I remember you, my sweet friend, the day I saw your furry little face looking back at me from inside your kennel. You stared defiantly, daring me to walk away. And, of course, I couldn't. And so began our time together.
You stayed with me through the coldest winter in 50 years, keeping my feet warm as I slept through the night. You greeted me everyday with that kitty smile, that demanding meow; "I'm hungry," you said. Yes, I had to clean up plants that you knocked over and vases that you broke.....but that was who you were. You were naughty, playful, furry.
You were always accepting, always there even when I was at my lowest point. You knew when I was sad and quietly came up and snuggled next to me on my beat-up couch. You made me laugh when you attacked your bowl of cat food like it was a wild beast. You'd shake your mouthful of crunchies as if you had a mouse in a death grip.
And then you bravely made a 17-hour drive with me, scared at first, but gradually accepting. You stayed at my feet for most of that long drive, meowing helpfully every so often. For a confirmed house cat, you made the transition to outdoor cat beautifully....now when I think of you, it is roaming the yard, your puffy tail waving out behind. No matter how far away you were, you always heard me call you and would come tearing around the corner to find me.
Most of all, I remember how you looked while you sat at the top of the stairs out back. You had your sweet little face turned towards the sun, sitting quietly with your furry white chest puffed out with joy. I will always recall how happy you looked as you oversaw your outside domain. That is how I shall remember you.
Ferdinand, you were a comfort to Dad when he was in pain, you were a source of laughter to Mom after a bad day, and you were my little gift. I'm so happy to have known you. I am thankful that your funny little face was peaceful when they found you, because that is always how you made me feel. Farewell, little guy. You will be missed.
14 December 2006
07 December 2006
In the beginning...
I was 10 years old then. I had never been on a sail boat before, much less one that lazily traversed the shores of the British Virgin Islands. This was the first time I watched the stars without so much as a streetlight to interrupt them.
There were new ports every night, new tastes, new people at every stop. At one of the ports, there was a cafe on the beach. I remember torches flickering and our waiter wore a black-and-white striped shirt. There was music coming from speakers behind the bar, a few people were dancing on the sand.
Our waiter saw me, ponytail bobbing to the music, eyes bright and curious. In a lilting Caribbean accent, he asked me for a dance. Eighteen years later, I still remember the feel of the breeze on my cheek and the sand beneath my feet. It was the beginning of a love affair with travel. This experience paved the way for many adventures to come.
There were new ports every night, new tastes, new people at every stop. At one of the ports, there was a cafe on the beach. I remember torches flickering and our waiter wore a black-and-white striped shirt. There was music coming from speakers behind the bar, a few people were dancing on the sand.
Our waiter saw me, ponytail bobbing to the music, eyes bright and curious. In a lilting Caribbean accent, he asked me for a dance. Eighteen years later, I still remember the feel of the breeze on my cheek and the sand beneath my feet. It was the beginning of a love affair with travel. This experience paved the way for many adventures to come.
05 December 2006
Medication vs. Parenting
Adderall: the newest designer drug for unruly kids. It seems like some parents would rather turn their child over to a powerful drug, then find out why their son/daughter is acting the way they are. However, the lines have gotten so blurred that parents can't tell the difference between a child in need of medication, or one who just might need more attention.
The alternative is to spend more time with their child. Instead, I see 8-year-old boys who are too comatose from Adderall (fill-in other ADHD drug) to even respond to a simple question. They just stare, uncomprehending in a drug-induced haze. I wonder if just a little extra discipline (and God-forbid, love) would do far more than a little white pill in an orange bottle?
I'm certain it is less expensive to sit and read a book with a child, look into their eyes while you talk to them, then to pay a co-pay at the doctor. And I'm also pretty sure that it is a good deal more satisfying.
The alternative is to spend more time with their child. Instead, I see 8-year-old boys who are too comatose from Adderall (fill-in other ADHD drug) to even respond to a simple question. They just stare, uncomprehending in a drug-induced haze. I wonder if just a little extra discipline (and God-forbid, love) would do far more than a little white pill in an orange bottle?
I'm certain it is less expensive to sit and read a book with a child, look into their eyes while you talk to them, then to pay a co-pay at the doctor. And I'm also pretty sure that it is a good deal more satisfying.
27 November 2006
How Not to Shop
It really baffles me what someone would do for a chair (or four). What started out as a simple shopping trip, ended up as something far more sinister. We just wanted to get four little chairs with some padding on the seat for our Thanksgiving dinner.
The chairs in question were rudely snatched out of my friend's hand by a tall, fashionably dressed snake with flat hair and skinny arms. The best part is that because my friend is on the shorter side, this woman was able to lift the first two chairs right over her head. This is when she asked the offending party how many chairs she needed. The woman replied that she also needed four, and preceeded to take the remaining two without so much as backward glance.
We, the innocent shoppers, stood there with our mouths hang open. And yes, it was mine that the stream of comments and muttered insults came from. It was just that "hag" seemed like an appropriate comment at the time. The snake actually had the nerve to tell her companion (idly chatting on her cell) that she had taken the chairs away from "that woman." Her friend had the same reaction we did.
I forgot to mention that the coveted chairs were the last ones. As a result, we went up to the front to seek some assistance to discover that same lady already in line, looking guiltily over her shoulder. This was AFTER she lamely called out that she would go and "find some help" for us. Hah!
I am happy to report that there was a happy ending to this story, but not all might be so lucky. The sales associate that helped us found four matching chairs with padding on the seats AND the backs....for sale. Losers never win, or something like that. Beware holiday shoppers: make sure you have a firm grip on whatever you may be buying!
The chairs in question were rudely snatched out of my friend's hand by a tall, fashionably dressed snake with flat hair and skinny arms. The best part is that because my friend is on the shorter side, this woman was able to lift the first two chairs right over her head. This is when she asked the offending party how many chairs she needed. The woman replied that she also needed four, and preceeded to take the remaining two without so much as backward glance.
We, the innocent shoppers, stood there with our mouths hang open. And yes, it was mine that the stream of comments and muttered insults came from. It was just that "hag" seemed like an appropriate comment at the time. The snake actually had the nerve to tell her companion (idly chatting on her cell) that she had taken the chairs away from "that woman." Her friend had the same reaction we did.
I forgot to mention that the coveted chairs were the last ones. As a result, we went up to the front to seek some assistance to discover that same lady already in line, looking guiltily over her shoulder. This was AFTER she lamely called out that she would go and "find some help" for us. Hah!
I am happy to report that there was a happy ending to this story, but not all might be so lucky. The sales associate that helped us found four matching chairs with padding on the seats AND the backs....for sale. Losers never win, or something like that. Beware holiday shoppers: make sure you have a firm grip on whatever you may be buying!
10 October 2006
Perspective
I was reminded this evening of how hard it was to be an almost teenager. Middle school was one of the worst times while I was growing up. My world revolved around school: what happened there, who liked me, who didn't, what I was going to wear while I was there...It was tough for someone like me who didn't really fit in. I got picked on, had few friends and the teachers didn't seem to care too much. If they paid any attention to me at all, it was mostly to yell or embarrass me. I do not look back fondly on that experience and certainly wish it could have been different. But if this was true for me, it was doubly true for Bryan Jackson.
Bryan Jackson was my friend. We had gone to school together since we were in 1st grade. Bryan was kind of geeky, sensitive, never wore the right things. He got picked on....alot. But he was such a nice guy, the kind that couldn't have been mean even if he had tried. We both had a tough time in 7th grade. There were a couple of teachers who seemed to have it in for us equally. The difference was, it was ok for me to cry in public, Bryan wasn't so lucky. Mrs. Laster always singled him out for no apparent reason. I guess he was an easy target. I remember her yelling at him in the hall that day. He was looking at his feet, big tears dripping off his chin. I remember it so well because that was the day he died.
His mother came home to find him bleeding to death on her bedroom floor. He hadn't meant for the gun to go off, but it did. Little Bryan Jackson died at thirteen, leaving a heartbroken family, a baby sister who was too young to remember him, and a few friends who still miss him. Ironically, his funeral was packed. Packed full of people who wouldn't give him the time of day when he was alive....but whose guilt drew them close to him once it was too late for it to matter.
If only he had known that there was a world outside of middle school...that the jocks are pumping gas and the geeks are the ones who made something of themselves. I know because I was one of them.
Bryan Jackson was my friend. We had gone to school together since we were in 1st grade. Bryan was kind of geeky, sensitive, never wore the right things. He got picked on....alot. But he was such a nice guy, the kind that couldn't have been mean even if he had tried. We both had a tough time in 7th grade. There were a couple of teachers who seemed to have it in for us equally. The difference was, it was ok for me to cry in public, Bryan wasn't so lucky. Mrs. Laster always singled him out for no apparent reason. I guess he was an easy target. I remember her yelling at him in the hall that day. He was looking at his feet, big tears dripping off his chin. I remember it so well because that was the day he died.
His mother came home to find him bleeding to death on her bedroom floor. He hadn't meant for the gun to go off, but it did. Little Bryan Jackson died at thirteen, leaving a heartbroken family, a baby sister who was too young to remember him, and a few friends who still miss him. Ironically, his funeral was packed. Packed full of people who wouldn't give him the time of day when he was alive....but whose guilt drew them close to him once it was too late for it to matter.
If only he had known that there was a world outside of middle school...that the jocks are pumping gas and the geeks are the ones who made something of themselves. I know because I was one of them.
06 October 2006
No Really, What Can I Do For You?
What is it about people who interact with someone whose job is to help them? What is it that makes it ok ,under these circumstances, to treat said persons like they are either stupid or subservient? I've never actually gotten my blood pressure tested, but after a day on the job, I certain it is quite high after "serving" my fellow citizens.
I'm convinced that in ordinary situations at home or spending time with friends, these same people are probably fairly "normal." But when you put them in situations where a paid employee is available to help them, they turn into individuals with no manners and a couple of personalities. Regardless of the fact that some of these persons may indeed actually have a couple personalities. Recall the person who called wanting to cancel a certain order she had placed. A few days later, her other personality called back demanding to know why she had not received said order yet. I'm afraid this sort of thing happens a lot more than I would care to remember at my place of work. And, no, I do not work on a mental ward....though sometimes I wish I did. At least the patients would be medicated.
I have been talked down to and insulted in just about every way imaginable. I have been chased down a hall, shouted at (within inches of my face....no, the breath was not good), had someone pound on my desk, accused of being illiterate (I did not go to 5 years of higher ed to be called that), and been scratched and kicked. Only the last item was done by a child.
I will never understand why it is ok to mistreat someone who is helping you. Whether it is a waitress, check-out girl, nurse, mechanic, receptionist, doorman, front desk clerk, room service or anyone else who fits this description. Let me just remind people who act like jerks towards these kinds of people: one day the role is going to be reversed....and it is really going to suck for you when you find yourself in the situation that seems awfully familiar: but from the business end of the barrel of that particular gun. Karma will always be a unpleasant foe.
I'm convinced that in ordinary situations at home or spending time with friends, these same people are probably fairly "normal." But when you put them in situations where a paid employee is available to help them, they turn into individuals with no manners and a couple of personalities. Regardless of the fact that some of these persons may indeed actually have a couple personalities. Recall the person who called wanting to cancel a certain order she had placed. A few days later, her other personality called back demanding to know why she had not received said order yet. I'm afraid this sort of thing happens a lot more than I would care to remember at my place of work. And, no, I do not work on a mental ward....though sometimes I wish I did. At least the patients would be medicated.
I have been talked down to and insulted in just about every way imaginable. I have been chased down a hall, shouted at (within inches of my face....no, the breath was not good), had someone pound on my desk, accused of being illiterate (I did not go to 5 years of higher ed to be called that), and been scratched and kicked. Only the last item was done by a child.
I will never understand why it is ok to mistreat someone who is helping you. Whether it is a waitress, check-out girl, nurse, mechanic, receptionist, doorman, front desk clerk, room service or anyone else who fits this description. Let me just remind people who act like jerks towards these kinds of people: one day the role is going to be reversed....and it is really going to suck for you when you find yourself in the situation that seems awfully familiar: but from the business end of the barrel of that particular gun. Karma will always be a unpleasant foe.
12 September 2006
Past Tense
This is a poem that I wrote in August of 1998. I was 20, a sophomore at ASU.
Silent phone...friend or foe? Crouched there on my desk, mocking me with its calm quiet. All day I run from you, yet not escaping at all; for it is you that sleeps next to my bed, lingering like a nightmare. Every time your voice pierces the air, my expectant heart jumps, hoping to hear that melodious tone on the line.
Silent phone...friend or foe? Crouched there on my desk, mocking me with its calm quiet. All day I run from you, yet not escaping at all; for it is you that sleeps next to my bed, lingering like a nightmare. Every time your voice pierces the air, my expectant heart jumps, hoping to hear that melodious tone on the line.
21 July 2006
Friday Night Chronicle
Just me and my couch....hanging out with icy glass of something sweet. The cat is sleeping in the closet and a candle is flickering on the counter. Jamiroquai keeps me company, the trumpet soft and low. Abe Lincoln leans with the latest copy of Women's Health on the bookshelf. My friend Sim smiles out from her perch on the shelf above. My mother looks serene in her gilded frame, contradicting the jumble of books and papers that line the cubes below. A striped kitten guards the television set, facing off against the cable guide and some Boston Bruins fans. A couple embrace above the blinking lights of the AIWA, looking pristine in their evening wear. And I recline on the couch, laptop in lap and smile on face.
17 July 2006
28 and Counting
Upon recently adding another birthday notch to my lipstick case...I feel I need to reflect a bit on the decade that came before.
At 18 I was no different from most high-school graduates trying to figure out how to make their mark in the world. So I, like many, went off to the hallowed halls of higher education. Welcome to Appalachian State University: Home of the Mountaineers, hacky-sack circles, hippies, wannabe Warren Buffets....and yours truly. Me. With too-big pants, dorky, but still enthusiastic. ALWAYS enthusiastic, even when the idea or activity didn't end up being a great idea.
Fast forward 4 years. I have not only managed a BA in Journalism with a minor in English Lit....But I actually had pulled almost a 4.0 (3.98 to be exact), joined a sorority (I know, I know), been inducted into an honor society, lived overseas, and brainwashed myself into deciding on law school as my next career/life move. My brilliance is staggering, isn't it?
Moving on..I lasted two years and change at Franklin Pierce Law Center in scenic Concord, NH (yergh). No offense NewHampshire-ites..but all your fair city got me was high blood pressure, cold toes and a Master's degree that I still haven't used. And don't forget about the string of useless (albeit ,interesting jobs), one nose ring and a great friend. Yes, there was ONE good thing I found in NH.
I left the chilly streets of Concord at the age of 25, for the verdant hills of my homeland: Asheville, NC. I did the ultimate humbling act and moved back home to Hamburg Mountain Road and the loving arms of Mom and Dad. I had packed up my faithful 1989 SAAB 900, every belonging that would fit, and my beloved sidekick, Ferdinand (cat and muse). Together we drove the almost 17 straight hours until I put my feet firmly on friendly soil.
Bless my poor parents for putting up with me for the next two years. It was something (good?bad?) to be residing in the little blue bedroom of my childhood home. Together my folks and I plowed through, and triumphed, despite a couple bone-head boyfriends (see previous entry) and serving the often ornery public as an ophthalmic technician. Description for the masses: I calm patients down, receive abuse ad nauseum, and answer all inane questions (is that going to touch my eye?) before getting to the ophthalmologist.
And finally, the latest chapter began. Scene: the driveway. Me, in yet another (newer)SAAB...setting out for another state and a new adventure. I drive down the road, crying like a 5-year old being left off at her first day of school. Mom is playing the part of Mom to the hilt: complete with tears, Kleenex and pride (fear?).
So here I sit on my couch in a small enclave in central Florida. Beside me sits my cat, while Iron Chef America plays in the background. I know there is always room for improvement, but this is a good beginning.
"Be in readiness for favorable winds." -Chinese Proverb-
Stay tuned
At 18 I was no different from most high-school graduates trying to figure out how to make their mark in the world. So I, like many, went off to the hallowed halls of higher education. Welcome to Appalachian State University: Home of the Mountaineers, hacky-sack circles, hippies, wannabe Warren Buffets....and yours truly. Me. With too-big pants, dorky, but still enthusiastic. ALWAYS enthusiastic, even when the idea or activity didn't end up being a great idea.
Fast forward 4 years. I have not only managed a BA in Journalism with a minor in English Lit....But I actually had pulled almost a 4.0 (3.98 to be exact), joined a sorority (I know, I know), been inducted into an honor society, lived overseas, and brainwashed myself into deciding on law school as my next career/life move. My brilliance is staggering, isn't it?
Moving on..I lasted two years and change at Franklin Pierce Law Center in scenic Concord, NH (yergh). No offense NewHampshire-ites..but all your fair city got me was high blood pressure, cold toes and a Master's degree that I still haven't used. And don't forget about the string of useless (albeit ,interesting jobs), one nose ring and a great friend. Yes, there was ONE good thing I found in NH.
I left the chilly streets of Concord at the age of 25, for the verdant hills of my homeland: Asheville, NC. I did the ultimate humbling act and moved back home to Hamburg Mountain Road and the loving arms of Mom and Dad. I had packed up my faithful 1989 SAAB 900, every belonging that would fit, and my beloved sidekick, Ferdinand (cat and muse). Together we drove the almost 17 straight hours until I put my feet firmly on friendly soil.
Bless my poor parents for putting up with me for the next two years. It was something (good?bad?) to be residing in the little blue bedroom of my childhood home. Together my folks and I plowed through, and triumphed, despite a couple bone-head boyfriends (see previous entry) and serving the often ornery public as an ophthalmic technician. Description for the masses: I calm patients down, receive abuse ad nauseum, and answer all inane questions (is that going to touch my eye?) before getting to the ophthalmologist.
And finally, the latest chapter began. Scene: the driveway. Me, in yet another (newer)SAAB...setting out for another state and a new adventure. I drive down the road, crying like a 5-year old being left off at her first day of school. Mom is playing the part of Mom to the hilt: complete with tears, Kleenex and pride (fear?).
So here I sit on my couch in a small enclave in central Florida. Beside me sits my cat, while Iron Chef America plays in the background. I know there is always room for improvement, but this is a good beginning.
"Be in readiness for favorable winds." -Chinese Proverb-
Stay tuned
14 June 2006
Wonder Girl
Technology, if nothing else, has given back to me one of my dearest friends. There is alot about technology that sometimes just doesn't work. But this time it did. She Googled, and she found.
Becky was one of those friends that everyone has had. The kind that make you wonder what happend to them. I met Becky almost 13 years ago at a camp for aspiring writers. I still remember what it was like to meet her for the first time....She had this amazing red hair and an electric personality to match. There was never any question that we would be friends. I'm happy to report that not much has changed. Becky and I picked up where we left off on that sad summer day in '94. Only this time...she's blonde.
Becky was one of those friends that everyone has had. The kind that make you wonder what happend to them. I met Becky almost 13 years ago at a camp for aspiring writers. I still remember what it was like to meet her for the first time....She had this amazing red hair and an electric personality to match. There was never any question that we would be friends. I'm happy to report that not much has changed. Becky and I picked up where we left off on that sad summer day in '94. Only this time...she's blonde.
25 March 2006
Orange Crush
It all started with a pair of shoes. An an assuming pair of nursing clogs that I like to wear to work (I'm on my feet the majority of the day). They are mild mannered enough, I suppose. But yes (sigh), they were born a rather loud shade of orange. It's not their fault, they didn't ask to be orange! Their color sets them apart from the rest, belies but a corner of their layered personality.
They also have a tendency to squeak. A sweetly-toned , consistent little squeak. The squeak can be reassuring after a particularly difficult patient (or co-worker!). The squeakiness is friendly, softens the edges of a shoe that might otherwise alarm.
Beware, the balding stalwart who object to any departure from the normal! To those who fear them, this simple pair of clogs has an air of insouciance, even an unspoken threat. "Be gone", they say. But even when they are not walking the sterile halls ...this small pair of shoes lives on. Like the wearer, they are not afraid to be bold.
They also have a tendency to squeak. A sweetly-toned , consistent little squeak. The squeak can be reassuring after a particularly difficult patient (or co-worker!). The squeakiness is friendly, softens the edges of a shoe that might otherwise alarm.
Beware, the balding stalwart who object to any departure from the normal! To those who fear them, this simple pair of clogs has an air of insouciance, even an unspoken threat. "Be gone", they say. But even when they are not walking the sterile halls ...this small pair of shoes lives on. Like the wearer, they are not afraid to be bold.
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