Late for the Sky

2004-03-01T14:03:00.000-08:00

Lest the people who are not reading my blog assume I am a complete softy, I give you...

MILITARY PHILOSOPHY

1. "Sometimes I think war is God's way of teaching us geography."
Paul Rodriguez

2. "A slipping gear could let your M203 grenade launcher fire when you
least expect it. That would make you quite unpopular in what's left of your unit." - Army's magazine of preventive maintenance.

3. "Aim towards the Enemy" - Instruction printed on US Rocket Launcher

4. When the pin is pulled, Mr. Grenade is not our friend.

5. Cluster bombing from B-52s is very, very accurate. The bombs always hit the ground.

6. If the enemy is in range, so are you.

7. It is generally inadvisable to eject directly over the area you just bombed.

8. Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never
encountered automatic weapons.

9. Try to look unimportant; they may be low on ammo.

10. You, you, and you . . Panic. The rest of you, come with me.

11. Tracers work both ways.

12. Five second fuses only last three seconds.

13. Don't ever be the first, don't ever be the last, and don't ever
volunteer to do anything.

14. Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid.

15. If your attack is going too well, you have walked into an ambush.

16. No combat-ready unit has ever passed inspection.

17. Any ship can be a minesweeper . . once.

18. Never tell the Platoon Sergeant you have nothing to do.

19. Don't draw fire, it irritates the people around you.

20. Mines are equal opportunity weapons.

21. If you find yourself in a fair fight, you didn't plan your mission
properly.

2004-02-24T07:04:00.000-08:00

I just finished Life of Pi by Yann Martel. How rich this story is. It has every component of a powerful book, including an ending that leaves your mind tumbling over and over the details you thought insignificant in the first telling.

As someone who has for all of my life grappled with the presence of the Divine, I was intrigued by the claim that the story would make you believe in God. While I haven’t fully had time to digest (a word that comes to mean a lot in the book) the intricacies of Pi’s story, I was repeatedly moved by his faith.

Pi sort of takes a smorgasboard approach to spirituality and religion. He picks the best of three well-known religions and practices each fervently.

I won’t say more until my husband and I have had a chance to discuss the book. Such discussions have paved highways from here to West Virginia and back.

2004-02-12T09:41:00.000-08:00

Oh my GOD!

Herr, 33, of Denton, said he declined to fill the prescription for the so-called "morning-after pill" because he believes it could have killed the embryo if the woman already had conceived. Though he had declined five or six times in the past to fill such prescriptions, it was the first time he had been handed one for a rape victim, he said.

"I went in the back room and briefly prayed about it," said Herr, who had worked for Eckerd for five years. "I actually called my pastor ... and asked him what he thought about it."

He called his PASTOR? I'd just love to know what this omniscient pastor sitting home in is lazy boy, wearing a cardigan said when he got that call. Where I come from we call that Preacher Religion - when people can't sneeze without asking the preacher if it's the will of God. Too bad he and the rapist didn't sit down to a nice prayer breakfast before this woman was attacked. It sucks enough to be violated without being punished on religious grounds in the same breath.

2004-02-11T08:37:00.000-08:00

Going to the Dogs
I can’t believe I missed it!!!! I have watched the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show every year for the past 10 years. I guess that’s testament to my complete and utter shift in priorities. I completely forgot about it.

Anyhoo…hats off to Josh. He’s a fine looking dog. At the risk of offending, I’m so glad that the toy group didn’t take home Best in Show. I don’t have anything against them. I think they are great companions for the right people. I’m just partial to the other groups – particularly hounds. I was heartened to see that the 13 inch Beagle (not to be confused with the 15 inch variety) won third in the hound group. I am looking forward to the day that the Beagle brings home the big kahuna – Best in Show.

2004-02-09T09:42:00.000-08:00

Words in flight can never be recalled...
I’m pretty careful these days not to use the word “never” in the phrase “I will (would) never…” As it turns out, everything I’ve ever said I’d never do, I’ve done – usually twice. This is particularly true of my life as a parent. Those of you who are parents know what I’m talking about.

So, I’m not going to say that I will or would but I HOPE that I never speak to Madeline the way I heard a mother speak to her daughter this weekend.

My husband and I volunteer on a ski patrol in West Virginia. I am in my candidate year, which sometimes involves standing around waiting on someone to tell you what to do. Saturday I was doing just that at the top of the mountain when I looked over to see two female skiers exiting the lift. The got a little tangled up and the older of the two fell and immediately grasped her knee. The woman turned out to be around 40 and the other skier was her daughter, Tiffany.

As I walked over to help her, she began screaming at Tiffany for having tripped her up on her exit. She literally said, “Tiffany, I told you to move. Get away from me and stay away. Go on. Go away.”

Sanity Check: Teenagers can be space cadets and this may have been the 10th time this had happened. Perhaps this woman relied on her mobility to make ends meet and she was in pain and afraid her livelihood was in jeopardy because of her daughter’s carelessness. (Turns out her pride was more wounded than anything.)

Reality Check: Being a teenager is hard enough without a parent who embarrasses you and “rejects” you in front of a bunch of strangers. Verbal abuse, even under duress, wounds in a very ugly way. The scars sometimes never heal.

Cold, Hard Reality Check: Talk to the parents of Carlie Brucia or Rebeca Martinez or an 8-year-old girl in the Philadelphia library. They would likely take a sore knee any day to have their children safe and sound.

I can only hope that this frustrated mother apologized later and hugged her kid. I know I hugged mine.

2004-02-03T13:13:00.000-08:00

I'm torn...

There is a part of me that thinks this is ridiculous. However, there is another part of me that recalls the first time I ever saw a Cedar Waxwing up close and personal. Unfortunately, this was also the first time I had ever seen a DEAD Cedar Waxwing.

I was strolling along Main Street when I lived in Columbia, SC. I recall that it was a brisk day and that the Mary Nell hollies had berries. That must have been winter. Anyway, I saw what must have been 20 of the most unusual and beautiful birds, all lying dead next to the building I had just exited.

The Cedar Waxwings were migrating perhaps when they ran across the holly berries and ran into the building.

perhaps the dude in the article is onto something. Maybe there is a way to warn our feathered friends. While I'm not a bleeding heart - oh, who am I kidding - I am a bleeding heart. I couldn't leave town last weekend until I had made sure there was food in the bird feeder.

2004-01-28T06:15:00.000-08:00

Most people who know me well know that I am a fan of the sea turtle. Actually, I am an advocate for turtles but sea turtles in particular.

Yep, I'm the one who stops on country roads to help turtles across before oncoming traffic flattens them. I'm also the one who issues dissertations on the hazards of freed helium balloons that often make it to sea where they fall into the ocean, fill with water and take on the proportions of a jellyfish. Jellyfish are a staple of the sea turtle diet and a wayward balloon mistaken for a snack can ruin a sea turtle's digestive tract.

When I was a kid, I had a friend whose parents always took us on adventures. One of these adventures was dragging us to the beach one June night to watch the sea turtles lay their eggs. Unlike birds and such, sea turtles dig their nest into the sand (very tough with only flippers), deposit their eggs, cover them up and them make their way back to the water. The babies emerge some time later and toddle their way to the sea if not consumed by large sea birds or uncaring observers.

As if it's not troubling enough that these mothers never get to see their young, now they have an even seedier threat. Bands of armed marauders killing them for their highly prized flesh and eggs in Mexico. What next...

2004-01-22T05:43:00.000-08:00

No WAY!!!

2004-01-18T16:42:00.000-08:00

Like a moth to a flame...CNN.com - Four people, including toddler, fatally shot in Indiana home - Jan. 18, 2004

Why is that I'm drawn to these horrific stories involving children? More importantly, why is that, when much of the world struggles to save their children from starvation, ours die because their parents can't keep their noses clean?

Ugggh...I should really stick to the plane crash articles.

2004-01-17T15:08:00.000-08:00

Anyway...Cherie worked summers in a lawyer's office on E. Bay St. in downtown Charleston. She spent her lunch hour in Battery park slathering raspberry jam on freshly baked bread from the bakery across the street. She wandered through the used book store after work and spent evenings traipsing around the Holy City. I know it's not scaling the alps or hunting for treasure in a Moroccan market, but it was SOOOO different from my experience in little ole Hartsville, SC.

It was more like the life I imagined for myself. It was the life I imagined when I saw a certain painting by a Charleston artist, Steven Jordan. The watercolor was a rocking chair in an upstairs window overlooking the city through a lace curtain.

I spent my time with Cherie exploring the nooks and crannies of this cordial city. Cherie and I both dreamed of post graduate life - she as an eccentric professor driving a rusted out Karmann Ghia, me dropping into her hardwood flat after yet another trip as a world-renound journalist. You can imagine my surprise when she she got married two weeks after graduation and was pregnant three months later. I confess that I was disappointed that she had abandoned our dream. It took me 11 years to settle down, so to speak. I wouldn't trade this life I have. Although, I still want that Karmann Ghia.

2004-01-17T08:22:00.000-08:00

Frankly my dear...I do adore Charleston.

Whether or not it's the most polite I've never really pondered. Regardless, it is one of the few places in South Carolina I would consider living. Now before you get all hot and bothered, I'm a South Carolinian. I love the state. It's just that I've lived in several different regions of it and feel that Charleston is the one place that has something different to offer.

I fell in love with Charleston when I was in college. My roommate and best friend was from there and we went down on many weekends to get away from school. I think she really is part of the reason I fell in love with it. She had such a romantic notion of life ... eeek...baby cries....must finish later....

2004-01-16T07:53:00.000-08:00

Do you mean Havana, CUBA?

For my part, I think I'll just stick with countries led by less fickle, more predictable rulers. Of course, I guess that rules out Paris and Leipzig. Yes, I still call them freedom fries sometimes.

No really, one of the things I enjoy most about the Olympics is fantastic coverage and exposes on the host country. I LOVE the opening ceremonies and the cultural insight they offer. For that reason, I'm going to have to vote for Rio or Istanbul.

I had a Mommy date last night. That's when two or more mommies get together and discuss life post baby without making a conscious effort to change the topic so as not to seem obsessed with such issues.

It was quite nice. We got together a terrific little coffee house (Rappahannock Roasting on Columbia Pike) and chatted away an hour while wrestling with babies. I need to do that more often. It makes me feel less like an alien.

2004-01-14T09:28:00.000-08:00

Tired of the mommy Blogs….don’t read it. Who am I kidding? No one reads it anyway
=)

One of the toughest things any parent will ever do is chose a person/people to care for their child. I’m almost afraid to say this out loud, but we are SOOOOO fortunate. Our caregiver, whose name I wouldn’t divulge under threat of death, is awesome. She not only has the gift of soothing children, but their parents as well. On any night of the week you will find a small gathering in her living room between 5 p.m. and 6 p.m.

We weary laborers file in one by one to gather our tiny hearts. With a call downstairs to her helper she expeditiously presents us with our little charges as if bestowing gifts upon us. They are fed, bathed and generally laughing. I always pictured dashing in and dashing out, which is probably more like the morning drop off left to my husband. But no. We sit and visit, allowing Awesome Caregiver to lavish compliments on our little Beethovens and Einsteins. It’s downright therapeutic. It is a nice way to unwind before taking Boo Bear home to begin our nightly routine. It’s a circle of friends. A circle of common interests – our kids, our jobs and our choices.

The mothers and fathers of the older children are a vision of how our lives will change when Maddie can run to greet us rather than be carried – of how it will feel to have her throw her arms around us. It’s reassurance. A glimpse to our future. A reminder of how quickly time flies.

2004-01-14T06:15:00.000-08:00

Now for some observations and enlightenment from a first-time mother.

Mothers have no worse enemy than other mothers, and it’s such a shame. Women are historically catty, but something about bearing offspring brings out the worst in many people. You have never heard such judgmental negativity as you will hear from women criticizing their sister’s choices in everything from careers to cold remedies.

As for me…I sometimes catch myself in “I can’t believe she….” mode. It only takes a moment for me to be humbled by the difficult choices we are required to make about our children.

I recently was searching on a baby-related web site for solutions to separation anxiety. For those uninitiated among you, most children reach a certain stage when they begin to fear strangers and cling more closely to their primary caregivers. This is healthy for many reasons, but it can be VERY upsetting. Anyway…while searching I ran across a chat on the subject. An anonymous writer submitted a scathing dissertation on mothers who work outside of home or leave their children for extended times. According to this brave anonymous soul, mothers who make the choice to work outside the home are selfish, materialistic and should be ashamed for outsourcing the raising of their children.

For those of us who have a choice – and I do – it’s certainly not an easy decision. It didn’t take me long to realize that a lot of my identity, relationships and energy are tied up in my career. So sue me. I was single and childless in the work force for 12 years before meeting my husband and having our daughter. It’s a good thing I like what I do. Do I miss Boo Bear. I certainly do.

It boils down to this. Most of us doubt our choice at some point. When we hear someone else talk about the advantages of their decision, it makes us question our own. Then we become defensive, guilty and riddled with self doubt. So, what do we do? We lash out and criticize others for the very things we fear in ourselves. I had a boyfriend like that once. He was a real !@#$. He always doubted his ability to “fit in” in social settings, so he constantly criticized everything from my hair to my earrings. It made him feel better about who he was.

Girls…and there are many of you out there who agree with me…just lay off the sisterhood. Make your own choice. If you don’t like it, change it. If it works for you, that’s great. However, just be supportive of your comrades in arms. The next time you hear yourself or someone else passing judgment, just STOP it. The fact that Susie-Q uses Vicks vapor rub on her infant is not a topic for heated and violent argument. If you want to be judgmental, pick a more clearly onerous topic…parents who don’t use car seats, parents who use drugs, children dying of hunger in America’s inner cities…

2004-01-12T13:59:00.000-08:00

When I think about the phrase "flying by the seat of my pants," I guess I envision being plucked up by a stork or pterodactyl and transported over state lines.

That's how I feel many days since embarking on Mommy-dom. Recently I've felt a bit troubled that I'm somehow imparting this frenetic pace to our daughter. I guess I hoped that being a parent would force some level of organization that I lacked. Not a chance.

I do organize my thoughts differently now. I even prepare and plan ahead. However, all of that energy is spent on the additional things necessary to keep Maddie happy and healthy. I find that by the time I get to work, I need a bit of time just to pull it all together. I wonder if my husband feels this way? I don't think so. He usually takes life as it comes. I tend to take on the responsibility of worrying.

Having thought of this a lot lately, I 've come to the conclusion that I actually enjoy a certain amount of chaos. I don't thrive on predictability. Now, how to harness this passion for madness....

2004-01-06T13:59:00.000-08:00

Oh, woe is me. Bless my little pea-picking heart. I am in a funk and can’t extricate myself. I’m not sure if it’s the holiday funk, the post-holiday funk, or just your general, run-of-the-mill funk.

I am harboring a pretty hefty portion of guilt because I’m completing some training on the weekends for the next month or two. This training will eventually buy me more time with my husband and has certainly improved skills that are valuable to my family. The virtues continue to accumulate because this training is for a volunteer role rendering medical aid. However, it is taking time away from my daughter, who is eight months old.

I have always felt that the best way to be a loving, patient and energetic parent is to have interests of your own that are separate from your family. However, I guess I didn’t take into consideration that I’d be working 40+ hours a week AND pursuing other interests. The only other thing that I really insist on taking “me” time for is exercise. I don’t have any issues with this – though I have friends who chide me for it – because I think it set is a positive example for Maddie and it’s healthy for me.

I’m a bit stuck in this training because I’ve invested quite a bit of money and my husband has make modifications to accommodate it. I supposed all that’s left is to mentally flog myself for my selfishness and try to carve extra time out for my baby love during the week.

You absolutely CANNOT have it all.

2004-01-05T14:07:00.000-08:00

What's that screeching sound? That's me trying to wind up the old creative juices in an effort to fulfill one of my new years resolutions - to blog.

The resolution is really more geared toward last year's resolution to write. Why do I have more hope of fulfilling my commitment this year? Mainly because I now have IE at work as opposed the archaic version of Netscape that previously prevented me from blogging on the job.

So slay me. I'm blogging while at work. I put in my time - and then some.

Why not blog at home? Well, there are several reasons. The first is that I have two far more entertaining and worthwhile pastimes when I am home - my husband and daughter. The second reason is that my husband gets first dibs on our home computer, from which he blogs freely.

Now, in the category of, "Oh, pleeeeeez!"

Thus is the only valid reason that I loathe Brittany Spears. She set about the business of attracting an audience of teenage females who helped her climb to stardom. She then began to systematically transform herself into a materialistic, body-image obsessed attention whore. I can live with most of it. Kiss Madonna - who wouldn't? Flaunt an awesome bod - okie dokie. Make a mockery of marriage in an era where young people jump first and look later? That bugs the crap out of me.

Fame has a price - it's called responsibility.

2003-02-05T13:59:00.000-08:00

Pause for the sound of weeping...

Any marketing folks out there? Is it just me, or is it a fairly simple leap to understand that there is a difference between Why and How someone becomes a customer. No, it's not enough to know that they faxed in their order. Why did they fax it in? Did they see you at a trade show, read about you on the web, hear about you from their aged grandmother?

These elementary exercises tire me. Calgon, take me away. Well, it's off to bowling. BTW Lex, from the hormonally challenged female perspective. No, it's not preferrable to be "a" redhead when "the" readhead is out there. I'd stay away from the reference if you want to get lucky =)

2003-02-03T10:10:00.000-08:00

This morning I heard perhaps the most concise and poignant analysis of Saturday's space shuttle tragedy. This reflection came from my boss, a retired USAF Major General, West Point grad and fighter pilot.

When asked if he had any remarks on the event, his response was this, "The birds are old."

In other news on things that fly, a story from the LA Times on "usable nuclear weapons." The report references an unpublished Pentagon document. Hmmm. The White House and DoD declined to comment. The quotes were from academics and arms control advocates. While the sourcing didn't lend much credibility to the story, I will say that the possibility is disturbing. Do all the research you want. Think outside the box. I'm all for innovative and ultra-effective weaponry. It keeps me in business. However, for my part, I say we leave the "N" word out of the equation.

Secrets?????

I had an amazing surprise when I got home Friday. Part of the reason that I am so very in love with my husband is his compassion and thoughtfulness. I was greeted Friday evening with quite a present. She makes a lovely addition to our feline/human household. Her name is Ce Ce. She is a frisky little kitty who looks for all the world like someone swiped her down the face with an orange paint brush.

Thank you sweetheart. You are the BEST!

2003-01-31T13:54:00.000-08:00

From the shoe bomber trial judge...very well said.

Reid's attorneys have said he believed
bombing the plane was necessary to
"prevent the destruction of Islam." In court
he described himself as a "soldier."

Young responded, "You are not a soldier
in any war -- you are a terrorist."

Calling the sentence Reid will face "a fair
and just sentence, a righteous sentence,"
Young said, "We do not sign documents
with terrorists. We hunt them down one by
one and bring them to justice. ... You're
big, but you're not that big. You are no
warrior. I know warriors. You are a
terrorist.

"You hate our freedom -- our individual
freedom to live as we choose, to come
and go as we choose, and to believe or
not believe as we individually choose. ...
See that flag, Mr. Reid? That is the flag of
the United States of America. That flag will
fly there long after this is forgotten. And it
still stands for freedom."

2003-01-28T12:53:00.000-08:00

For all of my loyal fans....oh, wait, I don't have any loyal fans. Even my husband and LOML stopped linking to me. I'm not sure what that says other than that I have been woefully slack in posting to my site. Forgive me if I got a bit sidetracked. You see, I'm gestating and, truth be told, I'm a bit obsessed with it.

For those of you who, like I until recently, never gave much thought to the physiology of procreation...I'm knocked up. I have a bun in the oven. Bob's your uncle, the rabbit died (a saying which has horribly morbid roots.) Yep. I'm gravid, great with child, in the family way.

People (if there are any out there), this whole biological process is nothing short of cosmic. The emotional process, well, why don't you ask my husband about that. I'm a nut. A blithering maniac. I vascillate between obsession with all things baby and this seething resentment/fear that my status as "world's least girly girl" is threatened. I have always taken great pride in my lack of overt femininity. Pink...Pshaw. Frills...fru fru. Give me a rock wall, I'll climb it. Give me a hook, I'll bait it. Give me mud, I'll wear it as a badge of honor. * For those of you tempted by visions of female mudwrestling, insert a pregnant belly between and see if that holds the same intrigue for you. I didn't think so.

Let me just assure you, it is awfully hard to negotiate pregnancy as a tomboy. Not only do you have hormones sucking you into emotional Armageddon, but you also have the rest of the world trying to turn you into the very image of the holy mother herself. Finally, after being told that we are having a girl, I have begun to gravitate toward "darling little outfits."

After all of that angst, and that's just the beginning, try to reconcile the fact that I am ecstatic about having this baby. Can anyone understand that? Anyone at all?

Now to add a bit of timely news to this personal rave...the Laci Peterson case.

So, now her loving husband Dick, I mean Scott, says that good ole Laci knew about his affair with Amber Frey. Great. Your seven months pregnant and your filandering husband unburdens his soul by telling you that he can't keep it in his pants. Well, Laci is a much better woman than I if that is what happened. Blame it on the hormones, but I do believe Dick, oops - did it again, would find himself with a lot of time on his hands for those convenient, solo fishing trips. Of course, maybe her daddy doesn't own as many shotguns as mine does.

Enough for now. My regards to all of my loyal readers (Cali, Cimi and Belle).

2002-07-22T16:07:00.000-07:00

By the way, I'm still looking for that great quote. Oh well, it's past it's prime.

By way of update. What the !@#$? This morning, as I gathered myself for work, I noticed a nagging pain in my right shoulder and in the vicinity of my rib cage. I have, over the course of the past several months, experienced a little of the same and thought that it was caused by sleeping on my right side pretty exclusively. Well, today the nagging pain grew worse as the day progressed. I also noticed that this pain in my lower right chest/upper right abdomen was making it hard to perform the vanity and posture supporting act of holding in my stomach.

As I prepared for a 3 p.m. meeting with my boss, I was quite distracted my the increasing pain, which now was making it hard to take a deep breath. I sat through the meeting, said clever and insightful things and then, as the meeting adjourned, struggled to my office to call my doctor. Line was busy. Great. So, naturally, I called my husband. He is fairly well-informed in matters of health due to his experience as a USAF lab tech and as a ski patroller. At this point I was growing a little frantic and more than a bit concerned that my spleen, duodenum, or other obscure organ was going to explode. After securing an appointment with my doc, my groom came to fetch me.

So, after going through my symptoms, the dr. did a short ultrasound. What do you think he saw? A "thickened" gallbladder. My immediate thoughts were of those obese aunts having gallbladder attacks. People, there is no way that I would be more likely to such an attack over say, about a billion other people. I eat well. I exercise profusely. I hang out with people who subscribe to an inverted food pyramid and could best be described as sedentary. They don't have gallbladder issues.

So, I immediately came home and began researching...turns out that a very low fat diet, dramatic weight loss, pregnancy, hormone therapy (e.g. oral contraceptives) or a variety of other factors can cause gallstones (the most likely culprit of my thickened gallbladder). They can also hang around for a long time before they become an issue. So, while I still feel that someone is stabbing me in the side with a large Ghinzu knife and still have to go for an abdominal sonogram (yippee!), I do feel better that I am not lumped together with the Fatty Food Friends of America.

2002-07-18T14:30:00.000-07:00

Simply amazing ....I'm still looking for the great quote that I saw earlier today.

2002-07-14T15:26:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me that some of the Jackson Browne virgins out there might appreciate the lyrics to my "title track," Late for the Sky...

Here it goes:

The words had all been spoken
And somehow the feeling still wasn't right
And still we continued on through the night
Tracing our steps from the beginning
Until they vanished into the air
Trying to understand how our lives has led us there

Looking hard into your eyes
There was nobody I'd ever known
Such an empty surprise to feel so alone

Now for me some words come easy
But I know that they don't mean that much
Compared with the things that are said when lovers touch
You never knew what I loved in you
I don't know what you loved in me
Maybe the picture of somebody you were hoping I might be

Awake again I can't pretend and I know I'm alone
And close to the end of the feeling we've known

How long have I been sleeping
How long have I been drifting alone through the night
How long have I been dreaming I could make it right
If I closed my eyes and tried with all my might
To be the one you need

Awake again I can't pretend and I know I'm alone
And close to the end of the feeling we've known

How long have I been sleeping
How long have I been drifting alone through the night
How long have I been running for that morning flight
Through the whispered promises and the changing light
Of the bed where we both lie
Late for the sky

And on that note, TTFN

2002-07-14T06:49:00.000-07:00

There is hardly a sound so sweet. The sound of the LOML's breathing mixed with soft, gentle rain for what seemed like the entire night. Despite the interruption of my planned long run this morning, I am thrilled. I'd rather have the rain when we can get it. I'll fit the run in elsewhere. It reminds me of those stir-crazy days as a child when I couldn't appreciate the importance of the rain. My mother, nerves stretched like fiddle strings, would finally hand us all of the pots she could find and send us out to "catch the rain." I talked to my father last night in South Carolina, and he gave me the grim drought-related news from home.

He opened with this new favorite joke. It's SO dry. How dry is it? It's so dry that Black Creek is only running three days a week.

He grew more serious and said that in addition to the despair among the state's farmers, the drought is now affecting manufacturing operations. He rattled of three or four large employers in the state, including Georgia Pacific, that are going to have to close down for lack of water in their resevoirs. Wow. I don't ever remember that happening. It's so depressing. I remember visiting southern California for the first time and being appalled at sparse, brown hillsides - not realizing that was the norm. So much for the lushness of the American southeast.

Blogger Crowd

Just a quick note to say that it was very nice to meet fellow bloggers Friday night at Atomic. We finally made it out and had a very enjoyable time. We hope to see you again.

All for now. I'm climbing back into bed after making coffee and grabbing a book. Everyone enjoy!

2002-07-12T14:12:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm feeling a bit more humorous now. So, how about a funny-ha-ha from the wedding.

For those of you out there who have planned and then executed a wedding, you will understand that the days surrounding the event can be a bit of a blur. Therefore, some of the most stressful things are inocuous and some of the hysterical things don't hit you until later. That's why I have failed to tell what could be the funniest wedding story of all.

After leaving the reception, my groom and I made our way home for our wedding night. For those of you who are cringing that we didn't have a suite at the Ritz, get over yourself. There is really nothing more romantic or meaningful to us than waking up in our bed. Anyway, we climbed the 10 or so steps to the front door - it can be rather challenging in a wedding gown with a chapel-length train. Upon reaching the top, my handsome groom propped open the storm door and pushed open the wooden door so that he could carry me over the threshold.

To fully appreciate this you have to know that several weeks earlier, as we cooed at each other in anticipation of our wedding day, I asked the following question. "Sweetheart, are you going to carry me over the threshold?"

Okay guys, here's one of the few "Tips for Men" that you will get on this blog.

The ONLY correct answer to the previous question is along the lines of "Baby, I will be the happiest man alive as I lift your scrumptious body into my arms and sweep you over the threshold into our house of dreams."

My handsome groom was apparently caught off guard by the question and didn't respond with his usual skill. I think he got a little hung up on logistics because his response was....are you ready for this?

"Can we go in through the garage door?"

Okay, now this could be interpreted several ways, none of them particularly conducive to a life of happiness. A) Is my ass so wide that you think you need to use the garage door? B) Are you saying that I weigh a metric ton and you couldn't carry me up the steps?

The look on my face, and his subsequent scramble to edit himself stands as evidence that he is pretty quick to read me.

It actually became a very funny joke between us, but it was touch and go there for a minute. We agreed that we would both walk up the stairs and then he would carry me over the threshold only - not because I way a ton, by the way.

Anyway, on with the very funniest story...

On our wedding night, my groom whisked me into our living room. Unfortunately, my train came loose from the bustle and he stepped on the hem of my dress and screeched, "Oh God!"

I glared at him thinking that he was referencing the load he was carrying not realizing he had stepped on the hem. He immediately explained, we laughed and then continued with our evening.

Sooooo, the next morning my new mother in law was the first to arrive to help us with a brunch for our guests. When we opened the front door, she handed us our house keys, which had been left in the lock after our little adventure with the threshold. =) Of course, to her it looked like we were just a little to preoccupied with other things to take the keys out. She was laughing knowingly as she listened to what I'm sure she still thinks is our "story."

It may not seem funny to all, but it was a classic that I can't wait to tell our kids.

Well, all for now. TTFN!

2002-07-12T11:25:00.000-07:00

Ooouuuuuuch.

A pox on all of you who laughed so gaily at my demise last night. Great balls of fire! What was that murky concotion. NO! Don't say the name.

Uggggh. I am trying to be moderately productive despite the waves of nausea. So far, let's see, I've .... eaten. Well, that's a start isn't it?

More when the screen isn't so bright. Where are my shades?

2002-06-21T08:24:00.000-07:00

Well, it was truly a sucky night of darts last night. With the exception of my double 17, I did not have a particularly good time. I'm trying to limit the alcohol intake and drink more water so that the 6 a.m. run goes better. Not conducive to fun darts. Oddly enough, I feel like someone ran over me with a truck today. I'm not sure why, but I'm EXHAUSTED. Travel has something to do with it, but geez. I could really use a nap.

Thanks to the LOML for his love and affection. I'm just plain pissy right now.

This on guns in the cockpit...

A House subcommittee yesterday passed a bill that would allow 250 pilots to
have guns in the cockpit, but the legislation faces tough opposition in the
Senate and from key groups such as flight attendants and airlines.
The House measure would create an experimental program under which 250
pilots would initially be armed. Over two years, that number could expand to
1,400, or 2 percent of the current pilot workforce.

You know, the word "experimental" bothers me. Experimental implies that they are performing some sort of test. What is their criteria for success. Perhaps if no one accidentally shoots off his/her toe, or no one blows a hole in the plane, the cabin doesn't lose pressure and 300 people don't learn to operate the oxygen masks - remember, they don't fully inflate - guns in the cockpit are okay. OR, maybe a pilot nails three "suspected terrorists" and one sassy flight attendant...

I'm just not sure how you "test" the success of a lethal weapon in a pressurized capsule soaring at 37,000 feet. If no one is killed and no more terrorists attack, then does that mean that the guns worked or that the rest of the "war on terrorism" worked? Seems a little too risky to me.

A very good friend of mine is a captain for a major airline. He flies 757s, he's a retired Air Force captain and a very responsible gun owner (gun safe and all). His comment when asked about guns in the cockpit is..."I wouldn't be opposed to carrying a gun if they would just tell me what in the hell I'm supposed to do with it." In other words, what are the rules of engagement.

All for now....

2002-06-19T15:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, it's been a while. Cut me some slack. I've been tracked by thermal imaging surveillance, chased by a remote control rocket launcher named Matilda, been in the cross hairs of snipers and jumped out of a plane (Okay, so it was a jump simulator. Details, details.) All in a days work my friends.

Let's just say that I work on the periphery of the defense industry and the above are some of the more entertaining parts of the trade shows I attend. It is by far the coolest job that I've ever had, but, alas, I am somewhat disatisfied. You see, I have to travel occaisionally, and I, like linen, don't travel well. I am trying to reduce the amount of leg work and increase the strategy in our marketing efforts = less travel. We'll see how it goes.

There was a time not so many years ago that I lived to climb on a plane. I have recently spent a lot of time pondering all the reasons that I feel so dramatically different now. The answer comes pretty easily. I have so much more to love at home. Not only do I have an amazing relationship, but I also have a yard, house, cats, friends and family. I'll suck it up for now, enjoy the primo destinations and drag my dearest along as often as possible.

A quick note to say thanks to sisoflexx for the 2002 penny. It's the first I've seen. Thanks very much.

TTFN

2002-06-05T07:19:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my husband for a wonderful birthday. It was sublime. Just the gift of spending time together is amazing. I, of course, loved my suprises. I got my first ever "wife" cards, which was quite a thrill.

Just a quick note on US plans to implement more stringent procedures for folks entering the country who hail from several countries believed to support terrorists. This would include more thorough review before entry and possibly a "registration" procedure to make tracking easier.

The following quote:

One department official stressed the registration would be aimed only at younger males, a group the government deems to be high-risk for potential terrorism.

"This is not for women and older people," the official said

Apparently they haven't read reports on Israeli suicide bombers. Properly motivated, women (and old people) are certainly willing to die for a cause.

Now, we could stand on our soap boxes and say that we as a country should not allow ANYONE from those countries into the US (the report didn't name the terrorist supporting countries). However, I suspect that many of us have friends who would be denied under that scenario.

I recall very clearly Sept.11. We rigged a television in the conference room of the very diverse company where I worked. As we watched the horror worsen with the collapse of the towers, I looked around the room at the varying skin colors, eye shapes and languages being whispered. Turkey, Jordan, Yemen, China, Vietnam, India, Iran. Many of those folks had witnessed daily terror like that in Israel. You could see it on their faces.

Denied entry...absolutely not. More stringent procedures? Heck, our procedures on a number of levels (the INS to the CIA to McDonalds) should be revamped. What's all this talk about review? If it's about blame - forget it. If it's about fixing the system - oh yeah.

2002-06-03T12:47:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the love of my life for a wonderful lunch and beautiful flowers - not to mention the amazing running gear.

What is it about the age 33 that leaves me a bit flat?

I've not been fond of odd-numbered birthdays since I turned 27. However, I think this goes much deeper than not being divisible by two.

Don't get me wrong. I am not languishing in the torments of aging. I'm not deafened by the sound of my biological clock - though I am conscious of it's steady drumming. While I am somewhat discouraged that my aches and pains are more easily triggered and are longer in mending, I am not morose at the thought of another birthday. Frankly, I'm always impressed that, given my clumsiness, I'm still alive and mobile. I guess I do have some unresolved abandoment issues that surface around this time of year, but it only lasts until I have my first cup of coffee.

So what could it be about 33? The only thing that I can come up with is that I had always looked forward to 32, which far exceeded my expectations. I'm not sure why, but I always knew 32 would be a big year.

Nonetheless, here I am at 33. Wait a minute? Wasn't Christ crucified at 33? Maybe I could pin my funk on my ultra right wing, conservative education. Another brick in the wall. Ah ha. I'd say this little exercise was well worth it!

All for now.

,

2002-06-02T07:19:00.000-07:00

Woo Hoo!!!!! Ran 12 miles this morning. It was the first longer run in my training for Marine Corps. It's been a couple of years since I've dones distance, and I'm really psyched about getting into it. I ran with our neighbors. It's always nice to have running partners when training.

Big, big news. The boat is in the water! I'm very psyched about that too. I'm just plain psyched. We're gonna go for a little sailing adventure today with Lex.

Must go for now! TTFN

2002-05-31T11:48:00.000-07:00

I rock more than most minerals, according to Lex.

That could quite possibly be the best compliment I have ever received with the exception of the one that my beloved paid me on the night that our stars crossed paths. No, I'm not going to tell you what that was, but it was compelling enough that I took up my cross.

Lex's remark was related to some pretty hot dart throwing. I, for the first time in two seasons of darts, sealed the deal on the team game by doubling out - a double one no less. I was, by that point, delirious from exhaustion and the pain that wracked my body. However, win we did. It was, all in all, a very nice night.

So this weekend will be my first longer run in preparation for the Marine Corps marathon. My neighbor and I will be doing around 12 miles, which is just the beginning. Shouldn't be too bad, though I should have bought new shoes this week. I'm at the point of putting cardboard in my shoes like my parents said they had to do when their shoes wore out and they had to walk 12 miles uphill in the snow to and from school. Uphill both ways? Snow in South Carolina?

People often ask me if I get bored running for long periods of time. Nope. I love it. Even by myself I am completely entertained with random thoughts. My recent thoughts have included this question (based on the concept that there is an engineer for every process known to man). Are there engineers who decide the most effective shape for cat litter crystals? Just a question.

TTFN!

2002-05-30T09:20:00.000-07:00

Pain, Agony, Defeet

I'm afraid that I must beg the forgiveness of our good friend Lex. I teased him mercilessly over his aching muscles following an impromptu weekend soccer game. I, the excercise addict who considers it the ultimate indulgence to run 10 miles, played on our company softball team yesterday.

I realized that my * chickens were coming home to roost * (see more info below) this morning as I made my first attempt to roll out of bed. Now granted, I expected a little soreness in the specific spots where I had used my body to stop the ball, but I had not expected my muscles to rebel against pansy co-ed softball. I would like to say that I made some dramatic plays that warranted this world of pain, but, alas, I did not. I simply made it to first base (usually at the expense of my teammate on third) and then ran in on the success of better batters.

While my skill was not heralded, my injuries were. I'm an only child and I'll take attention any way I can get it. However, as the consumate tomboy I refuse to admit pain - especially to boys.(I'm a Gemini. I sometimes appear as a paradox. What can I say?) I'm not sure how a ball travelling at Mach 1 nailed my big toe and then bounced up to smack the medial collateral ligament on my left knee, but it did. It apparently looked much worse to my teammates than the one that earlier bounced off of my collar bone and most likely crushed my left carotid artery. They all encouraged me to walk it off - sure, with the stub that was my foot. Holy Mother of God. I was sure that the toe had burst open like an overripe tomatoe, so I avoided taking off my shoe to look. It appears to be a mottled shade of black today. Who knows what it will look like tomorrow.

As for my neck...well...it's probably going to look like I've been making out with a hippopotamus.

So Lex, I'm sorry. I've learned my lesson.

Now for the explanation of "chickens coming home to roost." The loose definition is that I am now experiencing the things that I have inflicted on others. I'm not sure why your chickens coming home has that connotation, but I'll look into it.

I've decided to occaisionally share some of my grandmother's favorite expressions in my blog as an informal rememberance of her. Ma Ma was a very clever, pragmatic, strong and loving person who was born in the turn-of-the-century rural south to a family close to poverty. She had a way of summing of two days of my ranting with a poignant one-liner. I still miss her very much. I've been thinking of her a lot lately. I think for several reasons. One is our recent marriage. She would love the man I've chosen to marry as much as I do, and he would love her. The other reason she is on my mind is because I am reminded more and more of my parents' aging. I worry about their care. I'm not much of a long-range planner, but I know that I should think about that. Maybe tomorrow.

Well, I should run, or at least limp. TTFN

2002-05-16T15:51:00.000-07:00

The Tales of a Network Widow

Sorry honey. The thought came to mind and it was just too good to pass up. It truly is just a joke. My beloved is quite reasonable in his approach to work and leisure separation. This despite the fact that his company's nickname could be "Kursk."

All of this on the eve of Lex's big day...not sure that we'll make it to Atomic for the festivities, but we'll be sure to celebrate with solvent later this weekend.

As for me, I'm all about digging weeds these days - no, that's not a euphemism for drug paraphernalia or sexual tendencies. I apparently have some unresolved bitterness regarding a former employer and need the purgative experience of eradicating pestilence.

Okay, okay...If I must, I will share just one wedding story before I go. I beg your pardon if it tends toward advice or cliche. Mr. Mad World and I had a fairly small wedding of around 35 guests. This was a great number because we actually got to spend a fair amount of time with everyone. We even made time for what will go down as one of my favorite memories every. Our ski patrol buddies were all sitting at the same table (Rowdy Table #3). Toward the end of the evening I went over to visit just as the DJ (Go Tyrone) put on "Piano Man" by Billy Joel. What a great sing along. We gave it our passionate bests to the amusement of the crowd, the delight of the photographer, and most likely the aggravation of my dad and very good friend who are somewhat sticks in the mud. This was a particularly meaningful event because one of the most vocal of the songsters was our good buddy, Bob, who is moving to Shanghai in a few months with his wife, Amanda. We'll miss them terribly when ski season rolls around.

Now for the advice part. Too many folks have weddings without factoring in fun. It may be beautiful, but not functional. We had a blast. If it's true that your wedding is a reflection of your relationship, wouldn't you want to kick it off with a rockin' bash?

Okay, enough for now. My victims await.

TTFN

2002-05-15T11:41:00.000-07:00

Is anyone else's mouth hanging open over the following...

The memo, he said, cited "an unusual number of Arab students" taking flight lessons in Arizona and raised "the suspicion that they had been sent there in a coordinated plot by Osama bin Laden in order to learn the U.S. civil aviation procedures."

The above is an excerpt from an article regarding the Phoenix document, which is an FBI report from last summer. The Senate Intelligence Committee will be "studying" whether this report or others might have prevented the horror of Sept. 11 if they had been better handled.

I like to think of myself as a cynic, but it still shocks me that we (in the bigger sense..we) suspected that there was an unusually large number of middle eastern wanna-be pilots in the US and did nothing - possibly because terror warnings are bad for business.

Sen. Bob Graham, head of above referenced committee, said that he never received a satisfactory answer on why the Phoenix document was not considered more of a red flag.

Bob, you're the head of the Senate Intelligence Committee, if you can't get a straight answer....who can?

I can't help but wonder when and if heads roll, whether they will be the right heads. I wonder how far up the report went. I wonder whether an FBI agent screamed until he/she was hoarse. I wonder if he/she shrugged his/her shoulders and said, "you'll see." I wonder if the report fell into the waste basket next to the desk where the buck stops....

All for now.

2002-05-13T15:41:00.000-07:00

As a relatively new blogger I realize that my lengthy silence is a terrible faux pas. May I offer my humble apologies, particularly to Lex, who was kind enough to point out my obvious lack of cuth =)

However, I believe that I have what is a passing-fair excuse. I was busy living out a dream. Just nine days ago I married the man of my dreams and the love of my life. Now lest you rest on your laurels and assign me the role of blushing bride who has "dreamed about this day since she was a little girl," let me inform you that I NEVER dreamed of walking down the aisle as a little girl. I dreamed of sailing around the world and meeting mysterious men - ask my high school history teacher. I dreamed of climbing a tree that never ended. This wedding was that of two grown ups who refused to subscribe to the bullshit that is at the center of most wedding drama. May I highly recommend this approach.

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. I had more fun at our wedding than I have ever had at any other party -ever. Was it stressful? A little. Was I nervous? Not at all. Would I do it all again for those three hours of bliss. Yes, but give me couple of months =)

The highlight for George was my dance with Lex, who apparently has made a practice of never dancing in public. I have visions of him waltzing around his newly stripped hardwood floors to the strains of Frank Sinatra and the Glenn Miller Band. Thank you for the dance, Lex.

I am certainly not done recounting my tales of the wedding, but I must dash for now.

TTFN

2002-04-24T19:19:00.000-07:00

As I busily cleared my desk this morning I absent mindedly launched my Netscape homepage. When I finally looked up at the screen I saw staring back at me what might just be my worst nightmare. It was a mug shot of a perspring, grease-sheened, acne-prone monster, Shannon Jones. Mr. Jones, a truck driver, allegedly held 25-year-old Kittena Shaddix hostage in his 18-wheeler for months before her plea for help, scribbled on a restroom wall, was answered. According to Ms. Shaddix, she willingly joined Jones in his nomadic existence 16 months earlier. When she tried to sever their travelling romance, he forced her to stay. She reported that the restroom message that caught the attention of a custodian and then led authorities to her captor was one of around 40 messages left in restrooms along their path. Her bruised face as seen on CNN clearly is that of a much older or at least aged woman.

As referenced earlier, my greatest fear as a woman is not of dying, gaining weight or varicose veins. It is of being held against my will and forced to participate in acts of intimacy with someone who is repulsive and brutal. Ms. Shaddix' plight raises many questions for me. What made her take up this illadvised lifestyle with a stranger (not to mention a nauseating stranger)? Where is her family and what happened in their relationship that prevented them from trying to find her? How is it that our society has become so complacent that we don't act on or even notice desparate pleas scribbled on walls?

There are those who might believe that she could have tried harder to escape or that she asked for it. I can't properly answer. We don't have all of the information yet. However, that is the mindset that makes women believe that they "asked for it" and have no options.

I would like to think that the wonderful man to whom I will be married in less than 10 days can protect me from the terror on my monitor this morning. And, if he can't, I'd like to think that some would have heeded my pleas hundreds of miles ago.

Good night all...

2002-04-22T19:18:00.000-07:00

Just one very quick post before drifting off into a horror-laced sleep filled with childhood nightmares of shark attacks. CNN reported today, on its mainpage no less, that Australian authorities have found human bones inside - get this - the stomach of a Tiger Shark. You don't say. These are probably the same people who were stunned that Park Police found drugs in Marion Berry's car.

All for now...12 days and counting to the biggest of days.

2002-04-21T18:08:00.000-07:00

I guess I failed to mention the catalyst for becoming a blogger. While I have always jotted down my profundities, I have never so much as considered doing it online...until recently that is. My intended's best buddy Lex ( of The Lex Files) discovered blogging and my love quickly joined the craze. Keep in mind that these folks are network professionals and computer gurus of the first order. I on the other hand find it wildly amusing that I have destroyed no less than six keyboards by pouring Italian dressing into them. Correction: one was a terrific variety of ginger dressing that I found at Trade Joes - strongly recommend it.

Alas, after more than one B&E's breakfast or Tuesday night dart outing spent listening to the white noise of Blog News, I decided that I might just try this myself. So, here I am.

For those of you who are not reading my sight (and I'm quite sure that no one is), I feel it necessary to explain the title. Late for the Sky was Jackson Browne's first album and his most profound song. If you just started humming "Runnin' on Empty," you're obviously not a JB fan from way back. They man is a poet. A sort of combination between Samuel Taylor Coleridge and well, I don't know who. "But he beat his wife," you say. I suppose that I'm in denial about that. Have you ever seen Jackson in person? Have you ever seen Darryl Hannah in person? The guy is fairly diminutive in comparison. I know, size doesn't matter. Where have I heard that before?

My point, give him a chance. Visit Amazon.com and buy the CD. The song changed my life. I literally got up off of the couch after listening to it for the first time and made a change that altered the course of my life. We're not talking the switch from Coke to Pepsi, but close.

Finally, a quick observation. For those of you who follow Mad World, you may have seen some posts on the Indonesian freighter and the dog. Well, they found the freighter and the highly underhyped Coast Guard threw down their lunches to the poor pooch who had been just another piece of flotsam for days. My gripe is this...CNN is doing a survey of how many readers believe that the money spent to rescue the dog is justified. For God's sake, where is the survey on how ludicrous it is to "lose" a freighter? I'll leave that particular rant to Braylen from Mad World.

TTFN

2002-04-20T10:07:00.000-07:00

I often say that everything in the South is either deep fried or sugar coated. My blog will be an attempt to eliminate those aretery and spirit clogging habits and just tell it like it is. As a runner I often compose long and flowing prose as I trot through the neighborhood. I also do geometry, but as a math-a-phobe I don't like to talk about that. Perhaps I can purge some of that through my blog - the prose, not the geometry.

If you read my description you may have guessed that I am joinging the Peace Corps. If you did, you'd be wrong. I'm getting married. Life's greatest adventure, blah, blah, blah. As a woman who has called off two engagements for radically different reasons (cheater v. settling), I can happily say that I got it right this time. Trust me, I'm not one to go through with it for the sake of appearances. Apparently my parents failed to enstill in me the standard southern rules and regulations. Don't get me wrong, I love a lot of things about the south... they are mostly plants. In addition to societal norms, I also failed to subscribe to my conservative right-wing, education. Not only do I grapple with the commonalities of the worlds major religions, I also ponder the restrictions we chalk up to morality. Recently I thought of this as a I donned my old 7th grade cheerleading outfit to amuse my fiance. No, not that tawdry, roll-playing kind of amusement. He's not the cheerleader type. Then again, I don't fit the mold of rah-rah either. It was more, boy, it kicks ass that I can still wear this kind of amusement.

After 7th grade and the inset pleats of my hot little cheerleading number, I transferred to a highschool where the cheerleaders wore skirts down to their knees lest our lusty basket ball team, or better yet their fathers in the stands, catch a glimpse of our milky white thighs. Good God. It was like waving a nice bloody T-bone stake in front of a caged, starving lion. Did they not think that this encouraged more groping than a Wells Frago truck explosion. I digress...my point is that we were forced to swealter in deep south September soccer weather to avoid flaunting our bodies. The old Bethsheba complex. The truth of the matter was that the men who made the rules couldn't keep their base natures in check long enough to watch a half-time routine.

Anybody here familiar with a burka????? Reference Mad World post on the Saudi Arabian girls school fire.
All for now.