NaNoWriMo

Well, I signed up. You can watch my progress... or lack of, by following this link.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/userinfo.php?uid=152098

The Shelter of the Ignorant

I have to share this. I do it because I probably have nothing better to write about today!
I have been pondering a statement made about me recently by someone who could not answer some questions I ask them. Actually, what happened was that I read something someone wrote and I wanted to know what they based their opinions on. Since I am intensely curious and nosey about everything, I asked.

Researcher that I am, I presented information to them that appeared to disagree with their opinion and asked them to explain how they got around it. Mind you, it was not MY opinion but documentation that directly conflicted with their opinion that I quoted. Their response was to make a statement about my "limited education". At first I got a bit irked because I was genuinely interested in their answers. I wanted to know where they were coming from and how they got there. Their “intelligent” response was that they became rude and resorted to name-calling.

I thought about it and, yes, I even prayed about it. I do not deliberately try and offend anyone and always feel it necessary to apologize. I try and present my beliefs and/or opinions with supporting facts and without personal attacks. I will usually answer every question truthfully, if I know. If I don't, I will say so.

Further thought let me to conclude that the truly intelligent person investigates and ask questions and when asked the how and why questions, will attempt to present their answers in a rational manner, even if they disagree with the questioner. But, if you don't actually have any answers, what do you do?

That was my answer. I would be tempted to retreat to the shelter of the ignorant.

I realized that when a person responds to questions with rudness and insults, it is ALWAYS because that person doesn't have the answers or they know they are wrong. They will either lie or they don't know and rather than tell the truth or show their ignorance, they retreat to the shelter of the ignorant -- denigration. Their gut reaction when unable to defend their position is to insult and belittle the challenger. It is an attempt to demoralize the individual and make them go away. This is how wars are started.
So, I thought some more. (You see how this works for me.)

The lack of a patch of parchment on the wall doesn't mean that the person asking the questions is "limited in education". Just because someone has a higher degree, say a PHD compared to a BA, means absolutely nothing in terms of intelligence or education. Crazy, huh?

You see, college is designed for a person who wishes to limit their education to one field, maybe two if you have nothing to do. The higher the degree, the more narrow and limited the knowledge. Yes, you get a general overview of other fields, but the focus of college education is the chosen vocation. College graduates are limited in their knowledge to the area they intend to focus on to make their living.

I know this because I have a college education. Frequently, I find that many college graduates can't carry on a conversation in anything but their specialty. They have moderate knowledge of mythology, history, literature, ancient cultures, anthropology, world religions, and major social movements. They are smart in one or two areas because they want to be. (Please no letters. I know you are all very smart and spent a lot of money on your degree. But that was a choice because the information you got is actually free at the library.)

Many self-educated people are brilliant and never attended college. Some of the greatest statesmen in American history were totally lacking in more than rudimentary education by today's standards, but they were readers. They read Blackstone's law, the Greek philosophers, the Bible, and any other book that passed their way. They could survive in the wilderness with no assistance. They built ships, houses, and roads. And they knew all about building nations. Yet they lacked a parchment. Their equivalent today is nowhere to be found.

Conclusion: "Schooling" doesn't necessarily equate with intelligence. The movers and shakers in history have not been social workers or doctors of anything. Yes, I know you serve a purpose but it is pretty limited in scope and people have to be sick to need you. How depressing. However, I’m sure we are all eternally grateful. Good job and all that.

I'm serious.

Back to ME. In light of all this thinking I was doing, I realized that I felt smart. (I didn't always feel that way.) I graduated with honors with a BA in history. I was invited to participate in an honors symposium of the college's brightest. I belong to the highest scholarship society in the country and their plaques are on the wall. I won awards in history and anthropology - their money paid my tuition. I was encouraged to go after a Master's degree.

However, why would I? Since I had always read everything from encyclopedias to references books for entertainment why would I want to spend +$60,000 for something I could get free? I only went to college in the first place because the current job market requires a person with a degree and I would hate working at Wal-Mart even more that I hate shopping there! And I actually hate working! I’d rather be reading something or learning something or writing something.

My only regret is that I didn't get my teaching certification because I love teaching children. But that meant two years of even more narrow education and that would bore me to tears. There is too much to learn to focus on one thing for 30 years.

Oh, you want to get rich? Ah.

So, what did my ratiocination reveal? I have to admit I considered responding to the brilliantly rude mind but after my thinking session a little voice in my ear said, "Why? Their reaction to your questions proved your point. You should be satisfied because.... you were right."

I smiled.

Oh wow, I love it when I'm right.

Note: Education is good, very, very good. But all the education in the world won't make you a nice person.

Weekend Update

I have been so busy that this blog has sort of fallen by the wayside. My Yahoo 360 blog, on the other hand, is what has kept me so busy. Well, in addition to my family. The new baby is adorable and sweet but one forgets how much work and how much noise they make!

This weekend, Sunday, we have her dedication service. My aunt & uncle are supposed to drive in from Georgia for the weekend and be there will us. It appears it will be Becca's mom and dad, me, Jerry, and Mike, Dave, Becca, my sister, my aunt & uncle. I don't think anyone else is coming but that is a a lot.

I am trying to get my house cleaned. Becca's mom is cleaning for me today. I will pay her to do it and she is really good at cleaning. She did it for me once before and it was so nice.

The weekend will be busy and noisy I suspect. We are awfully crowded because of Dave & Becca moving back in but we are managing. I had a new door put up in the den into the garage. The old one was in bad shape and wouldn't lock. Now all I need is a door on the den into the kitchen to give that room some privacy. We are going to put a new door on my bedroom and the one that is there is a good door (just doesn't match the ones I had to change out because they were shot). I am going to try and put the old door up in that den/kitchen entry. It will be just fine in there if it works.

My mother got out of the nursing home. She had been there a couple of months because she broke her leg. Shis 70 yrs old and has diabetes and a calcium deficiency in her bones. The leg broke in 5 places while they were trying to put pins in it so she was put in a nursing home to heal. They say she is fine.

Mike is doing well and is at the stage that he feels very angry with the ex-wife and says he is glad he is not married to her anymore. He says he realized it was the biggest mistake he ever made. I suspect it is the normal cycle of loss that most people feel. He is a very loyal person and very dedicated, even in the midst of his problems he remains loyal to those he loves.

I think what bothers him most is the manner in which she behaved. Sly, sneaky, and without any honest in her dealings. I reminded him when he said as much that I had told him BEFORE he married her that she was a liar and he wouldn't listen. He said he remembered and that he wished he has listened. Then he said, "I'm never going to do that again." But he probably will because he never sees anything bad in anyone until they nearly destroy him.

Well, gotta get busy now. Duty calls. Check out my 360 blog. The link it on the left.

Killing The Bug

The last Saturday of January 2002, I spent most of the day and all night looking for a bug. Not the nasty brown bugs that scurry for cover when you turn on the light, but a bug of a different color. However, this bug is harder to catch than the multi-legged kind.

The day started pretty well. I had it all planned. I was going to have everything done in time for church that night. Saturday’s are usually the only day I have to do laundry and clean house. It usually takes all day and part of the evening to get everything done. But we were in revival and I wanted to try and make it that night. Due to a variety of things, Thursday and Friday had been a wash. The week had not ended well and perhaps that should have been a warning.

Anyway, I planned to pay the bills and tally up the bank account so we could see where we stood financially the coming week. After all, Jerry got laid off that week and we were short an income. You don’t want to spend money until you know how much you have to spend, especially when there is less that there was the week before.

I sat down and began to work on the account but was rudely kicked out. A little box told me there was an error and if I could not resolve it I should contact the vendor. O.k. I turned the machine off and tried again. I didn’t even get into the program that time. It just locked up. So I turned it off again and tried again . . . several times. No luck. Now I was worried. Something was wrong and I could not figure out where. I read the error message carefully. It told me what it was and where it was, sort of. Actually, it gave me a bunch of numbers and letters arranged in meaningful clusters that made total sense . . . to a computer guru. (Guru: A person of great wisdom or extensive knowledge.) But again, it told me if the problem continued to contact the vendor.

I thought I might be able to work this out. I am fairly literate about computers. What I know I learned the hard way. I had a computer when there were no windows! I am one of the few ancient wise women who actually know what DOS stands for and how to use it if the need ever arises. Bill Gates will have to die first.

So, I uninstalled the program. After all, I could have a corrupted data file that was causing the crash. I reinstalled the program. I started to work, made a few entries and was booted out again. I scanned the drive. For the non-computer person, this means I ran a system check, not physically looked at it, to see if there were physical problems with the files or hard drive. There wasn’t. Next, I defragmented the drive. No it wasn’t broken. This means I told it to get itself organized, to put the files in a logical order that it could easily understand. Then I ran a virus scan to see if a bug had crept in. Nothing.

I uninstalled the program and reinstalled it . . . five times. Each time it locked up and wouldn’t let me in and if I was able to get in, it kicked me out. Something was VERY wrong. So I called my service technician. I got a woman. Great, I think, someone who speaks my language, shares my grief, and understands my frustrations. She asked me if I had virus software and if it was up to date. I said I did and explained what. She said I might have a virus it missed because I did not have an up-to-date version of the program. Hmmm. Then, she walked me through a process she said would fix the problem. I thanked her and hung up, happy that the problem was solved.

I started the program and got to work. Worked great. I thought I should print out the register, though, just in case something else went wrong. You can never be too careful with computers. I hit the print key. Up pops a window telling me I have an error. It tells me what it was and where it was, sort of. It wasn’t the same error. It was a new one.

Stupid woman. She didn’t actually sound very nice either. She had a cold, know-it-all voice. And she must not have had a clue or I wouldn’t be having another problem. And the system was not booting up correctly now, at all.

I called back. I got a man, who sounded like he was in a smoky room in Casablanca. He said something and I said, “Excuse me?” I could barely understand him. When we are able to finally communicate, which means I dredged up my Spanish class ears and put them on, I told him my problem.

He said, “Is all your data backed up?” I did like the way words rolled off his tongue.

“Well, sort of.” I said. That means not in the last six months. “Why do you ask?”

“You should back up all your data and reformat.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. I put my head in my hand. “Do you know how long it takes me to get everything back on after a format?”

“I understand,” he said.

“It takes weeks and I have a church newsletter to have out by next Sunday.”

He didn’t respond. Perhaps we had a bad connection. “What might be causing this?” I asked.

“It might be a virus that your software failed to catch.”

I sighed. He had read the note screen, of course. Stupid woman.

“Thank you,” I sighed again and hung up.

So, I began backing up data, stopping only to eat and take potty breaks. It took the better part of three hours to locate and backup all the data I had to save. It is a time consuming, boring, tedious process. You have to hunt down everything you think might be important and copy it to an external disk. Some things are easily found because you tell the computer where you want it stored. Sometimes programs store information where they want to store it, unless you order it not to. And sometimes they do it anyway!

Around 9:00 p.m. I was ready to reformat. At 3:00 a.m. I went to bed, secure in the knowledge that I had rooted out the bug. I had reinstalled all necessary software but I suspected the church newsletter was going to be late. I just hoped I would not be late for church in the morning!

I wasn’t, but I was dead on my feet. As long as we were standing I was fine but when I sat down, I wanted to curl up and snooze. But during the service a voice in my head began to speak. I grabbed my trusty notebook and pen and started to write.

“The computer is a great tool. You load it with all the necessary things to make it work efficiently and as long as you follow the operating procedures everything is great. Follow the manual and you can do a lot of great things that would take hours without a computer.

“You also have the Internet. It is a great resource, a place where tons of information is provided, usually free of charge. But there are a lot of hazards. You go out on the Web and there is always the risk of infection by a virus. Even though you may have an anti-virus program to protect you, a virus can get through and cause terrible damage, even a system crash. Then, you have to locate the problem and root it out. Sometimes the only alternative it to wipe everything out and start over.

“Infection can result without your knowing it. A virus can come in and attach itself to a file and secretly corrupt it so badly that the program no longer even works. Sometimes a virus has the ability to replicate and move to other programs until, suddenly, right in the middle of the most important thing the whole system comes crashing down. Some viruses have the power to totally wipe out everything on your system.

"The computer is like Christians and the Internet is like the world. Christians can cruise along in the world, unaware of their surroundings, secure that they are protected by their beliefs and faith. They move from place to place and at each stop, hidden viruses lie in wait. They attach themselves secretly and begin their work. Even though Christians are trusting in their “anti-virus” religious experience they can still be infected by the viruses lurking in the world.”

I stopped writing at that point. I understood the message. More importantly, I understood why my computer crashed that weekend.

Spiritual viruses lurk around every corner. Each person we meet, each place we go may have something waiting to infiltrate our minds and cause a system failure. And if we don’t detect it, we risk passing it on to someone else. Just because we are Spirit-filled Christians doesn’t mean we are impervious to contamination. It means we are supposed to be on guard, watching for those viruses that may attach, replicate, and corrupt us, and those around us.

Anti-virus programs are absolutely necessary for any computer that will be exchanging information with another computer. However, all anti-virus programs must be updated, usually weekly. Every day a new computer virus comes out and whole companies are devoted to developing applications that will stop them. As of January 25, 2002, my computer was protected against 58,571 viruses and as of November 5, 2005, my protection had reached 70,773. So too, do we need to keep our spiritual programming updated. What worked to get us through today may be useless tomorrow. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. – Matt. 6:34”

After I left church that Sunday, I ate lunch and went back to work on the computer. I stopped and went to church Sunday night. By then, my eyes were beginning to cross. When I got home I worked until midnight. Finally, I had had enough. I crawled off to bed. Monday morning could truly be called Black Monday. I missed four hours of work. I had a migraine coming to call and I was soooo tired. But the computer was working. However, I still had days of work to do.

The bug is dead and my anti-virus program is running. I hope it is working.

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Heaven's Library

There is a paradox about writers, at least for me. I have problems with ideas. They tell me that every writer has the same problem but I can’t say that Michael Critchton appears to have ever experienced that phenomenon, nor has Patricia Cornwell. I have a boring, uninteresting life so my choices are rather slim, but sometimes a good idea can pop up out of nowhere and average things end up as grist for the mill.

For me, the effect is somewhat like standing in front of the mirror brushing your teeth and without warning, a third eye appears in your forehead. Toothpaste runs down the front of your shirt and your electric toothbrush roars off without you. I usually have the presence of mind enough to stop the toothbrush, rinse, and find a pad and pen before I lose it completely.

For a couple of years I have been getting these scenes in my head that just seem to pour out on the paper. I race to get them down and end up with a couple of thousand words at a time. Last year I realized that I had a story. I had written enough by this time that I knew the direction I wanted it to go. I had the main characters assigned to the parts I wanted them to play and the bad guy was already decided. Everything was sailing along on crystal seas. I could feel the summer breeze in my hair and feel the warm sun caressing my skin.
Then, that third eye thing happened and changed everything. I sat down on the toilet seat to recover. I had never had such a thing happen before and the impact was shattering to my psyche. How could such a thing happen when one had the story already planned and things were flowing well? I had heard of such epiphanies but never believed in them. Did I say everything had changed?

Once I was able to take my head from between my knees, I went to my computer and dashed off an email to my writing professor from college. He is quite adept as slapping sense back into his students and he relishes doing it. We have remained friends because I like gruff, opinionated people who are nice to me. I think he is nice to me because I like gruff, opinionated people. Ultimately, he is a born teacher and will offer tons of advice in terse form.

His response was as terse and comforting as I could have hoped. “Way too often characters go their own way. You can’t stop them. And, in the long run, it works out rather well. It is as though your subconscious is at least one curve ahead of you.

“Besides, you have to learn that nobody is as pure as you want them to be. Broken, lost people find their way, and we are charmed by those stories. Equally, people we think know what they are doing and are good turn out to be bad apples. Those stories smart a little, but it reminds us of reality.

“I’d just go the way the character wants to go. Nudge him into place later.”

It sounded like good advice. I felt better, assured I was not crazy to follow where the erratic muse was leading. It was after 1:00 a.m. by then so I went to bed, thinking about the changes that would be needed in the story. As I was contemplating the major changes to my story line and drifting off to sleep that third eye popped open and a new thought began to take shape. I was learning quickly that this was a double-edged sword, both painful and instructive. Fortunately, this time, I was not brushing my teeth. To this day, I am still not sure if I was dreaming or not. I didn’t stop the process. I just allowed my mind to drift along on the dream.

I was in a long corridor in a palace. Tall, gilt-trimmed columns supported the ceiling and along the walls were floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. There were millions of books and other corridors went off to the left and right all along the central corridor. I had never seen such a library. It was book-lover’s heaven. A dozen lifetimes would not be enough to read them all. I could almost feel the disappointment with the realization that I would never be able to read every book.

I moved along the corridors and wondered what all these books were and immediately, I knew that I was standing in Heaven’s Library. No other place could such a building exist, with such vast halls and so many books. I was curious as to what they could possibly contain to merit lining the halls of the creator’s palace. What importance could they have to him that he would keep them?

My mind shuffled through scripture, searching for places in the Bible that referred to books and writers. Paul called Jesus the author (Hebrews 2:20; 5:9; 7:10; 12:2; and 20:12). And John said, “And I saw the dead, the great and the small, standing before the throne; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of the things which were written in the books, according to their works.” (Revelation 20:12).

It was the first time in my life I really thought about the four words in the middle of that verse. Everyone always puts such importance on what was happening in the chapter and they never mention those four words, “the books were opened”. But here, in my dream or vision, as I began to examine the books closely, I believe I found an answer something important.

Each book is the draft of an individual’s life written by the creator. They contain the vital statistics of each person at each stage of their life. When the Bible tells us he knows the number of hairs on our head, it is because he has a record in our book.

What is even more interesting is that each book -- yours, mine, your friend’s -- tells the story as He would like the story of that person’s life, each step he would like them to take, every word he would like to hear them say. The characters are people he loves. They have traits and habits and talents. He knows their abilities and he wants them to use them as he planned. He wrote each one as a love story and all the endings are beautiful, happy endings. Then, He placed them on the shelves and handed the pen to the lead character . . . because editing the final draft is up to them.

He has to let the character finish the story. He has no choice. Every character in every story has the ability to do as they please. He knows how HE wants the story to go but the characters, as in any good story, write the story themselves. They can do what they want, go where they want, say what they want, and think what they want. The Author can stop them but ultimately once he creates the character and puts him in the story, he gives them life. Once they begin to breath, they begin to go their own way. The greatest Author won’t interfere but will allow the story to unfold.

The characters can make choices that change the entire direction of the intended story. They may take paths that lead to dead ends and have to be backtracked in order to find a better direction. They do things that they were never intended to do and say things they were not intended to say. They even think things they were never supposed to think.

The Author can try to pull them back on track but if he does, characters can become down right hostile. They balk, they fight, they argue, they struggle and run. He can gently try to steer them back on course. With some, he succeeds and the story exceeds his expectations. The character does wonderful, amazing things.

However, many times the characters simply do not cooperate and the story falls apart. It may be re-written … sometimes over and over, but to no avail. The story reaches a point that the Author knows it is never going to be publishable. Yet, he doesn’t throw it out. He puts it in a place where no one ever sees it, no one but him. Only he knows how the story was supposed to go. And for every unfinished novel a part of him grieves. As he reads over his writing he sees gems throughout that confirm the writing was good. The story was right but something… something special just never appeared or the character took a wrong turn.

The Author never feels that any story is a waste of time but some just never reach their potential. Ultimately, the finished product will never be what it was intended to be. They are aligned along the shelves, never forgotten but never reaching the masses with their message. And so, the corridors of the Court of Heaven are lined with works in progress, unfinished masterpieces, final drafts that just did not meet expectations, and the world will never read the real story, the one that would have made a difference.

My dream ended and I don’t really know what else I saw or learned there. Maybe it was really a dream that meant nothing. For me, it was a revelation into my own life. I am an unfinished product and my life is still being written. I get to decide which story is told.

A great poet said these words, “. . . my tongue is the pen of a ready writer: . .” (Ps. 45:1) Ultimately, it is up to me. I can tell the story my way or I can take the first draft, find ways to improve on the plan, polish it, add special touches until it shines. I can be bound in leaves of gold and put in a place of honor for all to read. Or I can be one of the unfinished manuscripts that no one ever reads and which will remain stored in the library of Heaven as a memorial to what could have been.

Your Typical Saturday... At My House

I am considering letting this blog lapse because I have to much going on. The following link: http://profiles.yahoo.com/a_dixiegirl_in_indiana is to my other blog on Yahoo 360. I am not sure it is worth the effort to keep two blogs going. I don't have that much to say, surely.

Today is Saturday and I was supposed to work but forgot. I did get up sometime early this morning and asked Jerry, "I don't have to work today, do I? It's Saturday, right?" Of course, he never answered but I figured it out and went back to bed. So, I wake up at 9:30 and while getting my caffeine fix Becca said, "I thought you had to work today!" And it hit me. I was supposed to work today. It wasn't mandatory but I need that extra $100 I would have brought home. I felt bad but honestly, I am so tired... no worn out that I just can't muster the energy to get really annoyed with myself. I get tired of measuring my life by a dollar bill.

I have a lot to do today because Dave and Becca moved last night and we have to get the den organized and move some stuff around so they can put everything they don't have in storage. I have several rooms to clean up and it will take most of today to do it. Best get moving.

When I Was the Flame

I want the smoke and smell of fall to drift around me and lose myself in the glow while a breeze creeps along the ground and stirs the embers.
I want to shiver in the chill and scooch up to the fire with a blanket and listen to stories of the past, when heros walked the earth and blazed firey trails.
I want to stretch my hands to the warm flames and feel it curl up my arms and into my heart, where memories are stored and set them aflame in my mind again.
I want to sit on the ground with the loved ones around me, and bask in the warmth of their smiles while the flames dance on the wind.
I want to sit by this fire and stare into its heart and remember when I was the flame.

My Up and Down Life

I was up until 2 a.m. this morning because the baby girl was not feeling good and mama had to rest. I was late getting to work because my lack of sleep brough on a migraine. By 9 a.m. I had that under control and was working by 10 a.m., I am at work, taking my break. I didn't take a lunch because I missed 2 hours of work. That way, I only lose an hour off my time.

I actually feel better because I needed the sleep. I am getting antsy to get back to my writing. My house is upside down with stuff strewn everywhere. Dave and Becca are moving their stuff in storage Friday and moving into my den for a few months. They hope they will get a voucher soon and can move out. We will see. I hope they get it too. My house is full!

Mike is still home with us and I can't find a place for him to go. He just got the judgement paid off where he and his idiot ex abandoned their lease. Daddy bought her a trailer but Mike has to live with us because of her trashy behavior. He would never have have defaulted on that lease if she had not threatened to leave and go back to Arkansas. She ended up with everything they got as wedding gifts and he has nothing at all but the clothes on his back and a chest my sister gave him, a chair I recovered for him, and his desk I bought when he was small.

We didn't go to court for anything more because he had nothing but Social Security as income and couldn't hire a lawyer. The fat Bimbo just took him to the cleaners because she got them to charge him with half of her medical bills. She had to have a bunch of medical things done while she was married to him. She told Mike that it would be "free" because Arkansas had this "free" hospital. Yes, he bought it. Now, his credit is crap because she had a habit of abandoning her leases, and getting cars repossessed, and not paying her bills anywhere. A real catch guys. For those who do not know this, you marry your credit.

Gee, do I sound nasty? I suppose it will be a long time before I get past it. I get mad every time I think about her. Need I mention she was a "Preacher's daughter"?

My one postive feeling in the whole thing is in knowing that she was terrified of me, so much so she "said" she had a protection order against us. Hysterical, especially since I wouldn't cross the street to spit on her, let alone spend hundreds chasing her. My experience is that a person who thinks like she does has reason to fear people because they are liars and theives. They never rest easy because they are constantly looking over their shoulders waiting for the people they harm to come after them. My sons and other daughter-in-law think it is a hoot. In fact, the whole family rolls in laughter when we talk about that because I am the most non-violent person you will find.

Jerry is now working at a drug store about three days a week. I hope it will help us get straightened out financially. So far, the first check didn't help at all cause expenses are just ridiculous with all these people in the house.

I am considering a biography! My life is an adventure.... I feel just like Indiana Jones!

Sweet Home Alabama

Today is a cool gloomy day and I am thinking of home. Sweet home, Alabama, where skies are so blue. Oh, how I wish I was coming home to you.

There is the this point in my journey each time I travel the road back to Alabama. It can best be experienced if the windows of the car are down when you cross the state line. There is this scent to the air that is found nowhere else. I have visited many states and several countries and have never experienced it anwhere else. It is the scent of honeysuckle and pine, the smell of clean air and sunshine.

If you stop anywhere in the state for gas, it is the music of the people... their speech when they say with a smile, "How y'all doin' today?" And you know it is a real question and not just the customer service. Their voices are like the vocal divisions you find in a great choir. Near Anniston they sing one part of the song while in Mobile it is a different part and Montgomery still another. Every place you go they have a slightly different accent but despite the regional differences you know you are still in Alabama.

Lord, I want to go home.

Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

Been a while since I was here. I have been busy... with the new grandbaby and trying to deal with so many people in such a small place. Diapers, clothes, interrupted sleep, crying baby and 6 people crammed into 1000 sq feet. Not fun and not condusive to good sleep.

I've been helping Becca with the baby as much as possible but I can't do the late night feedings. I have to work. Last night I was awakened by a screaming baby demanding her food at 2 a.m. and again at 4 a.m. I had trouble getting back to sleep after that last one and I don't think I slept well all night anyway. I have to get some sleep tonight. I am pretty zonked today and can't function well.

I have not been able to get on my computer at home in days because it is the room where new baby and parents are sleeping. Dave works nights but Becca sleeps there. Hope to have them in the den by the end of the months but it isn't going well so far.

I'm tired. Gone.

Tender Moments

There is no love in the universe as special as this kind of love.

Sarah Cheyenne's First Bath

" This is NOT fun!"

Isn't She Beautiful!

New Arrival!

Sarah Cheyenne arrived on September 2, 2006 at 3:41 p.m. She weighed 6 lbs 7 ozs and was 20 inches long.

She is adorable and we will post photos as soon as possible.

I'd write more but I am exhausted. I stayed at the hospital last night to help Becca. Dave had to go back to work at 10:30 p.m.

Whine and Cheese. . . Again

Sunday and I am at home in a world of pain and stiffness. Yesterday, I went to my sister's to help do some more painting and cleanup. We got a lot of trim done but found that the bedroom windows have been painted shut and that the vinal siding was put on OVER the storm windows. We now have to figure out how we are going to take them down without tearing up the siding in order to unstick the painted windows. If we can't do that, we have to break at least two windows to open the storm windows so we can then unstick the regular window and then put new glass in them.

We also powerwashed the basement and unstopped the drain where the moron has never cleaned and allowed the washer to stop the floor drain. It is much cleaner now and just needs painting. We got a bit of carbon monoxide I think because it was a gas operated power washer. We had windows and the door to the stairs opened but still I think we all got a bit sick. Very dizzy at the end of it. Felt better after an hours lying on the floor of my sister's apartment and relaxing. But we are all tired and sore.

I am attempting to work on the novel again. I have found, with the help of a friend, a solution to my block and feel like I can move forward now. I hope so, anyway.

The baby has not arrived yet but Dave and Becca have a problem. She is due any day. The project where they are living is infested with roaches and they found three in the baby's bed. They are trying to find a place they can rent cheaply so they don't have to be concerned about roaches getting to the baby. I am not sure what they can do. If anything happens to Dave's job they will be in terrible trouble anywhere else.

Things are not good financially with us either. We are having so many money problems and Jerry still has no job. He is not going to get one I believe. That is very negative of me but I have nothing that would indicate I have anything to be positive about. I am positive things are bad. May not have internet much longer. I can save $100 a month by shutting off cable, phone, and internet. That will make nearly all the car payment. If he could just get a job bringing home $100 a week it would solve the major problems.

Ok, I've had my whine and cheese session. Go out and make a difference in the world. I have no life but you ought to be out doing something.

The End is Near

I am beginning to think blogging is the biggest waste of time. I have been working at it since May ... I think... and so far I don't really see the sense of it. I have vented, waxed poetic, contributed great prose, and preached a little bit. I think it is just not something I am cut out to do.

I am trying to figure out the timing of it but there doesn't seem to be any timing involved. I have considered content but have not found anything original out here. Most are just repeating information they heard somewhere else, show photos I have see long ago, and tell jokes that have been coming in my email for years!

So, I am going to just give it a bit longer, see what happens, how I feel about the process and then, probably just drop the whole thing. The second blog is not going well either and I still have two websites that are now extremely overdue for an update.

Not to mention my novel is languishing. I just got a few tips last night on it and I am thinking about that aspect of it. I think it will help jump start me but now I am not in possession of a lot of free time. This next two week I suspect I will be very, very busy.

I am supposed to help Phyllis paint the rest of the apartment, the baby is due in the next 14-18 days, I need to get her a bed up, finish stripping her chest of drawers and get it repainted. And write. Somewhere in there I have to go to work and sleep!

I will post photos of the new baby before I end it. But, while this has been fun and it is really just a lazy person's way of avoiding real writing. I will probably just stop bothering after September.

Gripe Session in Progress

I feel as if my nose is stuffed with cement. The air must be teeming with something. Over the last several weeks I have been struggling to breath. I got so frustrated that I even stopped taking Claritin. I was having these allergy symptoms and I wanted to see what kid of difference it was making. Guess what... it wasn't! I was off it for two weeks and my situation did not get worse. It didnt' get better either.

I am supposed to have my crown put on this afternoon. I am having lunch with a friend at noon. And this morning, I am chained to my desk. In about three minutes I am going to be attacking the files to see what I can process. I do not want to loose the momentum of the last week but right now I need verifications to come in so I can actually do the work. Of course, I could start on December files....

Housing assistance. That's what I do. I work with a government agency to provide rental assistance to low income families. You call it Section 8. HUD likes the kinder, gentler term Housing Choice Voucher (HCV). The government will pay 60-70% of of your rent if you qualify. I am the person who maintains the client's file and continually monitor their status to insure they are receiving the correct amount of subsidy. They are supposed to pay 30-40% of their adjusted income for rent.

Of course, that is only on income they have reported. Taxpayers get ripped every day by people who are not reporting their income so they can receive more of your tax dollars to pay their rent. They justify it by such excuses as "I have a car payment." "I won't be able to afford cable if I pay that!" Isn't that lovely.

Don't get me wrong. Most of the people who need housing are not the problem. It is a segment of society who believes it is someone else's job to pay their way. When a healthy, 20 year-old can sit at my desk with three small children and say, "My grandmama was on Sec. 8, my mama was on Sec 8 and I will always be on Sec. 8 and my kids will too." I get ticked. That is a great inheritance. Poverty passed down through the generations by choice. I was trying to get her into a program that would help her become self sufficient, go to college, get an education and buy her own home. She wanted her inheritance of Sec. 8 assistance! What is wrong with that picture?

So the next time you bleeding heart liberals think that more social services are the answer, come see me! They are NOT solving the problem. They are creating it. Social services should be designed for the elderly and disabled, people who require help because they are either too old and sick to work or because they have some disability that prevents them from being able to support themselves. And a transitional assistance until healthy people get a job that will support them. A healthy adult needs to get out and work. Atlanta already has the idea. You have to have a job to be on their program. Great idea, Atlanta!

Ok, I think that will about do it for me. I have a headache and my eyes feel as if they are floating in fluids in my sinuses.

Stop the World

I haven't run out of things to say but lately I have turned melancholy... a little bit anyway. I have always loved poetry and especially the works of Tennyson and Longfellow. They recite words that speak to my spirit and that for a few minutes take me back to a time of my life when things moved at a slower pace and my happiness was found in simple things, such as good books, a walk in the woods, Sunday dinner with my extended family, and my children's laughter.

The world is moving at such a fast pace now and I want to scream "STOP!" We are missing the finer things in life in pursuit of toys, of pleasure for pleasure's sake rather than to enrich our life. How many people are left who can find joy in the summer breeze as it blows across the front porch bringing the sound of children laughing and playing in the twilight? How many children are laughing and playing in the twilight? See, we have lost something. Are we too stupid to see it?

I might be called old fashioned but there is a reason certain television shows are considered classics and have channels devoted to reruns of them. Because there is a large segment of society out there who is hungry for just a taste of that past. And it is not because of the things they had then.

No, we don't long to go back in time and live without our conveniences. We don't want to give up microwaves, computers, and indoor plumbing. We just want the secret to the innocence, to the laughter, to the family around the dinner table, to the trust, and even next door neighbors who wave and call you by name as you sit in the twilight on the front porch.

We want to know how to recapture the magic and wonder that we heard about from our grandparents. We want to understand how, in the midst of depression, famine, and war people could loan a cup of sugar and not expect its return, people could build a house in a week, take in orphan children they never met, buy a car on a handshake, sleep with the doors unlocked.

Where can we find the component that causes this kind of life? What makes them say please, thank you, excuse me, or let me help you? What have we lost?

I grew up in that life, among those people.

Today, I want to go home.

Crossing The Bar

From “The Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson”

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

Sea Fever

By John Masefield (1878-1967)

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking.
And a gray mist on the sea’s face and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied:
And all I ask is a windy day and the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the winds’ like a whetted knife:
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.