The Six-Inch Valley

Sometimes
it's like someone took a knife,
baby,
edgy and dull,
and cut a six-inch valley
through the middle of my soul ...

Two things - well maybe more but two things is what I'm starting out with here ...

(1) New CD collection from the coffeehouse. Nice stuff. Fast, easy listen, good to hear the tunes being covered by other folks, makes it easier to listen to the artistry of the lyrics - like that one up there.

(2) Called Scott at 3pm his time to - as I so elegantly stated - "bust his nut". It's the last day of the fiscal year for him ... and it's also his last day working for that company. He was part of the 10% reduction that I wrote about mid-month. I'm not that overly concerned about how he'll manage ... it's Scott, after all. He's focused and driven and organized and has a great success rate so as long as he can get his foot in the right door, I know he'll be alright. It doesn't mean I don't worry about how he'll handle the pressure and stress but honestly, he's dealt with things in the past that I woulda thought to be too heavy of a load and he's none the worse for it. That being said, it does put me in a "remember when" frame of mind ...

• I remember meeting Scott the very first time for 2 seconds in Vegas when we were on different teams and thinking "this quiet, polite guy who is older than me but calls me 'ma'am' is NEVER gonna make it in sales".
• I remember having to write out his plan, when for a while it looked like he wouldn't make his number ... and I VIVIDLY remember happily banging out the "you're not on plan anymore" note.
• I remember rotating Scott, Andy, Torrey, and I so that at least one of us had the suite in any meeting I arranged. This was done because we would wind up hanging out together anyway, so we needed the space.
• I also remember that, since the four of us hung out all the time at any given location, I was told that apparently men and women can't do that without folks raising an eyebrow. I can't say if the others were ever questioned about our friendship, but I was. And my response was "I should be so lucky". (Actually, I know Scott fended off some not-so-great-speculation because we discussed what we'd heard. I just told him to respond with "did you know she's able to touch her forehead with her toes?" but he couldn't do it without blushing.)
• I remember dining at Tru (on July 11 in 2006) when the three of us realized we'd have to behave like adults, even 'tho Andy was cracking jokes trying to get me to snort with laughter.
• I remember buying the Paris guide to surprise him with at the Sales Awards Dinner, since I knew he had made club (something he didn't realize yet because there was a problem with the numbers) and being ... so damn proud of him when his name was shown on the screen.
• I remember hanging out with him and his kids in their hometown ... and having it dawn on me that I totally understood and respected him even more for having met his family.

I'm not saying we'll never spend time together again (because I don't think either of us will allow that to happen, especially now that he's moved to a city that's far easier for us to meet in) ... but I'm glad we created those memories. It still hurts "like a six-inch valley", 'tho.

Daffy

There's a particular Daffy Duck cartoon that just cracks me up - "Duck Amuck" . Daffy begins as starting in a musketeer-style cartoon, but the background scenery runs out almost immediately. Daffy then makes a plea "to whomever is in charge" to finish the background.

Suffice to say that he spends the entire strip adjusting as the artist draws him into stranger and funnier backgrounds. I always ... always ... crack up at 2:38. If you can, pause the cartoon at 2:41 - his expression is priceless.

Daffy's last line is "All right - enough is enough. This is the final ... th ... the very, very last straw. Who is responsible for this ... this ... ? I demand that you show yourself. Who are you, huh?"

Daffy's last line is my reaction to the news of WW2 Vet Mr. Marvin Schur's death in his home in Bay City, Michigan.

It seems that due to the bitter cold in his home town, it wasn't unusual for Mr. Schur to not go outside in Winter. It also seems that Mr. Schur had no family in the immediate vicinity to look out for him, and at 93, it's possible that Mr. Schur may have started to experience diminished mental capacity. Mr. Schur had a savings nest egg of more than $500,000 ... but Mr. Schur skipped a few payments to his local power company, in the total amount of around $1,000.

Possibly since Mr. Schur didn't go outside, any notices on his door would have gone ignored - but there's no indication that anyone even rang the doorbell. Instead of knocking on his door and finding out what the problem was, Bay City Power put a limiting device so that the money owed would be kept as low as possible. But no one walked Mr. Schur through the process of how to reset the limiting device. In fact, for now, it appears that no one even told Mr. Schur that such a device had been installed.

So Mr. Schur froze to death, under four layers of clothing, a heating pad and blankets in his own home. When Mr. Schur's body was found, icicles hung from the interior faucets home and windows throughout were frosted over ... from the inside.

I'll presume that Bay City Manager (and moral leper) Robert Belleman doesn't see the two-facedness in his comment that he was deeply saddened by Mr. Schur's death but adding too that neighbors have a responsibility to each other. So just because I've been seething for a few days, let me add in my best Daffy Duck rant - that Mr. Belleman - YOU were a neighbor of Mr. Schur. YOU managed the city in which Mr. Schur lived - and died. And you're absolutely totally 101% correct - YOU did have a responsibility to your neighbor.

And YOU, Mr. Belleman, closed the door.

Just as Daffy shouted "show yourself", there is a photograph of you, Mr. Belleman, on the Bay City website. (God bless the Internet, there's contact information there, too.) Mr. Belleman, you appear to be in your 30s or early 40s, and there is a ring on your hand that suggests you may have people in your life who care about you and whom you, presumably, care about. I wonder if you reach out to your in-laws, your parents, your siblings, your aunts and uncles each and every day. I wonder if you talk with your grocery store manager, your librarian, your gardener, your barber, your religious leaders, or even your neighbors each and every day. Or every third day. Every week? Because you know, life gets in the way sometimes, doesn't it Mr. Belleman?

And, while we're at it ... what's up with Bay City Electric Light and Power? Bay City EL&P is a business, I know. And they have a fiscal responsibility but - more than that - they have a moral responsibility because of the service they provide. I refuse to believe that an outstanding bill of $1,000 would have caused them to go bankrupt. And to think that it would have been so hard, while installing the limiting device, to knock on the door of their neighbor Mr. Schur to ask him why the bills had been unpaid (after 50+ years of being a customer) is just ... daffy.

Bay City Manager Robert V. Belleman
301 Washington Avenue
Bay City, MI 48708

Bay City Electric Light & Power
900 S. Water Street
Bay City, Michigan 48708

CBWTHOBSOBAC

There is an artist whose work I'm familiar with who signs off her letters and whatnot with "OBSOBAC" ... "officially been sat on by a cat". If you don't currently have or have never had a cat as a pet, this statement may seem odd. The rest of the cat-owning planet, however, totally gets it.

If you have a cat as a pet, the things you own have been sat on - even if you don't think they have been. That place on top of the refrigerator where you store large platters? OBSOBAC. The books on the speakers in the "spare room"? OBSOBAC. The box by the door that you'll bring out to be recycled? OBSOBAC. Your pillow on your bed that you know for a fact your cat has *never* *ever* jumped up on? Hahahaha - ohhhhh yeah - very OBSOBAC.

Ya' may remember from the first of the year that I've taken up knitting. This is mostly as a means of keeping my circulation going in my hands while various medications continue to lower my core body temperature ... and 'cause I've always wanted to know how to knit ... and I figured if I succeeded in learning how to knit and created something large enough, I could use it to wrap up with to keep warm.

Well - success!!!! I've completed my first knitting ... ermmm ... project. The goal was to just use the entire ball of yarn and see how big said-project would be. I started with 28 knots on my needle and about 18 rows in, I noticed I had 36 knots. More than mid-way through the project, 36 knots became 42 and that ended as 50. So the reason I keep referring to this as a "project" is that I cannot call it a "square". It's not even a rectangle, really. It's a ... blob with corners at one end.

What it also is, apparently, is cozy and warm on a kitties tushie because it has been OBSOBAC.

I finished it very very early on Sunday morning (or very very late on Saturday night, depending on your point of view), tied it off and set it on a dining room chair. Later that morning, I looked over and saw that what I had made, according to Minnie, was a cat butt warmer.

Hmmm ... I wonder what the market is for CBWs that have OBSOBAC?

Grounded

Ok - I'm GONNA be flip here but it's just how I deal with all things Cancer-related. It's my means of managing. You don't have to like it, but I would ask ask that you please not think that the details below float lightly past me because they do not.

As an aside - I wish I felt things less than I do. I've met people who have no capacity to feel things deeply ... ever ... and I pity them for their lack of being honest with themselves and those around them. I guess I'll stick with feeling too much, but it sure does hurt.

Anyway it's time - let's shake the family tree.

As I wrote a couple months ago, my Aunt's Cancer battle ceased in November - the day before Thanksgiving. Her memorial service was held a month later, which was where I got an update on Lisa's - my Aunt's daughter's - health.

Lisa's breast cancer is far more vicious than mine is. It's been cruel - and persistent. Lisa went through a complete round of chemo/radiation treatments and the port they used to administer said treatment was slow to heal. In fact, it would not close. Months afterwards even. So she had a procedure to repair the skin damage near the port on December 26th, with hopes that the wound would close shortly thereafter.

It did not.

On Monday, she was told why. The radiation treatment that was used to fight and kill any remaining cancerous cells in her breast has resulted in her having skin cancer.

(insert sound of extreme anger here)

(insert another one, and make it louder)

So my cousin, who has successfully fought breast cancer twice in a 5 year period, is now fighting skin cancer. And, bonus points, because they're unable to continue to use this specific treatment, she's been "demoted" if you will and is back to regularly-scheduled chemo for her breast cancer.

As for yours truly, I've never felt more self-assigned guilt for my comparatively easy road. I had one round of chemo that was done back in October, was more violently ill than I anticipated, recovered my footing, and had my last regularly scheduled monthly blood work this morning. If the count allows (and if I get a clear scan from my early February mammogram), I'll be promoted to every other month for blood work and my visits to Stanford will slowly morph into shopping instread of bleeding.

And on a very personal note -- which is rare for me -- I would like to tell my guy that the reason I have not shared the latest horrors with Lisa's health is that the whole process honestly scares the crap outta me. And until I can wrap my head and heart around it, I probably won't want to talk about it much. But I know that when I get to that place and I to turn to you, you'll be the amazing, strong, caring and understanding man that you've already shown yourself to be.

And that is a great feeling to have.

"Green" Orange Juice, Beach-based Bathtubs, Tire Swings and Footballs

I notice advertising. More accurately, I notice either very effective or very INeffective advertising.

It is especially obvious (to me) when a new glut of advertising is released and there are times of the year when this occurs. The change of the seasons, for instance, brings about more "cozy, fireplace, indoor-based" or more "beach, active, youth and young-at-heart-based" ads. The July/August time of year ensures the new vehicle advertisements. Entertainment awards, fashion week, and even a change in government can bring out new ads. I've noticed a recent set of ads for a beverage and the model in the ad looks suspiciously like (checks her watch) our new President.
I'll admit that this is subtle but this kind of "arranged coincidence" can be very effective. Doesn't that family look happy and somewhat familiar? Safe? Energetic? In good health? Sure they do! "Yes" to all those things and clearly that's the result of their choice of orange juice. Uh huh.

(By the way - I actually buy Tropicana's Pure Premium OJ ... and just found this site this morning. If you register an email address there, and insert a code found on your OJ, you can do good things - like save rainforest acreage. Seriously. And "Polly-Annish" as it is, I'm FOR doing good things like saving rainforest acreage.)

But someone needs to explain this advertising logic to me.

Yesterday I was talking to my guy and we both noticed the same advertisement we'd seen recently - and we were both commenting on the same oddity. The ad in question is for one of the any number of pharmaceutical products available to men who require assistance in bedroom/romance activity department. We've probably all seen this ad ... happy couple of a certain age (read "over teenagerhood"), holding hands, enjoying a sunset on a quiet beach all alone and they are soaking in a bathtub. Individually.

Now I'll freely admit that I'm a romantic. I believe in cards and gifts for absolutely no reason. I believe in holding hands and getting hugs whenever possible. I believe in listening and laughing and being there, no matter what. I believe in kisses on the hand as much as I do kisses on the neck. I believe in lighting up when I hear his voice. Actually I don't "believe" in that so much as it just happens. I can't help that. It's really quite ... nice .......

uhhhhhhhhh I was sayin'' sommmmmmething .... OH yeah, right ...

So don't tell me I'm not a romantic. But if I'm on the beach with my guy and it's a quiet moment, and the sun is setting, and the timing is right - why is he in his own tub? The product is all about two people in a stable relationship enjoying the romance in life after all.

And while were at it - why would this same guy need a pill to throw a football through a tire swing?

Class Photo of Classy People

Do you remember class photo day?

Sure, there was the High School Senior Photo - where everyone sat on the bleachers, unofficially creating "their" areas - the stoners, the surfers, the chess dorks, the nerds, the science geeks, the cheerleaders, the jocks, the dropouts - but I mean before that. Did your school (at any level) participate in a class photo?

In 2005, when my boss Tom and I were transferring from one division to another, the team we were departing from insisted on giving us a proper farewell. As this was a sales team, a "proper farewell" equated to dinner, an extremely open and well-stocked bar, and a scathing roasting. My boss was a really loud guy - great head for numbers, extremely fair and intelligent, amazing negotiating skills but Tom was also a lightning rod for a great prank, a terrific story teller and the center of pretty much every party. He'd roasted quite a few folks as they moved up the chain - it was time for a payback, and his team was more than prepared and had ammo to spare.

For starters, we invited his wife not only to be a surprise attendee, but an active participant. Ohhhhh and she was very willing to provide old photos, yearbooks, and more material than we could have ever used. There even was a photo of Tom taking a shower. I kid you not. It was the first time I got a note from our tech staff, who blocked it from my work email address as possible "not safe for work" material. It was only after IT talked to me and heard that I was using it as roast material for Tom (and that I pointed out that the picture was from the waist up and that man-nipples were hardly indecent) that they allowed the photo to come through the firewall.

One of the things we did the night of the party, while the team was still together under one conference-room ceiling, was take a team photo. It's not the best shot - it's a little grainy, and it was taken after there had been significant damage at the open bar - but it is very much the "class photo".

An ex-coworker of mine sent me the shot the other day, and she commented that we were clearly at the right place at the right time with a great team. And she was right - we really, really were and we really, really did.

That company made the news today for having made some hard decisions in a tough economy. Some of my friends lost their jobs ... some knew it was coming, and quite a few didn't. But I didn't hear any rage or anger ... there was no blame assigned - just a company doing what it has to do to stay in business. I think it speaks volumes towards the company and the individuals involved that, even in these uncertain times, the actions were taken only as what had to happen and accepted without bitterness.

I was at the right place at the right time with a great team.

The Book Of Days

There's just something about it, I guess.

I have five (!!) portable electronic calendars (either available on a handheld device or a laptop), a calendar on the back of my checkbook, a handy-little reminder calendar from the local card shop, a large movie-poster themed calendar hanging in the hallway and yet, somehow, there's something about my calendar from Graphic Image that I just adore.

My first experience with their product line was more than a decade ago. It was a whim purchase - made shortly after I'd changed jobs and had managed to boost my salary significantly. It was a tan calendar, bound in leather that had that "new car" smell, and included things like a time-zone listing, maps of larger cities around the world, an expense listing area, telephone and address book, and three different ways to keep track of the days, weeks and months. It was NOT a "planner" - I'd tried and failed at keeping up with a planner before. (Alright alright - I lost the damn thing, ok? I admit I see the irony of LOSING ONE'S DAY PLANNER.) Anyway what I had here was a book - and I treated it as such. I even designated a specific pen for writing in it.

I referenced it years (and jobs) later. I shared it with Tim and Jennifer as my "go to" volume for metric conversions, currency exchange rates, foreign embassy listings throughout the world, and maps (even 'tho some of the countries had changed names and the calendar was completely useless). It followed me from desk to desk and served me well.

Over the holiday season while digging through "work" boxes in the garage, I rediscovered my original book from so long ago and treated myself to a 2009 version. It arrived on Monday and, as I opened it, that same sense of reverence came over me. My name is embossed on the leather cover which, happily, does have a "new car" scent to it, so there's no reason to write in it - yet. Which is nice because currently the first thing that comes to mind to write down would be a doctor's appointment or lab visit.

And ... well ... that's just not how I wanna start this book of days.

Alooooooooooha!

I related this happening earlier today - and thought I'd share it here, too.

Some advance facts:
(1) My dad has a fast (and somewhat twisted) sense of humor. I still haven't met anyone who can find the funny quicker than he can, even after a stroke and a heart attack.
(2) My parents have had the same phone number for all my life.
(3) A long time ago, before Al Gore invented the Internet, people used to have to make reservations over the phone.
(4) An even longer time ago, companies would run contests to thank their customers for their patronage. This was known as "customer service". I know - hard to grasp that one, right?
(5) There was a large-vehicle rental company in town for several years who, apparently, had a phone number that was a digit away from my parents phone number.

Ok - dem's da' facts. Here we go...

Over a particular weekend, this woman kept mis-dialing while trying to rent a moving truck ... from my folks. So she'd call, Dad would answer with "hello?" She'd say "oh, this isn't WeLug?" Dad would say "no", and she'd hang up. But she'd wait like 40 minutes or more before trying again (dunno why) so Dad just started answering the phone "WeLug - how may I help you?" that weekend. Our friends were confused but just figured my Dad was pulling a joke.

So finally the phone rang, Dad answered "WeLug - how may I help you?" and the woman started to place her order, but Dad stopped her. "Wait a sec - hey Hank - is this the call? It is? Great - Madam - you're our 1,000th customer this month. You've just won an all expenses-paid week in Hawaii" and he then went into great detail about where she and her guest would be staying, which airline they'd be flying, the luau that they'd enjoy, the sites they'd see, etc. It was a thing to hear. He was REALLY selling it. At first, she was absolutely not believing it but, by the 6th minute of discussion, she was damn near packing her bag.

Finally, my dad said "so what we need for you to do is come down to our offices in the next two hours - can you do that? - and walk through the door and shout 'Aloha' as loud as you possibly can. We'll have our district manager, Frank, there to present you with a certificate and our staff photographers will be taking your photo, we'll need you to sign off on that of course. But yeah - just shout 'Aloooooooha', ok?" He got her name, and her shirt size (so they could put a Hawaiian shirt on her for their monthly newsletter, of course), and said to expect the staff to act surprised when she walked through the front doors.

I still don't know how we kept from going down there to watch this woman waltz through the doors, grinning from ear to ear and shouting "Aloooooooha"! We didn't though - watching the actual occurrence couldn't possibly have been any better than the mental image of her doing so.

All Things Must Pass (Road)

Shame on me for not reading the HandsOn Gulf Coast Blog more frequently (it's RIGHT there ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------> after all), but “the kids” were never great about keeping it current and I just got lazy, I guess.

In any event, “Camp Cockroach”, thus named by Paula in Week #1, was shut down in November, 2008. I suspect all volunteer efforts are now completely partnered with the Hope Center … and any AmeriCorps or HandsOn volunteers (like Doug and George from Weeks #3 & #4) are likely long-term only and probably live in rented homes.

I realize that the whole idea of the Hope Center in the first place was to have one central organized place for the next massive storm recovery effort (because honestly, there WILL be "the next one"). But progress or not, it's still saddens me to read that the camp - with the temperamental sewage pipes, awful to non-existent insulation and completely uninvited bug residents (hence the well-earned nickname) - is now just another vacant building in Gulfport, MS.

I will still, however, years from now, turn onto Pass Road, drive past the "Gas-n-Go", look for the Post Office on the left-side of the road and make the sharp right turn into the driveway at 2113 (an address I know as well as my own) to show the building that housed hope, in the form of a bunch of loud, pierced, rowdy, hard-partying kids who were doing work that the rest of the nation said couldn't be done.I'm so glad they let me play in their sandbox.

Let's Get Some "In The Box" Perspective

Last Thursday afternoon, I was having a conversation that included the observation that people can sometimes be cruel. From outta nowhere, the voice in my head said "uh oh. This is taking a turn towards 'bummer'. Perspective is needed."

(A side note: I am Irish, which means that a phone ringing at 9pm does NOT bring good news. However, because of my "PollyAnna-ishness", I'm more of a realist than anything else. I realize it is not my job to provide perspective when none is requested, but that was my first reaction. I'm just being honest here. So shoot me. Continuing ...)

I hadn't discussed the luncheon I'd attended a few hours earlier because I was still getting my own perspective together, to try to - just make sense of what I'd heard, I guess. So I proceeded to share the event, and I'll do so here, too. Maybe you can make sense of it with me. Maybe we can get some perspective together.
**********
The luncheon I attended was for the County Volunteers Organization. You see, every non-profit must register in the county to maintain their non-profit status. This luncheon recognizes the work of those organizations and their volunteers that make the work occur.

There were more than 800 non-profit organizations represented, each with a handful of their top volunteers. I was there not as a representative of a non-profit, but because I have worked for a company who is one of the top three supporters for the County Volunteers Organization. (Someone has to help pay for the event, after all.) The company had purchased several tables (donating the cost to help non-profits to attend without having to buy a table), as well as underwriting the cost of a few of the awards.

Part of the awards program includes having the youth volunteers present and announce the youth awards for the year. The submission process for how to get a name to be considered is that two separate volunteer organizations need to submit names ... so if Bill is a great volunteer at both the local YWCA and the Boys and Girls Club, both of those groups would collaborate on getting Bill nominated. This is done to prevent a larger non-profit from taking over all the categories and it keeps the playing field level. This year, more than 300 names were nominated in the youth category, and 5 were chosen as winners. Each winner gets $3,000 towards college expenses, a new computer, and their current schools will get a $2,000 check for supporting and encouraging the volunteer effort of said youth. The one that made me cry (and yes, I cried) was the story of the 8th grade boy who has created a program he calls "In The Box".

It works like this:
A mom shows up at a battered woman's shelter with her children. She's traumatized, scared, confused, and possibly physically hurt. Her children are traumatized, scared, confused and possibly physically hurt ... but things are gonna change because she's finally taken a step towards change. Now the good news - the REALLY good news - is that there are a bazillion professional organizations just waiting to help out in this kind of situation - donated medical care, child services, schools to welcome the kids, etc. but "In The Box" is unique and serves a specific need.

There are some specific days that are tough on shelters - charmingly, the worst seems to be Mother's Day. So if said mom shows up on Mother's day, she'll get box with pancake makings and a robe, and her kids will get a box with craft supplies so that her children can make her a Mother's Day card. If mom shows up near the start of the school year, she gets lunchbox supplies (non-perishable) and the kids each get backpacks with the basics (notebook, pencils, crayons). If mom shows up on Halloween, there's healthy snacks and "make your own costume" stuff for the kids. On Valentines Day, mom gets a picture frame and the kids get supplies for making cards.

How simple, right?

So the kid that started "In The Box" got this idea after he saw his father beat the crap outta his mother for many months on end. And she was at the luncheon - attending in a wheel chair because she can no longer walk. And her son - who was one of the 5 selected for the award - is in the 8th grade. He's been doing "In The Box" since the 5th grade. And he includes a letter with his story in every box he creates, making sure that he signs each letter. He goes to local merchants and companies and gets them to donate whatever he needs ... actually, he said he makes them donate.

And yeah, I'm gonna say it again. He stared this in grade 5. When he was somewhere around 10 years old, he saw a need after having had experienced it himself, and said "I wonder if this would help."

Now I realize "In The Box" started as his way of dealing with things, but this was what he chose to do. And now his school has made it part of their charter. "In The Box" has been built into a larger "crafts" class - so instead of him having to create all these boxes alone ('tho he admitted his younger brother helps), he has 250 assistants.

And he's a realist, too. After he was presented with his award, he admitted that he knows he isn't changing the world. That these things are still gonna happen. But - and he actually SAID this - "I don't wanna change the world. I just want to take care of neighbors. And neighbors are everywhere."
**********
So it took me a few hours to process all of that. Hell, I won't lie - I'm still processing it. I hope to be processing it for a few months.

I've been using the phrase "it takes no talent to bitch" for more than a decade now. To me, it means "don't sit there and tell me what's wrong, offer a solution of some sort". There is much wrong in the world today. A 10-year old shouldn't witness rage between his parents and yes, people can be cruel.

Maybe it's time to think "In The Box".

There Will Be Blood

Shortly after retiring the 2008 calendar, I dropped by my local professional knife shop and handed over all the blades I care about for a review of which piece needed what work done. Since it was post-holiday, they were able to provide the service while I shopped, which I was happy to do.

While there were lots of temptations (*gasp* a whole two walls filled with copper items of all sizes), I behaved myself very well and walked out a half-hour later with my re-honed and newly sharpened knives and just one purchase - a new grater. I have two box-style versions - one too large for me to use and the other that needed replacing after years of faithful service. I found a hand-held grater that had a guard and the ability to be hung from a hook - safety and storage problems addressed. Color me happy.

After arriving home, I washed the new razor-sharp blades very carefully. I am, you probably recall, a klutz. I dried each one slowly and thoroughly and put it safely away before moving to the next one. I respect my butterfingers and do whatever I can to try to make sure I keep all 10 of them. I washed, dried, and stored my new grater as well.

Mission accomplished - no injuries to report. Hmmm ... maybe 2009 would be different. :-)
***********
A few days went by and, while feeding the cats dinner one evening, I managed to bend my right thumb nail back - badly. More than half-way down the nail, actually. The injured digit immediately turned white, and then red and then the pain began. One of the not-so-great side effects of my medicines is a slower-than-average ability for blood to clot. *sigh* It took about 40 minutes before the throbbing was no longer obvious. I cut back the nail as much as made sense and wrapped tape around the remainder to prevent any issues while the rest grows out. My roommate, who is used to my level of grace, barely glanced at my hand before asking "so uhhhh what ... ?" "Cabinet door" I responded. "Ahhhh sure", was the response - with a nod.

So I've been walking around with tape on my thumb, looking a bit like a football player. Last night, my roommate had a craving for pizza "but you make a better crust", so I donned some food-grade gloves (to protect my injured and taped nail) to prepare to play with dough. They were a size too big from what I usually buy, but they did the job and within a few minutes, I decided to leave them on and grate up some cheese, too.

The cheese I decided to use was a bit harder than what my new grater is probably meant for, and with the large gloves and all ... well, you know how this ends, right? I held the immediately crimson-colored hand under water (while trying to keep the tip of my thumb dry), and taped a big folded up wad of paper towels to the digit in question - eventually trading that out for a bandage. I walked unceremoniously into the other room where my roommate was listening to music and said "the dough is resting, some cheese has been grated, the oven is preheating and the rest is up to you." "Same thumb?" was the response. "Yep."

So now - on the same taped thumb, there is a perfect grater-hole cut out from the fleshiest part near my palm.

It's official - 2009 ... there will be blood.

"Well, it ain't called 'fall to gracious'"

A quick check of the calendar today reminded me that my presence is being requested at a luncheon this Thursday to recognize a certain body of 2008 volunteers. I sighed and commented to my guy "I realize that this will come off sounding VERY ungracious but I REALLY LOTHE such things" and his response titled today's ramblin'.

I checked Websters and the listing for "gracious" included things like "marked by kindness and warm courtesy" and "of a compassionate or merciful nature".

So here's the thing: I do what I do for MY reasons. Just like I choose the charities I work with for MY reasons. I realize that there are benefits in volunteering and donating and such. There are tax breaks to be had, there's that warm fuzzy undefined feeling of doing something good, there's the making room in the closet for the next shopping trip thing. I understand all of that. And as far as whatever anyones reasons ARE for whatever they do, more power to 'em. I'm so much more about the just doin' SOMETHING than the whys behind the action itself.

As such, the whole idea of being recognized for what I "gave" (time, energy, compassion, work, money, whatever) just makes me squirm. That being said, I will go on Thursday. I'll accept - with as much graciousness as I can muster - the gratitude or whatever being offered because that is what is being offered. Just like my time, energy, compassion, work, money, whatever was what I offered.

It's a give and take kinda thing, this "grace".

Knit Wit

Photos when "it" looks like ... uh ... well when it looks like knitting instead of an accidental cluster of knots - but yes, I have learned how to knit.
Kinda.
Enough anyway to make ... errmmmmm ... something.
I've also learned that the process itself seems to draw the attention of the feline population here. That whole "ball of yarn kitten thing" apparently IS based on reality.

And it's cute. It's darn cute.

Get it - "darn" cute? *Giggle* - knitting humor.


File this under "terrible pun #1 2009.