Did I Miss The Peace Talks?

Today a radio talk show host asked the question: "How do we feel about living in this post-terror era?"

Doesn't it seem a little premature to be talking about a post-terror era?

Tagged Shmagged

I've been tagged by DDM to list six weird/strange/unknown/etc. facts about myself. I'm so unweird that I haven't been able to come up with very many. Now that you're all done laughing yourself hysterical about that untruth, I'll list them (too bad I have to limit myself to six, huh?):

1) The older I get, the more afraid (understatement) of heights I become. I used to giggle--in a kind way--at my grandma who was deathly afraid of heights and elevators. In the later years of her life, when they would be in a car, she would lean way into the middle of the car when the edge of the road would have any sort of drop-off. I guess she figured the closer she was to the other side of the car, the safer she'd be. And of course, to my 13-year-old brain, that was pretty funny. It's not so funny anymore. Now I become short of breath and dizzy when I get too high and have to look down. Is this genetic??

2) I can't stand any clothing to touch my collarbones (I can't wear any sort of turtleneck or high-necked shirt/sweater). Was I strangled as a child and I've blocked that from my memory?? Likely.

3) I LOVE the idea of everything neat and orderly, "a place for everything and everything in its place". However, I'm terribly unorganized and can't seem to keep anything in order. I guess the idea is great but the work required is too much?

4) I wouldn't care if I never had another bite of ice cream or pie. They don't tempt me at all (don't get me started on a dozen other things, though).

5) I can read a book a dozen times and remember very little about it (as long as it isn't, say, the next day that I re-read it). Does this mean I have very few brain cells? Probably. It works out good, though, because I get a lot of mileage out of a really good book.

6) I still think banana baby food is yummy.

Well, there's six. A drop in the bucket. Tip of the iceburg......You get the idea.

(By the way, if you're reading this, consider yourself tagged. I KNOW I'm not the only strange person out there. You weirdos know who you are :). I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course).

If You Can Stand One More Comment On The Subject...

So, according to Tom, the idea of "silent birth" isn't so much about Not Making Noise as it is about Respecting The Woman.

R-i-i-i-g-h-t-t-t.

If you want to respect the woman, let HER decide how she will give birth. If Tom was in there yelling around or a group gathered for a rowdy party without her permission, that would be Disrespecting The Woman. If she, however, groans yells cries curses....how is that disrespecting herself? There's something fishy here.

I wonder if that rule would get changed if the men had to give birth. How fast do you think there'd be a new page in that book?

What A Racket

I'm trying to wrap my mind around this whole Scientology business of "silent birth". As in: you can't make a sound while delivering your baby. Like my enlightened husband said, "I wonder what man came up with that." Exactly. Because I can guarantee you, it wasn't a woman. And I'm not saying that many many woman aren't quiet, even silent, during childbirth. Apparently my mom was. I personally don't know how a woman is silent during childbirth, but the bigger question to me is: why on earth would she possibly be required to be silent? Well, the answer is that supposedly childbirth causes emotional stress to the newborn if it hears the mother groan in pain during delivery.

I can't remember the last time I heard such hooey.

No offense intended but come on!

Sound The Trumpets!!

Alert the press! Phone God!

Well, we knew it was coming. Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes have had their baby girl. I wonder if we'll be hearing or seeing anything about this for the next decade. Is anyone else as sick as I am of this whole subject? (Yet here I am devoting a whole post to it!! Gag!)

It Is The Kind Of Frustrating

that makes me want to pull every hair out of my head one at a time (and I have a lot of hair).

Gone missing is a library book. It is due tomorrow. I finished the book (The Rug Merchant, by the way) a day last week. I distinctly remember finishing it, giving it a toss (onto my bed? where??) and even saying aloud, "well, that was alright." I wasn't so crazy about how it ended. Wasn't a terrible ending but didn't leave me feeling very satisfied.

That's nothing compared to how I'm feeling now. Somewhere within about 25 feet of me is a library book that's having the last laugh. I have searched high and low. I have re-searched. I have searched even yet again. Nowhere. And it wouldn't be so bad if this was the first library book that has disappeared, but it is not. Where do they go? Are they with the socks that get lost in the wash? I don't get it. How does a book disappear? It's driving me absolutely bonkers.

So now I get to pay for a book that I don't want, wouldn't even read again if I could find it and will probably not locate until some long-lost day when I'm going through some drawer and it appears, smug and useless. Ergh!

I Wanna Be A Cowgirl*

*from the song "Cowgirl" by Sandy Rogers.

Over the weekend, we took our two youngest boys to the rodeo and to the adjacent carnival. It was a fun time.

I haven't been to a rodeo in years. I think I liked the barrel racing best---mostly because it didn't involve any back-breaking, bone-jarring bucking nor did it involve any throwing of harmless calves onto the ground and tying them up.

And *sigh* I realized this again: there's just somethin' about a cowboy...

Now, Ma'am, This Hurts Me More Than It Hurts You

Several days ago in Southern California an 81-year-old woman was given a $114 ticket. Her crime: taking too long to cross the street.

I kid you not.

Granny, with cane, began crossing the street when the light turned green. Alas, after eight decades of life, her one-time gazelle-like grace and speed had become rather diminished. She was unable to make it to the other side of the intersection before the light turned red. A motorcycle policeman just happened to be waiting at the light (what luck!!), observed Granny's outrageous caper, and promptly ticketed the malicious perp. We'll all sleep better tonight.

So I'm wondering, if Johnny Boy Scout was dutifully helping her cross the street, youthful hand on ancient elbow, would he have received a ticket for aiding and abetting?

Erm....What Was That Again?

For those of you who don't know, my two youngest sons are deaf. They were both born profoundly deaf, have since been implanted with bi-lateral cochlear impants and are doing wonderfully. For instance, if you didn't know, you probably would never be aware that they are deficient in any of their senses. Except maybe common sense. Sometimes.

Anyway, the point is, for the past two days my ears have been completely stopped up. I've got some sort of painful sinus thing going on. As a result, I can barely hear anything. What I do hear is muffled and incomplete and mostly nonsensical. I find myself piecing together what I think people said. I guess at a lot of it. I ignore the rest. I realize that since I can't hear most of what's going on around me, I just dismiss it. In two days I've become more in-drawn. In two days I've gotten a tiny glimpse of what my boys most likely deal with 99% of the time; though, with their implants, they probably hear better than I do right now. Even so, there's still an immense effort they put forth, I'm sure, to keep up with what is happening around them.... making sense of conversations with expert skill in piecework. I'm in awe. I don't know how they do it, day in and day out.

I take my hat off to them.

Clouds Hang Heavy Sometimes And Are Full Of Rain

Been a bit on the somber side today for various and sundry reasons---one of which is contemplation of time spent with a family a couple of days ago whom we know but not well. They were in our home for awhile on Sunday, this little family with their four young children. The youngest is 22 months old and getting ready to start heavy chemo treatments tomorrow. She has stage four neuroblastoma, this little tiny slip of a girl with the sweet face and funny habit of crinkling up her nose and squinting her eyes when she tries to resist smiling.

Also, there's a young woman--22 or 23--well-known to us who we've just learned is full of cancer. She's been given a short time to live. She's been married for a couple of years. I remember at the time thinking that it was so young to be getting married and was it the right thing, but now I'm so happy that she and her husband (they've been exclusively each other's since about the age of 12) had a few years together as a married couple. And now all those dreams and plans**poof**.

How does a parent bear it? I know that many parents do, many more parents will. I quake 'neath the fear of it ever being me.

It gives life a fresh perspective and more meaning than before. We aren't here forever and there are no guarantees....What are we doing with the time we have?