Something Is Missing

Hey there. I have been thinking lately. It must be the stormy skies and approaching September. It's not a bad thing, just a mental shaking out of the sandy beach blanket of my mind. And today it came to me that I was missing something. Something I never really thought of as important.

I can't remember a time growing up when I didn't have a dog, or access to one. We had Boots, then Kasey, then Pupster. There was the neighbor's collie, Sheba, and the neighborhood tough, Grizz--he was an overweight Norwegian Elkhound and almost big enough to ride. Not until I got married and moved to Louisville have I gone very long without a canine to pal around with. And I miss it. A lot.

I think that I am in love with my pretty back yard too, which is why I haven't turned my big brown eyes on Sweetie and asked sweetly for a pooch of our own. I know what kind we would get, though, if we did get a dog. We would get a Jack Russell. You know, an Eddie dog. Sweetie's already named him Darwin. Because 1. It's like the baby talk way we call each other Darling sometimes. GACK. and 2. It flies in the face of organized religion, and we both get a kick out of that. So if we do get a dog, Darwin the terrier it will be. But those guys are high maintenance, baby, and I like to come home and surf and watch TV and eat microwave meals and not take speedy little dogs for walks. I also don't like chew marks on things. No pets in the house, ever.

But to curve your hand to fit the top of a little dog's head, and give him a good hearty pat, and smile into his little dog grinning face, well. I am a sap. I can't pass that up. I would go to the pound to see the puppies but then I'd buy all the sad ones and have to get a kennel license for the yard, and that is NOT going to happen. Right now I can walk out barefoot, at night, and not worry. No one is barking. It is perfectly silent except for a very distant train sounding at a crossing. I don't know anyone with a dog. Well, except our best friends who have a poor brown dog who looks to have undergone a lobotomy sometime in his past, as he stands at their back glass door for three hours straight and stares at the kitchen table legs. I could pet him, but I'd get more emotion from rubbing a feather duster. This is a tough one. Sacrifices, sacrifices!

Dogs are cute. Not having a dog is cheaper.
Dogs are good protectors. Dogs dig up your flowers.
Dogs have funny personalities. Dogs have psycho personalities.

I could go on, but this is the same argument I used to have about dating, and that didn't resolve itself until Sweetie happened along and everything just worked out for the best. We shall see.

Feeling Thoughtful

Another lazy Saturday--the best kind. Sweetie and I didn't have anything planned today, except for a little drive today to find a marker for his cousin. One of Sweetie's cousins was a soldier in Vietnam and was killed in combat in 1971. We didn't really know anything about him until a family reunion this year when we looked through some old photo albums a relative brought. We saw a few pictures of a chubby, mischievious four year old, wearing plaid overalls and Buster Browns. The next page was a clipping from the Courier Journal of his obituary with the bit of detail those provide. As Sweetie has been researching the history of his father's Naval career, this forgotten relative became another line of research.

For the last few weeks, he has been in contact with a man who fought in the same unit as his cousin, and who was friends with him while overseas. He sent us several pictures which we doubt any of the family has ever seen, and told us about the life they made for themselves over there.

I have always been a historian so cemeteries don't spook me. We found that his cousin was buried just a few miles from here in the Zachary Taylor Cemetery. Today we drove there to take some digital pictures which we emailed to his friend. Also, as the name implies, the 12th President of the United States is also buried there. We walked to the vault where the President and his wife are buried side by side in a stone house with glass and bronze doors on the front. You can actually see into the house and view the sealed caskets. Slightly morbid but in a respectful way, if you can imagine. On the lee side of the building, about a foot off the ground, are very small vents for climate control. As we walked around the house and into the late afternoon shade of the vault, there was the distinct but unimposing smell of old papers. It suddenly put into my mind that we were less than five feet from the President, and we were the only car in the entire cemetery. The avenue leading up to the monument and life-size statue of Taylor was completely clear, save for a few fallen clusters of dried oak leaves. The dry-throated katydids made the only noises we could hear. As a military burial site, all of the headstones were white, simple, and perfectly aligned in a clean and solemn gesture of respect. And I felt very humble in the presence of some thirteen thousand dead, including a twenty year old man who gave his life for the men he knew as his friends.

Hope It's Just One Of Those Days

Ho Hum. It's a bit of a struggle to blog something today. Yesterday I couldn't think of anything either. Except to complain about how much I hate my job and that's nothing new. It's been very stressful recently for me, as I am not fond of change, or "realignment" or "restructuring." Or whatever weak-ass term is being applied to messing up my routine. Not very 21st century, I know. But it sometimes feels like that carrot is at the end of a mighty long stick.

My schedule has been the same, although I have spent the last three weeks in a training class for the new role I will have at work. It's not a promotion. In fact doing the math reveals it is a demotion, since the new department I am assigned to is not eligible for the quarterly bonuses I was earning, so there goes about 18 hundred a year. I even lose the power derived from a nice cubicle! I started there almost 3 years ago with a small but 4 walled cube. Then it went to a short three sided little hidey-hole. Now I get two walls, and half of a long desk so that it will be like a long horseshoe and I and my "cubemate" will sit with our backs to each other mostly but within eavesdropping (or annoying gossippy) distance. I don't get to pick who I am lumped with, so I cling to a small bit of hope that it is not any of the people I endure currently nor the lady I sit next to in training who is already talking about her angel collection. GACK!

I know, I work in an air-conditioned office, talking on the phone and clicking away on a computer. I could be in a factory, or some processing plant, or working in a nursing home. All those jobs are harder in my opinion. I am not saying what I do is hard. Quite the contrary. What I do is very easy. It is mind numbing. I spent 17 years in school, working out to an honors degree with a major in English and a minor in history. I was 22 when I got out of college and at that time, being just 4 years removed from high school and having two younger brothers who were in high school, I couldn't stand the thought of going into that hormone soup every day for the rest of my life and teaching the same thing each six months to kids who never got any smarter. Sounds a bit bitter, perhaps. I never had a plan besides that, since I didn't have any other skills besides making good grades. So I thought, since I don't want to spend all day trying to get kids to understand me, I'll just enter the service sector via insurance. And now I am about to spend all day trying to get senior citizens to understand me. Oh, mean irony!

Anyhow, without a focus or strong desire to do something else in particular, and with something now that I never had at my walk-away jobs (a mortgage,) I can't really up and quit. Although I know I can NOT be in this position past October. I can feel my personality changing and becoming meaner and more impatient. I am happy-go-lucky, a fast learner and someone who enjoys intellectual stimulation. You dont get that dealing with insurance. I think some of my passions in life are interesting but not profitable. I get fired up over the state of our children in this country. I don't have any of my own, so I feel like the watchdog for all the kids who need someone to care about them and instead get stupid parents who don't deserve a dog, let alone a child. I love folk history and the preservation of oral traditions and song. I love architecture and the value it has for maintaining the unique small town American landscape even as our old homes and store fronts give way to Wal-Mart and interstate. I love antique stores, and old army surplus. I want everyone to read and I especially want Kentuckians to value education. I want to promote tourism to this state by doing more than saying, we have basketball! I want teenagers to believe that they have as much opportunity here as they do in Illinois, New York, or California. I would like to take classes of children through museums and tell them things that aren't written on the little static display cards. Now. How to get a check for doing any of that?

Any suggestions?

Oh the Joys of Preventive Medicine!

Since I finally had something halfway interesting happen I felt compelled to tell you, dear readers, all about it. For those of you who find humor in others' awkward suffering, read on.

I was finally able to finagle two hours leave this Friday afternoon, to go for my wonderfully exciting visit to the doctor. My actual doctor wasn't available today, so by way of introducing myself I stripped naked and put on a paper robe before her office mate, the other Doctor in the practice, came into the exam room. This doctor was also female (something that I insist on when it comes to foo foos) and it wasn't long before I resorted to my very old pattern of behavior. When in a potentially nervous and embarrassing situation, go for the joke.

So, there I was in my fetching paper vest and matching lap robe. I began by asking her if I could leave on my socks since I didn't think they would be in the way. She laughed at that, especially when I added that I didn't want her to see my worn off nail polish. I guess compared to what she was about to see, my toes weren't that bad. But since I got a giggle, I figured it was a friendly audience. As she asked me to scoot around on the paper tablecloth, I told her this exam always reminds me of my mom. Who couldn't bite on a setup like that? Anyhow, I told her that when I was planning my wedding, Sweetie and I were also closing on our first house and I was packing up to move to Louisville and dealing with the wedding and just going nuts basically. Anyway, I needed moving boxes, and Mom said she would bring some home from work. Mom worked in a Dr's office at the time, and it wasn't until I packed up the U-Haul and got to Louisville and started unloading the truck that I looked at what boxes she had given her only daughter to use for her first moving day.

On the side of about a dozen boxes, in bold green stamp, were the words VAGINAL SPECULUMS.

Sweetie made me carry those boxes in the house. Why couldn't she have given me some rum cases like a normal Mom? And for anyone who may not be as medical instrument savvy as me, THAT is the name for those plastic salad tongs from hell that the doctor uses to, well, assist with viewing. I don't know WHAT the neighbors must think, but no one has messed with us since we've been here.

The doctor was laughing so hard she stopped a few times. Luckily the story and the exam ended about the same time and I am sure the office will hear the story in the breakroom later. I figure if you gotta show em your worst side, you should try to put a nice spin on it, you know?

Anyway, I think I did all right. And I got my RX for another year's worth of Little Blue Anti-Baby Seed Pills. Whew. So I guess it is worth it.

GOAL!!!!

Planoamy

Well, I didn't really have a sermon prepared when I sat down tonight but one is forming as we speak. I had a train of thought going this week, started by my weight watchers meeting, about the importance of having a goal. Not just a weight goal, but goals for all sorts of things we "wish" would happen but are really just not planning to make happen.

This August is the last month of a six month cycle in my Dream Team goals group. Several of my friends and family members formed a group of email buddies to encourage and cheer on each other as we work to achieve personal goals we make for ourselves. Some are private, and others are public, and all of them are about our own personal happiness, whatever form that takes. I usually am the speech giver in this capacity, as I love to get on my soapbox and really carry forth. So that was on my mind this week as one more round of challenges draws to a close.

I know that with a bunch of girls (ha) we may not be that sports-savvy, but we all suffered through gym so we have the basics down. And it occurred to me that all the great go-get-em speeches in the movies were sports themed. Something about being fourth and ten and we can do it and go team and all. Well, I hate to admit it, but the jocks have a point.

If you play basketball without a goal, you are just dribbling on yourself.

If you play hockey without a goal, you are just skating by.

If you play football without a goal, you are just kicking along.

If you play water polo without a goal, you are just treading water.

And one for us to use on our guy friends, if you are playing pool without a goal you are just racking your balls.

Now doesn't that make you want to turn to your girlfriend and slap her on her shoulder pads? Can I hear a BUUU YAAAHH!

So enough from the raah raah section. You don't need me cheerleading anymore and I have GOT to get out of this skirt and bloomers thing. Starting September 1, we'll begin a new goals cycle. Write down--that's right, WRITE IT--5 personal goals you want to work towards over the next six months. That means that you have until March 1. It might be weight or fitness, it might be educational. It might be attitude or a new job, or just making a new friend. Maybe it is to get organized or do a put-off project. But the biggest thing to remember--it's about you. How you want to grow and improve yourself personally. You don't have to share your goals list but if you want to we are glad to come together and help with anything, like sharing experiences that might help. I am continuing on my weight journey and again planning to take that elusive cooking course. (Sweetie is really optimistic that I will someday use the stove for something besides a place to sit a pretty candle.) I did my volunteer work, and now it's time to think about what else I'd like to try. I'd like to hear from anyone who has tips questions or been-there-done-thats, as long as we all agree to keep the pessimism to ourselves. I do a darn good job beating myself up so I don't need any lines forming for that, ok? :)

I can't wait to hear from you all, and I will send this as an email to those who may not be on the Dream Team yet. I hope you all get excited about your 5 goals, and I look forward to being on the most successful team of the season! GoooOOOOO GIRLS!
(And after all that, still we do not smack each other on the butt. I can't explain the NFL.)

Just Get Me Through To Nap Time!

Planoamy
It's even worse when you know you will need the information, but you can't help it. There you sit in that day long training class, listening to facts you learned 3 years ago being "refreshed" for the new people who got stuck into the class with you. And you know what happens. Your eyes start drifting around of their own accord. You try to stretch it out but that just gets you more comfy. You try leaning on your hands, rubbing your eyes, yawning. Hiding more yawning. Then the worst. You think you are sailing along unnoticable when you feel yourself slightly off balance and JERK you are all bobbing around getting a sore neck. Then, the final horrible sensation of your hearing, cutting in and out, and you know you are a goner. I've never actually put my head down, but it was so bad today it would probably have made the teacher feel better than to have another bobbing head. I did look around the computer room to see one girl perfectly still with her eyes closed, another propped on her hand and out of it, and several fellows with droopy eyes trying to squirm themselves awake. So at least I didn't stand out. But I woke up plenty when that 4:30 hit and I was breaking for the door. As soon as I got in the house I began shutting down for that wonderful, glorious joyful time, the Afternoon Nap. Ahhhhh!
Naps--they used to be a punishment. A way for parents to burn up our daylight and keep us out of the way for an hour. But somewhere in there it started to kind of feel pretty good. Now, that's one of my favorite things in the whole world. Partly because I love curling up in my Amy-shaped spot in my bed. And mainly because I am sleeping while all those other working slobs are still on the clock! Oh rapture!
That's a poor attitude. But anyhow, I got the laundry going and picked up all the clothes and got them sorted into the laundry basket for later. I only get home about a half hour before Kev but I was already in my jammie jams and just waiting for him to get home so I could say Hi and ask him if he would wake me up in an hour and a half. I slept so deeply that when I woke up I had puffy eyes and rumpled hair and a big grin on my face. Personality fix 101--take a nap. And no more staying up until 12:30! Hmm. Look at the time.

Sunday Night Again

Planoamy
It's been another fun weekend. Spent Saturday helping my little brother move to an apartment near his grad school campus. Spent this morning nursing a head/neckache from said moving. I think it was more related to my horrible blood pressure than anything. I can stoop or crouch down for 5 minutes and when I stand back up I lose my vision and have to grab onto something. No biggie.

After a few Advil and Sweetie grilling supper for us, I felt better. It still hasn't rained here. We were out in the back yard tinkering with plants and the garage stuff and I told Sweetie that I felt air-hungry, which is not being able to breathe deeply enough to get satisfied. I think this is technically an iron deficiency but I told him it was genetic and the only thing I have found to improve it is a Cookie Dough Blast from Sonic. I guess I am transparent. He laughed at me and said let's go. So we drove to Sonic for some dessert then took a tour of the countryside. We went to see if "our" old house is still standing. A few months ago on a Sunday drive much like this one, we passed an OLD farmhouse with trees and hummingbird vine growing up around it. It had shutters with real hinges on them, and a porch on the first and second floors. It was posted and for sale. The next weekend, a sale was pending. Now when we drive by there we hold our breaths until we see the old roof outlined against the sky. I know it would be an expensive and time consuming task to rebuild it, so it probably doesn't have long. It's the kind of house that writes its own story and tucks it into a corner of your brain while you are sleeping.

~~"Martha's peonies along the driveway were stooped, their white mopheads low in the August heat. Still the grass around them was closely kept, and the hot air held on to the smell of honeysuckle and fried chicken as if there was nothing else better to do this late on a Sunday afternoon. And indeed there isn't much better, I thought, listening to the murmur of katydids in the shrubs that followed the fencerow around the front yard. I walked up the slight hill toward the front porch where a cool evening breeze began to turn day to night. There was a rhythmic creak coming from the rusted old chains of the porch swing, so I knew where to find Uncle Paul. I could see the orange glow from his cigarette as I stepped up onto the wooden porch, and we exchanged the news of the day. Yes, he'd been down to see the tomatoes in the garden this afternoon; there was a basket full in the kitchen for me to carry home. No, he hadn't heard that Will had been sick and was sorry to hear it now; he'd go by to see him on Tuesday. After I spent a sufficient amount of time with Uncle Paul to pass through his always open gates, I excused myself inside to see Aunt Martha. I heard her start into "Rock of Ages" as I opened the screen door..."

Hmm. I like that. Now what would I be doing at Aunt Martha's?

Damned Karma

Planoamy
Guess who was so stressed about missing the alarm clock this morning, that she woke up every hour and a half to check the time, got too hot then too cold, and when the alarm finally did screech her awake, she got up and puked? Yep.

Now while you ratchet your eyebrows back down, there's no need to conclude it's THAT pukey in the AM thing. Last I heard, hell had not frozen over. Nor had I missed any of the beautiful experiences of being a young woman. Whoever pushes that line of sh*t is probably a bitter gay man. Anyhoo, I got to puke in my own home for the first time. First time in Louisville, too, so I guess it was like a rite of passage. I really belong.

The office called at 9 to see if I was really curled on death's doormat, like my voice mail led them to believe. I think I might have sounded a bit too perky because my voice was above a whisper and I thanked my boss for checking on how I was feeling. Hope they don't send a van out after me. I've never seen anyone carted INTO work, although in the past month we've had two co-workers go out on a gurney with the EMT's due to various health conditions. So, my pleasant one day off has become two crappy days off. I don't feel like doing the things that I can look around and see need to be done. I did clean up the living room after watching a rerun of Sell This House on A&E, but other than that it's a cruddy pukey kind of day. I don't know if it was stress or something I ate, but I am going to get through this! After all, I have a three day week to look forward to now. Three days of my job.

Yesterday at the dentist's, the hygienist was really getting on me about not being a teacher. I probably said a dozen words to her the whole time I was there, and she found out what my degrees were in, what job I'd love to do in life (teach falling-behind children or adults to improve their reading and language skills so they enjoy books) and told me her husband is a teacher at an area high school. School starts in 2 weeks and if they know I have a degree in English AND history and an interest in special education at a time when the No Child Left Behind Act is about to choke them out of funding, they might issue me an emergency teaching license and a "Here you go." Interesting. She also told me her husband had a vasectomy. My response to that was, "GGGGGGtththhth." You know, that suction thingie.

Something to think about. The teaching.

Sneaky-Guilty

Planoamy
I feel very sneaky guilty today.
See, it started with me trying to sneak 9 minutes of extra snooze when the alarm went off this morning. Sweetie hit the clock and said, "issistwenfor." This I instantly knew meant it was 6:24 and the time I always get up. But I knew already what I was going to wear, and what I was packing for lunches, and so I figured I could get away with another delicious nine minutes. I dozed, and thought, wow, these nine minutes are great! Then I started thinking, the alarm will go off any second and put that Monday jolt down my back and I better just get up since I am lying here thinking about it and not sleeping. So I get up and look at the clock and it is 7:40! The "Oh God" I murmured brought Sweetie to his feet in about 4 seconds, and we both started scrambling for toothbrushes and closet doors. While he was getting ready, I thought, there's no way I can get downtown any faster than at least 30 minutes late. I'm calling in!

So I reasoned, since I get a penalty on myself for being more than 5 minutes late, and I get the same penalty for calling in sick, why go in late, with that terrible feeling, and work the whole day, and still get the punishment? Especially when I can be sick and use a sick day and be home and get things done here, like washing the last two bags of donated clothes.

Then an even better bonus. Sweetie decided to skip his dentist appointment since he didn't want to go in late and leave early on the same day. He asked me to cancel it. Now, I'm about 5 months behind on my own appointment because I could never get a day off from work when the dentist wasn't already booked. So I called and changed his name to mine, and had a wizz-bang trip to the dentist. Complete with sore gums and an admonition to use floss on my teeth, not for hanging Christmas tree ornaments. (I told on myself.) The only part about being home sick that makes me feel bad is the practice of calling us at home to see if we really are sick. This is something the supervisor of the sick person is supposed to do. No one called today, probably since my old sup. is moving somewhere else today and no one knows who will be replacing her. I know in the long run this day will get added to my absentee report, but like protagonist in the greatest skip-day movie of all time says, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." Oh yeah. Chik-chik-achik-ahhh!