligible early morning phone call claiming to be close to death's door, followed by maniacal laughter. Somewhere along the line, I lost my joy of making others appear foolish (or scaring the bejeesus out of them). My brother seems to enjoy her antics, though, and she spends an inordinate amount of time and money "getting" him. Now that she's up in years (but still too mentally sharp for her own good, or a nursing home) I'm expected to help with these "jokes", and being the good, whipped daughter that I am, I unquestioningly do her bidding. Actually, the less details I have to listen to, the better. And I take absolutely NO responsibility for these "gags". This year she priority-mailed him a "Hot for Hillary" campaign button - he's a staunch, uncompromising republican (CPA)- ha, ha, ha.....(It is kind of appropriate considering the PA primary isn't too far off at all, and it's still a "race"). Of course, when he called to tell her he received the button, he had read it wrong and thought it said "NOT for Hillary", which isn't that funny and doesn't make any sense in the "April Fool's" scheme of things...so she was a little disappointed.
I have played one stellar, truly inspired April Fool's joke....but only one. A number of years ago, when Older Boy was in high school, he and a friend went out March 31st, late, to "fork" a friends lawn (this is the absolutely hilarious practice of taking plastic picnic forks and sticking them all over someone's landscaping). They were gone a long, long, time. It was about 1am, and I was getting a bit concerned. This is a boy who was always home, in bed by 11pm. Seriously, we didn't require it, he just liked his sleep. I knew they had started out to do property damage and I was worried they had gotten picked up for vandalism. Anyway, I called and woke the friend's parents, hoping Older Boy and Friend were there (days before cell phones, people). Parents sounded extremely annoyed (to be woken, not that the kids weren't there and probably arrested). When Older Boy arrived home, he explained that he and friend were sitting outside Intended Victim's house, waiting for the opportunity to "fork", but the lights remained on and Intended Victim's car was no where to be seen. So instead of risking apprehension, they called off the surveillance and aborted the forking mission. I confessed to calling Friend's parents, and probably getting Friend in trouble...Older Boy was very forgiving....
The next morning dawn's, April Fool's! Intended Victim has pulled the old "double blind" or whatever. We have plastic wrap spanning the drive way from tree to tree to tree (it's a substantial driveway). Now we know why his car wasn't at home. Ha, ha, ha, ha.....I'm still feeling a bit guilty (I have a very strong, well developed sense of guilt) for calling Friend's parents and getting Friend in potential trouble. So I decide to take matters into my own hands. I called the school and asked that Intended Victim be given a message to call me, it's urgent. ( I knew Intended Victim well, he is a long time friend of Older Boy and very capable of taking the following abuse). When I.V. calls back, I tell him that I had gotten called to an emergency in the middle of the night (I had a job that facilitated this). Driving out I did not see the plastic wrap death trap, and became entangled, lost control, and eventually my employer's van (isn't this good?) landed IN the apartment complex next door. Fortunately, no one was hurt (really, I'm fine) but the police were called and are investigating because of the vandalism. (It gets worse) One of the neighbors saw I.V.'s car, and witnessed the defilement of the trees, I couldn't cover for him. I wanted him to know they were contacting his parent's as we speak, and, oh, by the way, APRIL FOOL!!! Dead silence, followed by the sound of his butt hitting the chair, or perhaps the floor...*click*
It was a glorious, shining moment.....I had been redeemed....
But I still hate April Fool's Day, and practical jokes....
I hate April Fool's Day....I hate practical jokes. OK, hate is a strong word and should be reserved for truly vile situations, but I'm not in a Thesaurus kind of mood.
Maybe it's the perverse sense of humor my mother exhibited from my earliest memory. The old, "your shoe's untied" in grade school, followed by maniacal laughter, progressed in my early adulthood to a frantic, hysterical, incomprehensible phone call, followed by maniacal laughter, or, as she grew older the hoarse, barely intelligible early morning phone call claiming to be close to death's door, followed by maniacal laughter. Somewhere along the line, I lost my joy of making others appear foolish (or scaring the bejeesus out of them). My brother seems to enjoy her antics, though, and she spends an inordinate amount of time and money "getting" him. Now that she's up in years (but still too mentally sharp for her own good, or a nursing home) I'm expected to help with these "jokes", and being the good, whipped daughter that I am, I unquestioningly do her bidding. Actually, the less details I have to listen to, the better. And I take absolutely NO responsibility for these "gags". This year she priority-mailed him a "Hot for Hillary" campaign button - he's a staunch, uncompromising republican (CPA)- ha, ha, ha.....(It is kind of appropriate considering the PA primary isn't too far off at all, and it's still a "race"). Of course, when he called to tell her he received the button, he had read it wrong and thought it said "NOT for Hillary", which isn't that funny and doesn't make any sense in the "April Fool's" scheme of things...so she was a little disappointed.
I have played one stellar, truly inspired April Fool's joke....but only one. A number of years ago, when Older Boy was in high school, he and a friend went out March 31st, late, to "fork" a friends lawn (this is the absolutely hilarious practice of taking plastic picnic forks and sticking them all over someone's landscaping). They were gone a long, long, time. It was about 1am, and I was getting a bit concerned. This is a boy who was always home, in bed by 11pm. Seriously, we didn't require it, he just liked his sleep. I knew they had started out to do property damage and I was worried they had gotten picked up for vandalism. Anyway, I called and woke the friend's parents, hoping Older Boy and Friend were there (days before cell phones, people). Parents sounded extremely annoyed (to be woken, not that the kids weren't there and probably arrested). When Older Boy arrived home, he explained that he and friend were sitting outside Intended Victim's house, waiting for the opportunity to "fork", but the lights remained on and Intended Victim's car was no where to be seen. So instead of risking apprehension, they called off the surveillance and aborted the forking mission. I confessed to calling Friend's parents, and probably getting Friend in trouble...Older Boy was very forgiving....
The next morning dawn's, April Fool's! Intended Victim has pulled the old "double blind" or whatever. We have plastic wrap spanning the drive way from tree to tree to tree (it's a substantial driveway). Now we know why his car wasn't at home. Ha, ha, ha, ha.....I'm still feeling a bit guilty (I have a very strong, well developed sense of guilt) for calling Friend's parents and getting Friend in potential trouble. So I decide to take matters into my own hands. I called the school and asked that Intended Victim be given a message to call me, it's urgent. ( I knew Intended Victim well, he is a long time friend of Older Boy and very capable of taking the following abuse). When I.V. calls back, I tell him that I had gotten called to an emergency in the middle of the night (I had a job that facilitated this). Driving out I did not see the plastic wrap death trap, and became entangled, lost control, and eventually my employer's van (isn't this good?) landed IN the apartment complex next door. Fortunately, no one was hurt (really, I'm fine) but the police were called and are investigating because of the vandalism. (It gets worse) One of the neighbors saw I.V.'s car, and witnessed the defilement of the trees, I couldn't cover for him. I wanted him to know they were contacting his parent's as we speak, and, oh, by the way, APRIL FOOL!!! Dead silence, followed by the sound of his butt hitting the chair, or perhaps the floor...*click*
It was a glorious, shining moment.....I had been redeemed....
But I still hate April Fool's Day, and practical jokes....
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