40 In Real Life

Under The Canopy

2011-02-04T13:17:00.014-06:00

April 26, 2009

The April sky is heavy and gray with rain clouds and the wind is blowing fiercely. Trees are thick and green with spring but the branches thrash wildly in the wind. The wind and the clouds mean rain will come soon. Typical for this time of year. Tornado season has begun.

It’s called the Rite of Spring in Oklahoma City. No, not tornado season! Although I wouldn’t argue with that assessment either. I’m talking about the annual Festival of the Arts! We don’t miss the Arts Fest. It’s my favorite event and a big part of what I love about downtown OKC. Football – Sooners, Cowboys, Bedlam, Red River Shootout – is what excites most people here in the state. Not Joe and me! It’s the Arts Festival we look forward to each year.

It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m writing this from a table on the 2nd floor of the library in Downtown OKC, overlooking Park and Hudson Avenues. I can see the Museum of Art from where I’m sitting. Leadership Square is behind us. Downtown Oklahoma City is a community all its own. Tall grey buildings. Concrete sidewalks. The Conncourse. Denizens scurrying back and forth between buildings and cars. Government buildings, office buildings. Parking garages, parking meters. And each spring the Festival of the Arts brings new life and excitement to it all.

Probably the main draw at the Arts Fest is International Food Row. It’s always the first place we visit, as we did yesterday. 25 or so local restaurants host food booths; each booth partners with an art venue in town. The kids were each allowed to get one “real” food, and one dessert. And there’s so much to choose from! Nathan got a slice of cheese pizza from Sammy’s Pizza & Prairie Dance Theater; Jodie got smoked ribs from Brewer Entertainment & [Artspace] at Untitled; John got a gyro from PaPa’s Greek Foods and Allied Arts Foundation; Joe got a bratwurst from Made 2 Grill & OKC Zoological Park and Botanical Garden; and I got a brisket baked potato from Sweet Corn Express & Oklahoma History Center.

The place is crowded and the lines can be long. Seriously, the 6-day festival boasts 750,000 visitors in all. That’s over 100,000 on any given day, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if there were 500 or more festival-goers in the food court at any given time. But the food is always worth the wait.

The day was warm and muggy, but we hardly noticed it as spring breezes filtered the air. The five of us found a shady patch of soft grass among the trees at the Botanical Gardens to sit and eat. John and Nathan, having already finished their lunches, skimmed back by the food booths in quest for funnel cakes for dessert. I kept seeing other festival-goers nibbling on fruit kabobs. Chunks of pineapple, banana, and strawberry were skewered on a stick and drizzled with chocolate sauce. They looked scrumptious! I mean really, how can you go wrong with FRUIT and CHOCOLATE, two of nature’s most delectable offerings? As soon as I finished my brisket potato I had to have one!

Hmm, ahh, um, actually, it wasn’t as good as it looked. That’s OK; you never know til ya try, right? Joe and Jodie each picked up a Strawberries Newport for their dessert. Flaky pastries are covered with a rich vanilla pudding, then topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Yum. No wonder it’s a perennial favorite.

After filling our tummies with that awesome festival food, Joe, the kids, and I walked around to look at the 100 or so art booths. Artisans from around the country proudly displayed their paintings, pottery, sculptures. Artwork of every design and genre could be found. I bought one this year, a print of a painting by Keith Andry from Baton Rouge, LA. I’ve admired his work for many years, but during most of that time I was a single mom living on a solitary income and paying off debts. I couldn’t afford to spend $50 on such a luxury as a painting or sculpture or ceramic work. Thankfully now I’m in a much better place and can appreciate and support the Arts.

Music of all tunes and tempos floated through the air as bands played on the sound stages throughout the park. We strolled around the pond at the Botanical Gardens. Once at the top, Joe and I let the kiddos join other kids in rolling down the hill back toward the pond. Down, down, down they rolled! It always seems to be the kids’ favorite part.

Meanwhile Joe and I lay in the soft, thick grass under the shade of the trees, gazing up at the blue spring sky. It was peaceful. The smells of roast brisket and deep-fried funnel cakes floated through the air. Young children giggled and yelped with playful excitement against the background of music playing on the Water Stage.

Food, art, and music, all under the canopy of springtime in Oklahoma. So much excitement, so much to see and do at the Festival of the Arts!

Our Latest Adventure - Looking for a House

2011-02-04T13:17:00.009-06:00

March 26, 2009

Now that our family is expanding, we’re going to need a bigger house! Joe and I are going to be married soon, and all five of us sure can’t live in the house I bought for Nathan and myself in 2002. This house has 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and a 2-car garage, but the kitchen is small and narrow. It was like a castle after leaving that 750 square foot, 1-bedroom apartment we rented for a year, although our home now is barely 1300 square feet.

Joe and I have been looking at new homes for a few months now already, and we finally found one that could really work for us. We looked at it last Thursday evening, and we love how well the owners have kept it up, inside and out. It’s a 4-bedroom, 3-bath, about 2100 sq ft, built in 1983, on Elk Run. The home appears to be owned by a couple with 3 young kids. They have bunkbeds for the boys in one room, and an adorable baby room for the girl. The 4th bedroom is set up as a weight room.

The interior décor is very updated, very modern. Nice spacious livingroom, and lots of counter space in the kitchen. And, I really like the neighborhood. It’s a lot more settled and homey than some of the newer additions. Asking price is $182,900; of course we’ll have to get my house ready to sell too. According to Zillow.com, my home is worth $137,000 – although I seriously doubt we’ll get that much for it. Whatever we sell it for, I’m hoping to net in the ballpark of $30K from it. And, we’re wanting our payments to be in the range of $1,200 - $1,600/month. We shall see.

Before Christmas we found one on Platt Drive that we absolutely LOVED. Also in an older, more settled neighborhood, it’s 2200 sq ft and was built in 1981. The asking price was just $160,000, which is well within our budget. The couple selling it have lived there for 17 years and have raised 3 children who are now all married. Overall the house seems to have been kept up really well for being nearly 30 years old. The interior décor is lovely. There’s a good sized backyard, a nice pack patio, and a deck off the 2nd floor. We loved it so much that we had already started thinking how to arrange the furniture! But, it was just the first house we’d looked at so we decided not put all our eggs in one basket.

As much as we could have moved right in that very day, we don’t want our kids to have to change schools, and moving into this home would have required Nathan and Jodie to go to a different middle school.

In early February Joe and I walked over to 46th Street to look at a house for sale. At initial inspection the house already had one strike against it: we didn’t care for the small, corner back patio. But we were willing to give it a chance…until we saw the backyard. It sloped steeply downhill, a feature we didn’t like at all. So we struck that one off our list.

A week or so later on a Sunday, Joe, the kids, and I looked at a few houses after I got home from working overtime at the office. Joe met his realtor, a very sweet Vietnamese lady by the name of Mai, when he was looking for a house on his own before he met me. She emails him listings of homes on the market that match our criteria: Yukon schools, 4 bedroom, 3-car garage, 2000 square feet or more. And you know, although our nation is in a housing and mortgage crisis, it is true what they say that Oklahoma has not been hit nearly as hard as the rest of the nation. Yukon, anyway, has LOTS of homes up for sale. I’m surprised just how many meet our criteria; what we want is pretty narrow, especially the location.

So on this particular day, we had a list of 5 or 6 homes that we wanted to look at. One was on Derail Street. Derail Street? Really? A new neighborhood is going up just west of Garth Brooks Blvd. on Hwy. 66, and the streets are named for “railroad” words. One is Derail. Who would want to live on a street named after a potentially deadly disaster? And one is Hobo Street. Isn’t that a little derogatory? Isn’t “hobo” a politically incorrect word for a homeless drifter? Who thinks of these names??

We drove up 36th Street to view a home in the Sunrise Hills addition. It had just gone on the market so I guess the owners weren’t quite ready to show it. It was beige brick on a corner lot, was about all we could tell. We couldn’t go in; all we could do was drive by. But just looking at the exterior, I wasn’t very impressed.

Then we drove south on Mustang Road to 10th Street to look at a few in Drakestone. Neither of the two from our list on Ellsworth had “for sale” signs out; 613 Ellsworth for SURE didn’t look like it was on the market. So Joe, being the bold guy he is, went and knocked on the door to speak with the resident. Turns out, the resident is RENTING the home on a contract that wouldn’t expire until June or July. He was appalled that the owner would have the home on the market when he was on a contract, paying $1600 a month, at that. Same with 617 Ellsworth, only they are renting month-to-month. So that was 2 homes scratched off the list.

We drove around the neighborhood to 5th Street to view another home. It, too, did not have a “for sale” sign out front. So we surmised that the home might be being rented out also.

Then it was north on Mustang and back down 36th Street to Lakeview Estates to a home on 39th Street. This one was another “cookie cutter” house similar to the one we’re in now, only much larger. We liked what we saw on the outside but couldn’t go in. Joe said we’d have to have Mai show us inside this one.

Mai came over last night to look our home over and give us ideas as to how to make it more saleable. We’d sure like to buy the one on Elk Run so naturally we have to get our house ready to sell too. She said our light fixtures were outdated. Huh?! The house is 6 years old, and it’s outdated?! That blew me away. She said anything with gold plating looks “nineties.”

So we will need to put in some new light fixtures. She also said that ceiling fans are a big selling point, and the only one we have is in the livingroom. Joe said it’s no problem to install some of those. She was a little concerned with the paint color in the livingroom (mauve/plum)…and she said to take down all family pictures, because people want to see themselves in the house, not someone else.

Aside from that, she said that mainly we needed to de-clutter. We bought about 20, 18” x 18” x 18" boxes last weekend and I’ve gotten 4 boxes packed so far. She was looking throughout all the rooms in our house, and said a couple times, “You need a bigger house!” to which I responded with, “That’s what you’re here for!”

She asked, “So, do you think you’ll be ready in a couple weeks?” Meaning, to show the house. And my thoughts were, 2 weeks, no friggin’ way. A month MAYBE. We do have jobs. Joe and I both work full time, and it’s not like we have nothing to do but pack and clean.

And we do have a wedding to plan. Mai is estimating a selling price of $115,000. I was hoping for $120,000, but $115K is already at $90/sq ft. That’s about average for the market here in Yukon. So after fees and commission and other costs, at that price we’ll profit about $20,000. Not as much as I was hoping for, but of course, any profit from the sale will go towards the new house. Our worry now is, will we lose the house we want while trying to get ours sold?

I Want a Life....

2011-01-16T10:58:00.009-06:00

March 10, 2009

I want a life…. Where I can enjoy a quiet morning, a soft spring rainfall, a silent snowfall. I want a life….where I’m not chained to a desk or an office. I want a life….where I can take as long as I need to take a walk, ride my bike, or even drop by the cleaners or run other errands here in YUKON and not have to be half a state away from home. I want a life…that isn’t wasted on rush hour traffic.

I want a life…where I can sleep when I want & need to, and not have to depend on caffeine to get me thru the morning or afternoon. I want a life…where I can take time off to travel, hike, or camp. I want a life….where I can spend more time tutoring or teaching Nathan, or doing art-craft projects, or whatever. I want a life….where I can use my creativity more freely.

This has been my 10th busy season as an accountant. I like my job, I like what I do, I just wish I could have more flexibility. This busy season has been especially rough, since Kassie left for another job. She was one of our key year-end people. She’s been here for 4 years and has a wealth of knowledge and experience! The rest of the staff has stayed mega-busy being sure we gleaned all the information we could from her.

Monday, January 19, was the Martin Luther King Holiday, and I was allowed to work from home. It was fantastic to not have to be up at a certain time, waste time on the freeway, be chained to a desk or office, and be able to throw a load of laundry in the wash or fix the kids something quick for lunch – and still get my work done. I only got 3 hours’ worth of work in, but it was all I needed. It was so much more relaxed and convenient and I was certainly no less productive.

I had thought I’d see if I can work from home more often. But after conferring with Human Resources and the President of the company, our Division Director announced that we could no longer work from home. Huh?! Why?! I could be so much more relaxed and therefore so much more productive, not having to rush around every morning trying to beat the clock. Heck, by the time I get to work at 8:30 I’m ready for a break.

An ice storm blew in the last week January – a massive storm unusual for Oklahoma. Monday we were sent home from the office at 2:00. Well, that’s the time I usually start getting drowsy, so I looked forward to getting home and taking a nap. It took me 20 minutes to get the car warmed up and scrape the ice off. I hadn’t realized how bad the ice was already. Driving was slow; I took Reno rather than I-40 for added caution. I got to the Middle School a little after 3:00, and met Nathan on his way to walk to Granny’s. I flagged him over and he jumped in the car. At home I made us bowls of hot, buttery, brown-sugary oatmeal. Yum, yum.

The office was closed again Tuesday as were the schools. I finally had time to work on year-end financials for the Homeowners’ Association. I worked on it starting about 1:00 for 5 hours – I was so absorbed that Nathan had to ask me “when’s dinner” at 6:30 – and finally got all the income and expenses balanced and reconciled and in a readable format.

It was GREAT to be able to work at my own pace, when I can be most productive – like on the MLK Holiday. So I’m getting tastes, here and there, of what it is like to work at home on my own schedule. It is NICE. Plus it felt good to have some time off, without the guilt. I hardly yawned all afternoon – normally I yawn constantly. I get so tired of yawning all the time; wouldn’t it be simpler if I could just get enough sleep in the first place?

Wednesday, surprisingly, the schools and state agencies were closed again. By then I was getting cabin fever, so I ventured out around town, doing a few errands, picking up a few groceries. The streets weren’t bad at all; the main roads had been cleared out. Joe came over, we had spaghetti for dinner, we watched The Great Gatsby on DVD (which I STILL don’t understand much more than I ever did), and called it a night.

It was wonderful to finally get enough sleep. I wonder how much more I could accomplish, if I could sleep or nap when I NEEDED to.

February is always our knock-down drag-out month, and I would get so sick with stress that I hardly knew what day it was sometimes. And this busy season was compounded by having one less person. Besides that, I’ve taken on many of Kassie’s job responsibilities, and doing so at a critical time. It’s wearing me out, but it won’t be for much longer.

For most of the month, I did little else than audit work. That is, preparing schedules and analyses for our independent CPA auditors. I had to come in 7 hours the first weekend just to get the normal month-end work done. And it was 5 hours at the office each of the other three weekends to work on our annual reports and filings.

It’s funny – when I tell people (especially my family) that this is “our busy season,” they respond with something like, “Oh yeah, tax season.” I don’t do taxes! I haven’t done taxes in 8 years! I don’t think they know what I do. I’m a statutory accountant, I do insurance accounting, and our big annual deadline is March 1.

And March 1 did finally come around. The worst of the deadlines were finally over; we finished the annual state filings and reports about noon the day they were due. By then my brain was little more than mush. It’s amazing I’ve made through this whole stressful season, without getting sick or having to take some time off. Often I would get ill in my stomach from all the nerves, like I was going to throw up. One pressure-filled weekend I thought I was going to have a stroke or something from the stress.

The Dow dropped below 7000 yesterday, and is 6822 right now. It’s down to 1996 levels. It’s unbelievable; I really didn’t think it would get below 8000.

Finally, it’s mid-March, I’m feeling much more relaxed. Most of the pressure is off now. Still a little, but nothing like it was.

Questions for Michelle

2011-01-14T13:50:00.023-06:00

January 22, 2009

Joe says I’m beautiful. But I’ve never thought of myself as pretty. A girl who is not, in the traditional sense, pretty, has to work eight times harder to have value in this society. I have spent my life in the fact that girls who are “pretty” by society’s standards, get more privileges, and to get those privileges, all they have to do is just --be pretty. A girl who isn’t pretty by society’s standards doesn’t get noticed, no matter how smart or talented she is.

What brought this all to mind is, the Inauguration. Yesterday was a historic day in our nation; we inaugurated our 44th president, and the first black president, Barack Obama. The only thing the news and blogs mention about the First Lady, Michelle Obama, is what she’s wearing. What designer. What color. What style. That is what gets a woman noticed. That is what gives a woman value in our society, what she wears.

No mention is made at all about what kind of person she is, how smart or talented she is, or what she can actually CONTRIBUTE to our nation. There is talk about her being the next Jackie O. I don’t doubt Michelle Obama is an intelligent, educated lady. I also don’t doubt that she’ll have her own agendas and programs to better our country. But you know what? She probably wouldn’t have the visibility to accomplish what she is capable of, without her husband being president. Women are still identifying themselves in terms of men.

What did Women’s Lib do for us? Women burned their bras and their steno pads. And yet, here in the 21st century, more women are in clerical, administrative assistant jobs than are in “professional” jobs. In the sixties we denounced our femininity, yet here and now, many women dress to draw attention to their bodies. Not saying that anything is wrong with that – If you got it, flaunt it! But not all of us “got it.”

Here are some questions for Michelle (I don’t care what she’s wearing):

*Why did you choose Harvard Law and why is your chosen profession important to you?

*What causes are important to you and how would you make the world a better place?

*What advice would you give to mothers of young children, or to the young women of today?

*What sort of role model do you wish to portray to the young women of today?

*What kind of wife are you? What do you believe a wife’s role is? How would you encourage women to be better wives?

*What were your parents like? What was your upbringing like? What values did you learn from her parents?

*What are your views on the world your daughters are growing up in?

*In your opinion, what values are important to be a “young lady” in today’s society?

*What involvements or interests do you have in the arts? (music, theatre, museums, art, etc)

*Do your daughters have chores? Are they expected to make their beds, do dishes, take out the trash, vaccuum the livingroom floor? Are they learning to cook, iron, do laundry, keep and decorate a home, handle money wisely, shop for groceries, plan meals?

Answers to these questions would tell volumes more about what the First Lady can offer our country, than how she chooses her wardrobe.

Steinbeck's Greatest Work

2011-01-14T13:49:00.006-06:00

January 8, 2009

As I mentioned in my last post, I’ve been reading The Grapes of Wrath. Reading what is probably John Steinbeck’s greatest work, has become a true-to-life example of “unschooling” for both Joe and myself. The story has presented itself as a study primarily on the Dust Bowl years of the Midwest during the Great Depression. Oklahoma was a big part of that, and Joe suggested that his Uncle Forrest (who was born in 1929) might have some stories to tell, whether memories of his own or stories handed down from his parents.

The story has really made me thankful for everything I have. Drought hit the Midwest in the 1930s so the farmers couldn’t grow crops. With nothing to sell they had no money to pay their mortgages, so the banks drove them off their land. They had nothing – no home, little food, and even less dignity.

Rumor was all over that plenty of work was to be found in the orchards and farms of California, so thousands of “Okies” packed up what little they had and headed west. They lived in poorly-maintained migrant camps, found that work was scarce and wages were low, and to add insult to injury the Californians spurned them as being dirty, stupid Okies. People died of starvation and disease. It’s a sad, sad, story, one that happened to thousands of people during the Dust Bowl years.

The Grapes of Wrath is a study of the old Route 66 and the cities it winds through from Oklahoma to California. It’s a study in the geography of the heart of America. It’s a study of life during the Depression. It’s a study of migrant workers in the San Joaquin Valley in California. Joe and I have even studied up on John Steinbeck himself. He was a newspaper reporter who wrote this book based on the many stories being done about the migrants in the 1930s.

The “Okies” as described in the book make me think of the “Mexicans” of today. As a culture we call all illegal Hispanic immigrants “Mexicans” whether or not they are actually from Mexico. We resent their presence in our land. We despise their bringing their ways of life into our country. We hate that they are taking over our schools, our stores, our communities. We hate that they speak their own language instead of learning ours. We label them lazy and dishonest. And maybe most of all, we don’t want them mixing socially among our people.

Some of those stereotypes may be true, for some of the immigrants. For others, maybe not so much.

But it’s easy to see how the Californians must have thought of the migrant workers of the 1930s. The migrants were collectively labeled “Okies” even though over half weren’t even from Oklahoma. And to be called an Okie was not a good thing. It was like being called a n----r or a
f----t today. The Californians despised the Okies and wanted them out of their land. The Okies were just doing the best they could, trying to survive the only way they knew how.

A New Year Begins

2011-01-11T15:02:00.006-06:00

January 5, 2009

2009 has gotten off to a flying start! Describing everything that has happened in the past few days would take hours. Maybe I should start with the things presently on my mind. I have only 2 chapters left in The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. It’s such a richly-written book. I have thoroughly enjoyed reading it; it’s very descriptive. Of course, I’ve seen the movie so I already know what happens. But reading it is so much richer than just seeing the Hollywood version.

I’ve become fascinated with that whole time frame – the 1920s & 1930s, The Roaring Twenties, the Crash of 1929, the Great Depression. If I could go back in time, that’s where I’d go. I’m fascinated with “the way things used to be.” So I guess my latest diversion is no surprise: collecting antiques. I have so much fun shopping at thrift stores; I never know what I'll find. It’s like a treasure hunt. I always find interesting knicknacks and gadgets. Sometimes I find name-brand china and I’ll look up the stamp on the bottom of the dish, on the internet. Sometimes a piece is worth something. Not hundreds of dollars, but if I buy a cup & saucer for $2.50 and I find it priced for $30 on an antiques website, well, that’s something. That’s a 1200% profit.

Joe’s grandmother has passed down to him many of her knickknacks and collectibles. She collected teacups & saucers, much of it low-key “made in Japan” stuff. But we found a few pieces with the “Haviland” or “Limoges” name. Limoges is a town in France where high-quality porcelain was manufactured in the 1800s and early 1900s. If a piece has the Limoges stamp, most likely it is a piece worth keeping. I should start reading up on antiques and educate myself, and should probably have some of the pieces appraised.

I took Joe to Lin’s Super Buffet at MacArthur and I-40 for a late birthday dinner. He’s a Christmas Eve baby; his birthday is Dec. 24. Going out to eat – or anywhere, for that matter-- on Christmas Eve is just not the most practical plan! So we waited until now. I had wanted to take him to Sushi Neko or Mahogany Steak House or even Yamato Japanese Steak House. But, this new Lin’s Buffet opened up recently and that’s where he wanted to go. Buffet, sushi, & steak -- that’s what he had a hankerin' for, so that’s where we went.

For a birthday dinner, it was just right. Lin's has an outstanding selection, and is one of the better Asian buffets we’ve eaten at. They did have steak, and sushi (which I tried and didn’t care for), octopus, and crawfish. Of course they had chicken and (fake) crab too, along with the usual dishes like Kung Pao Chicken and General Tso’s Chicken and Beef & Broccoli. Their wontons were yummy; the cream cheese inside was sweet and buttery. Their egg drop soup was warm and delicious; I didn’t try the hot & sour or the seafood soups. The dessert bar was luscious and extensive; but I was already full so just had some jello, a couple pieces of cantaloupe, and 2 cream puffs. I never knew cream puffs could be found at an Asian buffet.

And that’s how 2009 has gotten started for us! We have a wedding to plan this upcoming year, and we need to start looking for a bigger house. I think I’ll re-read the “Little House” books too, and see if they strike me differently now as an adult rather than as a schoolgirl.

The Last Day of 2008

2011-01-11T15:01:00.010-06:00

December 31, 2008

Today is the last day of this year. And what a full year it’s been. Joe’s plant is closed, so he has been off work since Christmas, although he has to use his vacation days to make up the time. These past 3 days he’s been taking me to lunch. We ate at Bellini’s Monday, La Baguette Tuesday, and Mamasita’s today. Italian, French, Mexican. Over all he spent about $100 just on those lunches, and I told him he didn’t have to take me out again until Valentine’s Day. I’m the one who is all up in arms about spending money eating out. This week was a special occasion though; it’s not very often we get to have lunch together. He said the next time he’d get to take me to lunch would be Good Friday. His plant has the day off; we don’t. Last year on Good Friday we ate at Café Do Brasil.

I like taking Joe to restaurants he’s never been to before. And that pretty much includes the whole northside.

What was this last day of 2008 like? It was cold, in the 40s-50s, not like yesterday, which got up into the high 60s. Sunny. I woke up to the radio before 6:00 this morning, after dreaming I was engaged to Johnny Depp. Why do I keep dreaming that I’m dating these movie stars? One night it was Emile Hirsch; another time it was Robert Downey Jr. I hardly ever dream about Joe. Weird.

I should have gotten up at 6:00 this morning but I so didn’t want to. Joe has been staying with me this week so I would have MUCH rather stayed snuggled up next to him. Of course, I can tomorrow (New Year’s Day), and the rest of the 4-day weekend. I finally got up at 6:40 and made it out of the house about 8:05.

Joe walked me to the car, as he has done each day this week. The workday was uneventful; I have spent most of my time this week on the “financial statement analysis” that our boss wants us to do each month after close. That is, it’s not something he checks on or asks for, but we’re encouraged to do it. And, I wind up being the one to do it, which is fine, because it forces me to look for relationships and patterns in the numbers. Premium this year is almost matching last year’s (last year’s was about 7% below the previous year’s) but receivables have gone up. Not a good sign, but it’s to be expected in today’s economy.

The company’s investment portfolio is doing OK, not outstanding, but we’re holding our own considering the recent crash. Overall, business is still good in spite of the rising unemployment rate, which is 6.7% nationally but just 4.7% statewide. I mention that because we provide workers’ compensation insurance, which is dependent on employers’ payroll. If unemployment is up, payroll is down, and down goes employers’ need for WC insurance.

And that’s all I have to say about today, Wednesday, December 31, 2008!

Pioneer History and Victorian Beauty

2010-12-22T16:59:00.026-06:00

December 7, 2008

It’s time to start making wedding plans! My family has finally met Joe and his kids, and Joe and his kids have met the family. And that’s what I wanted to accomplish before making any definite plans-- getting the two families together. The bride is now ready to move forward!

The first thing we need to do is to set a date and choose a location. I’d love to marry in April, when the redbuds and dogwoods are in full bloom. We love our home state of Oklahoma (ok, it’s not really my home state. I’m a transplant – but it has become my home) and wanted to get married in a place that would showcase the state’s splendor. Muskogee, with the dazzling array of azaleas that bloom there each spring, is definitely a possibility.

And I’ve long known that if I were to ever remarry, I definitely wanted to marry outdoors. We’d considered Cloudland Canyon at the foot of the falls; it’s a secluded, peaceful place. But there’s no way we could get Fern down there, with her using a walker and a cane to get around on flat ground. I want her to see her son finally marry his true love. Oklahoma will be the place that happens.

The town of Guthrie would be a lovely spot to say our vows. It was the first capital of Oklahoma and is rich with pioneer history and Victorian beauty. Joe and I drove there one day to check the place out. Here’s a quick history of the city from http://www.guthrieok.com/HISTORY.html :

Guthrie began its life as a dusty prairie stop along the AT&SF Railroad. On April 22, 1889, the day of the Land Run, Guthrie had its first incarnation as a destination, becoming a city of 10,000 people by nightfall.Located in the Unassigned Lands of the Indian Territory, Guthrie had been chosen as a site for one of the Federal Land Offices where land seekers were required to file claim to their parcels. By the evening of April 22, a tent city already dominated the landscape. Wooden buildings soon replaced the tents spreading across the hills along Cottonwood Creek. Guthrie became one of the largest cities west of the Mississippi and was quickly known for its beautiful buildings built of red brick and native sandstone.

With the passing of the Organic Act in 1890,Oklahoma became a US Territory and Guthrie was selected as The Territorial Capital. Seventeen years later, on November 16, 1907, Oklahoma was declared a state by then President Theodore Roosevelt with Guthrie as the First State Capital.

First Joe and I had a late lunch at Granny Had One. The building dates to 1891. One entire wall of the restaurant is a mural depicting Guthrie in its early days as a pioneer town, before the turn of the century: horses & buggies; cowboys roping calves; ladies wearing long gowns and stylishly large hats; buffalo grazing in the fields; a steam engine chugging down the track. I spied an old-timey player piano and a collection of player-piano music in one corner. Toward the back of the establishment I noticed a cozy meeting room called The Garden Room where we could possibly have the rehearsal dinner. It was all very quaint.

The next stop in our walking tour was the Redstone Country Inn Bed &Breakfast and Wedding Chapel. The two wedding chapels inside, a larger and a smaller one, were already invitingly decorated with flowers and greenery. White garden chairs were set up in both chapels as if they were ready for a wedding at any time.

I found myself absorbed in the history and architecture of Guthrie. Many of the old red and brown buildings show the year they were built: 1890, 1891, 1893. I felt as if we were walking back in time. The Blue Bell Saloon, popular during Territorial times, still stands, thanks to a little remodeling over the century.

The old train depot marks the home of the of the Santa Fe Railroad which once brought hundreds of pioneers at a time into the growing town. The depot is still there but now serves as a banquet hall and meeting center.

The land office, where thousands of settlers staked their homestead claims, is long gone. That part of history is lost forever. But thanks to the Guthrie Historic District Restoration Program, we can still get a glimpse of what town life was like in the late 19th century, in buildings such as the Foucart Building, designed by architect Joseph Foucart and built in 1891.

Guthrie being the Bed and Breakfast Capital of Oklahoma, we may even have the wedding at a B&B. “Choose from one of 13 distinct and elegant bed and breakfast inns, cottages, and downtown suites in historic Guthrie, Oklahoma.” http://www.guthriebb.com/

And we certainly didn’t want to miss those on our afternoon tour! As the day turned to dusk, Joe and I strolled a few blocks north of town to investigate some of the old remodeled Victorian homes which are now B&B’s. It was difficult, though, to imagine a spring wedding in the dead of winter just before Christmas.

(p) The Guthrie of a century ago was a place where thousands of pioneers made new starts in life. Imagine hearing the trains whistle as they rolled in to the depot. Imagine the noisy crowds filing their claims at the land office. Imagine cowboys stopping for a swig or two at the saloon.

The cowboys, steam engines, and the land office are all gone now. Modern Guthrie is now dotted with antique shops, a performing arts theater, a tea room or two, and even a steakhouse. Guthrie has so much to offer, and what I’ve written here does not even scratch the surface.

History was made in Guthrie. Will this be the place Joe and I make our new start in life, and create some history of our own?

John Again!

2010-12-22T16:58:00.004-06:00

December 29, 2008

Joe and I are constantly having to work with John and his obstinateness. Guess we will be for a few more years.

I feel for him. In some ways, I identify with John more than I do Jodie. John likes to be alone sometimes, to not be bothered. Saturday morning he said he just wanted to be left alone. So I left him alone. Some time later Joe asked me if I’d seen John. I hadn’t. Joe found him sitting in a closet by himself. That is bothersome. But what got to me even worse was that Joe yelled at him for it. Yelling isn’t going to help. Joe said he was worried, which of course any parent would be, but yelling and making him feel like he’d done something wrong wasn’t going to help.

I prefer a gentle-yet-assertive approach. When we were at Elaine’s house over the Thanksgiving holiday, John had quite a bit of congestion and was constantly sniffing and snorting. Joe bought some Nyquil for him, which he –well, he didn’t “refuse” to take it, he just got a cupful in his mouth and couldn’t swallow it. Nyquil does have a pretty strong taste, and it’s hard even for me to swallow.

Joe kept threatening to “take him to the doctor and get his shots” when we got home. I asked, why give him shots? People get sick, people get over it. I don’t see the point in going out of our way to the doctor’s office to get shots just for congestion or a cold.

So this past weekend John was congested again. I tried my approach with the Nyquil: I spoon-fed him 4 spoons of it instead of making him down the whole cup. Well, I tried that and the approach my mom took: the “you’re going to take this if I have to shove it down your throat” approach. Well, he finally took it, and even took some the next night ON HIS OWN, without us having to force and threaten. Progress!

Also he’s been eating his vegs – namely broccoli and spinach, where before he’d try every trick in the book to get out of eating them. Again, progress. Oh, I just remembered another thing that happened recently! Saturday morning I tried to get him to take Dayquil tabs. He said he couldn’t swallow them. So you know what? We tried good ol’ parental ingenuity and mixed up a strawberry-mango-yogurt-Dayquil smoothie for him!

Trying to help this kid is like pulling teeth! I told him he’d sit in that chair, even with no bathroom breaks, and not eat another thing UNTIL he had that smoothie down. I swear it took him 3 hours to finish it, but finally did. I said that it wasn’t a punishment, we were trying to help him, as any parent would. But if he refuses to let us help him, well, then there’s nothing we can do. But you know what? His congestion cleared up. Lo and behold.

Stretching a Buck

2010-12-22T16:57:00.002-06:00

December 22, 2008

And speaking of home-cooked meals…

Today I finished reviewing and analyzing Joe’s bank account. He gave me access to his bank account so that I can see how he manages his money, where he spends it, etc. We are planning on getting married so I have to know these things (and after all, I am an accountant). Well, one of the first things I found was that he spends $400 to $500 a month eating out! At first I thought it was so high because we had the kids, and that it should have been lower prior to July.

But it wasn’t! I told him that would have to change. There is no sense in spending that much eating out, above and beyond groceries and food fixed at home. When we go out to eat as a family, we spend anywhere from $30-$50; actually closer to $50, with all 5 of us. I can stretch a buck better than that. I fixed 2 good dinners for the whole family this past weekend, and I would bet I spent no more than $20 on each of them.

Let’s see: Friday night I roasted a chicken, about $4-$5. I fixed a box of Stove-Top stuffing, the store brand, about $1. A can of yams, $1 at the most. Salad, from a packet, about $3. Cranberry sauce, about $1 give or take. And leftover wheat rolls, I don’t remember how much those were but let’s say $2. Hmmm, the whole dinner comes to $13, and even if I’ve underestimated, counting tax, and considering drinks (tea or milk), it’s still within $20.

Saturday evening I slow-cooked a roast, about $7-$8. Fixed a box of potatoes au gratin, $1.50. Heated about a bagful of broccoli, $1.50. Added 2 cans of baby carrots to the roast, $1.50. Mixed a packet of onion soup mix and crushed 2 cloves of garlic with the roast, let’s say $1. That’s still just $13.50; add wheat bread, and tea or milk to drink, and again, still within $20. Twice I fed 5 people a healthy, wholesome, filling dinner for less than $20.

This is not the first time I’ve noticed that he’s a little freer with his food budget than I am. He’s much quicker than I am to pick up something to eat at a restaurant – and there’s nothing wrong with that, but I believe in making the most of what you have. Money is a limited resource.

So is your health, and in the wisdom of adulthood, I have come to realize that restaurants are in business to SELL FOOD. Their job is to make food TASTE GOOD so that you’ll BUY IT. They aren’t always looking out for our health and they’re certainly not looking out for our wallets.

We have to look out for our own wallets. A few months ago, I had a Homeowners’ Association meeting on in the evening after work and Joe asked me if I wanted him to pick up dinner. I said that a baked potato with barbecue brisket or ground beef sounded good, so he said he’d pick up something at Rib Crib.

“Why don’t you just buy the potatoes and the meat and fix them at home?” I asked.

“It’ll be too late when you got home.”

“It takes potatoes just an hour to bake in the oven. Just wrap them in foil and toss them in when you get home; they’ll be done by the time I get there,” I said. Plus we already had ground beef and barbecue sauce at home. Why go out and spend money on something that you’ve already got?

See, to me, fixing food at home is not only cheaper, but better for you overall. But, Joe insisted on going to Rib Crib. And I’m like OK, whatever. He’s buying, it’s his money.

Now that we have the kids, though, money has to stretch. It just has to. Here’s a meal I tried last month (didn’t track the cost, but I’m sure it was within $20): Salmon patties, crescent rolls, and rice. They sure were good. I’m such a good cook (and humble, too). For the salmon patties I mixed 2 cans of boneless salmon with ½ chopped onion, a handful of chopped parsley, one beaten egg, a few shakes of Worcestershire sauce, seafood seasoning, and 3 slices of bread chopped into crumbs. Formed them into 4 patties, and fried them up. They were rather loose; didn’t stick together very well and would come apart in the pan. That’s OK; once they were cooked up they stuck together pretty well. The rice and vegs were the “steam in the microwave” variety, and the can of crescent rolls took about 15 minutes to bake.

I tried an experiment a few weekends ago, because I REALLY want to trim down that ridiculous, ungodly $500 a month “eating out” budget. Sure, it’s so easy to eat out, and not mess up the kitchen and have to wash all the dishes afterward. Joe has so spoiled me in that way.

But my goal that weekend was to cook everything we eat, and not spend a bit on going to a restaurant. It worked! Friday evening we had sloppy joes and fried potatoes for dinner. Pancakes made our Saturday brunch. Baked salmon, alfredo-veggie noodles, and broccoli were our Saturday evening dinner. And chicken stir-fry with brown rice and mangoes on the side, made up our Sunday dinner. For lunches and snacks in between, we had leftovers. So there! We went a whole weekend without going out to eat!

The next Saturday we had leftovers of Friday’s meal for lunch. And for breakfast it was scrambled eggs (10) with cheese, and turkey bacon. A pack of turkey bacon is about $2.50, and a dozen eggs is about $1.30. Breakfast for 5 for $5.

Simple. Inexpensive. Healthy. Stretching a buck isn’t hard at all. Just takes a little creativity.

Memory Lane, Downtown Dalton

2010-12-22T16:53:00.008-06:00

December 5, 2008

Ever since Joe and I got engaged, people have been asking us if we have a date set yet! I tell them that no, we’ll probably set a date after our trip to Georgia, when Joe can meet my family and they can meet him and everybody can get to know each other.

I get to visit my hometown just once a year. Twice if I’m lucky. My goal for our recent visit (over Thanksgiving) was to tour Downtown Dalton. Remember when everything happened downtown?

I’ll never forget our back-to-school shopping trips downtown. When my sisters and I were young, Mom would take us downtown to buy clothes and school supplies. Mom didn’t drive, so we’d go in early in the morning with Daddy on his way to work. None of the stores would be open yet, so we’d sip on a coke (or coffee for Mom) at the U.S. Café until 9:00. Then we’d make our journey around the 6 or 8 blocks that made up “downtown.”

There was a time when I knew Downtown Dalton like the back of my hand! The Wink Theater, a one-screen theater and one of only two theaters in town, lit up Crawford Street with its marquee and bright lights. Lee Printing and Office Supply was down by the train track. Cannon’s (upscale) department store stood at the corner of King and Hamilton Streets. Belk’s (family) department store was just a hop across the alley from First National Bank near Gordon Street. And the taxi stand (was it on Cuyler Street?) was just outside Bradford Drugs.

Not anymore. Thirty years have passed, and the Downtown Dalton that I once knew, has died.

I took Joe with me on a stroll down Memory Lane in Downtown Dalton. The old Lee Printing building is now a lunch counter. Cannon’s has become a furniture store. The Wink Theater is a church.

And what happened to the old Belk building? Oh, how I remember Belk’s. I remember the glass display cases out front with the mannequins modeling the latest fashions. I remember that downstairs was the boys’ section, so we always trotted directly upstairs to the girls’ section. Belk had hardwood floors, and a sturdy hardwood staircase. They had a basement with all the china and home accessories. It was a nice building, but now has been remodeled as an annex to Wachovia Bank.

And the taxi stand? The cab drivers that took Mom and us girls home after a day of shopping were old then. I’m sure they’ve long since passed away now.

Joe and I happened across an indoor mall-type place called Peacock Alley. Highway 41 through Tunnel Hill and Dalton was once known as Peacock Alley, so named for the many chenille bedspreads that were sold along the road. In fact, the carpet business has its roots in handmade chenille bedspreads.

Anyway, this place was like a museum of Dalton in its earlier years. Chenille bedspreads sporting brightly-colored peacocks decorated the walls. Inside were various shops including an antique shop and what was supposed to be a tea room. In fact that’s why we stopped by in the first place -- we were all hungry and needed a late lunch, so we were going to try out the tea room.

I never saw a tea room, or any kind of lunch counter, but Joe and I did check the place out. Various vintage pictures and newspaper clippings featuring the old Dalton were posted periodically on the walls. I didn’t at first remember what the building used to be, until I saw a picture of Fraker Hardware in 1940 on the wall. Fraker Hardware! That was it! Not that I exactly have fond memories of shopping at Fraker Hardware as a child, but for some reason just remembering that it was there brought back the days when the privately-owned, “mom & pop” stores, were the pillars of a town’s economy.

Walnut Square Mall opened in 1981, and that’s when Downtown Dalton met its demise. The Mall
became THE place to be. Belk moved to the Mall. New stores and shops that I’d never even heard of, opened up at the Mall, and the downtown stores and shops I’d known all my life, were no more. Even a new movie theater, the Martin Triple, opened up, replacing the one-screen Wink Theater downtown. The place had a McDonald’s, a Bresler’s Ice Cream, and an Orange Julius. No more trips to the U.S. Café for us!

Before the days of the malls, Wal Mart or Target Supercenters, Lowes or Home Depot, Best Buy, or even Starbucks, business HAPPENED downtown. LIFE happened downtown. But those days are over now. They exist only in our past, on a place called Memory Lane.

The Great Gatsby

2010-12-22T16:53:00.004-06:00

December 15, 2008

I finished reading Gatsby. While strolling down “memory lane” in Downtown Dalton, we came across this quiet, out-of-the-way bookstore down by Finley Studios near Waugh Street, called The Book Nook. Tried as I might, I couldn’t remember what used to be there. In the 1970s, I mean, when my mom would take us kids downtown for all our clothes-shopping, before the days of the malls.

Tulsa Ballet had played “The Great Gatsby” a while back; I’d heard of the story but never seen the movie. I knew it was a classic but didn’t know what to expect. The Ballet put on a fantastic show – but I wanted to know the story as F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote it. So I’d been looking for the book, and finally found an old-but-in-good-shape copy at The Book Nook.

Some stories make me wonder why they are classics. The Great Gatsby is a fictional story about Jay Gatsby, a self-made wealthy man who tries in vain to recapture a lost love. It’s a portrait of the materially prosperous life in the 1920s, after the war but before the depression.

I knew the general idea of the story and how it ended. But I had hoped to glean more of an in-depth meaning. I mean, it’s a classic for a reason, right? The story is told from Nick Carraway’s point of view. He’s the unbiased observer. Much of the conversation between characters is insipid and inane. They don’t say much, they just babble on in mindless chatter. That’s why I couldn’t get the depth of the story. Nobody really says anything.

In a nutshell, Jay is still in love with Daisy, who married Tom Buchanan while Jay was away at war. Tom is having an affair with Myrtle Wilson. Nick is renting a house for the summer next door to Jay, and tells the story as he sees it.

(Spoiler Alert) In the end, Jay is shot and killed at his pool, but not by Daisy’s husband Tom, as one might expect. Instead, by George Wilson, the husband of Tom’s mistress. Maybe he wanted him dead because Myrtle is killed by Gatsby’s car. But Gatsby wasn’t driving; Daisy was driving. I don’t understand the significance of that, why Daisy didn’t at least stop to see if she could help. Did she know about Tom’s affair with Myrtle and was glad to kill her?

Jay takes the fall for the hit-and-run accident, and George shoots and kills him at Jay’s home. But few mourn for him; even Daisy doesn’t go to his funeral. Nick does, even though he more so tolerates Jay rather than actually considers him a friend. Jay’s father does manage to come in from Montana or somewhere. But Jay’s business associate, Meyer Wolfsheimer (?) doesn’t even make find time to attend the funeral.

Such emptiness met with Jay Gatsby’s demise, after all those parties he hosted that were attended by hundreds. So The Great Gatsby was a nobody. He had money but his life was empty. He was materially wealthy but emotionally a pauper. Is that what the story is really about?

Bookworm!

2010-12-22T16:52:00.007-06:00

December 4, 2008

When I was at Mom and Dad’s house over the Thanksgiving holiday, Jodie and my niece Alicia were playing downstairs in my brothers' old bedroom. It’s now a playroom, and they started unearthing some of the old toys my sisters and I used to play with. They found Mr. Mooney and brought him upstairs. “Mr. Mooney” is a yellow giraffe about 2’ high that Mom made for Sabrina & Melissa when they were kids. She made a “Tuffy the Tooth” for me, a red elephant with pink ears for Elaine, and there’s a purple elephant with yellow ears she said Tim made (actually I thought SHE made it for HIM).

That sparked my memory reserves, and I went downstairs to see what I could find too. I got to searching the wooden bookshelf that my dad made many moons ago. I was a bookworm in my younger years. I used to read constantly. One of those books I read avidly was Where the Red Fern Grows, and I thought it might be there. It wasn’t, but I did find oodles of other old books that I used to read.

Where The Lilies Bloom, about Mary Call Luther and her siblings fending for themselves in the hills of Appalachia after their father passed away. There was a made-for-TV movie about it.

It Must be Love ‘Cause I Feel so Dumb was an After-School Special. I remember ordering this one from a Scholastic Book Club in fifth grade. Quiet, awkward Erik falls for the pretty, popular cheerleader Lisa, and chases her for weeks before realizing that his best gal-pal Cathy, is who he should be with.

I found an “Alfred Hitchcock/Three Investigators” book that I got at a neighbor’s yard sale. I found some of my old “I Can Read” books from the elementary school years, including one I’d forgotten all about: The Secret Three. Two young boys live on a beach and form a club with a third boy who lives on an island where his dad keeps the lighthouse. They invent their own secret code and communicate via messages in a bottle.

I found my “Waltons” book (Good night, John-Boy), and my “Welcome Back Kotter” books (Up your nose with a rubber hose), that I read in fourth or fifth grade. Oh, and The Shy Stegosaurus of Cricket Creek, a story I read in third grade about this young brother and sister who live in the desert of New Mexico (or Arizona?), and discover a still-living stegosaurus that talks to them. The grownups are archaeologists who are unearthing old dinosaur bones, and the stegosaurus gets rather upset that they are digging up his ancestors’ graves.

I was a bookworm alright. Anytime I finished my classwork at school, I had my nose in a book. Always. In middle school my pages of choice became “Star Trek” books, and in high school I began reading the classics -- Ethan Frome, 1984, The Member of the Wedding, Gone With the Wind. Oh, and how could I forget all those “Little House” books I read in elementary and middle school? Or the “Wizard of Oz” series?

I even read some of my brothers’ paperbacks, which were WAY too adult for me at the time. My brothers are nearly a decade older than me! They graduated from high school before I was even in middle school. What on earth was I doing reading books with demonic or sexual content at age 15?!

At least I was reading. What happened? Why did I quit reading, up until recently, anyway? Oh yeah, life happened. I grew up, became an adult, started working, bought a car, got married, had a child. Who has time to read while paying bills or changing diapers?

It wasn’t just life that happened, REALITY happened. It seemed senseless, to me, to indulge my thoughts in someone else’s dream, fantasy, imagination. Those fantasies had nothing to do with the real stresses and issues I was dealing with as an adult. Fiction was entertaining, but worlds away from real life.

Now though, in my forties, I’m rediscovering the bookworm in me. That child who spent nearly every spare minute reading a book, is still there. She was just dormant for a couple decades!

Lost in France

2010-12-22T16:51:00.002-06:00

October 17, 2008

I had one of my crazy dreams last night. Sometimes my dreams are so vivid, so real. A couple nights ago I dreamed I was in France. I didn’t know it at first; I was in this public library with 3 or 4 other ladies, who I suppose were my “friends” but I didn’t know any of them. I found a book I wanted to check out. I discovered that it was one I had checked out long, long ago, and turned in 15 years later. Somehow I got separated from my “friends,” and got lost in France hiking around by myself.

I was hiking around the country, trying to get by with the very few French words that I know. It was a sunny day, sky was blue and clear. I hiked down this paved sideroad just past the freeway – like a service road -- that dead-ended at this old abandoned brick warehouse. The warehouse was 4 stories high and nearly as big as a city block. It looked as if it had been built fifty years earlier.

Guards that looked like MPs were guarding the road that went on past the warehouse. I tried to backtrack, but one of the guards called me over and wanted to know what I was doing and where I was going. I was afraid I would be arrested. All I wanted to do was to find my friends again, but I didn’t know enough of the language to ask anybody anything.

The guard wanted to know if I had any “papers;” that is, any sort of identification or paperwork that would show me where I needed to be. I found a rental car agreement in my purse, and he was like, “Oh yeah!” and took me to this waiting area, like a bus stop or car stop, where my lady-friend was waiting.

In another part of the dream, my girlfriend and myself, and 10 or 20 other people, walked down a dirt road to this lake. The lake was remote and hidden, surrounded by trees and foliage and rocks. An evil weird guy told us we were kidnapped; that we were trapped and couldn’t get out. Everyone else just sat there, wishy-washy and defeatist. But my friend and I were determined to get out if we could. We walked up the dirt road and found that the weird crazy guy was gone, and there was nothing or no one blocking our way out. So we left.

Later we came back and told the people that no one was keeping us here. Just then the weird crazy guy showed back up and was going to punish each of us for escaping. I was trying to hide by slithering through the tree limbs and rocks, but he saw me. For my punishment he put this squid-like creature in my hands, which latched onto my left hand and injected its poison. I had to pull the creature off; then went down to the water to keep my hand cool and to try to wash out some of the poison. I thought, This won’t kill me, will it? I thought that the poison would just make my hand numb and itchy for a while, but that it wasn’t fatal. I could see the blue and green poison seeping into the veins in my hand…

The evil crazy guy was a homeless man living in that abandoned warehouse. That is all I remember. But it was so real, I really felt as if i were lost in France.

Robbers Cave State Park

2010-12-22T16:50:00.002-06:00

October 20, 2008

We love to camp! And this time of year is the best time to camp. The sensations of breathing in that fresh outdoor air laced with the scent of pine and oak and cedar, hearing the water splashing against the rocks as it moves downstream, and hearing the sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling, are simply heavenly. Blissful. Serene. Tranquil. Placid. Peaceful.

Our last outdoor outing wasn’t really a “camping” trip; we stayed in a cabin in Broken Bow, OK, near Beaver’s Bend Park in SE Oklahoma. It’s such a nice area; fantastic for outdoor enthusiasts. Joe, John, Jodie, and I spent a weekend in Broken Bow last July for some canoeing and hiking, and even roasted a few marshmallows and made s’mores. But it wasn’t really camping.

Our last real camping trip was last March in Sulphur, OK, and that was before John and Jodie came along. So we were long overdue for a family camping trip.

And we really needed to go back to Robbers Cave and spend more time there. We had spent a few hours there after driving up from Broken Bow on the Indian Nation Turnpike in July, and hiked up and around the cave. The hike was a bit rocky and strenuous; no, make that immensely rocky and strenuous! Well, to me anyway. The kids and Joe seemed to do OK but I had to stop for a breather about every 10 steps. I was pouring sweat so much that when I did finally get to rinse off my face, it tasted just like salt water. Luckily there was a water faucet at the trailhead where we could all rinse off, gulp down a mouthful or two, and even rinse our hot sweaty heads off. But all that hiking and climbing felt fantastic and woke up those endorphins! It was as if every bit of stress or worry or anxiety in my body that was slowing me down, was sweated out.

Let me back up: Robbers Cave is about a 3-hour drive east of OKC near McAlester, OK. The website http://www.oklahomacampers.com/robberscave.htm describes it best: “Robbers Cave is located near Wilburton, tucked into the San Bois Mountains in Southeastern part of Oklahoma. This park is named Robbers Cave due to its outlaw past with the likes of the James Gang, Belle Starr, and other famous outlaws who came to the area.
A trip to Robbers Cave will not be complete without climbing the rocks up to the cave that bears the park’s name - Robbers Cave. The trails in the cave area are not very strenuous, and the views of the mountains from the top are well worth the effort.”

The kiddos had Fall Break Thursday and Friday, October 15&16, so my plan was to leave by noon Friday and get there with plenty of daylight left. Camping is a lot of work to go for just one night. But, neither Joe nor I could get off work early. So, we got all our packing done Friday evening then left early Saturday. Well, “early”: about 7:45 in the morning. I’d hoped to be out of the house by 6:00, but I didn’t even get up until 5:10.

It turned out to be an amazing weekend for camping. Temps were in the high 70s/low 80s. Nights did get cold though. The Park was holding its annual Fall Festival, complete with crafts, music, food, and CLASSIC CARS. Joe was chomping at the bit to go look at all those cars, so once we got camp set up and after the kids did a little fishing at the river, we footed it out to the main park where the festival was being held. I’m not a car person but I gotta admit, those cars are pretty cool. One day Joe will get his rat rod painted and fixed up, and he’ll be displaying his own classic 1930 Model A at these car shows. And I’ll be right there with him.

Back at camp (the Park was PACKED with people! Cars were parked along the road out toward the campsites for probably half a mile. Well, maybe not quite that far), built a fire, and grilled chicken and baked up some potatoes for dinner. Mmm, it was good. The chicken was really tender. We hung out around the fire as the sun set, then went to bed about 9:30. Joe and I stayed pretty warm, cuddled up next to each other, but I didn’t realize the kids were so cold. Poor Nathan had only a single blanket and I felt so bad; if I’d realized it I’d have let him have the comforter we had on top of us. He was shivering and his lips were blue the next morning as we warmed up around the campfire.

I woke up at 3:30 in the morning with a severe headache, and couldn’t get back to sleep. I generally get eyestrain headaches after being in the sun for an afternoon or several hours. I don’t know if it’s technically a migraine, but it’s a relentless throbbing at the back of my head near my neck. It gets all the worse if I move, so it’s hard to do something as simple as get up and take some Advil or Tylenol. I should have known it was coming on; when we were around the campfire, I had to shield my eyes because the fire was just too bright.

I remembered I had some Advil in the front seat of the car, and I didn’t think I’d locked the front door, so I finally dragged myself up from the air mattress and around Joe (who never woke up!), moaning in pain the whole time, and slipped on his sneakers to walk out to the car. Well, the car doors were locked, and I couldn’t find my key (which I thought I’d left in the front pocket of my hoodie), so I had to get back to my purse to find my spare. I got the spare, went back to the car, got the little packet of Advil, then proceeded to open it. Ugh, it was hard to open, so I had to find a knife or something to open it.

Now mind you, it’s 3:30 in the morning, only the moon is lighting up the sky, I’m stumbling around with the flashlight, all the while moaning in pain as my head throbs with every heartbeat. Finally I took the Advil with a bottle of yogurt drink, then relaxed in the car for 10 or 15 minutes before going back to the tent. I think the air mattress was not helping my aches. Finally though I was relaxed enough to go back to sleep. It was 4:30.

I woke up again at 5:30, then again at 6:30. Sometimes when I woke up I could hear a raccoon around our campsite, having a late night snack on the baked potatoes we left out. Sure enough, the next morning we found muddy ‘coon tracks all over the white plastic lid of our camping-supplies box.

Sunday afternoon we hiked across the river and up the mountain trails (not to the cave this time!). Oh, it was hard work – my heart was beating so hard I thought my chest would explode, and I was dripping with sweat in no time – but I wish I could hike like that every weekend. I don’t know how many miles we actually hiked, but we hiked up the mountain then down to the dam; around the lake then up to a bluff on the other side of the lake, the side that faces the main area of the park.

We had met a man and his dog hiking down from the bluff, and he said it’s a steep hike but you’ll regret it if you don’t go up there for the view. He was absolutely right. We would have definitely regretted it. The view was simply incredible. Amazing. Vast. Breathtaking.

By the time we got back to camp we were just so tired and in need of fuel for our bodies. We really wanted to go back to the cave and climb up it too, but instead we packed up camp then ate at Pizza Hut in Wilburton. It was Sunday evening, and a school night, after all. We had to get the kids to bed so they could go to school the next day AND so we could go to work the next day. Plus it was a 3-hour drive back home. We’ll be back sometime, when we can stay longer.

Homeless

2010-12-22T16:48:00.008-06:00

September 30, 2008

I called Tim the other night. You know, my long-lost brother in upstate New York. We talked quite a while, about 45 minutes to an hour. He has moved out of Emergency Housing and is in a home now – he said it’s like foster care for adults – at 35 Horton Avenue in Middletown, NY.

He’s not working, so I asked him what he’s keeping himself busy with. He has group sessions 2 hours, 5 days a week, and 1 hour 1 day a week. Besides that, he says he walks and hikes, watches the deer… Says he gets clothes from Salvation Army; Tuesdays are half off so he can get clothes real cheap. I can identify with that; I told him it’s like Uptown Bargains in Yukon where I find nice, sometimes brand-name, work dresses for $5 or $6.

I asked him if he could use some reading material; I’ve got a stack of National Geographic magazines sitting on a shelf somewhere. He said he can get magazines for 10¢ at the Used Book store. He’s got a TV that he found – not sure if it was Spring Cleaning or in the trash or what. He says the town has “Spring Cleaning” every April, where anyone can get rid of large, unwanted items like furniture and appliances by placing them by the curb, and after a while a truck hauls it off. He says you can find some really nice things, especially in the more wealthy areas. They get rid of stuff that is like new. He says it’s like shopping. So he’s got lots of stuff, he said, that he paid not more than $100 for.

Which raises the next question -- where does he get this spending money? It could be that he stashed money away while he was working. He said he was working in Goshen, at the Historic Track, when he went to the hospital. I asked him if he needed anything, like new glasses or dental work. He said Medicaid pays for all of that. He talked about needing more minutes on his phone and that he could use food stamps to buy more minutes at some places.

Hearing that made me feel bad. My brother on food stamps (the Salvation Army thing didn’t bother me; I go to the thrift store in Yukon myself about once a month!).

It all makes me think about the transients that I drive by on Classen and Sheridan on the way home from work. I look at them knowing that they are people with the same needs as myself – enough food to eat, warm clothing to wear, a place to sleep, healthcare and medication, acknowledgement, acceptance, friendship, respect.

I wonder if they could use a hot meal or a cup of coffee. I wonder where their families are, or if they even have any living family members. I wonder how long it has been since they’ve seen their parents. I wonder if they have children, and will those children have a better life or will they end up on the streets too.

I wonder what brought each of them to be where they are. They each have a story. It’s easy to disdain the homeless and transients, as if they somehow don’t deserve the same comforts in life as the rest of us. And I’m sure that there are some that are living off the system and won’t do what they can for themselves. But there are probably just as many whose circumstances have left them there and maybe they just don’t know what to do or where to turn.

I wonder if people think of my brother in the same way. Do they acknowledge him as a human being deserving of simple respect, or do they diss him for “living off the system”? My brother has a family. He grew up in a stereotypical home of the 1960s and 1970s. He learned to hunt and fish like most of the other boys in our hometown. He played trumpet in the school band. He learned the skill of machining and had a successful career for several years.

In all honesty though, he made his choices. His choices led him to where he is now and he can make the choice to have a better life. But the lesson to be learned here is, don’t judge. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Because you just never know how or why a person came to be homeless.

Engagement Party

2010-12-22T16:40:00.001-06:00

September 15, 2008

Today is Monday. I woke up with a throbbing headache and nauseous stomach this morning. I think that it was just nerves, for the most part. It’ll take me about 3 days to get over the stress of the party.

No, I don’t have a hangover! Joe and I had our engagement party this past weekend (Saturday evening), and now I know why I don’t have parties! The stress of getting the house ready alone, wore me out. I was snapping and yelling throughout the day, scaring poor Jodie. Once the house was clean we went to buy the food. We spent $200 between Wal Mart and Williams (fka Albertson’s). Shrimp, salmon, Chex mix, fresh and canned fruit, canned drinks, and more.

Our plan was to cook out on the back patio—Joe was itching to try out his new grill! He said our theme should be “Burgers and Bugs,” the bugs referring to shrimp. We planned for about 20 people. I invited twice that many but knew a lot wouldn’t be there. Even an engagement party can’t compete with football season and the Oklahoma State Fair! The fair was in town, and plus football season was in full swing. Some people are die-hard Sooners (OU) or Cowboys (OSU) and will NOT miss a game for ANYTHING.

We didn’t get much rain from Ike, as I’d feared we would, the night of the party. It was overcast but not really raining, thankfully. Hurricane Ike was the third major hurricane of the 2008 Atlantic Hurricane Season. The storm had hit Galveston, TX, before daylight the morning of our party, and Oklahoma was expected to get a major downpour from it. That would ruin our back yard plans! I’d warned all our guests in advance that if the storm did hit, the party would be moved inside.

Glad it didn’t. Our house isn’t that big.

We got home from getting the food about 6:00, and I hurried to get the final preparations done. Suddenly people started calling for directions to the house! Then people started showing up….I was frantically arranging tables, food, chairs –getting things prepared. Meanwhile every guest brought a new snack or drink and I would have to rearrange everything I already had set out! I nearly ran out of space to put the snacks as they came in.

I was finally able to relax and mingle. I tried to get around and talk to everyone and be sure everyone was introduced to each other. I’m not a natural hostess and I get nervous around a lot of people. So I continually felt like I wasn’t doing enough. I’m much more comfortable one-on-one, or in groups of not more than 5 or 6. But we had over 20: a few friends from our Outdoor group; some of Joe’s friends from high school; a few close friends from work; a couple others that I stay close to from previous jobs; and their spouses and children.

Hurricane Ike wasn’t the only big news-maker of the weekend. Merrill Lynch sold out to Bank of America, and Lehman Brothers filed Chapter 11. This is just 6 months after the fall of Bear Stearns. This is big. This is serious. The bottom is falling out of the financial markets. When the big guys start falling, it is serious. And the government just bailed out FNMA & FHLMC last week. The Dow is down to 11,110 as of today at lunch. Oil is down to $97 a barrel, I think, below $100 anyway. I wonder how this is going to affect the company I work for. We’re a workers’ compensation insurer but hold a sizeable investment portfolio. Plus I’m pretty heavily involved in accounting for our investment portfolio.

Home Cooking and Sweet Corn Ice Cream

2010-12-09T16:51:00.002-06:00

September 8, 2008

There’s just something about a home-cooked meal that just can’t beat restaurant food.

While Joe and I were dating – well, we’re still “dating”; I guess I mean when it was just us, before his kids came along – we ate out. A LOT.

It’s been fun to eat at nice places and actually enjoy the menu! Growing up, if my family and I “ate out” at all, it was at such fine establishments as the Waffle House or the local Truck Stop. Mostly we ate home-cooked meals. Pot roast with taters and carrots. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes with chicken gravy. Meatloaf with beans ‘n’ taters. And always, ALWAYS, biscuits and gravy. It wasn’t a meal without biscuits and gravy. Same meals, week in, week out. No surprises. Our dinners were always predictable. Mom didn’t get much chance to try new recipes. But that’s a different story.

Even on the rare occasion we did get to actually eat out at a “nice” restaurant – and anything a step above the Truck Stop was what we called “nice” -- I remember having to always stick with the basics: burgers and fries, sandwiches, simple meats and vegs – you know, the plainer, less expensive choices on the menu. We didn’t have the money to try this drink, or that pasta, or this appetizer, or that dessert – you know, something new and different! We had to stay within a budget, so I had to scale down my tastes.

Now though, with Joe treating me out and spoiling me so much, it’s hard NOT to eat what I want when I can! It’s as if I’m making up for lost time. And it’s showing – around my waistline. And my hips. And my double-chin. And my bathroom scales.

I have finally realized, in the wisdom of adulthood, that restaurants are in business to SELL FOOD. Their job is to make food TASTE GOOD. And if they have to use fats or oils or sugars to accomplish their purposes and you gain weight eating their food, well, that’s not their problem.

I think that many of us, by the time we reach our 40s, begin to appreciate so many things we took for granted (or downright hated) growing up. Like – yep -- home-cooked meals. More than ever before, I find myself craving a good home-cooked meal. And, now that I’m a mom trying to raise 3 healthy children, the home-cooked meal has even more appeal to me. Not only is it better for you, but has the added bonus of being less expensive!

Hmmm… maybe my mother was on to something. Maybe I should try cooking meals at home more often.

Here’s something different: sweet corn ice cream. I certainly wouldn’t have ever found that in my mom’s kitchen. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen it on a restaurant menu, either.

Ever tried sweet corn ice cream? I’d heard of it on some channel – the food channel or OETA, something like that – and it sounded so good. I tried a recipe I found on the internet to top off a homemade meal I fixed for dinner Friday evening. I fixed a Mexican dinner – ground beef with onions, garlic, and seasonings, chopped lettuce and tomatoes, sliced olives, and homemade salsa (Ro-Tel with onion, garlic, and fresh cilantro), with warmed taco and tostado shells to pile it all on. Mmm-Mmm, Better than Taco Mayo or Chelino’s!

Finally it was time for dessert! Here’s a recipe for sweet corn ice cream from myrecipes.com. The recipe I used was slightly different; ie, it called for canned creamed corn rather than fresh. But otherwise it’s nearly identical. Mmmm, it was so good. Kids didn’t care for it, but Joe and I devoured it.

2 ears corn
1 cup heavy whipping cream
1 1/2 cups milk
1/2 cup sugar
4 egg yolks
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Set a box grater in a large bowl. Using the large holes, grate corn kernels (and their "milk") off the cobs. Discard cobs.

2. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine cream, milk, and corn. Bring to a simmer. Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, whisk sugar and egg yolks until pale and thick. When cream mixture reaches a simmer, slowly ladle 1/2 cup of it into egg mixture, whisking constantly. Repeat with another 1/2-cup ladleful. Reduce heat to low, whisk warmed egg mixture into saucepan, and cook, whisking, until mixture thickens a bit, about 5 minutes.

3. Pour mixture into a medium bowl, stir in vanilla, cover with plastic wrap (letting the wrap sit directly on the mixture's surface), and chill at least 2 hours and up to 1 day.

4. Freeze in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions. Serve immediately or transfer to an airtight plastic container and freeze up to overnight.

Nutritional information (per ½ cup serving)
Calories: 242 (60% from fat)
Protein: 4.7g
Fat: 16g (sat 8.7)
Carbohydrate: 23g
Fiber: 1g
Sodium: 43mg
Cholesterol: 153mg

Free Land

2010-09-10T13:26:00.005-05:00

September 3, 2008

I finished Free Land last night, another of Rose Lane’s books which I referred to in my 7/26/08 post. To recap, the novel was published in 1938, a story of homesteaders working to make their living in the territorial West, after the Homestead Act was enacted in 1862. Rose compiled the work as a narrative of stories her parents had related to her about their times “starting out.”

Reading the historical-fictional story has given me a new perspective, learning about the hardships the homesteaders had to endure. Their livelihood depended on the success of their crops, which depended on the weather. In times of drought, they didn’t have sprinkler systems to water the fields. They didn’t have pesticides to ward off the swarms of grasshoppers and other unwanted bugs. They didn’t have central heat to warm them during blizzards or air conditioning to cool them during the summer. And if their crops failed, due to bugs or lack of rain or otherwise, they couldn’t exactly take a trip to Wal Mart to pick up extra groceries.

When their clothes and shoes wore out and there was no money for new ones because they had no crops to sell. They patched up their clothes by hand and made do the best they could; sometimes that meant going barefoot. In times of illness or broken bones or farming accidents, there was no emergency room or ambulance service. There were no antibiotics in case of fever or infection and what medicine they had was simple and primitive by modern-day standards.

There were no phones to call the neighbor for help or just to invite them to dinner – and certainly no cell phones to contact someone working in the fields!

Our country has come a long way in 140 years!

On the other hand, human nature was not much different. Good neighbors helped each other, kids went to school. Farmers borrowed money from the bank with interest, to buy equipment or sometimes just to make ends meet until a crop could be sold. Some borrowed sparingly and managed what they had, but others found themselves deep in debt after a few seasons.

Even crime was prevalent, in the form of horse thieves and claim jumpers (as a side note, Claim Jumper is the name of a popular restaurant chain in the western part of the country – California, Colorado, Washington, Nevada, etc. In fact we had lunch at a Claim Jumper just before flying home from San Diego. Wouldn’t the settlers of the Old West be surprised, or more like appalled, that a restaurant would one day be named after common criminals!).

Things may change, but people don’t. Reminds me of the scripture in Ecclesiates 1:9-10:

9 That which has been is what will be,
That which is done is what will be done,
And there is nothing new under the sun.
10 Is there anything of which it may be said,
“See, this is new”?
It has already been in ancient times before us.

I felt that Free Land was written as if the writer were writing a journal, a diary, or maybe a letter to a friend or family member. It’s a light, easy read for those interested in this time period. If you want to read a (nearly) firsthand account of a settler’s life in the Old West, order a copy of Rose Lane’s Free Land. Knowing the struggles the settlers endured will have you appreciating modern-day living more than ever before!

John, the Troublemaker

2010-09-09T12:46:00.004-05:00

September 2, 2008

Things (with the kids) have gone smoother the past couple of weekends. I can tell Joe and Grandma Fern have been working with them and talking to them a lot. They've been much calmer and more respectful than they have been since they came to live with their dad two months ago.

But I don't know what we're going to do about John! The kid can't entertain himself without a TV or some kind of computer game. He has to pick on Jodie and annoy her constantly (as big brothers will). He can't mind his own business, can't keep his hands to himself, will take things without asking, stuff like that. I'm sure he does it for attention. We try to discipline, take away privileges, enforce rules, and encourage him to mind JOHN'S business, but he doesn't care. It doesn't sink in.

I even had to smack him yesterday for something, probably some disrespectful, smart-aleck comment he made. I was just sick of his acting up. I can see him in trouble with the law by the time he's 16. I asked Joe if he'd thought about what he's going to do when John comes home smelling like cigarette smoke the first time. Said he hadn't thought about that; he's more worried about "that other smell," meaning pot.

Joe asked me last night what I thought about sending him to a child psychologist. I'm against it, except as a last resort. I'm afraid that the first thing a doctor would do is put him on medication, and medication is not the solution.

“I'm afraid we're fighting a losing battle,” I told Joe.

On the other hand, if I'm fixing dinner, John will very often ask if he can help. And when I asked for a volunteer to sweep the kitchen floor the other day, he volunteered. Which makes me think that he just needs to feel useful and needs to be paid attention to. I'm trying to find out what his interests are and what he's good at. Maybe I can encourage him to pursue things on his own.

It's hard, coming in to a child's life at his age.

****************

Joe bought a propane grill at Lowe’s; he’s been wanting a grill for the back porch and finally found one he likes. Nathan helped put it together, then Joe grilled salmon for dinner. Mmm, it was good. Food grilled in the back yard is among my favorites.

I discovered that the kids like those crescent rolls you can get in the canned biscuit section, so I fixed them for tonight’s dinner (as I do, as much as possible). I try to fix a green vegetable each evening at dinner -- broccoli, green beans, peas -- and the kids all have to try a little of everything, although they aren't always thrilled about it. For breakfast it's usually eggs, hashbrowns, toast, waffles, pancakes (whole wheat), or bacon. Those all get eaten up pretty quick, but John & Jodie don't like oatmeal or gravy (Nathan likes both just fine). Don't like oatmeal??! What planet are they from?? I thought everybody liked oatmeal.

Overall, it is kind of nice to have a family to take care of, to cook for, to look after. I do believe I’ve found my calling! Some women aren’t cut out to be moms, but I am. Guess I got that from my own mom.

My Depression Story

2010-07-29T13:29:00.021-05:00

September 7, 2008

In all the tumult and disruption of becoming a stepmother, my psyche needs a solid platform on which to rest! Maybe that’s why I’ve been so reminiscent these past couple of months.

Reminiscing must be my coping mechanism. Maybe I’m coping with the chaos on the outside but inwardly, my mind is reverting to a safe spot, another time and place. Is that what is called “dissociative disorder”?

The smallest incidences can recall events long buried in my memory. Like the other day, Joe was telling me that one of his co-workers had been on Lexapro but it quit working, and now he’s on another antidepressant. He couldn’t remember the name, so I googled antidepressant medications, and came across one called Trazodone, with the brand name Desyrel. And slowly came back memories of nearly 20 years ago.

The Georgia Highlands Center was my first stop when I first sought treatment for depression. The first of many, that is, although I didn’t know it at the time. My counselor, Mr. McClain, recommended Desyrel. The psychiatrist’s name was, oh what was it. I remember him looking like Jarod, from the TV show The Pretender; tall, slim, dark-haired, very scientific and serious and not much of a people-person.

Dr. Reginald, that was it.

I was 24 years old. I’d suffered from depression most of my life but this time it was accompanied by suicidal thoughts. Up until the early 1990s, depression was not widely discussed, let alone diagnosed or treated. Having grown up in a strict fundamentalist church, I was raised to believe that if you’re depressed, you’re not close enough to God. You’re not praying enough. You’re not reading the Bible enough.

Something’s wrong with you, if you are depressed. You’re doing something wrong.

Finally though, society began recognizing depression as a very real, medically treatable condition. The company nurse where I worked was very encouraging and referred me to Dr. Reginald.

I couldn’t have been on Desyrel for long. I went to Georgia Highlands for only a few weeks, maybe 2 months, as I recall. Mr. McClain soon recommended Prozac. Fluoxetine, the generic name for Prozac, was the popular new antidepressant drug on the market, having been approved for use by the FDA in 1987.

Prozac was too strong for me. After taking it for only 2 days I felt I was ready to jump off a 10-story building. I’d had an extremely stressful day at work. I remember crying incessantly, so hard and so long that my face became numb. I had nowhere to go except home, and my home-life could be less than supportive. Surprisingly though, it was my dad that sat down with me and talked to me to calm me down.

That’s all I needed – someone to talk to me. Not somebody to tell me that I’m doing something wrong. Just someone to talk to me.

I gave up on the idea of Prozac pretty quickly. In fact I gave up on the whole idea of getting treatment. For the time, anyway.

A year or so later, I tried going to this doctor who officed in Birmingham, AL, with my friend Lynna from church. She and her mother-in-law had discovered this doctor who believed that yeast in the body caused numerous health problems that could be cured by taking nystatin to kill off the yeast, and reducing your intake of carbs (because yeast thrives on carbs).

I believe he was actually an allergy doctor – I remember that we couldn’t use hair spray or wear perfume when we went there. Health problems such as depression (which was my primary ailment) were the body’s allergic reaction to yeast. It made sense, on some level. So on doctor’s orders I began taking nystatin, a yellow powder that looked like pollen but had a dry, bitter taste.

He also prescribed allergy shots – although my allergy skin tests showed hardly any allergies at all. I never felt a thing when I took those shots, except for the prick in my skin. I mentioned that to the doctor once, and asked if I shouldn’t be feeling something – ANYTHING. He said that I should at least be getting an initial rush; but no, I was getting nothing.

I didn’t see that doctor for long, either. I remember having to pay around $200 for the initial visit, but I was willing to pay it if it would heal me. It didn’t. I finally quit going; it wasn’t worth the hassle. I had to take an entire day off work to drive the 3 hours down, have lunch, and drive 3 hours back.

THEN, I started going to Westcott Center in Dalton. Westcott was the mental health division of Hamilton Memorial Hospital. Shirl, a friend from work who was also in treatment for depression, invited me to EA – Emotions Anonymous. EA was a 12-Step therapy group sponsored by Westcott Center. It was a good group; what a huge relief it was, finally knowing that I was not alone in suffering from depression!

As the 1990s rolled on, diagnosis and treatment for depression gained more and more acceptance. I would see TV ads for this hospital about 30 miles away, near Chattanooga, TN. The ads featured a well-dressed, intelligent-looking young man saying things like, “If you experience persistent sadness and don’t know where to turn, give us a call.” A facility in Chattanooga was a bit far away to visit for weekly appointments, so I decided to give Westcott Center a try.

I got an initial consultation with one of the counselors at Wescott. The counselor was this short, white-haired man wearing this tacky polyester cream-colored suit. I didn’t feel comfortable with him at all. I remember filling out a questionnaire about how I felt about myself, my life, my friends and family. Of course I answered all questions negatively (because I felt so negative about myself, my life, my friends and family), and desperately hoped these would be addressed in my subsequent therapy sessions. I needed solace, comfort. I needed someone to understand.

They weren’t. I was assigned to a psychologist. Dr. Tallady (who was much like Dr. Reginald in appearance: tall, slim, short dark hair, very mechanical in personality) would begin each $60/hour session with, “What do you want to talk about today?” or “How do you want to spend our time today?” Well, I didn’t know! I was messed up! I couldn’t put my feelings or thoughts into words. Wasn’t the doctor supposed to be asking me the questions, trying to get into my head and figuring out where I’m stuck? Wasn’t she supposed to lead the sessions and try to dig up whatever is buried?

This was about the time I started trying SSRIs – selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors. Westcott referred me to this doctor at a different location. He must have been a psychiatrist, because he could prescribe meds and Dr. Tallady couldn’t. I recall that his office was very oddly decorated. African statues and vases and artwork. No, not African; more like remote islander or Inca or South American. It just struck me as odd.

He prescribed Paxil. Then, Effexor. Later, Zoloft. I had told him about my Prozac experience, so he steered clear of Prozac. The meds made me feel worse than the depression did. I was supposed to give them six weeks to take full effect. But I could hardly function, and I had a job to go to. I couldn’t exactly sit around the house waiting for my system to acclimate to the medication.

It was here that I tried Zoloft; it lasted for 2 weeks, which was longer than I’d tried any other medication. Zoloft made me numb, as if I were sleepwalking. But it did seem to calm my “freak out” factor down. That was in 1994, when I went on my first business training session, a Vertex class in Philadelphia, PA. I remember that I would have expected myself to feel extremely intimidated and terrified of going so far from home without family or my husband (I’d been married for a year at the time), but I wasn’t. This was WELL before I was as independent and confident as I am now. I was still mousey and scared of stepping out on my own.

I didn’t sleep well on Zoloft, though, which is why I felt so sleepy during the day. The day I went off Zoloft, I slept the best I had in 2 weeks. It took a while for me to feel “normal” again, even though Dr. Tallady said that the medication was out of my body within 24 hours. I disagree. I felt as if my body was still ridding itself of the medicine for days.

My new husband and I moved from Georgia to Oklahoma shortly thereafter. It was years before I sought therapy again. I was very discouraged with the mental health profession. No one ever seemed to understand. Nobody ever “got it.”

Eighth Grade Football

2010-07-29T13:29:00.009-05:00

September 5, 2008

John and Jodie are settling in to school here in Oklahoma. Jodie is in 6th grade at Kerr Middle School and plays on the girls’ softball team. John is in 8th and has joined the football team.

Yesterday evening I met Joe after work in Del City, for John’s football game. Jodie’s softball games take place in the early evening hours, after school but before 5:30. So I don’t get off work in time to see her play. The football games take place a little later. Last night was KMS’ first game of the season, and they stomped Deer Creek 54-6 or something. What a way to start a season! The KMS Eagles, they are, Green and Black. Just like the West Side Rockets!

West Side Middle School in Rocky Face, GA, was where I spent 6th, 7th, and 8th grades. We were the Rockets, Green and Black. Going to John’s game brought back memories of going to football games after school in 8th grade. We lived only about a mile from the school, so I walked, my sister Elaine with me.

I would watch from the bleachers as our boys in black jerseys ran back and forth on the field, tossing the pigskin to each other, blocking the opponent. The West Side Rockets played against the Eastbrook Mustangs (red jerseys), North Whitfield Pioneers (purple with yellow lettering), and the Valley Point Greenwaves (green with yellow).

I would watch the cheerleaders and listen to their yells. My 13-year-old heart longed to be one of them. How I craved that green sweater vest with the black “W”, the pleated skirt, the green and black pompoms. Oh, I tried out for the squad, alright, but the honors went to 10 or 12 other of my classmates. It was so unfair -- I knew all the cheers, but my quiet personality held me back. I guess the cheerleading coaches couldn’t envision a quiet bookworm like myself, leading the crowd and cheering on our team. Besides, I wasn’t as pretty as the other girls. And at a public school, a cheerleader has to have two things going for her regardless of her cheering ability: looks and personality.

Anyway, back to John’s football game. Once inside the stadium, Joe and I took a seat on the bleachers. We both kept track of what John was doing on or off the field, but Joe tended to pay more attention to the game while I lived vicariously through the cheerleaders. I clapped and yelled along with them, doing old “Rockets” cheers in my seat.

Oh yes, even though I didn’t make the cheerleading squad 30 years ago, I still remember all the cheers!

Up, and down, our team don’t mess around!
We are the best from the east to the west,
‘Cause when we’re up, you’re down!

Green socks, black socks, two-tone shoes!
Let’s give the Pioneers the football blues!
‘Cause when you’re up, you’re up,
And when you’re down, you’re down.
But when you’re up against the Rockets, you’re UPSIDE DOWN!!

We’ve got a team that’s dyn-o-mite!
Come on, team, let’s fight tonight!
We’ve got a team that’s dyn-o-mite!
Rockets…..SHOW YOUR MIGHT!!

I remember every high kick, every jump. Joe said I could probably show them a thing or two!

Maybe. That was a lot of years ago. I’m a mom now. Now, another generation wears the pleated skirt. A new group of girls yells, claps, jumps. A younger generation of boys runs back and forth on the field vying for a goal. My youth is past. Their time is now.

10 Year-Old Accountant, Pt 2: Two Sides

2010-07-14T13:46:00.005-05:00

August 22, 2008

Two sides battled within me: the aspiring career-woman and the romantic.

Part of me knew from the time I was 12 that I’d have a career in some sort of office/business setting one day. But the other side waited for Prince Charming to ride in on his white horse and sweep me off my feet. I would be the quintessential “happy homemaker” while my husband worked his career and brought home the bacon.

My fundamentalist religious upbringing formed the root of that idea: women belonged in the home and it was the man’s job to provide. Granted, I was homemaking-oriented: I’d been sewing my own clothes since I was 16 and made pillows and doll clothes from my mom’s cloth scraps since I was at least 6. Besides just knowing simple baking skills such as mixing and measuring and how to use an oven and how to read a recipe, I enjoyed trying new recipes and planning dinners. Following my mother’s example I’d learned how to do embroidery and cross-stitch by the time I was 8.

I enjoyed the homemaking side of life and believed in the old-fashioned stereotype of the woman taking care of the home and the man taking care of her.

Because of this dream, I didn’t take my early college years very seriously. I really just wasn’t settled yet. I was confused about my place in life and didn’t exactly get any instruction or direction from my parents. That, and I was terrified of the “outside world.” I’d been so sheltered all my life and had so little confidence, I was absolutely terrified of the responsibilities of a degree and a career. I “didn’t think I could do it.” I wanted to continue to be sheltered and protected from the harsh, terrifying world.

I graduated from high school in the mid-1980s, having dabbled in a few computer classes. Computers, programming, and anything related to the field were just beginning to be the “big thing.” This was reflected even in pop music; I can still hear Rick Springfield’s voice singing about this very thing in “The Human Touch”:

"Everybody’s talking to computers, they’re all dancing to a drum machine.
I know I’m living on the outside, scared of getting caught between.
I’m so cool and calculated alone in the modern world…”

My college career began with a study of Data Processing, but it didn’t suit me and I dropped the idea after just one semester. I spent the next two years studying Home Economics, then worked for three years at a seamstress shop doing alterations. A career in the domestic arts could be quite lucrative and successful for the right person – catering, designing, tailoring, decorating.

But the business-woman in me won out. When I was about 23 the idea hit me like a brick: why not study Accounting? I like business and I like working with numbers. Why didn't I think of this before? Accounting will be a perfect fit! Thus I enrolled at Dalton College, then a 2-year college, and pursued an Associate Degree in Business Administration.

Days were spent working at the seamstress shop, while evenings were spent in the classroom, two classes per quarter. I couldn’t take more than that because I had to work. People would ask me if I worked, or was I going to school during the day. My reaction to was one of, what do you think? Of course I was working, and going to school at night. I had tuition to pay for, for one. Plus I was paying for my own car and insurance, not my parents, although I was living at home. Buying my own groceries, too! How on earth would I have any money if I didn’t work?

Now, if I were married, I thought, I wouldn’t have to work! So anyway, I made good grades in all my classes and completed my Associate Degree with a 3.53 GPA.

By then I’d met the man who became my first husband. He also had an Associate Degree, in Computer Programming, and although he wasn’t working in the programming field yet, he spoke often of getting into it. And, even though this was the early 1990s, long before popular use of the internet, cell phones, digital cameras, and dotcoms, I knew that any career choice involving data processing or information services or computer programming was bound to be lucrative.

If I married him, I could have my “happily ever after”! He would make lots of money, I would stay home and raise the family, and my fears of the “outside world” could be put to rest. Prince Charming had rescued me from this harsh world!

Believing this myth, I focused my time and energy on planning the wedding and becoming a wife. Finally, I would be a “Mrs.”, and being a Mrs. did NOT include the stress and responsibility of a full-time job outside the home. As far as I was concerned I was done with school, and completion of a Bachelor Degree or becoming a Certified Public Accountant were the furthest thing from my immature, short-sighted, 20-something mind.

(to be continued…)

The 10-Year Old Accountant, Pt. 1

2010-07-14T13:45:00.002-05:00

August 21, 2008

“You actually LIKE taxes?” “How can you do that? I just couldn’t sit there crunching numbers all day.” “Ugh! I always hated math!”

Those are comments I’ve heard throughout the years. “What made you choose accounting?” is another one I’ve heard, usually on job interviews. The quick answer is that I always loved math and have a personal relationship with numbers. But there’s a much longer story to tell, about how I got to be a 40-something CPA with the State Insurance Fund.

My career was not begun on the traditional route. I didn’t go to college immediately after high school; I didn’t get my accounting degree at age 22 or 23 and immediately go to work for one of the “Big 4” accounting firms (or Big 8, or Big 6, depending on the what year it was and who merged with who). In fact I was 23 before I even decided on a career in Accounting; 33 when I completed a 4-year degree; was pushing 40 when I passed the CPA exam.

But the roots of my career choice start at a much, much younger age.

I was an accountant when I was 10 years old; I just didn’t realize it! My family would go grocery shopping every Thursday. Like clockwork. I believe that stemmed from when my dad would get paid from his job once a week; he’d get paid on Thursday so that’s when he’d take my mom to get groceries. She didn’t drive; never learned. So every Thursday for as far back as I can remember, we’d all hop in the station wagon and journey out to the Quality Buy in Tunnel Hill to pick up our weekly groceries.

We kids didn’t get a regular allowance but each Thursday at the grocery store my dad give each of us a dime, a quarter, or a dollar, depending on our age. Remember that this was the 1970s! A dime would buy us a coke or candy bar or bubble gum or ice cream (my favorite was the orange push-ups). I can still see us in the back seat, stretching our arms to our dad in the front seat, hands cupped and ready to receive our spending money. We looked like baby birds waiting for their mother to bring them a worm! It was our chance to get a little treat for ourselves.

Also, we didn’t realize it, but our dad was teaching us in small ways, how to manage money and make our own choices.

Well, I never liked parting with my spending money unless it was something I really, really wanted. My indulgence of choice was Star Trek cards (The Original Series, of course), which came in packets with bubble gum, similar to baseball cards. I still have those cards, by the way! I liked holding on to my money, so I would save. And save and save and save. My coins would clank and jingle as I dropped each one in my metal world-globe coin-bank. I still have that too!

By the time I was 9 or 10, I was periodically tracking my money thus: I took a sheet of notebook paper and listed how many quarters I had, how many dimes, how many nickels, etc, and multiply out the values. Then I added them all up to come up with a grand total. Here’s an example:

quarters: 13 x 25¢ = $3.25
dimes: 9 x 10¢ = 90¢
nickels: 17 x 5¢ = 85¢
pennies: 52¢
-----------
$5.52

Finally, I physically counted out all my coins to verify that the counted total matched the multiplied total. I had no concept of “cash reconciliations” in my preteens, but that was exactly what I was doing: a simple version of a cash rec.

I took my time and was very methodical about counting my coins. Oh, but it was so much fun! Managing money was like a hobby, to me.

Even as a child, I tended to think of things in terms of how much they cost, and how much will I have if I save X amount for 10 weeks, etc. If an amount I’d saved was earmarked for a certain purpose, I never touched it or dipped into it – I treated it as if it weren’t there at all. Yes, even as a grade-schooler, I understood the value and importance of money.

My family never quite understood my obsession with money, though. My sister labeled me stingy and selfish. And yes, I was quite tight with money. But behind that was the need to keep things organized and managed. It would have been nice if my parents had encouraged me, saying “You’re pretty good at keeping money managed. You do it better than a lot of grownups. You could have a career in banking or accounting one day.” No, I never got any such encouragement. I just lived with the “stingy” label.

Another thing they never understood was my love of math and numbers! In 4th grade I would get those math activity-books at K-Mart; I would get the ones on the 6th-grade level. My mom said they’d take us kids to Kmart to get a toy -- because a trip to Kmart to pick out a new toy was a TREAT -- and I’d pick out those math books. Said she never could understand it! Said I’d work thru those math workbooks as enthusiastically as the others played with their toys.

Even so, it never occurred to me to study Accounting until I was in my early 20’s. Actually, I had thought working in a bank would be a good fit for my ambitions. Oh, I’ve applied and interviewed with several banks in my life, but never got any job offers. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.

(to be continued....)

Hearts Can Be That Way

2010-07-14T13:43:00.003-05:00

August 15, 2008

“Hearts can break and never mend together…”

“Hearts” by Marty Balin was popular a few months earlier, during that spring of 1981.

Like I said, I was 14 and coming of age. After church services one cool April evening, my sister Elaine and Andy’s sister Debra planned a picnic atop Fort Mountain. The state park was a popular spot for picnicking and hanging out with friends or family. The mountain lies at the foot of the Appalachians, resting within the Chattahoochee National Forest in northwest Georgia. Tall Georgia pines surround the calm lake. As a bonus, it was still early enough in the season that we nearly had the park to ourselves.

I wasn’t a stranger to Fort Mountain; I’d been there many times as a child, when my dad would take us on family picnics. After we ate our sandwiches and chips or whatever Mom packed for us, my sisters and I would gleefully raid the playground. We’d slide down that metal slide that must have been a mile high. We’d swing on the swings high enough to touch the sky. And we’d spin round-and-round on that wooden merry-go-round so much and so fast (if we could get a grown-up to push us around!) that we’d get merrily dizzy and the world seemed to revolve around our heads.

Yes, Fort Mountain was like an old family friend.

“Love can fade away.”

Of course, Elaine’s fiancé Frank, and Debra’s sometime-boyfriend Thomas, came along, that April evening in ‘81. So did I… and so did Andy. I guess they all thought it would be cute to pair off Andy and me. Debra was most likely the instigator of that match-up; she was the oldest of 7 kids and was bossy and thought she knew everything.

In all honesty I felt “grown up,” having been included on a triple-date with the older kids. It was probably my first “real” date, although I generally considered my first official date to be Andy’s high school Sports Banquet (he ran on the cross country team). It was May 18, I think, about a month later, shortly before school let out for the summer.

“Hearts can cry when love won't stay forever…”

I even remember the dress and shoes I wore to that banquet. I found the dress at JCPenney in Bry-Man’s Plaza: a green-and-blue floral design was set against a cream-colored background; inch-wide straps covered the shoulders, and the full skirt draped to mid-calf. I found summery-green sandals to match, at Cannon’s downtown. I felt so pretty, and so ladylike, dressing up for my first date.

Paula went with us to the banquet. I was nervous, this being my first real date where I was actually asked out by a boy, so I was secretly glad Paula was there. She, Andy, and I sat together in church often, and as far as I was concerned, we were all just good friends.

"Hearts can be that way."

We were like one big happy family. Frank and Andy played on the church softball team, and once or twice a month our team would play in invitational tournaments against neighboring teams at Dellinger Park an hour away in Cartersville. Six or eight teams from around Georgia would meet at Dellinger, and I remember so vividly spending entire Sundays roasting, my pale skin literally burning, under the hot Georgia sun, cheering our boys on.

Andy gave me my first “thinking of you” card there. Being good friends, we grew very fond of each other, and we became an item. I guess Debra’s matchmaking did its trick. The card was so sweet. I would bet I still have it, somewhere. Maybe.

It’s a tender time in a young girl’s life, that of her first love. A fragile time.

Rose's Last Days

2010-07-08T13:54:00.005-05:00

August 20, 2008

I read more of Ghost in the Little House during lunch yesterday. Rose is getting up in years and living in Danbury, CT. Most if not all of her old friendships are gone; she has lost contact with Rexh Meta and has given up on John Turner. He went through a stage where he couldn’t keep a job and was always sponging off Rose. That didn’t surprise me one bit. She took him in as a young teen during the early years of the depression, provided for him amply, and sent him off to school and to travel the world. She had high hopes for him, but in the end he failed to appreciate her provisions and learned that he didn’t have to do anything for himself as long as she was around.

She was so very against the government having their hands in our lives. She didn’t believe in Social Security because “she was appalled that her government should presume to choose for its citizens how they should prepare for their old age.” In 1943, “she was convinced that government controls of prices, production, and distribution would suppress the natural productivity of the American people and needlessly distort the economy.”

She refused to get a ration card, choosing rather to grow her own fruits and vegetables and raise cattle, pigs, and chickens. She would make homemade butter and cheese and home-can her own food. The same year, she had what the author calls a “revolutionary insight,” one that I strongly agree with: “Man controls his own energy and is responsible for his own actions.”

To me, that says that we are free; free to make our own choices, but also free to accept the triumphs or defeats we achieve.

Rose would never have been happy in modern-day society.

I read ahead last night, to Laura’s and eventually Rose’s deaths. Rose fought the issue of income taxes and Social Security to the end; she never even got a Social Security Number. We must remember that Social Security and income taxes are relatively recent inventions in the government attempt to regulate the economy – which Rose was against from the beginning.

It has already become apparent to me that she didn’t seem to have any concern as to retirement income or subsistence in her old age. But then, that concept was foreign to her generation. Heck, the concept of a 401K is foreign even to my parents. It’s an invention of the late 1970s and 1980s. According to Wikipedia,

“In 1978, Congress amended the Internal Revenue Code, later called section 401(k),
whereby employees are not taxed on income they choose to receive as deferred compensation rather than direct compensation. The law went into effect on January 1, 1980, and by 1983 almost half of large firms were either offering a 401(k) plan or considering doing so. By 1984 there were 17,303 companies offering 401(k) plans.”

And regarding income taxes: “The first Federal income tax was imposed (under Article I, section 8, clause 1 of the U.S. Constitution) during the Civil War, then again in the 1890s, and again after the Sixteenth Amendment was ratified in 1913.”

Yes, many words describe Rose Lane. Trailblazer. Independent. Impatient. Driven. Intelligent. Pathfinder. Pioneer. Entrepreneurial. Go-getter. Achiever. She was a living history book. Born in Dakota Territory in 1886, her first seven years were lived as a homesteader, the daughter of a pioneering family in the Old West. Settling in Missouri, she was raised as a farm girl. Intelligent and enterprising far beyond her years (and the culture of her day), she grew to be a successful business woman and writer. She experienced the beginnings of feminism and witnessed the ratification of the 19th amendment. She traveled the world. She saw two world wars; she saw our economy crash and lived through the ensuing depression. She witnessed the New Deal, President Roosevelt’s plan to restructure our country economically. She actively promoted her political beliefs. With all her life experience, she was called on even in her last days, to travel to Asia and report on the Vietnam War.

She accomplished a lot and contributed a lot, in her 80-plus years; she spent every day of her life making the most of her time on earth. And she would still be doing the same, without any apologies, were she alive today. The world lost a great person when it lost Rose Wilder Lane.

That Old Song

2010-07-08T13:53:00.006-05:00

August 15, 2008

“A good song and a love affair go hand in hand together…”

Why do past memories come to mind so suddenly, and so vividly?

This afternoon I was quietly working along at my accounting job, calculating some numbers or preparing some report. In the back of my mind was the “jingle” contest our company is having. Individuals or groups can make up a jingle that would advertise our company and all we stand for. I was thinking of the theme song of the 1984 movie “Ghostbusters,” as in “Who ya gonna call?” and then replace the word “ghostbusters” with our company name.

“Ghostbusters” was performed by Ray Parker Jr. My thoughts flew to an earlier tune he recorded in 1981 with his band, Raydio, called “That Old Song.” I remembered the tune and the chorus….and suddenly I was 14 again, in that summer of 1981, when life was happy, pleasant and all was well with the world.

“When you think you’ve gotten over one, the other holds onto you forever.”

Most of my friends and social life in the teen years revolved around my church and our youth group. The days were thick with heat and humidity, so characteristic of those Georgia summers. I was sorry that my best friend Pam wasn’t going on our youth group’s annual trip to Six Flags Over Georgia, down in Atlanta. I was the shy, quiet one; she was the friendly, outgoing one. Who would I hang out with? I certainly didn’t want to spend the day at that big park with all those cool rides by myself. What fun is that?

“I’ve tried hard to forget ever loving you. Just when I’ve convinced myself it’s over with, then I hear….”

Someone must have heard my plight, and introduced me to Teresa and Wayne. They were a new brother and sister at church, around my age. They moved down from Tennessee after their mom married a divorced single dad in our congregation, who already had two sons of his own. Their mom had met their stepdad less than a year earlier, at our annual church convention Johnson City, TN. Our church observed the annual Feast of Tabernacles each fall, pursuant to Leviticus 23:33-43. About 4,000 churchmembers from Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina, Virginia, Kentucky, and other surrounding states, gathered in Johnson City for the Feast that year.

I know; I was there. As my thoughts travelled further back in time, I was 14 and in ninth grade, my first year of high school. It was my first Feast, the fall of 1980. Johnson City, TN was a 5-hour drive from our home in north Georgia. Although my mom did the best she could, she had saved only $200 for herself and 4 daughters on the 8-day trip [equivalent to just over $500 today]. We camped (which is cheaper than staying in a hotel), along with Pam and her family and a couple other families from church, at Warrior’s Path State Park.

“That song that they used to play on the radio just about every day.”

The comforts of home were absent, of course – we slept on sleeping bags on the ground, walked uphill to the bathhouse each morning, and ate our breakfast outside in the cold autumn-morning air. But lots of other kids my age were camping also, which Pam (being the outgoing one) would meet and introduce me to. Pam’s brother Andy, who was just a year older than me, hung out with us, as did his friend Jeremy. We all got to be good friends. So in spite of the lack of amenities I still remember that camping trip being loads of fun. A happy, peaceful time.

“Whenever I hear it, all I can do….”

We attended church services each day of the 8-day festival. I was coming of age; I was just beginning to want boys to notice me. Now, I’d liked boys for years, but at now that I was 14, I became acutely aware that all the other girls had boys liking them. But me? I was invisible! I felt so left out. Pam and her sister Debra thought they’d do a good deed, and set me up with 15-year old Philip of Kentucky. I resented being set up. It was demeaning, akin to admitting that I wasn’t popular or attractive enough to meet a boy on my own. Ok, so I was just 14! But when you see it happening with all the other girls, you can’t help but compare yourself.

“…is reminisce about loving you. That old song that they still play keeps me longing for the good old days.”

Where was I? Oh yeah, Six Flags. Summer of '81. Teresa and I rode rides together, lunched on burgers and fries together, and sipped lemon freezes together. Both of us being fair-skinned, we even got sunburns together! Teresa and I got to be good friends as we took in every experience the Atlanta amusement park had to offer. Occasionally we would cross paths with Wayne and their stepbrother Rob. Rob I knew already but this was the first time I really spent much time around him.

“The lyric and the melody remindin’ me how in love we used to be.”

Rob, Wayne, and Teresa began meeting Pam, Andy, Jeremy, and I, each week at church services. A friendship grew between the seven of us.

Especially between myself and Andy.

(to be continued...)

Adjusting

2010-07-08T13:53:00.003-05:00

August 18, 2008

It’s a lot more work, having three kids rather than one. It’s also a lot harder having stepkids versus just having your own kids! You know your own kids, and have since birth. You know their personalities. You understand them. You’ve taught them YOUR way, under your rules and your home-culture.

When stepkids come along, all bets are off. You don’t know them. You don’t know what is “normal” for them, what sort of home they’ve grown up in, or how their personalities have developed over the years. Literally, you are strangers to each other. And now here you both are, shot like arrows into the bull’s eye of life’s massive target.

I’m quite calmer now than I was yesterday, here at work this Monday morning, in an environment I understand! As an accountant, I expect things to be organized, in order, in their place. But I’m still miserably stressed from one of our first orders of business this past weekend: taking the kids on their first clothes-shopping trip.

Before we flew out to San Diego, I expected that John and Jodie would have a hard time adjusting to a new home, a new state, a new life without their mom, their family, their friends. But it seems that it is I who is having the hard time adjusting! I’m not used to having so many people in my house. I feel so crowded and closed in.

I also don’t appreciate kids who aren’t respectful. I could tell even on our trip to San Diego, after knowing them for only a few days, that they aren’t used to having a parent in charge. They aren’t used to having boundaries or rules to follow. They seem to be unaware of the concept that the parents make the rules and the kids are supposed to do what the parent says. They seem to have the idea in their heads that adults are there to serve THEM.

Sometimes the three of them and Joe too, talk to me all at once. I can’t carry on 4 conversations at the same time! And sometimes I feel Joe compounds the problems. He takes the stern “don’t do this, don’t do that” approach, when I feel that a calmer tone and a “let’s do it this way because…” approach is more effective in the long run. My thoughts are that instruction, and not commands, are more effective. Much of Joe’s approach may be his military background.

Back to our shopping trip. Like I said, it was a miserably stressful experience (probably even more so because I hadn’t taken my meds). It was extremely difficult to find clothes that John and Jodie liked, that Joe and I approved of. I guess that’s normal for teens and tweens.

I found so many cute things in the girls’ section, but Jodie didn’t like any of them! When I was young, I would see racks and racks of those cute, colorful, trendy outfits that I wanted, but my mom couldn’t buy. I wore a lot of hand-me-downs from my older sister. Some were in better shape than the others. But as most tweenage girls do, I wanted to wear what the other girls my age were wearing!

Now, I CAN buy those cute, colorful, trendy outfits, for my own (step) daughter, but she’s not interested.

Finding jeans for John was nearly impossible. He’s got a big build and wears a 34” waist, but a 28” or 29” length, and we could hardly find 34W jeans with less than a 30” length.

And while we’re concentrating on getting one kid outfitted, the other 2 insist on being loud and getting in the way. I include my own son, Nathan, in that – in fact he was probably the worst of the 3.

**********

Nathan is usually quiet and keeps to himself. John is defiant and thinks he’s the boss of everything. Jodie is a talker and never shuts up! I didn’t read much of Ghost over the weekend, partly because I’m slowing down as I pass the halfway mark. But partly also because I couldn’t concentrate from Jodie talking so much! She wouldn’t shut up. She has to talk incessantly.

And it would be different if she was saying something useful, but she just yaks about what ever pops in her head. Actually, I’m not even sure her words go that far! I have never had much patience with people who have to talk all the time. About nothing.

Joe had one of his “talks” with the kids, and as punishment took both their laptops away for the week. Besides Jodie’s indiscretions – snooping in my back room without asking, demanding that I should have “at least unlocked the doors” to the car, when we were getting ready to go somewhere which I don’t remember, and opening our bedroom door without knocking even after I just got through saying not to bother dad while he was napping (which of course was an excuse for us to get some personal time), John had stayed up playing on his laptop until I woke up at 12:40 Saturday night (Sunday morning), after I had said to put it up at 11:00, after we had dinner and watched Moby Dick on OETA Movie Club.

Both John and Jodie think they have to have their noses in everyone else’s business. If Joe and I are having a conversation between ourselves, one or both of the kids will perk up and say, “What? What are you saying? I don’t understand what you mean. I don’t remember that happening. Was I there?” I wasn’t TALKING to YOU!

Another time Jodie ticked me off was last week or so when Joe got home from work. He and I were in the bedroom talking, with the door not completely closed but cracked. Jodie came up to the door and demanded, “Why is this door closed?”

I wish I’d thought quickly enough to say, “It is none of your concern. Young lady, when a door is closed, it is none of your business what goes on behind it.”

Ugh. Grandma Fern said they pull the same garbage with her, and it makes us all wonder what went on in California. Their mom was constantly ill and in the hospital. Their grandmother and other relatives were likely focusing their time and attention on her. The poor kids were left to their own doing, with little to no parental supervision. I asked them once, what did you do while your mom was in the hospital? Jodie spent her time at her friend’s house. John spent his time alone in his room.

So that’s what went on in California – the poor kids weren’t getting the attention they needed. They sure can’t help that. It isn’t their fault. And now Joe, Fern, and I are left to deal with it. And like Joe said recently, we’ve got a lot of work to do.

History Alive

2010-06-10T21:37:00.004-05:00

August 15, 2008

Back to Ghost in the Little House. It's 1929. The stock market has crashed, and Rose and her parents have lost most of the value of their stocks already. The harder hit folks were the ones who bought on margin -- borrowed from the bank to invest, with the confident hope that they could pay back the bank and still enjoy a good return.

Rose is finding it harder and harder to sell her work, and she is frustrated not only with the inability to meet her obligations to her parents and Rexh Mehta (an Albanian young man whose education at Cambridge she is financing), but also with the halting of her plans to travel. She is restless and adventurous, much like myself.

She is currently staying at Rocky Ridge out of necessity, but not enjoying it. She mentions her frustration at not having any intelligent people to really talk to; she refers to the residents of the small rural town of Mansfield as "one-syllable people." She's disgusted and impatient at their small-town country lifestyle. She's forced to seek out new friends and business acquaintances within that small town, with whom she can converse intellectually and exchange views on politics, history, travel, government.

A new decade rolls around. It's the early 1930s, and the country is coping with an economic depression. Rose is frustrated that she is falling short on her promises to her parents to support them financially -- Laura is nearing 60 and Almanzo 70. Neither is any longer physically able to keep up the farm.

What a big contrast to modern day! In this decade, it's not unusual to see folks in their 50s-60s-70s staying busy and working. But making a living was much different 100 years ago.

Rose begins helping her mother with the Little House books, which are selling quite well in spite of the depressed economy, and are bringing in a steady income for the Wilder family. Rose sees writing "juveniles" as beneath her professional dignity. Out of a feeling of obligation, though, she continues to offer her mother counsel.

Rose is strongly opposed to the New Deal -- FDR's plan to stimulate the economy. She feels people will begin to depend on the government for their livelihood rather than their own hard work. Her newfound appreciation of her parents' and grandparents' struggles as pioneers serves to form this opinion. I don't exactly disagree, and her prediction was right -- people DO depend on the government too much. She believes people ought to earn their living by the sweat of their brow, and WORK for what they have rather than allow the government to support them. And I agree.

Books like Ghost bring history alive. It's one thing to learn history in school, from books... it's quite another to read about it from the perspective of someone who actually lived it. History is so much more fulfilling than fiction.

Interlude

2010-06-10T21:28:00.002-05:00

August 14, 2008

*He asked me what was the last fiction I read. I suppose he was trying to start a conversation and establish common ground. But I had to think on that one. I used to read books feverishly in elementary and middle school: the "Little House" books, the Wizard of Oz series, Star Trek novels... until life happened and I no longer had time to sit for hours on end. And fiction? I prefer non-fiction. I like to read about real things that happen to real people. This was in July 2005, and the last fiction I could remember reading was The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom, earlier that year. I'd abandoned most fiction years earlier. It just wasn't real. It was a dream, a fantasy, someone's imagination.*

The Prosperity Couldn't Last

2010-06-10T19:38:00.006-05:00

August 13, 2008

I'm still reading Ghost in the Little House, mainly on my lunch hour. It's rare for me to find a book that absorbs me as much as this one does.

It was 1927, and Rose was making a good living as a writer. This was after her divorce from Gillette Lane. She loved the good life: money, social visits, having servants, traveling -- she wasn't domestic at all. Despite spending years in a long-term relationship with Guy Moyston, she was not at all in favor of marriage. I'm not sure where he lived or how they met, but they would visit each other occasionally and write to each other often. Over stime she got frustrated that he seemed to never have time to see her. And that's where I get confused. He wanted her to "settle down" with him, and she appeared to deeply want him in her life. But she told him in a letter that she's "just not a wife."

In that sense, I am NOT "like Rose." I'm traditional, domestic, and very much "a wife."

Anyway, I was lunching in the breakroom with co-workers Jill and Pamela, telling them about what I'm reading. Rose was investing in the Stock Market and had thousands saved up, with plans to have a certain amount "by 1930." At that, as a finance professional, I had to chuckle to myself. I said to Jill and Pamela, "And we all know what happened in 1929!"

I'm not so sure they did. Jill seemed somewhat to understand what I was saying, but Pamela just kept a blank look on her face and made some comment about how no matter how hard one plans, sometimes it's difficult to see those plans through. She's an intelligent young college-age lady, but is a psych major and not an accounting or finance major. So I'm not sure she is aware of the significance of the year 1929.

Of course I'm talking about the Stock Market Crash and the ensuing depression this country endured. The way things are going now, in 2008, another crash could happen any time. The same symptoms are in place -- the major one being overconfidence. In the 1920s people got overconfident with the booming economy, going so far as to borrow from the banks to invest. They were that sure of a huge return, just sure that they could pay off the debt and still come out ahead.

The banks overextended; meanwhile, people thought the prosperity would never end and -- suddenly and cruelly, it did. Not so different than what has happened in the past few years. Borrowing has been too easy, people have gotten into too much debt, banks have lended to people who were not good risks -- hence the subprime mortgage crisis.

No different from the citizens fo the 1920s, we have gotten overconfident. And now look. The housing market is in the toilet and unemployment continues to rise monthly. Joe mentioned yesterday that things are getting better -- sure, the Dow has risen a few hundred points, and oil (and by association, gasoline) has gone down somewhat. But until housing and employment are on the rise, I'm not getting my hopes up.

I'm just glad I've got good credit and a good paying job.

The moral of the story is, it's not so different, the world 100 years ago. The song might be different but the dance is still the same. It really makes you think, doesn't it. Human nature has not changed. The prosperity couldn't last. The prosperity of the '20s didn't last, and the prosperity of the '80s and '90s wasn't destined to last.

The prosperity of the '80s gave way to the dot-com boom of the late '90s and early 2000s. The digital age appeared only to build upon that prosperity.

The dot-com bust gave way to the housing boom of the mid-2000s. The rising real estate market was a sure thing -- after all, real estate is a sure investment! Then somebody thought they'd try going a step further. Someone thought they could bundle mortgage obligations into debt securities. Loans were recycled as investments. The housing market was on the rise! What could go wrong? Investing in mortgages became the next sure thing!

Then KABOOM! It all blew up in our economic face. Loans were defaulted on, tossing investment values off a cliff, slinging the economy back in time.

The prosperity couldn't last. And it didn't. The cycle goes around and around. Nothing has changed, and here we are again.

How long will this recession last? Will it lead to a full-fledged depression? What will cause the next economic rise and fall? Wouldn't it be something to watch how the next 100 years pan out?

Mailroom to CPA: Getting My Start in the Carpet Business

2010-05-03T17:27:00.004-05:00

August 12, 2008

Wow, thinking about being 18 and pursuing a career… now THAT takes me back a few years! As I mentioned in my last post, I knew I wanted to go into a business-related career as early as middle school. I must have gotten that mindset from my dad; he ran his own business for more than 30 years. He and his business partner had their own company selling carpet wholesale and retail for as long as I can remember. Alpha Carpets was incorporated in 1971. If he'll talk about it, I need to get the story of how he and my mom got their start in Dalton and the carpet business.

My first foray into the business world was at Aladdin Mills, a carpet and rug manufacturer, where I was employed for nearly 5 years. At age 23, when most of my high school friends had already finished college and were starting their careers, I started out at the lowest rung of the corporate ladder possible: in the mailroom.

At least by that time in my life I had started college! I finally chose Accounting as my career choice and was pursuing a 2-year Business Degree at the local college. My tenure at Aladdin included 2 ½ years in the Accounting Department.

Joe once asked me how I got into the carpet business. I tried as best I could to explain that in Dalton, GA, where I grew up, one can hardly escape it! In the 1990s, and for as far back as I can remember, Dalton was known as the Carpet Capital of the World. Not only was the city home to the 4 largest carpet manufacturers in the nation, maybe even the world – Shaw Industries, World Carpet, Aladdin Mills, and Queen Carpet -- but also it was home to hundreds of smaller manufacturers, distributors, and suppliers (one of those, of course, being Alpha Carpets).

Those manufacturers and distributors and suppliers needed office workers, shipping and receiving personnel, plant workers, computer programmers, accountants, mailroom personnel, administrative assistants, sales reps, purchasing agents…. So when one went to look for a job, the most promising places to apply for employment were—you guessed it – the carpet mills.

I recall having a very difficult time finding a simple office job after high school. I was one of the top grads of the county, with numerous business courses under my belt! Why was it so hard to find a decent job (in line with my abilities) after high school, in the booming city of Dalton? Joe had a suggestion. He said the “good ol’ boy mentality” was probably strongly at work, meaning it’s who you know.

He's probably right. You'd think that with all my dad's business contacts, I could have found a simple, entry-level, clerical job right out of high school, having a sturdy platform from which to begin building a career. And just think of how much my dad, with his years of experience, could have taught me about business!

Mom once asked him, "Why don't you let Melanie work at Alpha, since she's taken some accounting classes?" This was after I began college but before I'd started working at Aladdin. I don’t remember what he said, but you’d think he’d at least show me some stuff, teach me some basic business knowledge, so I could get some experience.

Ah, but 'twas not meant to be. My dad was of the “old school” and believed that kids were on their own once they reached their teens. He had no intentions of helping my siblings and myself make our way in this world.

He not only wouldn’t help any of us get along in life or decide what to do after high school, I’m sure that in particular he was ashamed of me. Maybe not ashamed, but for sure he had minimal respect for me. He didn’t even come to my high school graduation. Oh sure, I have a picture of myself with him & mom at graduation, but that was taken after the ceremony when he finally showed up. That’s OK; I got my own experience and I’m a CPA now. So there.

Like Rose

2010-04-29T17:22:00.004-05:00

August 6, 2008

I’m so absorbed in Ghost in the Little House, a biography of Rose Wilder Lane compiled by William Holtz. I take it to work and read it over my lunch hour. I can hardly put it down when my lunch hour is up. It’s the kind of book I can get lost in. And hers was a life that has inspired me to pursue something I love.

The more I read, the more I realize that Rose and I are not so different. She was very intelligent and not too popular in school. She was only too aware of her “have not” (I hesitate to say poor – her family, like mine, had what they needed but didn’t have a lot of luxuries) status in the world. She was very perceptive and aware, even as a young schoolgirl. She was deep of thought and wanted so much more than a life on a farm as a wife and mother. How does the author put it? “Hers was the isolation of a precocious child in a commonplace world…”

That statement struck a deep chord in me. That was me. That was me all throughout school and even into my adult years. I was like Rose -- always different, even from my own siblings. As early as first grade I remember being singled out for higher and more challenging work. I hated being left out, being different. My mother says I always had “plans”; indeed, I was never satisfied with the status quo.

Like Rose, I was aware of my (lack of) social status, even in elementary school. My family always had what we needed, physically, but I was very aware that “the other kids” always had better stuff. Better toys, better houses, better clothes, and as I got into my teens, even better boyfriends.

Like Rose, I excelled in my school studies, and craved more. By the time I was 9 I was challenging myself in my spare time. I worked at 6th grade math problems in 4th grade, simply because I enjoyed it. It was fun, to me.

I studied the ancient Egyptian and Greek alphabets. We had a set of 1972 World Book Encylopedias at home in our livingroom bookcase, and the first page of each alphabetical volume described the history of its respective letter. From Phonecian to Egyptian to Greek to Roman, I learned to write each letter as the ancients did.

I kept detailed records of the coins in my piggy bank by age 10, and knew at least by age 12 that I was going to make a life for myself, most likely in the business world. Not sure doing what, exactly –I just knew that I was labeled as one of the “smart kids,” and that I would go to college one day. Some people grow up with the family attitude that the question is not ARE you going to college, but WHERE are you going to college. But you have to remember that I, like Rose, grew up in a very rural, blue-collar community. So I was one of the few with that mind-set.

Like Rose, I was continually looking forward and was never content to settle. Besides college-prep classes, I enjoyed my business-related classes: typing, adding machine, shorthand (which is all but nonexistent today). There would be no working in a carpet mill for me.

After travelling the world, Rose longed for home and at age 38 began to appreciate the rural life she had once strived to break free from. Like Rose, I was about 40 when I began longing to get back to my roots, my home and its comforts.

Maybe like Rose, I could have been a journalist. Perhaps if I’d gotten a job as a typist, a file-girl, or even a mailroom clerk with the local newspaper office when I was 18 and looking for a way out of fast food, my life would have turned out much differently. I probably would have never pursued a career in finance. Instead I would have learned the journalism industry from the bottom up, as I did accounting.

But it’s never too late. Rose’s life may have ended when mine was barely beginning, but I feel as if I grew up with her and knew her personally. Even though becoming a writer wasn’t her “dream,” she excelled at it and her work became known worldwide. And though she’ll never know it, she has inspired me to strive for the same.

State of the Economy

2010-04-28T20:49:00.004-05:00

August 1, 2008

And speaking of money, well, the economy hasn’t changed over the weekend. Gas prices have fallen to $3.37, which is good, although I remember when we thought $1.80 was outrageous. Oil is up to $125 per barrel, but Joe says he expects it to get back down to $70/barrel. I doubt that’ll happen anytime soon.

The Dow peaked at just above 14,000 last October; it’s down to about 11,500 now.

The prosperity couldn’t last. The prosperity of the 1980s and 1990s, that is. Have we learned nothing from history? Sooner or later everything goes by the wayside. Even WalMart will one day be an experience we’ll tell our grandchildren about. Joe talks about going to TG&Y as a child, and shows me buildings and stores now that “used to be a TG&Y.”

TG&Y, Otasco, Western Auto, the mom & pop dimestores (such as Lay’s in downtown Dalton, or Gene’s Variety in Tunnel Hill), are nothing but childhood memories now, to my generation. Even Kmart and Sears are practically nonexistent anymore. WalMart has edged them out of the discount/variety/department store market. What will edge WalMart out?

I think even shopping malls will eventually go by the wayside. Remember when malls put an end to the downtown shopping experience as we knew it? A new mall opened in my hometown in 1981, and it was THE place to be on Friday and Saturday nights. It was THE place to shop. Downtown, where my mom bought all our school clothes and church dresses when we were growing up, became nearly a ghost town.

Shopping malls are already crumbling, at least in OKC. Crossroads Mall on the southside, and Heritage Mall in Midwest City, have long since lost the large “anchor” department stores, and smaller stores are disappearing one by one. Kohl’s and places like it are edging them out. Kohl’s has constant sales and discounts and cash-back coupons… but they are making money. Their stock has grown from under $10 per share in 1995 to 50 in 2005, peaking at nearly 80 at the market’s height. A large reason is probably because they don’t have the mall overhead eating up their profits. Kohl’s are standalone stores.

In fact, that’s what I’m seeing more and more of in this new century -- strip malls and standalone stores. Old Navy, Cato’s, Shoe Carnival, Starbucks, Panera Bread, Staples….. non-“mall” stores & restaurants are going up everywhere. As the economy declines, people won’t have so much disposable income to keep shopping at the more-expensive malls.

Still, good accountants and finance people will always be in demand. Somebody’s got to manage the money!

What’s going on with tech stocks? Within the past year or so I predicted that tech stocks were the way to go. Technology is a driving force in our culture right now, and it will only grow. Microsoft (MSFT), Dell Computer (DELL), Apple (AAPL), and Best Buy (BBY) are performing similarly, bubbling up and down. The NASDAQ is at 2,280 right now.

Apple is at 157 today. If you’d invested in Apple just a few years ago, you’d be wealthy now. July 2007, a year ago it was 132.30; July 2006 55.40; July 2005 36.50, and July 2004 15.54. That’s a 900% increase in just 4 years! The value has shot up with the iPod and all the other techie gadgets the company has been producing. Too bad we can’t hop in the Delorean with Doc Brown and go back a few years and invest our life’s savings. By now we could be retired and living on a beach somewhere.

Employment is on shaky ground. I read that 51,000 jobs have been eliminated (nationally) this past month, and over 400,000 have been sliced since the beginning of the year. The unemployment rate is 5.7% and some economists expect it to reach 6.5% in another year. At a time like this, if you’ve got a good job, HOLD ON TO IT.

But on the other hand, this could be the start of some revolutionary change. I think that the job eliminations could make way for people to branch out, get creative, and try entrepreneurialship (is that even a word?). The end of one thing is always the start of another. Remember what Rhett Butler said in Gone With The Wind? There is money to be made in both the building up and the tearing down of a civilization. And the world as we know it is spiraling downward. Times are a-changing.

A couple articles I read recently say essentially the same thing. Robert Kiyosaki wrote on Yahoo! Finance that the masses got optimistic with the economy, until recently when real estate exploded all over the place, oil prices skyrocketed, FNMA & FHLMC started going under…. add to that the already-existing issues of Social Security and Healthcare. Now the masses are pessimistic, and NOW is the time to invest.

Perhaps there is money to be made in this tornadic economy. It takes research and some vision, to be sure. There’s no magic potion.

Remind me to read this again in 10, 20, or 30 years. It’s like a story unfolding and I can’t wait to see how it all turns out.

Marital Money Management

2010-04-27T21:43:00.004-05:00

July 28, 2008

Now that Joe and I are engaged, I’m broaching a subject I’ve avoided for so long: finances.

As an accountant not just by profession but by nature, I’m generally pretty anal about money management. Especially toward someone I’m in a relationship with. But I’ve purposely stayed clear of that subject with Joe. If I got involved in that part of his life, I’d become way too controlling and would stress out and give myself headaches. Plus, such a controlling attitude would cause endless, needless arguments.

Besides, his money is his money, his debt is his debt.

Until now. As the future Mrs. Archer, I need to know what my significant-other owes and where his money goes. We’ve been fairly open with each other about how much we make and what we spend and such. We don’t try to hide anything from each other. He knows how much I make, I’ve told him what I owe, what my monthly payments are, and what I have invested. He’s seen firsthand how I spend – I look for sales & discounts, I shop at thrift stores, I don’t use credit extensively, and I keep a fairly modest lifestyle.

Joe seems to have a lot more disposable income to spend. His take-home is about $1,000 more per month than mine, and he has no car payment, house payment, or utility bills. I’m sure though that he helps his (widowed) mother with necessary expenses. He is paying down balances on 2 credit bills, pays his monthly cell phone bill, and of course has car insurance. That is the extent of his basic living expenses.

His check is garnished monthly for child support to his first wife, and he has begun paying his military disability payments directly to the Department of Human Services to more quickly satisfy the balance. Ideally he’d be socking that away, but the quicker he gets the obligation paid off the better. I’ve calculated that the remainder of his monthly disposable income goes for groceries, gas, Wal Mart runs, entertainment (movies, camping trips, and the like), and eating out. He likes to eat out much more than I do.

So I’ve asked him if he could bring some recent bank statements next time he comes over. I’d like to study his spending habits.

And of course now that we have custody of his kids, expenses are going to be greater – primarily in the areas of groceries and school clothes, not to mention school supplies and school lunches. So if I combine our take-home pay, and deduct our combined expenses, hmmm.... Oh, and don’t forget savings! We need to build a strong savings and save a set amount each month.

Thinking even further out, we’ll have to get a bigger house, and I’m going to need a new(er) car very soon. And all this is provided our incomes remain constant. What if something changes in our jobs?

So much to think about! I know every couple goes through this thought process (or at least ought to). But being in our 40’s throws a whole new load of nuts and bolts into the mix. On the upside, age has also brought much widsom: we’ve also changed the way we think about finances. We’re more careful about how we manage what we have. We’ve learned to appreciate what we have and to not take anything for granted. We know how important it is to be of the same mind when it comes to money management. And most of all, we both know that money isn’t everything.

Money is important, but lots of things are so much more important. Honesty. Openness. Teamwork. Talking things out. Appreciating each other. If those qualities are in place, marital money management will take care of itself.

Rose Wilder Lane, Author Ahead of Her Time

2010-04-23T15:09:00.022-05:00

July 26, 2008

Recently, for some reason which I'm not recalling, I got to looking up Rose Wilder Lane on the “library.” That’s the internet. Joe calls it the “library” because whenever we have a question about any subject, we can look it up on the internet. The internet has all but replaced the traditional library.

Oh, I remember now, I was looking for a copy of Let the Hurricane Roar to purchase. I have an old, tattered and torn 1933 hardback copy at home; on the inside front cover is stamped “Murphy High School” so I know that it came from the high school my dad and aunts and uncles went to. But I haven’t the foggiest idea of how it came into my possession.

I've gotten interested in the writings of Rose Wilder Lane and her continuations of her mother's stories. Rose was the only child of Laura and Almanzo Wilder. Yes, the Wilders of the “Little House” books. Now, I know that when many people think of “Laura Ingalls Wilder” and “Little House on the Prairie,” they think of “that cute little Ingalls girl,” and memories of the 1970s TV show of the pioneering Ingalls family come to mind. Indeed, I read my first “Little House” book when I was 9 years old and was an avid fan of the series. In fact, when I was 9 I wore my mousey brown hair in braids and was often told I looked just like “that girl on Little House on the Prairie.”

But Rose was very different than her mother. She was stubborn, rebellious, and independent. Born in 1886 in De Smet, Dakota Territory, and raised as a country girl in the small town of Mansfield, MO, she wanted no part of farm life. Rose moved to California in her early adulthood, dabbled in real estate, married, divorced, became a journalist, travelled through Europe, lived in Albania for a time, and lived out her last years in Danbury, CT.

Rose became quite a successful and accomplished writer in her day. Controversy has been raised over how much of the Little House books she actually wrote. She was already established as a writer long before Laura ever penned the Little House books, and as such, it is believed by some that Rose actually wrote the bulk of the stories. She claimed she didn't. Her biography, Ghost in the Little House, by William Holtz, discusses this ongoing controversy in depth. If you’re a fan of the books, I highly recommend Ghost.

Rose had more of a hard-headed, “no-nonsense” way about her than her mother, and seemed to be on the confident, independent, and cynical side. I can identify with those qualities. She was highly intelligent, dropping out of school because the pace was just too slow for her. I can certainly understand that – much of the pace in my elementary and middle schools was too slow for me. I read encyclopedias and learned the Greek alphabet and studied advanced topics in math – all in my spare time.

As farmers just making ends meet, her folks didn’t have money for college. However, it does seem that with her drive and ambition, Rose would have found a way to get a college education. At any rate, she educated herself by teaching herself different languages and travelling extensively. She married Claire Gillette Lane in 1909, divorcing him after just 8 years. With her success in writing Rose became quite well-off, investing in the stock market and convincing her parents to do the same. They lost it all in the Crash of 1929.

Rose’s early career provides a rich narrative history of the Old West. One of her first works was Young Pioneers (formerly Let the Hurricane Roar, published in 1933), a story of the fictional David & Molly (representations of Charles & Caroline Ingalls, her grandparents?) as they first got married and staked their homestead claim in Dakota Territory in the 1860s, pursuant to the Homestead Act of 1862. Rose brings it alive so vividly, how people lived and made their way in the unsettled West.

Published in 1938, Free Land was another of Rose’s novels written against the backdrop of the Homestead Act. The Act, signed into law by President Lincoln on May 20, 1862, promised settlers title to land if they worked it for 5 years. It “gave an applicant freehold title up to 160 acres of undeveloped land outside of the original 13 colonies. The new law required three steps: file an application, improve the land, and file for deed of title. Anyone who had never taken up arms against the U.S. government, including freed slaves, could file an application and improvements to a local land office.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homestead_Act)

But it turned out that the land was never really “free.” The price was much more than anyone could have known, in lives, sickness, drought, fire, even in grasshoppers, which would fly in swarms and devour every last trace of an otherwise promising wheatcrop.

This morning I finished On the Way Home, a diary Laura kept of their 6-week journey by covered wagon in 1894 from Dakota Territory to Mansfield, MO, where they lived out the rest of their lives. Rose gave an introduction to the story as she remembers it; though she was just 7 years old at the time, she relates the trek in amazing detail.

Rose remembered Laura working as a seamstress 12 hours a day 6 days a week, for $1 a day, in Dakota Territory. Partially with the money Laura earned, the Wilders paid $100 down (worth well over $2,000 today) for their acreage and paid off a $300 mortgage at 12%. 12 Percent!! Mortgage rates aren't nearly that high now, 100 years later!

I thoroughly enjoyed Laura’s style of writing, too. She candidly described each town they drove through in terms of the landscape, the crops (or lack thereof), the people. She spoke of emigrants (Germans, Russians), "colored people," the settlers they met along the way coming and going, some prosperous and generous, some with less than they had.

As they travelled from town to town Laura wrote of the going prices for apples, beans, wood, land, and numerous other commodities. Her focus throughout the story was on land and farming, i.e., how good or bad of a living one could make on this land or that land. Good land was what people needed; it was their livelihood. In modern times I can’t imagine living on (and working) 40 or 80 acres of land. But 100 years ago that land provided almost every need a family would have.

On the Missouri farm, Almanzo cleared their land by chopping down trees and selling the timber in town for 50 cents (not sure how much timber for the price). Their apple orchard would bring money in each year, and the Wilders most likely sold the eggs, milk, butter, and other goods produced on their homestead, to make their living.

The settlers of the 1800s likely couldn’t imagine life now, a home on a single small lot, scores of homes on an acre. I’m sure they couldn’t envision the concepts of the supermarket or mass production or gas-powered automobiles or housing additions or interstate highways. And certainly not of computers or the internet!

This nation has come a long way since settling the West. Rose Lane may have been independent, impatient, and more ambitious than a woman of her time was allowed to be. But it was those qualities that made Rose succeed as a writer. As modern-day readers we can learn some insights about what it was like to be a settler, and we have Rose to thank for it.

Mom Angst

2010-04-22T22:02:00.007-05:00

July 24, 2008

Nathan will be 12 tomorrow. Wow, I can’t believe that. Twelve years ago today I went into work as usual that Wednesday morning. I was an accounting clerk at the now-defunct wholesale food distributor, Fleming Companies. I parked underground at the Waterford complex where Fleming’s headquarters were housed. I met my friend Pam on the way to the elevator. I remember saying that I’d been having back cramps, like I was getting ready to start my period. “Do you know what that means?” she asked. I nodded, assuming she meant that my labor had begun.

My due date was July 26. Nathan was born Thursday night about 9:15 on the 25th. Twelve years ago.

He & his dad are spending the day at Frontier City, and Saturday at White Water. That’ll be fun for them. The rest of us – Joe, John, Jodie, and I -- are making the 4-hour drive to the southeastern corner of the state, for our annual float trip down the Lower Mountain Fork. Joe and John are renting the canoe for the 9-mile, 6-hour trip down that river in Broken Bow, while Jodie and I are going to hang out and walk trails or something. You know, have some mom & stepdaughter bonding time.

We’re staying in a cabin this year, instead of camping at the Rereg Dam area like before. No facilities at the Rereg; only outhouses. No running water; what we usually do is take 3 or 4 gallon-jugs of water and soap, shampoo, and toothpaste, and just wash up by hand. I can’t stand feeling grody after a night’s sleep, and as I recall, last year was hot and muggy so I HAD to get cleaned up.

Won’t have that problem this year though, staying in a cabin! It’ll feel great to get a shower in the morning after a hot Oklahoma day. On the downside, I’ll miss falling asleep to bugs calling and river water bubbling, and waking up to tree leaves rustling and birds chirping as the sun rises over the water.

Nathan seems to be adapting well to his new step-siblings. It’s hard to tell; he began pushing me away when he was about 9 or 10 (as most pre-teens do) and he doesn’t talk to me as openly as before. I miss that.

Earlier this summer I had an idea for a way for Nathan to make a little extra spending money. Aluminum cans! I called the recycling plant earlier in the spring and they were paying 75¢ per pound for aluminum cans. It’s gone down since then, but money is money, right?

I’d been collecting them on my own at the office, which gave us a good start. Then we started collecting them from the roadside near our neighborhood. You’d be amazed how much trash people just throw out onto the streets. Much of that may be the wind, carrying paper items from trash cans to the roadside. But no way would even the Oklahoma winds carry glass beer bottles, or place empty beer cans along the same stretches of the same roads consistently!

We find a LOT of beer cans along the sides of the roads near our home. Also I’ve discovered that construction sites are virtual gold mines. Numerous houses are going up in Yukon and Mustang, and the workers just toss their soda or energy drink cans on the ground. Probably the majority of the cans we’ve collected have been from construction sites. Sure they’re dirty and covered with that red Oklahoma mud, but that can be washed. Hey, I grew up near the woods. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.

Geez, I just realized I've spent 2 paragraphs talking about aluminum cans. I gotta get a life.

Anyway, we rinse each of the cans out to get the dirt out or even just the last remaining drops of cola or beer, squash them to make them smaller so they take up less space, then bag them up. Last night we bagged about 12 lbs. Before we went on vacation Joe took 8 bags to the recycling center to cash them in. Those 8 bags turned out to be 21 lbs. We got $15 out of it. Not bad money, for a 12-year old.

Besides helping Nathan make a little money, I’m trying to teach him some work ethic too. He is expected to help in some way, whether it’s gathering, washing, or bagging the cans. It won’t be too many more years before he starts looking for a summer job, and I want him to go into it with a right attitude. When you’re young, employers aren’t so much interested in your hard skills, they’re more interested in your attitude and ethic. I’ll end this piece with lessons I believe in and hope my son learns to follow also:

1. Don’t do a half-way job. Do your best work and double-check yourself when done.
2. Follow directions. Do what you’re asked to do….
3. …without arguing. Have a “you bet” attitude.
4. Work as a team with whoever you’re working with. If you finish your job, see if you can help someone else.
5. Be responsible. Get your job done, done well, whether anyone’s watching or not.
6. Be dependable. Do what you’ll say you do, when you say you’ll do it.
7. Listen to instructions and pay attention to what you’re doing.

SD, Days 5&6: The Beginning of Many

2010-04-21T16:01:00.025-05:00

July 3-4, 2008

I’m so impressed with how well the kids are bonding! Here they are pretending to watch TV as they watched the clothes tumble dry. “I’m watching the jeans channel!” said Jodie. “I’m watching the cartoon channel!” said Nathan, as he watched Scooby-Doo and Dexter beach towels tumble along with our bath towels.

My new fiancé and I did a little smoochin’ while the kids were occupied. But not for long! John turned around and exclaimed, “I’m watching the LOVE channel!”

John and Nathan played a card game or two over Grandma’s coffee table, while we packed up John and Jodie’s remaining clothes and toys and things. They posed for a pic around a statue of a mother bear and her cubs at Veijas Outlet Center, and again for another shot near the Gaslamp Quarter in downtown San Diego.

Yes, they are bonding quite well. I’m so glad; one never knows what is going to happen when families blend. Will the kids get along? Will they accept their new stepmom or stepdad? And especially in John and Jodie’s case, how will they adapt to all the changes going on in their lives? What will it be like for them, starting new lives in Oklahoma after spending their young lives in southern California? Being so far away from the family they know? Going to a new school and making new friends? Dealing with the loss of their mother on top of it all?

********

Today was our last full day here. Joe has tried to show me as much of the city as possible, but there is just so much to see and do! He took us by the Naval Base. We drove across the Coronado Bridge.

We took the trolley downtown. We walked by Petco Park, home of the San Diego Padres.

We saw the “Walking Figures,” a sculpture by Magdalena Abakanowicz.

“18 headless cast iron figures stride toward a place unseen, each with one foot forward. The headless figures derive from the social turmoil Abakanowicz has experienced, and it represents the nature of human beings as they travel in groups. The 18 figures were individually cast in Poland, with unique markings that ensure no two figures are alike.” http://www.portofsandiego.org/

Then it was back on the trolley to Seaport Village, to see the fireworks. Splashes of color lit the sky as I reflected on the week's adventures.

I have a feeling these are just the beginning of MANY adventures to come. For years I've wondered what was my purpose in life. What is my value? What is my worth? What am I here for? And now I know. The twists and turns and ups and downs my life has taken, have all trained me for this new task in life, the new adventure of raising a blended family.

SD, Day 4: Old Mining Town

2010-04-09T12:51:00.022-05:00

July 2, 2008

The sky was clear and sunny this Wednesday morning as we drove east to visit the tourist town of Julian! Visiting Julian was like taking a trip back in time to the days of the California Gold Rush.

Julian is a quaint tourist town, about an hour’s drive from San Diego. The town began as a mining camp in 1869 when gold was discovered there. The city was officially founded in 1870.

According to http://www.desertusa.com/, “By the summer of 1872, there were 50 houses, 3 hotels, 4 stores, 2 restaurants, 1 schoolhouse and the "usual number of saloons" to service an estimated 300 miners working in the area. Numerous hard rock mines were established in 1879 in the Julian and Banner area yielded an estimated $4 to $5 million dollars in gold ore.”

Approximately 300 residents live within the township now. Historic buildings over 100 years old still stand, welcoming the modern visitor. Our first stop was the Miner's Diner for a soda at the soda fountain.

Then it was down the walk to this gift shop called the Old Julian Garage. We each had our chance to pan for precious gems, just like the miners of old.

OK, maybe not "just like" the 1870's miners! The modern process is a bit more controlled: a bag of sand mixed with stones is poured into a screen, and water is pumped thru a trough as it washes away the sand, leaving the gems behind.

below: Resting our feet and taking a break from the sun.

Around town: Julian Hotel, built in 1897, and the Julian Cafe and Bakery, as old as the town itself.

Julian is also famous for its APPLES! "The gold rush was short-lived, nearly over within a decade. But the pioneers stayed and began farming the rich land. While many crops were planted and animals pastured, Julian proved to be a fine place to grow apples. Apples continue to be produced in Julian. Their sweet, fresh flavor lures thousands to the mountains each fall, when visitors will find fruit stands overflowing with crisp fruit, homemade cider and other delicacies." (http://www.julianca.com/)

Joe has fond memories of apple pie in Julian. He would bring his kids here, when they were too young to even remember. He said that since there wasn't any snow in San Diego, he'd take the kids to the mountains near Julian to play in the snow! They would then stop in town for a hot chocolate and apple pie before going back home.

Well, with memories like that, we couldn't NOT stop in for some of that apple pie! Our day ended with a visit to the Cider Mill, and hot, fresh apple pie from Mom's Apple Pie. That was THE BEST apple pie I've ever eaten, and I don't even like apple pie that much.

SD, Day 3: SeaWorld!

2010-04-08T14:57:00.029-05:00

July 1, 2008

below: The first thing we did was ride Journey to Atlantis; part roller coaster, part water-ride!

right: The new family: Melanie, Jodie, Joseph, John, Nathan. What a motley crew we make!

left: Pets Rule! Cats, dogs, pigs, and even ducks are trained to do this ever-so-cute show! If you love animals you have to see it.

Freezing our bippies in The Wild Arctic!

right: Porpoises glide underwater near Atlantis

Feeding manta rays

right: Lunchtime (finally!) at Shipwreck Reef

left: This pretty thing probably has his picture taken a thousand times a day.

Cirque de la Mer

right: BARRACUDA at Shark Encounter

I want YOU!

right: No trip to SeaWorld would be complete without a visit to the Shamu Show.

What an amazing day! These pictures just barely tap into all the things we did and saw.

Joe took us to dinner at one of his old hangouts, Classics Malt Shop, a 1950's-style diner.

You'd never know these kids just met yesterday. They're going to get along great.

SD, Day 2: The Beach and The Kids

2010-04-01T19:06:00.024-05:00

June 30, 2008

A breakfast of toast, cereal, orange juice, hot tea, and coffee at the hotel buffet, filled us up as our second day began.

Fueled up and ready for the big day -- and by "big day" I mean the day Joe sees his kids again, and the day I meet my future stepkids -- we drove out to Imperial Beach. Just 4 miles from the Mexican border, IB is popular for surfing, and is home to the annual US Open Sandcastle Competition. It wasn’t quite 11:00 yet, so we wandered around the small town, sightseeing and soaking up the sun in the salty air.

Wow, man! What is that? Why, that’s Surfhenge! This totally wicked sculpture, dedicated on July 18, 1999, welcomes all visitors at the IB Pier Plaza. And look at these radical benches! They look like real surfboards, dude.

At the beach we waded the shallows, searched for pretty shells, and watched morning surfers ride the waves. As I reached down to pick up a sand dollar, the waves teasingly splashed up onto my capris!! I was soaked up to my waist.

(right: At Bibbey's Shell Shop. Read this cool article about it: http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/2009/jan/17/1sz17bibbeys2079-shell-sales-seashore-suit-owner/ )

I love the beach; it brings back memories of family vacations to the Florida Panhandle and the Gulf of Mexico. I love the sand, the ocean, the seashells, the sun… I can almost hear Jimmy Buffett now:

Mother, mother ocean, I have heard your call.
Wanted to sail upon your waters since I was 3 feet tall.
You’ve seen it all….

We strolled out on the pier, between fishermen to the left and right, fishing for their morning catch. At the end of the pier we stopped in at The Tin Fish for an early lunch.

******

We met John and Jodie at their Grandma’s house. I was nervous about how the family would receive me. Joe was apprehensive about seeing his kids again. He was happy but didn’t know what to expect. He hadn’t seen them in 2 years, and was worried about what they’d been through as their mother lived her last days.

But we were met with open arms. “How are you? How was your trip? Good to see you again, Joe! It’s so nice to meet you, Melanie.” John was friendly. Jodie was bashful. Hesitantly I sat on the couch, my jeans still wet from waves splashing up on them. I met Grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, even the dog.

“John, Jodie, have you met your new brother Nathan?” Grandma introduced the kids. Nathan bonded with them immediately.

My eyes teared up when I saw the box of their mother’s ashes, displayed sentimentally upon a shelf. “I’m so sorry for your daughter,” I said to Grandma. I was so sad for her, and her mother, even if she was my fiance’s ex.

I could see what a close family they were, and I hated the thoughts of tearing the kids away from them, their home, even their beloved dog Eddie. San Diego was all they’d ever known. “The kids will be well-taken care of,” I assured them, before we left. I tried to put myself in their place, and I knew they must be sad to lose the children, but were putting up a strong front for their sake.

******

Leaving Imperial Beach, we spent a few hours at the Chula Vista Mall where we picked up an early dinner of tacos, burritos, and nachos at Jose’s Mexican Grill (not me; I was still full from The Tin Fish). That’s where I heard of horchata for the first time. It’s a Mexican drink, made with rice, milk, vanilla, and cinnamon. Tastes like a milkshake to me.

Joe’s plan for the week is for everybody to have FUN! He took us to Mission Beach. Clumps of seaweed dotted the beach, and the air was a bit too breezy and cool for me. It was nothing like Imperial Beach; it’s too busy and commercialized to really relax.

Mission Beach is much more than just a beach; it’s home to Belmont Park, billed as San Diego’s Beachfront Amusement Park and Entertainment Center. Besides that, you can browse rows and rows of shops selling everything from beachwear to postcards to souvenir shirts to ice cream.

What a day! Back at the hotel room it’s almost bedtime. The kids swam in the pool, played computer games, and in general had a great time. Things are getting off to a good start!

San Diego, Day 1: We're Here!

2010-03-30T20:42:00.013-05:00

June 29, 2008

The morning was still dark and cool as we arrived at Oklahoma City’s Will Rogers World Airport. We parked our car, checked our baggage, boarded the plane, and off we flew to San Diego.

In two hours we were in Salt Lake City; after a brief layover and another hour-and-a-half flight, we arrived at San Diego International Airport. As we descended into the sunny, breezy, southern California city I was awed by its expanse.

(Nathan playing his PSP in SLC)

“There’s the Naval Base,” Joe pointed out through the airplane window. “There’s the Coronado Bridge, and there’s Sea World. Over there is ‘Nasty’ City, where I used to live, and back that way is Imperial Beach, where the kids live now. Just beyond that is Tijuana. I can’t wait to show you my old hangouts, and we’ve GOT to spend a day in Julian!”

It must have been Dollar Rent-A-Car’s busiest day of the year; we stood in line behind other would-be renters for 2 or 3 hours before we could pick up our car. But finally we drove a white Dodge Caliber out of the parking lot, north on the 5 and east on Interstate 8 to the Quality Inn in El Cajon. (waiting for our rental car at Dollar)

After checking into our room and unloading our luggage, off to an early dinner it was. Por Favor, a bright, airy Mexican Restaurant and Cantina at Magnolia and Main in downtown El Cajon served up delicious enchiladas and fajitas. It was a wonderful meal after an already long day.

Now we’re back at the hotel room, winding down and seeing what’s on TV. Joe just called his kids, at their Grandma’s house. “We’re staying here in El Cajon; just had dinner. Por Favor. It’s Mexican. We got in town about 3:00. We’ll be in Imperial Beach tomorrow. Yes, Renee and Nathan are with me. He’s 11, close to your age. No, she doesn’t have green skin or warts on her nose. She left her black pointed hat at home. Yes, our hotel has a pool. You can go swimming in it tomorrow. What time do you get up in the morning? That late?! Well, we’ll be there about 11:00; that should give you plenty of time to wake up, have breakfast, and get showered and dressed. Yes, we’ll go to Sea World, not tomorrow but maybe the next day. I want to take us all to Julian, and sure, we can have lunch at Yoshinoya sometime….”

And so ends our first day in San Diego. Tomorrow we will unofficially become a family.

(Por Favor in El Cajon)

I'm Going to be a Wife!

2010-03-30T17:05:00.008-05:00

June 27, 2008

It's official! We're engaged!

Yes, Joe gave me his mom’s engagement ring last night. A romantic scene it was, sitting on the couch, watching “Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader,” and he said, “Here, try this on and see if it fits.”

And that was it. No fancy dinner, no flowers, no glass of champagne, so violinist playing "our song." Ah, so romantic.

Seriously, I knew he was getting her ring sized for me and was going to pick it up from the jeweler yesterday, but I’d forgotten all about it. He was sitting next to me on the couch as I reclined back, stretching my legs out onto his lap. Something in his jeans pocket was getting in the way; I thought it was a machine part or tool or something like that.

“Do you want me to remove it?” he asked. I said yes, and he removed the small box from his pocket. I gasped as I realized that small box contained my engagement ring; a tangible symbol, valuable sentimentally but also physically, of the love that has grown in my heart for this man, and in his for me.

“You make me very happy,” he began. “I’m not perfect, but I’d love for you to be my wife.”

Wow. Wow. Wow. That’s all I could think. We’d been discussing marriage, so this wasn’t a complete surprise. But it was all so surreal. I was just telling him the other day, it wasn’t that long ago that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to love again, never find anyone to love me again. Even when we first started dating, it was weird to think of myself as someone’s girlfriend because I hadn’t been anyone’s ANYTHING for so long! And now, I haven’t worn anything on my ring finger in 5 or 6 years. So it seems unreal, as if I’m reading it in a book or watching it on a movie.

*****
I wanted my mother to be the first to know, so I called and told her last night. I emailed my brothers and sisters after that. And, I told Nathan over breakfast this morning. He was happily surprised! Clicking away at his PSP in the back seat of the car as I drove him to daycamp, he tried to digest the changes soon to take place, as only an 11-year old could.

“Mom, about the marrying thing, what did you say?”

“I just said that nothing would make me happier.”

“So does this mean I’m going to have a stepdad?”

I said yes, but it may be another year before that happens.

*****
Of course I'm all smiles today!! I feel like a giddy schoolgirl.

Into The Wild

2010-03-29T21:57:00.002-05:00

June 14, 2008

On the advice from a friend, I just finished watching Into the Wild. I highly recommend it.

Into the Wild is a 2007 film adapted by Sean Penn from Jon Krakauer’s bestselling non-fiction book of the same name. The story chronicles the life of 1990 Emory University graduate Christopher McCandless, who left his home and family and everything he knew to travel the U.S. en route to the Alaskan wilderness.

This isn’t a book report, and as such, I won’t recap the story. That can be done by googling the title. My intent here is simply to give my thoughts and share my take on the story.

I can identify with McCandless. I fell in love with his free-spirited adventures. I’m fascinated with all the interesting people he met and the new and different things did. He experienced things he likely would have never gotten to experience, had he gone to Harvard Law; such as, leatherworking, running a combine, or kayaking the Colorado. I’m captivated by the places he got to see, just being out completely on his own, going where the wind took him.

In general though, the movie reminded me of my family, and specifically my brother Tim. Not that our family had a million-dollar consulting business whose parents gladly offered to buy a new car or pay for a Harvard Law education. Neither Joe nor I could imagine what it would be like to have parents with that kind of money.

But I'm afraid the family drama of the parents fighting and the kids having to deal with the confusion and finding out their parents' marriage wasn't exactly a fairy tale didn't have much of an impression on me. That was pretty much daily life for my siblings and me.

Even McCandless' sister saying, "I haven't heard from my brother in 3 months..." didn’t faze me. I was like, yeah, get over it, I didn't hear from my brother for 7 years. And then the parents going crazy wondering where he was and trying to find him and the mom imagining every guy on the street was her son... that is probably not much different than what my mother has felt ever since we lost touch with Tim.

I felt as if the parents were all about money and show, and couldn't cope with their son marring their "perfect" family image. They sure had a hard time letting go, letting him be his own self and live his own life. Then again, it would have been nice if he'd at least left a note or something. The least he could do was to send a postcard now & again -- but then, McCandless was like Tim, wasn't he. He didn't want to be found.

That brings me to one thing I've come to appreciate about my parents: their "laissez-faire" approach to parenting. Sure, it would have been nice to have had a little support and direction from them; but on the other hand, we didn't live with the pressure of living up to our parents' expectations and trying to be what they wanted us to be.

The story ended so sadly. I was hoping McCandless would go back home and reconcile with his family. I was left wondering what the moral of the story was, or if there was meant to be one. Maybe it was intended more as a docudrama.

Into The Wild has affected me so deeply. The critics have labeled his story “controversial,” but originally, as I watched the movie I didn’t see anything controversial about it. After reading my friend’s email, however, and a few weblinks she sent me, I see what people are arguing about. He was DETERMINED to get away from everything, everyone, and learn on his own as he went.

In many ways I can identify with that – here especially in my old age I sometimes dream of living in a cabin in the woods and literally living off the land. I dream of getting away from commercialism, materialism, some of the same “poisons” of society that McCandless spoke of.

It’s so true, though, what the critics say – he was unprepared. He was very intelligent, there’s no question, but he was more of a dreamer, wasn’t he, gleaning his “wisdom” from all those books he read. Nothing wrong with reading fiction, but you’ve got to know where the fiction ends and reality begins.

He appeared to have little or no experience with the wilderness at all, and looking at his family background, one of money and a materially charmed life, that’s not surprising. I wonder if they ever even went camping. Once.

And so when I think of Tim, that this sounds like something he would do, I know that at least he has the “outdoor” skills. He can fish, hunt, and probably start a fire out of sticks and stone. I believe he even knows how to make homemade jerky. I think either he or my dad could survive alone in the wilderness with no problem.

Anyway, back to McCandless. It seems that with as much hiking around he would have had to do, looking for food and such, he would have easily found the tram they spoke of, to cross the river. Or maybe he was just too delirious by that time to do much reasonable thinking.

I thought the movie could have pointed out what effects (positive or negative) he had on the people he met. Did he change their lives? Their thinking? Their outlooks? That’s not what director Chris Penn set out to show. But, it may have given McCandless' life more meaning, more of a human element to the story.

I was so sad that Christopher McCandless died. I wanted him to come back and spend his life telling about "the richest experience of his life." Jon Krakauer, though, captures McCandless’ life, and summarizes it in his 1993 Outside Magazine article, “Death of an Innocent.” http://outside.away.com/outside/features/1993/1993_into_the_wild_1.html

Busy Life!

2010-03-29T16:50:00.003-05:00

June 11, 2008

Our lives are so incredibly busy right now. But you know I like it that way! I thrive on staying busy, mentally as well as physically. Joe, Nathan and I went camping in Sulphur in March. My sister Elaine and her husband drove out from Georgia to visit for a couple days in early April. Of course we never miss the Festival of the Arts around the third week of April. In mid-May, Joe’s Navy buddy Mitch visited from out of town, and the three of us saw REO Speedwagon in concert at the Zoo Amphitheater. Nathan had his Fifth Grade Graduation a week later.

Working in the yard this time of year is also one of my bigger tasks. From April through June I tend to stay busy planting flowers, keeping them watered, etc. This year, thankfully, I’ve got Joe to keep the lawn mowed, giving me more time to work on my flowers. I’ve got roses, azaleas, lilies, zinnias, columbine, mums, snapdragons, petunias, morning glories, and a few sunflowers that popped up from spilled birdseed. Joe’s building a retaining wall against the back fence for my yellow rose, zinnias, and the morning glories that climb up the shepherd’s hook that holds the birdfeeder. I might plant a few caladiums out there too.

My mind has been in a million places! Nathan is right now going to a 3-week (1 hour a day) band camp, learning the basics about the clarinet in preparation for sixth grade band. After that he’ll be in a week-long summer art camp at City Arts Center called “Our House,” where they’ll learn about architecture and house-building. Next month he’s enrolled in another week-long camp called “Rock Star Jewelry.” They get to make cool bracelets and necklaces and stuff out of bottlecaps and wire and whatnot. He likes crafts so I think he’ll enjoy that one a lot.

At work, one of our ladies retired just before Memorial Day so besides having helped throw her retirement party (she wanted a tropical theme; I made virgin pina coladas out of coconut cream and pineapple juice. They were a hit!) I’m training her replacement. I only got a couple months’ training on her job myself, so it’s been a challenge to learn AND teach at the same time, AND keep up my regular job responsibilities.

Joe’s going to Midland, TX, for a week, to train employees at a new plant; immediately thereafter we have plans to see Phantom of the Opera at the Tulsa Performing Arts Center. Tuesday I was voted in as Treasurer of our Homeowners Association. That’ll be something new; I’m excited about it.

I’m ready for our lives to slow down, but at the same time, I’m afraid I’ll miss something!

And, oh yeah, let’s not forget that trip to San Diego! We’re flying out on the 29th to bring John and Jodie back. Joe has spent nearly every evening this week after work, out at his mom's working on the storage shed. Fern’s house is a 3-bedroom, but 2 of them are filled with "stuff." All that "stuff" will have to be put in the shed to so that the kids will have bedrooms to sleep in.

Last Sunday I helped Joe affix the roof on the shed from about 4:30-8:00. It was a warm and muggy day, with just a little bit of a breeze. Sweat rolled down my back as I stood inside the stuffy shed, holding the nuts in position with the bolts so he could get them screwed in from atop the roof. Naturally the mosquitoes made their feast on my legs. Between holding nuts and bolts I’d reach down and SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Yes, John and Jodie will be staying with Joe and Grandma Fern, for now. My house is small, barely 1300 square feet, so is not nearly big enough for 5 people. Besides, the kids will need time to get to know me at their own pace, and I need time to get to know them. I’ll probably see them and Joe only on weekends for a while.

Nathan asked me once why I stay so busy. I said if I don’t, I get bored. I don’t see myself getting bored any time soon.

I'm Going to be a Stepmom!

2010-03-29T15:51:00.002-05:00

June 8, 2008

Joe seems distant, as if he has a lot on his mind. I’m sure that’s because he has so much going on right now. His stepmother’s porch flooded after those spring showers, so he’s building a retaining wall for her, to prevent future calamities. His job is sending him to Midland, TX, in a couple weeks to train employees for the new department that will be opening soon. But before he leaves for Midland, he wants to finish putting up a storage shed in his mother’s back yard, in preparation for the latest change in our lives.

I’m going to be a stepmom.

Joe found out Friday, his ex-wife passed away a couple weeks ago. He knew she had been sick and in and out of the hospital for a year or more. She was paralyzed from the chest down in an auto accident when she was just a toddler. She’s been in a wheelchair ever since, and so would get bedsores. I guess the infection from the bedsores spread throughout her body and finally took her. We don’t know a lot more than that. Joe and her family are not on good terms, so they weren’t updating him on her condition or keeping him informed about her health. In fact, he found out about her passing from the family lawyer, NOT from the family themselves.

It’s all very strange. Even his son and daughter never said anything, even though he talks to them on the phone weekly. I can’t imagine that the kids, ages 14 and 12, would never say anything to him about their mother being in the hospital, in a coma, and finally passing. When he would talk to them on the phone, they would say simply, “Mom’s sleeping.” Or, “Mom’s not here right now.” Joe thinks they may have been “coached,” but even so, kids aren’t known for having a stronghold on their emotions. Sooner or later they would break down and spill their guts, it seems.

We were already planning a flight to San Diego, to bring them back to Oklahoma for the summer. But now they will be coming out to stay. Although Joe knew their mom was ill and hoped she would live long enough to see them graduate high school, she didn’t. She passed away May 20 at age 49.

So many mixed emotions! Joe is excited about having his kids back; he hasn’t seen them at all in over a year. And I’m excited about having a daughter and shopping for girl clothes and doing all the “girlie” things!

But life is going to change dramatically, for all of us. John and Jodie are leaving their home, their family, their school, their friends – all they have ever known to start a new life. And Nathan, well, he used to ask, “When am I going to get a brother or sister?” Or, “What’s it like to have brothers and sisters?” He finally has his chance to find out!

Antique History Lesson

2010-03-26T15:50:00.011-05:00

June 9, 2008

Oklahoma has so much to offer. The State is full of history. And sometimes history can be found even when you’re not looking.

Even an antique market can be a history lesson, I found out.

Advertisements kept popping up all around town for “Buchanan Vintage Flea Market” to be held at the Fairgrounds over the weekend, and I thought it would be something new to try. Joe and I are always interested in new things to do and see. That’s one thing I love about him – he’s always open to trying something new and different.

Buchanan Antique and Collectibles Market, Oklahoma City and Dallas. I’m not much into yard sales but I love browsing thrift stores. Browsing a thrift store is like searching for hidden treasure – you never know what you’re going to find.

Buchanan’s was much the same, except that about 100 booths were housed in one building. There was booth after booth of fascinating things to look at. I love old dishes – bowls, teacups, ceramic ware. Several of the dishes I saw at the market were the Haviland name. I looked up “Haviland” on the internet and found that David Haviland started the company in 1842 after a trip to Limoges, France. After his death in 1879 the company was split between two sons, Edward and Theodore. As far as I can tell, the company is still in business, after numerous splits and reunions among the family members. Haviland china was a staple of the wealthy home. It’s very high quality.

A serving bowl at that I picked up at a thrift store carries the name Homer Laughlin. A little research told me that the company began in Ohio in 1871 but is now housed in West Virginia. A couple plates I found have the name Fairbanks Ward; I couldn’t find any information on them. Nor could I find much on Schwarzenhammer Bavaria – the name on another bowl I have – except that the logo used was used as early as 1923.

We spent hours and had a lot of fun just looking at all the merchandise: jewelry, trinkets, dishes, cookware, glassware, comic books, toys, games, all from days gone by. Some of it was from as recently as our childhood. You know you're getting old when you see something at an antique market, and think, "I remember having one of these."

There was this 45 rpm record on this old turntable, and I asked Nathan, who is not quite 12 yet, if he knew what a record was. His response? "It's when someone has the most of something." We had a good laugh at that! I told him, this is a different kind of record -- this is how we used to listen to music, way before iPods and CDs.

Later we saw an old washtub with the hand-cranked ringers (like the one my mother has in her basement, left over from the “good old days” before electricity and running water) and a washboard. Nathan actually knew what it all was and how it worked! I was surprised and impressed.

The most unusual thing we saw, though, was direct from the days of the Wild West. On the display table of one of the last booths we visited, were boxes of framed pictures of semi-nude women from back in the 1800s, along with copies of – get this -- signed prostitution licenses. Yes! One was signed by Wyatt Earp, and the gentleman running the booth said these were copies of actual signed licenses from states where prostitution was legal at one time. They were from the 1870s & 1880s, he said, and were for states such as Montana and Wyoming. None from Oklahoma. Prostitution was never legal in Oklahoma, he said.

We thought one of those would be a good conversation piece. Didn't buy one though, 'twouldn't be proper with a young kid in the house.

Out of the hundreds of knicknacks and whatnots we looked at, we only bought one thing -- a ceramic teapot, about 8" tall. It has some sort of Czech name imprinted on the underside; I couldn't read it well. Don't know if it's worth anything, but it sure is pretty. Very delicate looking.

I'm fascinated by the way people once lived. I'm fascinated with their homes, their lives, their clothing, their entertainment, their books, their education, even their social customs. Sometimes I wish it were possible to travel back in time, to see "how it was" before the digital age, long before computers and the internet, or even before simple things like electricity. A trip through the antique market may be one of the closest experiences we’ll ever have to time travel.

Arts and Crafts Festival

2010-03-25T16:39:00.008-05:00

May 27, 2008

I love festivals. And Oklahoma’s got hundreds of ‘em! The Czech Festival in Yukon in October, the Watermelon Festival in Rush Springs in August, Robber’s Cave Fall Festival, the Street Rod Nationals in April (OK, so that’s more Joe’s thing)…these are just a few.

I love to watch the people, young and old, and to listen to the sounds of the crowds. I love the aromas of the brisket sandwiches, the roast corn, and the deep-fried funnel cakes, wafting through the air. I love the music floating from the sound stages. There are always new sights to see, new foods to try, crafts of all sorts imaginable to browse or buy, and all of it against the backdrop of mixed tunes and tempos.

Joe and I tried out the Paseo Arts Festival for the first time (ever!) this past weekend. The day was a hot one, with the occasional breeze bringing relief down the fairway. Quite a different sight it was, from the downtown Arts Fest, which we never miss. The Paseo is smaller and less crowded. And concessions were served in trailers and booths, a la State Fair, rather than the massive International Food Row that typifies the downtown festival.

The Paseo Arts Festival has 2 sound stages, versus the 4 performing arts stages downtown. We stuck around to watch local celeb Edgar Cruz play his classical guitar tunes for a while. But there was so much to look at, we couldn’t stay still for long!

I was surprised how many art booths were there, in spite of how small the Paseo is. The Paseo, which has been around since 1929, is merely 2-3 city blocks long, a strip of Dewey Avenue flowing between NW 28th and NW 30th Streets. The street is lined with unique gift shops, art galleries, a few restaurants, boutiques, and a coffee house.

Here's a little history about the Paseo Arts District:

In the 1950s, Paseo was home to small businesses, student partying and jazz clubs. The 1960s brought the counter culture with its creativity, free spirit and problems. The Paseo began its transition into an arts district in the 1970s. The first annual Paseo Arts Festival was held Memorial Day weekend in 1977 and the Paseo Arts Association was formed in 1982 to organize and further energize its place as Oklahoma's arts district. Today a vibrant group of artists with substantial involvement and support from the larger community continues to build The Paseo Arts District into one of the most creative art venues in the country.

***************

Probably what I enjoy most about a festival (and this is when I quit talking about the Festival and start talking about myself), is looking at everyone’s wares. I am AMAZED by the creativity, all the ideas that people have. A few booths at the Paseo Arts Festival were what I call “wearable art” – colorful but loose-fitting and simply-designed blouses, pants, and skirts.

This certainly brings back memories, memories from BEFORE family and career took all my time and energy. Memories of a less-hurried and carefree time when I had hours on end to cut, stitch, glue, design, imagine, create…

I was sewing by hand at age 6, and making my own clothes at 16. Of course I learned my sewing skills from my mother. She made clothes and toys for us kids; I can still picture her embroidering on a square of white muslin, or cutting scraps for quilt tops. She showed me how to cut out quilt squares and make patchwork pillows by the time I was in first grade.

Then there was that school craft fair in fifth grade; a fundraiser, where some percent of the sales proceeds would go to the school. I’d made that green-floral purse with the matching changepurse, from fabric my mom had in her scrap-bag. The changepurse had a hand-embroidered design on it. It didn’t sell; in fact I still have it today.

But that didn’t quell my enthusiasm! Mom taught me how to use her Singer sewing machine, and in time I learned to make my own clothes. Most of my church dresses were my own creations. I was constantly getting compliments on my outfits. People just couldn’t BELIEVE… “You MADE that?!” Others who didn’t know me well would ask if my mother “made that dress.” I would be like, nnnnooo, I did.

I began experimenting with decorating t-shirts long before t-shirt decorating was cool. Taking an idea from one of Mom’s quilt-top patterns, I hand-appliqued a cutout of Sunbonnet Sue in a pink frock, onto a grey sweatshirt. Her frock was made of scraps of a pink calico I’d used in a dress for myself.

Ah, those were the days. What happened to them? Oh yeah, life happened. I became an adult with adult responsibilities. If I could have developed that side of my personality, I’d have my own booth at the Paseo Arts Festival. But, here I am, 40-something, wondering what it would be like to make a living doing something other than sitting at a desk all day.

Then again, as Joe pointed out, I’d have to deal with crowds, and he knows how claustrophobic I get in crowds. Not even to mention the 94° heat! So maybe it's all for the best. But attending festivals, I won't stop. And it's never too late -- one day when life slows down, you just might see me working my own booth, designing and cutting and stitching and gluing, peddling my own creations instead of admiring everyone else's!

The Homeowners Association Needs a Treasurer!

2010-01-21T16:59:00.005-06:00

May 15, 2008

I just spoke with the President of our neighborhood Homeowners Association about becoming Treasurer.

Joe’s truck was stolen about a month ago, one Sunday night at 11:30, just as we were going to bed. The thief must have been waiting and watching us; within ten minutes of turning the bedroom light out, Joe heard the engine start up and instantly knew the sound of his truck just as a mother knows her baby’s cry. “That’s my truck!” he exclaimed as the thief drove off in his blue ’76 Chevy short-bed pickup.

The truck was retrieved (so all’s well that ends well), but I wanted to let the other residents know to be watchful and careful, even in a quiet suburban neighborhood like ours. I scanned the HOA website for a “comments” or “contact” screen. In doing so I discovered that the HOA Board had a vacancy for the Treasurer position.

I was so excited! I enjoy my job as a CPA but – maybe it’s my religious upbringing – I feel stale and useless knowing I have a talent but having no way to use it to benefit those in need. In the past I’ve served with VITA – Volunteer Income Tax Assistance. That’s still a possibility but I haven’t done taxes in 6 or 7 years. The tax laws change yearly and I’d have to re-learn nearly everything I ever knew. So anyway, I’ve been looking for a way to make use of my skills outside of a 40-hour a week salaried job.

I emailed a message to the Board. I wanted to join the Board and volunteer my services for the Treasurer position.

Mr. Robinson, the HOA President, had called me shortly thereafter, but at this point I hadn’t spoken with him in nearly a month. He said they were undergoing changes on the Board. I didn’t understand what he was conveying, but I had gotten the feeling that the Treasurer position wasn’t going to work out. So I gave up on the idea.

Oh, no, he said! He wanted to nominate me and the Association would have to vote on me. The next Homeowners’ meeting is June 3; that’s when they’ll nominate me and hold the vote. The first thing he asked me was, “You know this is a voluntary position, don’t you?!” I responded with an enthusiastic, “Oh yes!! I have a full-time job already.”

Mr. Robinson said the job would take about 2-3 hours per month. Right now, we still have some dues trickling in (dues are payable January 1, but obviously not all residents had paid their dues timely!) which need deposited with the bank; plus we pay our lawn maintenance provider once a month according to the contract.

Oh, that’s nothing, I said. I’ve been doing work like that for ten years or more. I can easily fit this into my schedule.

I’m excited about using my skills to benefit the community. Besides, it'll make it easier to get to know my neighbors! Just think, if Joe had never had his truck stolen, none of this would have ever happened. Once again, adversity presents opportunity.

A Funny Thing Happened...

2010-01-21T16:57:00.006-06:00

May 12, 2008

A funny thing happened…..yesterday. I stranded myself at my own house!

Leaving my house for work as usual yesterday morning, and locking the front door behind me as usual, I got to the car and reached for my car key…and realized I didn’t have my purse with me! Now, every woman knows that her LIFE is in her purse. My purse contains not only my car key, but my house key and of course, my cell phone.

I couldn’t start my car. I couldn’t go back into my house. I couldn’t call anyone. I was stranded in my own front driveway.

My mind was churning over possible solutions to my dilemma. I could get in through the garage; I keep a garage door opener in my car! Oh yeah, the car’s locked. We’d had a theft in the neighborhood one night and since then, I’ve kept my car doors locked religiously.

The morning was quiet. Children had already boarded the schoolbuses to school; parents had already made their drive in to work. Although I live in a housing addition of 300 homes, I felt alone and helpless.

I scrambled to the back of my house and carefully pulled out a bedroom window screen in a hopeful attempt to crawl in through the window. Well, being the cautious citizen I am, I keep my windows locked too.

I was being thwarted by my own efforts! My next thought was to walk to the corner store and use a payphone to call – who? I needed to call Joe for help, but I also had to call my boss to confess my stupidity and tell him why I would be late for work. Who should I call first?

It didn’t matter. Since my purse was locked in the house, I didn’t even have any change for a phone call. Finally I was stumped. I just stood there in my driveway for a few minutes, hoping a solution would float down from the sky.

What a predicament! I’d have to see if a neighbor would let me use their phone. Like too many people today, I barely know my neighbors and felt awkward asking one for a favor. My neighbors to the right are an older couple with grown children, living alone. We’ve spoken briefly, once or twice. I knocked on their door; no answer. I crossed the street to the home of the young couple who have a sweet, friendly 7-year old daughter. From what I’ve observed I believe the dad is in the Army, the mom stays home, and the little girl of course is in school. The one interaction I’ve had with them was one afternoon a couple summers ago. I’d gone outside to mow the lawn, when I heard a child crying in distress. The little girl had fallen off her scooter and scraped her knee on the sidewalk. She was only a few feet from her own driveway, but the poor thing was scared to death. I carried her to her front door, handed her off to her mom, retrieved the scooter, and went on to mow my lawn.

Well, I got no answer there either, so I trotted across the yard to my neighbors to the left – a young family who had moved in merely months ago. All I know of them is that the husband drives an OG&E truck; I got no answer there either.

Either none of those neighbors were home, or they all thought I was some kind of solicitor and were ignoring me.

Now, mind you, I don’t know ONE of those neighbors’ names! I’m not anti-social, just very shy. I actually do know the name of the single guy who lives catty-corner from me – James. I met him while visiting my home as it was being built. He’s got a master’s in mechanical engineering, and has friends over each Friday evening. Oh, and attends Memorial Road Church of Christ. His car was in his driveway, signaling that he had not gone to work yet. No reason I couldn’t have gone over and asked to borrow his phone, but another neighbor had their garage door open, indicating that they were home.

For shame! Even after living in the addition for 5 years, I knew no more about my neighbors than a few brief, chance facts. I hated to bother anybody, but I was out of choices. I had gone to 4 neighbors’ houses before I found someone home. And the only reason this lady was only home because her 5-year old boy was sick.

I apologized profusely as I introduced myself and explained my situation. She was very freindly and graciously let me use her phone. First I called Joe. He works 30 minutes away, but has a house key and was able to take off work to come over and unlock the door. Then I called my boss, to tell him what a stupid thing I did and that I would be in just as soon as I could get my dilemma solved!

While I waited for Joe, I got to know Melinda and her son Calvin. Melinda works at a daycare and has an older daughter in second grade. Very obviously pregnant, she told me of her plans to quit work and stay home with the kids after the baby is born. Calvin is a sweet boy. We watched “Go Diego Go” and he told me all about Diego and the animals.

Soon Joe arrived, unlocked my door, and on to work I went. To this day, without fail, I take time to be SURE I have my purse when I walk out the door; and if I don’t, to NOT lock the door behind me! But I guess the real lesson here is, you can reach out and introduce yourself to your neighbors, or you can wait for trouble to force you into it. The former would have been much easier.

Life Needs to Slow Down

2009-10-05T20:59:00.007-05:00

April 28, 2008

Probably the toughest thing about being a parent is constantly wondering if you’re doing the right thing. Certainly I can’t be the only mom who has ever wondered if my kids are learning the life skills they’ll need to succeed in life.

Like commitment. Dedication. Dependability.

Nathan’s already wanting to quit guitar – after a mere 3 lessons! And for so long he bugged me about wanting to learn guitar! He just doesn’t like working for something, he wants it to just happen and be easy. Then when I picked him up at his Granny’s house after school, he had the nerve to tell me he wanted contact lenses.

The poor kid inherited my eyesight. All my brothers and sisters, my mom, and nearly everyone on her side of the family, is nearsighted. Nathan’s Dad has never had glasses or corrective lenses of any kind. Of all the better qualities he could have inherited from me, he got my eyesight! He got his first pair of glasses in kindergarten and will be wearing “coke-bottle” glasses by middle school. He would, that is, if technology had not yet invented thin lenses for very nearsighted vision.

I promptly told him that contact lenses require a lot of responsibility and dedication, and I’ve never seen him committed or dedicated to anything. Case in point, the guitar. Too, he wanted to learn karate last year, then got tired of it after 6 months. And he’s in danger of failing his reading class because he can’t commit himself to reading a library book.

So, what is he going to do, after taking care of contact lenses for a week, say he’s tired of it and wants to go back to glasses? Nope, not gonna happen.

The other day he said everyone in his class has a cell phone except him, and today it was everybody’s got a Wii except him. Well, to that I say, too bad; be grateful for what you do have. Nathan doesn’t even keep his homework done most of the time, then lies about it. Since he was a toddler I’ve tried to teach him, if you don’t show responsibility then I can’t give you any privileges.

I’m frustrated that I can’t spend enough time to Nathan and pay attention to his schooling and stuff, like I ought to and like I WANT to. I guess I'm a victim of my generation! Why is it that as parents of our generation, we constantly feel guilty that we can't do everything perfectly?

I shouldn't feel guilty; I have to work. I’m a single parent, so that part of my life is non-negotiable. When he was younger we would create eggshell mosaics or make homemade silly putty. We used to go to parks, museums, concerts and plays (family-friendly, of course). We would play board games like Mancala or Chess or Monopoly.

Suddenly everything changed and it was no longer “cool” to hang out with Mom. When he was 8 I’d give him his bath and read to him afterward! When he was 9 he took a shower BY HIMSELF and I was not allowed in the bathroom with him. I knew that one day he’d start pushing me away.

I feel so distanced from him now.

Anyway, I've been thinking a lot how that life is going by just too fast. Nathan will be finishing up 5th grade next month and will be a big middle-schooler next year. He’ll only be there 3 years before he enters high school. Three years is nothing. I barely remember 2nd grade in Mrs. Laramie’s room. Third, fourth, and fifth grades have flown by. Life is a jumble of the 5-day a week work routine, looking forward to resting each weekend, paying bills and looking forward to the next payday.

Life needs to slow down. I’m missing too much.

I Talked to Tim Today

2009-10-05T20:53:00.017-05:00

April 23, 2008

Mom called a few weeks ago with the most unbelievable news: she got a phone call from Tim!

He called our parents from the Emergency Housing Group in Middletown, NY. I looked it up on the web, and it’s like a homeless shelter, but also like a rehab center. I hate to think of my brother as “homeless,” but I’m just so glad he’s OK and he’s alive and well and taken care of. We got an address, a phone number, even the name of his counselor. So we know it’s for real and not just some ruse.

I’m just speechless – and in tears. Wow wow wow. I last saw my bro 7 years ago; he was living in Florida in a small town called De Leon Springs, north of Orlando and west of Daytona. He was a hired-hand at a stable for standardbred horses at Spring Garden Ranch.

I visited Tim for a few days one January after a work-related training conference in Orlando. The weather in central Florida was sunny and mild, around 75°, and the skies were blue. Live oaks reached for the sky like skyscrapers, and the breezes rustled gently through their leaves. The small town of De Leon Springs, and neighboring DeLand, were quiet and peaceful. I felt I could leave Oklahoma and move there without a second thought. Anyway, that was the last time I saw my brother.

Tim is 7 years older than me, so I didn’t really know him that well while we were growing up. He was nearly in high school by the time I started first grade. Mostly I just remember that he played trumpet in the school band, and that he liked to hunt and fish. Our dad would take the boys fishing and hunting, and Tim became an avid fan of both sports. I remember my first – and probably my last – fishing trip, when I was about 8 years old, at Mill Creek not far from our house. I had trouble reeling my fish in so Tim would help me out.

Tim was sneaky and constantly getting into trouble. I remember one day in 3rd grade, I was riding the bus with my neighborhood friend Becky. Becky sat near the window and I near the aisle. She saw Tim outside walking, and waved. He would have been 15, in 10th grade. Well, apparently he didn’t see me sitting next to her, because he waved back – with a cigarette in his hand. Being the “good girl” that I was – not to mention the snitchy kid sister -- I promptly went home and told our mom! The minute he walked in the door she smelled his hands for smoke and announced that she knew he’d been smoking. He didn’t know how she knew. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head?” he asked her.

Tim was smart, but lazy. No, not really lazy. He was a free spirit. He lived by his own rules. If he didn’t feel like going to school, he wouldn’t. He spent 3 years in 12th grade but still didn’t graduate. Finally he took the GED, and got his diploma.

He lived in Pennsylvania with our grandparents for a while after high school. Grandma sent him back home after just a few months, saying they couldn’t support him anymore. “He drinks Mountain Dew like it’s going out of style,” I heard her say. That, and he was growing marijuana in his bedroom. He told Grandpa it was Japanese tomatoes.

So Tim came home and moved back into his downstairs bedroom. It was thereafter that we became buds. I was a young lady by then, 14 or 15, starting to like boys, think about my future, and take life a little more seriously than before.

I think that every girl needs a father to love her and hug her and pay attention to her and listen to her as she talks out the trials and tribulations of being a teenager. Our father was emotionally absent, and though we didn't realize it at the time, Tim became a "surrogate father" to my sisters and myself after he moved back home. He would let us watch him get gussied up on Friday and Saturday nights before he went partying. Sometimes he’d bring his friends home. We were always buddies with Tim’s friends. In retrospect, that’s a little weird, but we just needed attention, that’s all. They were like big brothers to us. And Tim hugged us, talked to us, let us in his room – he paid attention to us.

Tim was a character. Sometime in his 20’s he was caught driving on a revoked license and was legally forbidden to drive for 5 years. So I drove him around in my little Ford Escort. I’d take him to run his errands (go to the bank, pick up groceries, or whatever) and he’d buy us dinner then fill up my gas tank. Then, I’d drop him off at one of his pool halls: The Office. The 8-Ball. The Sportsman.

Sure, he was a drinker, just like our dad. He drank, smoked, hung out at clubs or smoky pool halls, and who knows what else. I remember him coming home from clubbing weekends, late into the next morning, drunk as a skunk. He was a wild one. But he was my bro.

Tim worked as a machinist at Latex Equipment for several years. He always came home smelling of smoke and metal shavings. To this day I still associate those smells with him. When I was in college he quit work at Latex Equipment – or was he fired for truancy? I don't remember.

He got a job with Patterson Stables on the north side of town. That was his first foray into the horse-racing business. He lived in a trailer with another hired hand we called “Smokey.” Tim would leave town from April to November to race in Louisville, Lexington, the Poconos, New Jersey. But during the winter months I’d visit him and Smokey there at the farm at least once a week.

Eventually he quit coming back into town during the winter, and that's when we lost track of him. I was in my mid-twenties. He wouldn’t call or even drop a postcard in the mail to let us know where he was. Somehow my mom was able to – as moms have a way of doing – keep a vague track of where he was and when. And somehow we knew that he was living in De Leon Springs, FL, 7 years ago.

We didn’t have a clue what had happened to him since then, until my parents got his phone call a few weeks ago from the shelter. His days of irresponsibility and making less-than-ideal choices must have finally led him to rock-bottom.

I called him, there at the shelter. He sounds different. It was good to hear him and just to know that he's OK. I'm glad to know he’s making changes in his life. He said when he went to the hospital in January, he was just 130 lbs. Tim is 6’3”! He must have been skin and bone! He’s up to 167 now, which is much better, although he did say it was what he weighed when he was 18 (he’s nearly 50 now).

I think I’ll write him a letter, and get him up to date and what’s been going on in my life since that visit to De Leon Springs. I’ll send him some pictures of his grown-up kid sister, and his 12-year old nephew whom he has never seen. After so many years of not knowing whether he is dead or alive, we finally know he is alive and well. In his own way, my wayward brother has come back to us.

Why I've Never Been on an Easter Egg Hunt

2009-10-02T13:00:00.002-05:00

April 10, 2008

I’ve never been on an Easter-egg hunt.

The Bradford pears are blooming their white linen, the redbuds are dotted with their purple-pink, and the earth is sprouting daffodil-yellow. It must be Spring! I love this time of year, when the earth thaws out and begins to show its colors again.

But I don’t associate the season with Easter or sunrise services or memories of easter-egg hunts, as most Christian-oriented people do. I grew up in a church which, instead, observed the Old-Testament rituals of unleavened bread. We were non-denominational – not Jewish, not Seventh-Day Adventist, not Jehovah’s Witness. But still we spurned the Easter celebration as having pagan origins.

We celebrated the Passover, a commemoration of the ancient time described in Exodus 12, when God struck all the firstborn in Egypt, save for those Israelite homes who had the blood of the lamb on their doorposts. Of course the blood of the lamb was a precursor to Christ’s blood, which would one day be shed to save God’s modern-day people from eternal death.

Let me pause here to add, this is not meant to be a particularly religious or “preachy” piece. I’m certainly not out to convert anyone, or accuse anyone. This is simply a progression of thoughts as I, as an adult, reason, think through, and question a teaching of my childhood.

Because verse 14 of Exodus 12 tells the Israelites to keep this feast “throughout your generations,” “as an everlasting ordinance,” our church followed the instructions in Exodus 12 (and reiterated in chapter 13) to remove leaven from our homes and to eat unleavened bread for seven days. As churchmembers we would do a mad-spring cleaning to “put leaven out of our lives.” Leaven – which is generally found in breads, cakes, piecrusts, cookies, hamburger buns, pizza crusts, crackers, and numerous other common foods – symbolized “sin” at this time of year for us.

When the Israelites fled Egypt (verses 31-40 of Exodus 12), “Egypt” pictured sin, and of course the Israelites were God’s chosen people, so just as the Israelites fled Egypt, we as modern day Christians are to flee sin. And as churchmembers we were to put leaven (“sin”) out of our lives for seven days.

And not just by throwing out all breads, crackers, and cookies from our homes! We went so far as to clean our toasters, because crumbs of leaven lurked in there, too, just as sin can lurk in places in ourselves that we don’t think to look. We were not to eat of anything leavened, at home or anyplace, neither were we to have any leavened products in our house.

This was to occur for seven consecutive days, and generally fell around the time of Easter. I’ll mention here that the Bible makes no mention of easter eggs or bunnies or anything of the sort. Because my church strove to live by God’s Word in every way possible, we did not condone such things and thus, I never hunted easter eggs as a child.

Recently I got this set of oh-so-funny Easter cartoons from my sister-in-law. I forwarded them to many of my friends, including one of our girls who observes the Jewish faith. I asked if the Jewish celebrated Easter -- which I knew they didn't, but sometimes mainstream holidays seep their way into non-mainstream churches.

So of course she replied that they don't; they celebrate the Passover which pictures the Exodus from Egypt. Well, I knew all about that, but it got me to thinking about the Council of Nicaea, which was the big council that decided on which days to celebrate. I needed to understand as an ADULT, and not just a child following my mom’s religion, the truth behind the history of Passover vs. Easter.

I found a section at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Council_of_Nicaea, which describes the transition from the Hebrew Passover to the Christian Easter in a way that I hadn’t thought of before. When I read it, my first thoughts were, they're openly ADMITTING that they changed the day of celebration of the resurrection. Then I realized that they changed the day of the CHRISTIAN holiday -- and the Jews weren't Christians. Our church kept the JEWISH holydays, all the while passing off the “christian" traditions of Easter as "pagan."

This passage helped me realize why there was such disagreement between the days in the first place. The Christians were setting themselves apart from the Jews: ‘The council assumed the task of regulating these differences, in part because some dioceses were determined not to have Christian Passover correspond with the Jewish calendar. "The feast of the resurrection was thenceforth required to be celebrated everywhere on a Sunday, and never on the day of the Jewish passover, but always after the fourteenth of Nisan, on the Sunday after the first vernal full moon. The leading motive for this regulation was opposition to Judaism, which had dishonored the passover by the crucifixion of the Lord." Constantine wrote that: "… it appeared an unworthy thing that in the celebration of this most holy feast we should follow the practice of the Jews, who have impiously defiled their hands with enormous sin, and are, therefore, deservedly afflicted with blindness of soul. … Let us then have nothing in common with the detestable Jewish crowd; for we have received from our Saviour a different way." Theodoret recorded the Emperor as saying: "It was, in the first place, declared improper to follow the custom of the Jews in the celebration of this holy festival, because, their hands having been stained with crime, the minds of these wretched men are necessarily blinded. … Let us, then, have nothing in common with the Jews, who are our adversaries. … avoiding all contact with that evil way. … who, after having compassed the death of the Lord, being out of their minds, are guided not by sound reason, but by an unrestrained passion, wherever their innate madness carries them. … a people so utterly depraved. … Therefore, this irregularity must be corrected, in order that we may no more have any thing in common with those parricides and the murderers of our Lord. … no single point in common with the perjury of the Jews."’

This made so much sense to me. My church had never explained in quite this way, and it left me undecided. And where did easter eggs and bunnies come from in the first place? I’d been taught relentlessly as a child, that Easter originated from worship of the fertility goddess Ishtar, and that rabbits and eggs were pagan symbols of new life. But could this be documented?

I googled “easter” in search of its origins. A Catholic site, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/05224d.htm, mentions this: “ The English term, according to the Ven. Bede relates to Estre, a Teutonic goddess of the rising light of day and spring…” The site, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easter_Bunny, states, “The rabbit as an Easter symbol seems to have its origins in Germany, where it was first mentioned in German writings in the 1500s,” and, “Eggs, like rabbits and hares, are fertility symbols of extreme antiquity.” The goddess Eostre is cited, and following that link, I read that the Benedictine monk Bede associated Eostre and Eostur-monath with the month of April; according to Bede, Eostre’s festival was celebrated in the spring.

Another site documenting the origins of Easter (specifically the Christian Easter vs. the Jewish Passover), echoes this, and goes on to say, “…scholars actually believe that the festival has its roots in a number of pre-Christian faiths, including Pagan and Jewish. For example, historians believe that the word Easter is derived from the Saxon name of the Pagan goddess of spring and fertility, Eastre. The lunar calendar month of April was dedicated to a celebration of Eastre, featuring rituals to mark the vernal equinox and welcome the fertility associated with springtime. Many of these Pagan traditions have been incorporated into Christianity's celebration of Easter today. The Easter bunny and Easter eggs, for instance, are both Pagan symbols of fertility.” (http://www.holidays.net/easter/story.htm)

(By the way, I googled Ishtar, and she seems to be a completely different goddess than the one for whom Easter is named).

I’m sure there are numerous more sites I could research. But what I’ve found is enough to believe that yes, the celebration we know today as “Easter” does indeed have non-christian origins. The controversy of Passover vs. Easter did indeed divide Christ’s early followers. But does this mean that Christians are not to celebrate easter but to keep Passover and the Days of Unleavened Bread, as outlined in the Old Testament? No, I don’t believe so.

What I do believe is that there is no “one size fits all.” I believe in questioning convention and traditions. We each have to make our own decisions based on facts, and live as we are convicted to believe.

Spousal Abuse

2009-09-29T19:46:00.007-05:00

April 3, 2008

There was a story on the news the other day about Representative Sally Kern (R) speaking out at the Capitol, against homosexuality, likening it to terrorism.

"Studies show that no society that has totally embraced homosexuality has lasted more than, you know, a few decades. So it's the death knell of this country. I honestly think it's the biggest threat our nation has, even more so than terrorism or Islam — which I think is a big threat, okay? Cause what's happening now is they are going after, in schools, two-year olds...And this stuff is deadly, and it's spreading, and it will destroy our young people, it will destroy this nation."

A bit extreme, to be sure. But what I think is a much more serious problem -- and a MUCH BIGGER THREAT to our society -- is spousal abuse. Do we hear the legislators and lawmakers speak out against spousal abuse? Of course not! No one speaks out against that. I have not once in my life heard any person, young or old, Democratic or Republican, male or female, homo or hetero, speak out against the legitimacy of an abuser marrying an abusee.

Those against homosexuality state (correctly) that the Bible condemns it. Leviticus 20:13 says, "If a man lies with a male as he lies with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death." They also assert (correctly) that God intended marriage to be between a man and a woman.

True, but God certainly never intended man to abuse his wife either physically, verbally, emotionally, or otherwise. No, he was told to LOVE his wife. Ephesians 5:25 says, "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her." Colossians 3:19 likewise says, "Husbands, love your wives and do not be bitter toward them."

But do you hear anyone jumping up and down about what the Bible says about that? Of course not.

My mother was a victim of physical, verbal, emotional, and probably every other type of abuse. She endured years of low self-esteem to the point of feeling suicidal, because she never got any measure of praise from her husband. And you think THAT is not deleterious to society?

She was a good wife to him. We children saw her cook his breakfast and iron his work clothes every morning. We watched as she did laundry, shopped for groceries, cooked dinner, cleaned bathrooms, dusted furniture, vacuumed floors, washed windows -- for seven people. But we never once heard our dad telling her, "This is a great dinner." "You look wonderful." "Wow, the house looks great!" "Why don't you take a nap while I watch the kids." No, we never heard him say those things, but we did hear him tell her, often, that no matter what she did or said, it was wrong.

My mom always tried her best to please her husband. But nothing was ever good enough. She settled for simply not being yelled at.

How did their abusive marriage affect us, the six children? We all got into bad marriages because we had no clear example of what a good marriage should be. We had no idea how to choose a proper mate. My siblings and I each found ourselves married to spouses who were either power-hungry or power-less. We didn't marry equals. We had no idea what being equal meant. Each of us wound up divorced.

Granted, we also learned from our mistakes and eventually found ourselves in healthy, wholesome marriages.

Then of course there are the grandchildren to consider. Nearly all of the grandkids have one or more step-parents. Nearly all of them split their time between two homes, as my siblings and I try desperately to correct what went wrong all those years.

For years I've heard those who protest divorce, saying that couples should "stick together" and "work it out." Christian Fundamentalists cite Malachi 2:15-16: "But did He not make them one, having a remnant of the Spirit? And why one? He seeks godly offspring. Therefore take heed to your spirit, and let none deal treacherously with the wife of his youth. For the LORD God of Israel says that He hates divorce..."

Where are those protesters when the abusive marriage happens in the first place? Where are the legislators, the lawmakers, the Fundamentalists, when a naive young girl agrees to marry a domineering man? When the husband is abusing his wife (or vice versa)? How can a minister, or judge, or any other person authorized to perform a marriage, do so in good conscience if he has reason to believe, for whatever reason, that the two will not grow together as husband and wife? If he sees that the relationship is anything but healthy?

I don't have answers to any of those questions. But I do think it's time we, as a society, looked at some other facets of the human existence. Sally Kern had some pretty strong words, speaking out against homosexuality. I wonder if she would speak out as strongly against spousal abuse.

Fiasco, Continued

2009-09-29T13:26:00.007-05:00

March 24, 2008 continued

Our new memory-foam mattress was to be delivered, we were promised, between 1:00 and 3:00 the next day -- Saturday. Fantastic, I thought; what timely service! And I didn't have to schedule any time off work. Soon our purchase would be complete and life would be good.

Or so I thought. Saturday morning after breakfast Joe and I pulled the old mattress and box springs off the bedframe. The deliverymen would take it and dispose of it after delivering our new mattress. We waited for 1:00.

Then we waited some more. Soon it was 2:00. Another hour dragged on and it was 3:00. Where were our guys?

The phone rang. We were sure it would be the deliverymen telling us that they are on their way, or maybe that they were running a few minutes behind. No, it was the warehouse manager saying that our delivery was rescheduled for after 5:00.

5:00?? Knowing that a lot earlier would have been nice, before we wasted a whole afternoon waiting at home. It was a beautiful spring day, and we could have been out somewhere enjoying the sunshine.

Oh well, we thought, at least the store was considerate enough to call us. We waited some more.

The truck arrived around 7:00 or 7:30. Finally! Although we were weary from waiting we were elated that the waiting was finally over! The deliverymen found first our foundation, then our mattress, from among the conglomeration of other furniture items in their truck, pulled them out, and dutifully carried each piece into our house.

Each worker stood on a side of the bedframe. The first man tilted the long side of the upright mattress toward the second man, who caught it so that they could both gently position the mattress upon the rails. Down the mattress went...

...onto rails that were too small. What? I thought that "queen size" rails were universal, and that any brand of mattress would fit on a set of rails!

I've had this bed for probably 20 years. It's a Kincaid. It was the first furniture purchase I ever made in my life. I adored cherry wood furniture and was in love with the old Victorian-style designs. Young and full of ideals, I was determined to have solid wood and a quality brand name no matter what the price, not some cheap discount store/pressboard gig. I don't remember the name of the model I finally bought, but I do remember finding it at a Jernigan's Warehouse Sale in Chattanooga back in the late eighties.

The headboard and footboard set came with slats for both full-size and queen-size rails. When I was single I bought a full-size mattress and full-size rails. When my first husband and I got married we bought a queen-size mattress and queen-size rails.

I still have the queen-size rails we bought in the early nineties. Well, obviously, mattress styles have changed in the past 15 years. Joe and I would have to buy a new set of rails.

The deliverymen left our mattress and foundation with us as they went on to finish their deliveries for the evening. We rested the pieces against the foyer wall as we pondered whether to go ahead to the furniture store that evening (it was after 8:00 and we weren't sure when the store closed) or just wait until Sunday and sleep on the floor Saturday night. At that point I would have gladly slept on the floor.

After calling the store to confirm their hours, and to confirm that they even had a set of queen-size rails in stock, we decided to go ahead and trot down to the furniture store and pick up the rails. The warehouse had them ready when we got there.

We paid for them and tiredly drove back to the house. Joe installed the rails. Great, we thought, we'll be sleeping on our new mattress tonight!

As Joe worked away I happened to look at the label. The label on the mattress and foundation, that is. The model name was "Apollo." I thought we had picked out an "Athena." I checked the invoice. Sure enough, we purchased an "Athena." We were given the wrong mattress set.

Oh no, not one more snag. Was this ever going to end? I was starting to think that it just wasn't meant to be for us to have a new mattress!

Well, you know what we did? After calling the store manager and telling him our problem, we loaded the wrong mattress, plastic wrap and all, onto the new rails, and slept on it for the night. Oh, it was noisy -- every time one of us moved, the plastic covering crackled. But at that point we were NOT going to sleep on the floor!

Finally the following Tuesday we were delivered an "Athena" and the deliverymen hauled away the "Apollo." I wound up taking time off work after all, but I lay on our new mattress for a solid hour that afternoon, enjoying our purchase. This strange and bumpy experience had finally come to a happy end!

Friday Fiasco

2009-09-21T13:34:00.005-05:00

March 24, 2008

I took Friday off with hopes to get a ton of stuff done – and well, I did get some things done. But we got stuck in an F-5 fiasco that wouldn't go away! (For you non-Okies, the "F" scale is how we categorize tornadoes. An F-5 is the most violent.)

Joe was off for Good Friday, so we had lunch together at Café Do Brasil in Midtown at 11th & Walker. It's one of the (many) northside restaurants that I've been wanting to introduce Joe to. I had a broccoli-cheese quiche with spinach-strawberry salad, and he had a spicy tuna-patty sandwich. Good food, good service, good atmosphere. Good start to our afternoon together.

We strolled down to Kaiser’s for dessert – Kaiser’s, on 11th Street, is an old ice cream parlour from 1918. It is so quaint: black & white tiled floors, a 50s-style Coca-Cola dispenser, a pianist, and the high, sculptured ceiling so typical of turn-of-the-century buildings. I had a chocolate-mint milkshake that filled 3 glasses full. There’s my calorie intake for the next week and a half!

Afterwards it was off to Suited for Success off Meridian, to donate clothes which have been hanging in my closet for a year or more. According to their website, "Suited For Success provides professional clothing and career development services to low-income women who have completed a job training or job readiness program and are actively seeking employment." The charity provides a necessary service to women in need, and I've been contributing to them for a number of years. It's a charity I believe in.

The afternoon was proving to be not just fun but productive too.

Then, it was off to Factory Direct Furniture & Bed to look for a mattress. That's when the fun began! I was in the market for a queen-size…and boy, did it turn out to be a fiasco! I had no problem picking out a mattress that I liked. I had planned to pay for the purchase with my credit card then pay off the card as soon as my tax refund came in. Well, of course I had to show my identification. That's when the clerk pointed out that my driver's license was EXPIRED. Therefore they couldn't use it for identification.

I thought I'd write a check for the down payment then finance the balance. That didn't help -- my ID had to be current in order to write a check and sign a promissory note, too.

I was running out of options. My bank had a branch just down the block and across the street from the furniture store. The ATM will only allow $200 to be withdrawn in a day and I needed to withdraw $400. So I'd have to go inside, where surely the teller would ask for my ID. She did, but either didn't notice or didn't mind that my driver's license was past the expiration date. Whew! I had my down payment.

We raced back to Factory Direct to give them the cash, but I still had to update my license in order to sign the promissory note. The clerk was nice enough to complete the paperwork to the point where all I would have to do is show my ID and sign the papers when I came back.

Factory Direct closed at 6:00. It was after 4:00 already. There's a new law in Oklahoma that says if your driver's license has expired, you have to present your ORIGINAL birth certificate in order to renew it. I was born 5 states away! My mom probably has my birth certificate tucked away in her files somewhere!

Oh, no she doesn't. She gave it to me for my own keeping, many years ago. Thankfully this was one less thing to worry with.

In Oklahoma we can get our driver's license at any Tag Agency. But, with the new "original birth certificate law," I had to visit an agency who has in their employ a person certified to authenticate the birth certificate. Yukon has two.

And they both close at 5:00. After leaving the furniture store we raced back home in Yukon to retrieve my birth certificate. Then we pulled into one of the two eligible tag agencies, only to discover that the "certified authenticator" was gone for the day.

We drove down the road and around the corner to the other agency. It was past 4:30 and I was praying that their "authenticator" had not left yet. She hadn't. Thank goodness! I paid the fee, had my picture taken, took my new license and off we raced BACK to the furniture store to sign the promissory note.

Finally we could breathe a sigh of relief! The mattress was scheduled to be delivered within 24 hours. But that wasn't the end of our story.

Funny How Life Turns Out

2009-09-20T20:16:00.007-05:00

March 7, 2008

I didn't want to write about this, partly because it's pretty personal, but also because it's such a painful subject that I wish would just go away. But I want to paint a true-to-life picture of what being 40 and in a new relationship is all about.

At this age, most if not all of us have some sort of ghost in our past that will haunt us possibly for the rest of our lives. And at 40, we come to realize that no one is perfect and no one is going to fill all our needs. If we haven't already, we must learn to accept what is and move forward, making the best we can with what we have.

With that, I'll share the highlights of this painful part of our lives, without going into too many gory details.

Joe had a mediation today (I guess that's what you call it – they didn't actually go to court) regarding a financial obligation due a previous spouse. He and his attorney were in session for nearly 4 hours, until Joe finally called me with the verdict.

He has been ordered to pay $650/month for 3 years ($23,000 or so) plus $12,500 in interest. The interest will be paid via his tax refunds, which he says are pretty healthy because he claims his kids in California as dependents.

I think I would absolutely die if I was told I owed somebody $35,000.

It has me fairly shaken up, although I don't know why. Joe and I aren’t connected in any legal way – meaning we don’t share bank accounts and I legally have no financial obligations to him, debt or other – but this does affect me. If he can’t pay and has to go to jail, I have to decide whether I want to stay in the relationship. I love him and am his friend and want to always be there for him, but more important than anything I have an 11-year old son to think of. I don’t want him mixed up in this at all.

Too, if Joe has to declare bankruptcy, I have to decide whether I want to stay in the relationship for professional reasons. I am a CPA -- a finance professional -- and self-righteous though it may sound, marrying someone with a bankruptcy on his record could hurt me professionally.

Joe is looking at the bright side: In 3 years this will be over. Too, he's glad he hasn't already bought a house, because would lose it for sure if he had.

I used to say I wouldn't get involved with anyone who isn't financially stable! Funny how life turns out sometimes. He was telling me this morning how he wants to change careers and do something less physical. He talks about engineering or designing (machines & equipment and stuff), and the military would pay for the schooling. So who knows, I'm not putting my faith in anything or making any premature plans, but in the end things just might work out.

Like Family to Me

2009-09-15T19:51:00.004-05:00

March 6, 2008

Nathan has taken to Joe so well. He really identifies with him. I'm so glad! As a single parent you never quite know how your child is going to get along with a new boyfriend (or girlfriend, for that matter).

We were in Lowe's once, and I need to go down one aisle, while Joe needed to look down another aisle. When we asked Nathan which one of us he wanted to go with, he said to Joe, "I'll go with you, 'cuz we're MEN." I'm starting to wonder if maybe he's desperate for male attention because he's around his Granny and me so much!

He gets along well with Joe's mom, Fern, too (as do I). She's such a "mom." Joe, Nathan, and I spent the night at her house once a few weeks ago, and she made Joe sleep on the floor while I slept on the couch. It was no big deal to me, but she declared, "I have to practice what I preach!"

You gotta respect a lady who doesn't bend her rules even for 40-somethings!

Joe had the perfect comeback: "If mom can't get her groove on, ain't NOBODY gettin' their groove on!" Silly.

Fern told me that night, that when Joe moved home from San Diego after retiring from the Navy, she agreed to let him live there, but with her conditions. I asked, "Like what?"

"Do you really want to know?" she countered. Yes! I wanted to know! "He could stay here but he wasn't to bring any of his women over here!" I was laughing out loud! What a telling comment. Wow, he must have been a hound-dog in his day!

I had quite the laugh about that, because she doesn't seem to mind my being over there. Joe said I should feel realllly special, getting to spend the night at his mom's house. He said recently that she had remarked, "That girl must love you an awful lot; I haven't scared her off yet." And I'm like, Huh? Apparently she has "scared off" his girlfriends before, but I can't imagine why. She has her rules, as any good mom should -- so I figure his previous girlfriends just didn't know a good mom when they saw one.

We were at her house watching a movie last weekend, and I was so tired, I laid over on Joe's lap and slept during most of it. He told me a day or so later, "Mom said she felt very complimented the other night, when you feel asleep over there." I guess it made her feel good that I felt comfortable enough to doze off in her home. She and Joe are both like family to me.

Blessed With Good Health

2009-09-15T19:36:00.004-05:00

We're Partners (and I'm Not a Moocher!)

2009-09-15T19:11:00.007-05:00

February 27, 2008

I think Joe got his feelings hurt when I paid for dinner Sunday. He always pays. He paid for our $160 valentine dinner at The Melting Pot, and I tried to offer him $80 for my half. I don’t like him spending a lot of money on me, especially with his other financial obligations. He refused the $80, but I found another way to pay him back.

We had Sunday dinner at Cracker Barrel. When the check came, he had to go to the restroom so gave me his debit card to pay with. While he was there I quietly put his card aside and paid for dinner with my own debit card!

He was clearly upset that I paid. But the check was only about $30 and besides, I told him, I’m not a moocher. He doesn’t have to pay for everything. But, he takes his role as provider very seriously and fully expects and plans to pay when we go out. He likes to take care of me, he says, which of course I love and appreciate. But again, I’m not a moocher.

Also I told him I’m not lazy. While he was doing dishes the other day I started to take the trash out. I mean, the trashcan was full and it needed taken to the garbage. He said, “That’s OK, dear, I’ll get it.” And of course I appreciate everything he does. But there’s no reason I can’t get it (besides, I was afraid the cat was going to knock it over and get trash everywhere), and what am I going to do? Just sit on the couch while he does everything?

No, maybe other women will do that, but not me. I prefer that we work together when it comes to chores, rather than keeping some kind of mental score as to who does what. We are a TEAM, we are PARTNERS.

A Busy and Stressful Time

2009-09-15T18:44:00.004-05:00

February 25, 2008

Wow, I haven’t written in a month. It’s that way this time of the year, for us Statutory Accountants -- too busy to have a life of our own!

Here's a quick background of my company: CompSource Oklahoma is, for all intents and purposes, an insurance company. We are a State Agency, created by Statute in 1933 to provide workers' compensation insurance to Oklahoma employers. We are not-for-profit but operate similarly to a commercial corporation. The company is completely self-funded and receives no appropriations from the State of Oklahoma.

Since CompSource is the "insurer of last resort," we cannot turn down any entity which applies for insurance with us, and as such, we often insure the riskier clients.

Statutory Accounting is what we in the accounting profession refer to as "OCBOA" -- Other Comprehensive Basis of Accounting. A commercial corporation normally employs GAAP accounting, or Generally Accepted Accounting Principles. The focus of GAAP accounting is the bottom line, or net income. The goal is to make a profit and increase shareholder wealth.

Statutory, or STAT, accounting, focuses on solvency. Our goal is to maintain the capital necessary to meet claimant obligations. Regardless of our net income, if we do not have the capital (net assets) available to meet any and all claims at a given time, we are considered insolvent and can no longer operate.

Our deadline for annual reporting to the State is March 1, so from December 31 to March 1, we’re involved in not only month-end reporting for December, but year-end reporting which primarily involves preparation of the Annual Statement. This, among other things, involves preparation of Schedule P, a heavily detailed schedule of our claim activity for the year (and thankfully we only write one line of business – Work Comp – and not numerous Property & Casualty lines).

Adding to the year-end mix, our independent auditors (KPMG, one of the Big 4. Remember when there was the Big 8? Wikipedia says, "..... the "Big Eight"...was reduced to the "Big Five" by a series of mergers. The Big Five became the Big Four after the near-demise of Arthur Andersen in 2002, following its involvement in the Enron Scandal." Such tumultous times in our profession!) pay a visit to study and scrutinize every aspect of our financial activity for the previous year.

Then inevitably comes January month-end, which is important because our Board of Directors meets monthly and we report financial activity at each board meeting. January numbers can't wait for year-end numbers!

So we cram 3-4 months' worth of work into 2 months. It gets to be quite a busy and stressful time! Maybe now though I can breathe a little and write more.

The Stock Market and our Economy

2009-09-11T17:25:00.003-05:00

January 24, 2008

The economy is in sad shape. The Dow Jones Industrial Average is just over 12,000, down from a peak of 14,000 just a few months ago. It doesn’t seem in any hurry to recover. President George W. Bush has announced a stimulus package, including tax rebates to millions of families. But will it effect a long-term cure? I just want my mutual funds to gain a little back. I invested my Christmas bonus of $1500 and the value has already dropped to $1300.

The market gained a little since yesterday, but has fallen back this afternoon. I read a piece on the Crash of 1929 yesterday – actually it was the transcript of a PBS special. It was so interesting.

Our nation had won WWI and had enjoyed years of prosperity. Everyone was in the stock market; the “movers and shakers” of the era touted the Market as a way that everyone could be rich. The market was going up, up, up, and people were borrowing money to invest ("buying on margin"). No one thought it could end and would only get better. People got complacent and over-confident.

Then for whatever reason the market took a dip. Everyone got scared and sold what they had, which drove prices further down. Soon stocks were worthless.

People are more cautious nowadays. We diversify our investments. And of course more market controls are in place now (such as the Securities Act of 1933, which regulates original issues of securities [commonly known as "IPOs" or Initial Public Offerings]; and the Securities Exchange Act of 1934, which regulates secondary trading of securities).

But, credit is all too easy to procure, and I believe that will be a huge downfall for us. Are we getting complacent and over-confident like our forefathers? Are we due for another crash?

Unschooling

2009-09-11T13:14:00.007-05:00

January 5, 2008

One subject that has captured my interest lately is that of "unschooling." It's a fairly new concept, the term first used in the 1970s by educator John Holt. It's not the same as "homeschooling." Unschooling seeks to abandon the traditional methods of school and teaching, and allow a child to learn in his own way at his own pace.

Unschooling's main philosophy is that children are natural learners. Wikipedia says, "A fundamental premise of unschooling is that curiosity is innate and that children want to learn. From this an argument can be made that institutionalizing children in a so called "one size fits all" or "factory model" school is an inefficient use of the children's time, because it requires each child to learn a specific subject matter in a particular manner, at a particular pace, and at a particular time regardless of that individual's present or future needs, interests, goals, or any pre-existing knowledge he or she might have about the topic.

"Many unschoolers also believe that opportunities for valuable hands-on, community based, spontaneous, and real-world experiences are missed when educational opportunities are largely limited to those which can occur physically inside of a school building."

Why is the concept of unschooling so important to me? My 5th-grade son, Nathan, has a complete lack of motivation for succeeding in school. What gives? Whose son is he? He certainly didn't get that quality from me.

I believe he could benefit from unschooling.

I was asking my friend Kenny recently what he had to say about the subject; that is, motivating boys. He teaches high school (various subjects) so I didn’t know what sort of experience he had with pre-teens. My son is intelligent, creative, and talented, but he just has no motivation in his bones to keep his work done. Staying in during recess doesn’t bother him. Making a D on a test doesn’t bother him.

Kenny said that that’s a continual universal problem in schools, not knowing how to motivate boys ages 13-18. He said he didn’t have any answers, but I was glad to hear I wasn’t alone. I mentioned how that I’ve read that schools are designed for girls. He wholeheartedly agreed with that. Boys aren’t built to sit in desks for an hour at a time and do “sit down” work. Boys are active, visual, and tactile. They are built completely differently than girls.

So. There’s a project for me -- find a new way to teach boys. And maybe….redefine “success.” Maybe success shouldn’t be measured by “90-100 is an A" and failure shouldn't be measured by "anything below a 60 is an F."

This goes back to what I’ve read about “unschooling”: teaching kids to learn for the sake of learning. In the traditional school system, kids are taught to pass tests, to meet certain pre-ordained criteria, not to ENJOY learning. They aren't taught how to think independently. They are taught that success is defined as a number between 1 and 100.

This should be changed.

Technologically Literate

2009-09-09T13:06:00.003-05:00

January 15, 2008

It’s my goal this year (not really a “new year’s resolution”) to get more technologically literate. So in addition to starting a blog, I’ve signed up for a web design class at Canadian Valley Technology Center in El Reno. Ideally I’d like to get to a point where I can work at home via the internet, and set my own schedule so I can be home when Nathan gets home from school, possibly help out at his school, travel more, etc. Who knows where this all will lead.

The web design class started last night; I’m so excited about it! We learned some very basic functions and commands of Dreamweaver, the most popular software program right now thru which to design websites. It’s much different than designing on Word, which is how I first learned to design a webpage many years ago at UCO.

Sometimes I feel so far behind most people, technologically; I just got my first cell phone EVER, 2 months ago. I got my first home computer a year ago. I just recently began online bill-pay. But on the other hand, I am fairly well-versed in Excel and Word and can pick up new applications fairly well. I’ve been doing online banking for years and know how to set up a personal email account. So I’m not completely behind the times. But this is exciting and new!

My thoughts fly back to 1989 when I took my first Lotus 1-2-3 course at Dalton College. We learned spreadsheets on DOS. I was nearly in tears in class one day because I felt I was the only one who didn’t know how to “boot up.” I was working at The Sewing Room as an alterations seamstress, not in an office like I wanted to be, so I didn’t work with computers at all. The extent of my computer experience at the time was a few homework problems in my Accounting Principles class on an old 286 or 386. And, I did learn a little programming in BASIC in high school.

We’ve come a long way since DOS and BASIC and 386’s! I felt so stupid then, but as time went on we all learned how to use computers as second nature, whether we liked it or not. And I imagine now, in a few years I’ll be using Dreamweaver and Flash as easily as I’m using Excel and Word now.

Reassessment - 2

2009-09-09T12:50:00.005-05:00

January 2, 2008

I’m at a place in life, in which I find myself from time to time. An urgency to do something different, try something new, make a major change in life.

I’ve been in the accounting field since 1989, when I began an Associate’s degree in Business Administration at Dalton College. That was nearly 20 years ago. I didn’t begin any sort of accounting work, though, until I’d been at Aladdin Mills for 2 years and got into Accounts Payable. Let's see, I took Phil Vaughn’s place in “general accounting” in 1993; I remember that vividly because I was planning my wedding, learning a new job, and training 2 new people in AP all at the same time.

I was in AP for a year before that…so I began work in Accounting in May of 1992. I did clerical accounting up thru July 1998; I was with Fleming Companies here in OKC when I began pursuing my Bachelor’s degree in Accounting at UCO in 1997, a year after Nathan was born. I started professional accounting at Grant Thornton as a Tax Associate, in January 2000, and became certified in August 2003. So – I did clerical accounting work for 6 years. I got a lot of good experience and had good jobs, but I knew I was capable of so much more, and was WORTH more. Money, that is.

I’ve been in professional accounting now for 8 years, over 4 of that as a CPA. And it is time for a change.

I have ideas for books, or stories. First, I’ve always admired the “Little House” series, and have thought about writing something similar, maybe about a child growing up in Oklahoma going on hikes, on camping trips, to museums, on vacations….from his or her point of view (not mine).

Maybe I ought to write about how I could move from Accountant to Writer. "Anatomy of a Writing Career"? Maybe it should be more like “Conception of a Writing Career” or something relating to the pre-birth stage, because it’s not actually hatched yet.

Here's an idea -- “Anatomy of an Accounting Career”! I was an accountant at age 10 and didn’t even know it. I’d count out my dimes, quarters, and dollar bills from my piggy bank, and add up on paper how many of each I had. I’d multiply them out and then reconcile my calculated number with my counted number. I'm still doing that, but now am getting paid for it!

A Good Year

2009-09-08T16:05:00.003-05:00

December 31, 2007

Today is the last day of 2007. Joe and Nathan are driving up to the office to meet me for lunch. Nathan has had a pretty bad ear infection, which is draining now. I’m feeling a lot better after finally seeing a doctor and getting on Allegra. I don’t feel the drainage which would irritate my chest and throat, like I have been. Not as much anyway. Still coughing some, but the coughs are fewer and further between. I couldn’t believe how much the meds cost. Without insurance I would have had to pay more than double what I did. Thank God for insurance. I don’t buy a lot of meds, so I wasn’t prepared for those prices.

We went to Dennis & Michelle’s party – kind of a year-end party, Dirty Santa-style, though not exactly a New Year’s party and not exactly a Christmas party – Saturday night. Over 40 people were there. I normally can’t deal with crowds that big for very long. But it was OK, it was all the usual people from Tennis, Outdoor Network, and Ski Club. I got to see some friends I hadn't seen in months.

Brenda Ballinger was there with a man whom others referred to as her husband. I haven't seen Brenda in years. So she finally got the divorce? We were both separated at the same time a few years ago, both of us procrastinating our divorces. People would harass me for waiting so long, but somehow it was OK that she not only wasn’t pursuing the divorce, but she was traveling out of state to spend time with her husband whom she knew was cheating on her. But then, I never met her husband so this may have been her husband with whom she reconciled. But I doubt it, the way people were talking. If she did get the divorce finally, she sure got into another marriage pretty quickly.

Some people have to be married (like our friend Ted, who was practically engaged to his current wife before his divorce was even final). I don’t get that; I mean, wouldn’t one want to be careful to not make the same mistakes in the second marriage (or third for that matter) that they did in the first? And therefore take some time and wait? But then I have to realize, everyone is different. I can’t make a judgment on what’s right for someone else; only for me.

2007 was a good year; it brought Joe into my life. What will 2008 bring?

One Day Rather than Another

2009-09-08T15:17:00.005-05:00

December 26, 2007

My mother called yesterday after the family Christmas dinner. Apparently Susan, my niece, didn’t get any gifts, and I was the one who drew her name. Not ANYTHING?? Even from the other family members? Mom said my sister Elaine had said she didn’t get anything a few years back and it really hurt her feelings; that may have been the year I drew her name. My response to that is, get over it. Not to be unfeeling, but I don't believe in depending on others -- or on THINGS -- for one's self-esteem. Besides, any adult (any parent) I know would be satisfied just knowing that her kids are happy and have what they want.

Gifts are just things, and Christmas is just a day. Nothing magical about it. I am simply not going to be made to feel guilty because I didn't give someone a "thing" on a certain day.

That would have been Christmas of 2004. I did, later in the year, give Elaine an “Americana” gift to match her bathroom decor. Does it make me a bad person, because I gave the gift on a day other than December 25? Does a gift mean less because it was given on one day rather than another? It shouldn’t.

Hmmm... Whose idea was it to give her a shower for getting custody of her grandsons, this past spring on Mother's Day? Oh yeah, that was me. Now THAT is something to celebrate. I wanted to show how happy I was for her. I wanted the family to come together to show their support for such a big event -- and finally getting custody of the boys IS a big event. I didn't even get to go to the shower. Just the same, I was thrilled for her & her husband, and in my opinion, putting time and thought into an event shows a lot more concern and consideration for a person than spending money on a physical thing.

I wish for others to treat me the same way.

Here's an email I sent to Elaine after Christmas, explaining my thoughts:

Again, sorry everything is late. I'm still not feeling the best, and am finally convinced I should see a doctor. I'm not big on going to doctors, if I can help it, but I've had this chest cough for about 2 months. And, we're supposed to get more snow today.

This time of year is so stressful. Whose bright idea was it to pick this day in the middle of winter -- which, as we know, wasn't even Christ's birthday in the first place -- when weather is generally bad and sickness is generally rampant, to wear ourselves out going from crowded, noisy store to crowded, noisy store so we can buy "things" to give on this arbitrary day, and if we don't, we're bad people?

Here is my opinion: it's just a day, and a gift is just a thing. What's important (to me anyway) is the THOUGHT or FEELING behind the giving. I don't want any of you to ever feel you "have" to get me something just because it's my birthday, or Christmas, or Mother's Day, or whatever. An email or card will suffice. I'm not into "things" or "days," I'm much more interested in the thought or the effort. I wouldn't want anyone wearing themselves out just to meet some man-made deadline. Take care of yourselves and your families first!! There is just nothing I want or need that badly!

I guess I'm up on my soapbox this morning. Christmas can be a lot of fun: the music, the decorations, the parties. But I think we (as a society) put way too much pressure on ourselves. We put way too much importance on what I think are the wrong things. How 'bout if one year we don't buy any gifts at all, and spend our money and time doing something charitable?

An Uneventful Christmas

2009-09-02T13:44:00.005-05:00

December 25, 2007

A year ago on Christmas Day 2006 I was reading the book The Thorn Birds. This Christmas Joe gave me the 4-DVD set so I stayed home and watched the movie. I get so lost in the story, it is so romantic and passionate and epic! I remember how reading the book fulfilled my need for passion. That was, of course, before I met Joe. And almost ever since he met me, he’s known I’ve wanted the DVD. Well, he found it. My hero!

Joe stayed with his mother last night, so I watched Parts 1&2 of the movie alone. I awoke at 5:00 this Christmas morning, with the usual problem of coughing and being congested and barely able to breathe, but surprisingly I didn't fall back asleep. Instead I stayed up and watched Part 3. I took time to get a shower, straighten up the livingroom, and cook pancakes before Nathan and his dad came over at 9:00 to open gifts.

They were gone by 10:00. It was a quiet event, not nearly as exciting as opening gifts yesterday with Joe. December 24 is his birthday (he’s 45) so we exchanged gifts with him yesterday. Mike and Nathan had to go back home; Granny was apparently fixing lunch/dinner for them all. That’s fine with me; I got a quiet afternoon to myself!

Joe had Christmas dinner at his step-brother's home. I probably should have gone so I could meet more of his extended family, but I just didn’t feel like getting out and being around people. Instead I curled up with the warm, fuzzy blanket Fern got for me, and watched The Thorn Birds. Even the movie was passionate, nearly as much as the book. I had wanted to watch it with Joe and share the romance with him, but of course, he needs to spend time with his family too.

A Storm of a Different Kind

2009-09-02T13:34:00.003-05:00

December 18, 2007

My cough is better, but I woke up at 4:00 a.m. with congestion and a sore throat. Won’t the fates just leave me alone?! It’s like a storm coming in, I can just feel it. You know how you can see a storm coming in, dark clouds looming on the horizon, the air is thick and you can taste the coming rain? That’s just how I feel. I can feel the cold swirling around in my head, not quite settled in yet. But I know it’s going to hit by tomorrow.

Joe is coming over tonight; I’m glad, because my Christmas lights need fixed! He wasn’t quite finished putting them up when the ice storm hit, and the ice and wind knocked some of the lights out of place. Last night he stayed with his mom; she’s feeling lonesome and a little down, he says. She’s widowed and Joe’s her only family, as far as I know. While her power was out (which it was for 5 days) he stayed with her, keeping the house warm and lighted, and taking her out to eat and basically seeing to it that she was taken care of (like a good son should).

I didn’t feel like staying home in spite of my oncoming cold, or sinus infection, or whatever it is. I felt well enough to go sit at my desk rather than sit on the couch watching TV. At lunch Pamela gave me a Theraflu that she had. I drank that, and I feel right as rain now. Oh, it made me a little drowsy. But I feel almost good as new. Maybe I should take my mom's age-old advice and gargle with hot salt water.

Ice Storm

2009-09-02T13:18:00.002-05:00

December 11, 2007

The office was closed yesterday due to the ice storm, and Yukon Schools have been closed today and yesterday. I was doing fine at the house, up until last night about 9:30. I had heat, power, and food, when suddenly the power went out. Thank goodness for that cell phone! Also thank goodness for a small battery-powered radio of Nathan’s.

I lit several candles and found a few games to play on my cell phone. I went to bed about 10:30, and slept fine until about 4:30 when I woke up coughing and hacking. I had to get up to eat and take some of that generic mucinex – cough suppressant and expectorant. I was wide awake, of course, so I read a few chapters of Moby Dick by flashlight.

I was planning to curl up and get some more sleep, but I called in to the employee message line at work, and found that the office is open and we’re scheduled to work today. Boo! So, I got a shower by candlelight – I guess my hot water tank still had enough hot water in it for another shower. Thing is, though, I had no way to dry my hair!

I had a couple bowls of cereal for breakfast, then packed up my straightening iron and curling iron for work, along with lunch, and headed out. My car was parked in the garage to keep it from the ice, and of course the garage door operates by electric. How was I going to open the garage door and get to work? No worries; I figured out how to use the manual release. The builder told me about it when I first moved into the house, but this is the first time I’ve had to use it.

The drive down 39th Street was uneventful. I chose not to take I-40 because it can be so unpredictable, especially in bad weather. The work day has been as normal, except that people are dressed down for the weather (not to mention lack of electricity which means no showers).

It was raining this morning (as it has been most of the day), so the temp must be above 32°. I’ve tried calling my home phone a few times, but the message machine isn’t picking up so I guess the power hasn’t come back on yet. It is going to be so COLD when I get home. My poor cat is probably wondering what’s going on. She has knocked down a ball (Christmas ornament) from our tree and was playing with it like a cat-toy this morning. It was so cute!

I emailed my folks yesterday (while I still had power) and sent them pictures of my plants covered with ice, to let them know what’s going on and that we were fine. My brother David called this morning to check on us. Oklahoma City made the national news! It’s the worst ice storm in the state’s history. It’s in the 70s in Georgia. They better enjoy their nice weather; this storm will move east and they’ll be cold before too long!

I’m not worried much, about being cold or out of electricity or whatever. It’ll only be for a few days, and I’ve been through this sort of thing before. Plus, it’s not much different from camping. But you know, of all the camping equipment I have, I don’t have a cookstove or anything like that! We always just build a fire, when we camp. That’s what I need to get – some more camping equipment. Such as, an air mattress or two. And a set of binoculars (an inexpensive set, not like the kind my dad had). And a cookstove or something at least to heat water on.

My Parents as People

2009-08-31T13:18:00.001-05:00

November 26, 2007

Nathan and I returned from our somewhat-annual pilgrimage to Georgia last night about 6:30. I grew up in Georgia and most of my family still lives there. I was so grateful to have Joe at home when I got here, someone to come home to after a long, harrowing drive. He house-sat while I was gone, feeding the cat, getting the mail, keeping the house warm, even installing high-speed internet. And last night he picked up dinner for us at Rib Crib. It was so, so nice to come home to all that rather than, OK, here we are, too tired to unpack or eat.

Nathan and I had a wonderful time while on vacation. One task I set out to accomplish was copying some of Mom’s old pictures, pictures of her & Dad “way back when.” I copied some of Dad’s Air Force pictures and later on when I had the chance, I asked him if he could remember how old he was or about what year they were taken. Well, what do you know, he got so interested in old pictures that he got out Grandma Hedden’s old pictures, some of which date back to the 1920s, 1930s, & 1940s. It was so fun and so interesting; in fact I don’t know when I’ve seen him so happy about ANYTHING (not only that, but I also think that’s the longest amount of time I’ve spent one-on-one with him, EVER in my life).

Mom said he was feeling so much better since his visit to Emory. Hospital in Atlanta, that is. A few years back he when he was hospitalized for severe bleeding that wouldn’t stop, he was told by the doctors that his blood has Factor 8 (clotting agent) but inhibitors kept it from working. This time though, they said he DIDN’T have the inhibitors, and therefore he could receive Factor 8 artificially. Also his Doctor (a lady, I don’t remember her name) is doing a study on hemophiliac patients, and he agreed to be part of the study. So he felt much better, as anyone would, receiving some hope finally.

The pictures of my dad in the Air Force were taken at Lackland AFB in San Antonio in the mid 1950s. He had to have all his teeth removed to get dentures, and he almost bled to death. That's when he discovered he was a bleeder. He was honorably discharged after only 3 months of service.

He and my mom met a few years later in 1957 in Cleveland, OH. My mom was hanging out with her roomate, Victoria, and my dad showed up with his buddy too. That is pretty much all I know about their first meeting, except that my mom loved living on her own in Cleveland, and can still, 50 years later, describe the streets and buildings and sights in detail.

When I looked thru Mom’s pictures, by contrast she was all sad and depressed and full of bad memories. I asked her if she had good memories of ANYTHING, and she said No. That’s too bad, and I feel for her, but Let me have this! Let me enjoy getting to know my parents as PEOPLE and not just as the folks that raised me.

Another task I accomplished during our visit was trekking up to Murphy, NC, to see the house. The house my dad grew up in, that is. It’s not really his house; his only surviving brother and sister, my aunt and uncle, actually own the property now. I visited it countless times as a child, and specifically remember a family reunion there when I was about 12 years old.

And it's still there. Daddy told me later, that his Grandma Hedden’s dad, the Evans’, got the land in the Land Lottery when President Jackson expelled the Cherokees to the West in the infamous Trail of Tears. That was 1838. Wow, it’s been in the family ever since.

Missing Mom

2009-08-28T17:23:00.000-05:00

November 7, 2007

Last night I got a call from Nathan’s science teacher, Mrs. Roberts. She was concerned not just about Nathan getting his work in late (which is nothing new), but the work he is doing is vague and disconnected. Like he’s not even trying. I had noticed that his work has been a very poor quality lately.

I got him to talking, in a roundabout way, and I believe he’s missing Mom. Feeling left out. I had wondered if it was because Joe is spending so much time with us now, but I don’t think it has anything to do with him per se. I think he just wants more time with Mom. Weird, I had thought that since he’s getting older and pushing me away, that he DIDN’T want much time with me. Turns out to be the opposite.

Monday night we did his math homework together, after which I had him choose Charlotte’s Web or The Trumpet of the Swan, and read a chapter. He needs to read more. He’s so far behind in his reading class. Last night I had him read a chapter, then I wanted him to begin a journal. He designed a car then labeled the parts. Well, that’s something. Some sort of creative expression.

He asked me to read to him as he fell asleep. He hasn’t asked me to do that in ages. Up until he was 8, I’d give him his bath then read to him. Then sometimes he’d ask me to read him a chapter at bedtime. That slacked off, and now I remember that I was always “too tired.” Well, I’ll just have to start back doing that. We’d read about Ramona Quimby, Junie B. Jones, Bionicles, and Jack & Annie and the Magic Treehouse. I read a book we got from the CBOMC (Children's Book of the Month Club), The Incredible Journey of Edward Tulane, I believe was the name. It's about a toy bunny that gets lost from his owner, a little girl, and is tossed here and there and there and here, until he finally finds a home with a new little girl. I read the whole thing to myself last night, then read a chapter to him. I can start reading him a chapter every night.

Both nights, I kept the TV off. Quiet time. We need to have more quiet time.

Conversations with The Girls

2009-08-28T13:38:00.001-05:00

November 6, 2007

Occasionally I meet girlfriends for lunch, or dinner and a show. Most of my girlfriends are the strong, professional, independent-minded type, much like myself. The conversations can get interesting. And, having 40 years of life-experience behind me, I generally have a unique perspective on these conversations.

I met Rebecca and Kate for lunch today at the Magnolia Café. I had a Magnolia Burger – yum, it was a different sort of burger and was very good. Made of very lean meat on focaccia bread, the burger was topped with a slice of provolone cheese, a slice or two of roasted tomato, and spring mix (instead of lettuce). It may have also had a sauce, but I don’t recall it. Very different; I would definitely try it again.

Anyway, Rebecca mentioned that someone she met on a recent vacation had said that the average credit card debt per person is $75,000. I think she heard wrong; $75,000 is a bit extreme. I’ve heard $7,500. I don’t even remember now what prompted the conversation. Kate said she’d heard it was $8,000, “which is more believable,” she said, “but still incomprehensible.”

I said, Oh no it’s not. Not as much as you think. She said that even with a $1,000 balance, just look at the finance charges. They both went on to state emphatically how that finance charges are simply unacceptable and that they keep their balances paid off. I thought, a body is lucky if they can do that and not get caught in a trap beyond his control. Many people do get caught in things out of their control. I have heard several times of frugal, responsible people who divorce a not-so-frugal-and-responsible spouse and are forced to take the liability for half the spouse's debt. Joe, for instance.

Besides, not everyone who has a credit card balance uses credit for unnecessary wants. I have been guilty myself, of carrying waaayy too much credit card debt. I can't blame anyone but myself, but in all honesty there were times after I separated and moved out on my own, that we would not have had groceries in the apartment if I didn't buy some with my credit card. It was a tough time, going from splitting rent and utilities with my husband, to paying for everything on my own with no corresponding increase in salary.

My point is, don't judge people, because you don't know their circumstances.

Here's another trip but with a different topic of conversation, On a recent girlie-trip to Tulsa to see the Ballet one Sunday, Rebecca asked each of us if we could choose one age in our life to stay forever, what would it be. And it had to be that age as it was then, not “knowing what I know now.” I couldn’t answer that one.

I have the feeling that Rebecca has never really endured many trials in her life and has never been truly unhappy. I, on the other hand, couldn’t think of any age I would go back to, as it was at the time. I can’t think of one age where I was truly HAPPY. I mean, before my 40s. And, I’ve learned so many things and grown so much just in the past ten years: getting my accounting degree and becoming a CPA, buying a house, leaving an unhappy marriage, dating again… I’d never want to go back to being naïve like I was [in the beforetime]. I certainly would not choose any period in my life from about age 25 forward, to live forever.

After giving it a lot of thought, I’d have to say 8 or 10, or maybe younger. Definitely before the teen years, before I knew what depression and unhappiness were. Before I knew what peer pressure was. Before I realized that I was different and not as attractive as the other girls. Before I came to the knowledge that other girls had nicer clothes. Before I discovered that boys liked only the pretty girls who wore those nicer clothes. Before I found out that other girls went to parties that I didn't get invited to. Before I knew enough to feel lonely, left out, unloved, insecure.

My second choice would have to be my early years at college, about age 19-20. Those were fun times; I met lots of new people and made lots of new friends, some I hoped would last a lifetime. Life was just beginning to open up to me and I found out that there is a whole world of opportunities out there just waiting to be experienced. But even so, I would never want to go back to being who I was then. I had overcome a lot of my shyness but I was still very insecure and had a lot of emotional maturity to learn.

With age has come much wisdom. This is 40 in Real Life.

Halloween and Religion

2009-08-27T14:18:00.000-05:00

October 19, 2007

I can't believe it's nearly Halloween already! Our department at work is going to do "Alice in Wonderland." Fun idea, but it's been so long since I've even seen that movie, I can hardly remember any of the details. Debra and I are going to be Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Kathryn is going to be the Rabbit, Pamela is dressing as Alice, and Louise wants to be the Mad Hatter. If the guys will consent we want to dress them up as playing cards.

Joe and I are going to a Halloween party Friday the 26th, and I think I might try to do Evan Almighty. I'd just need a man's suit from the thrift store, fake hair and beard, white paint for bird poop, and pairs of little plastic animals hot-glued to the suit. It's an idea, anyway. Nathan says he just wants to give out candy this year. I think that's a good idea; we never eat all the candy he gets anyway! We still have a bowlful left over from last year and probably most of it needs thrown out.

We got into a discussion last night -- and I thought I'd told him all this already -- about how I and my siblings never had Christmas, birthday parties, trick-or-treating, even Easter. We started out talking about childhood toys (the earliest toys I remember were my teddy bear named Georgie Porgie, and my dolly named Thumbkins), then I said how my mother made those stuffed animals for us when we were young: Timothy, a purple elephant with yellow ears; Wanda, a red elephant with pink ears; me, Tuffy the Tooth; Sabrina & Melissa, that yellow giraffe they called "Mr. Mooney."

I said that she was quite creative in her day; she made curtains for that bookcase that we fashioned from an old dresser. She made appliqués from cookie-cutters and stitched them to the curtains. "Stars, hearts, gingerbread men, bells," I began, and Joe mentioned "Christmas trees..." I said, "Oh, no. We had nothing to do with Christmas trees. Those were PAGAN."

That's how the whole conversation started. He was dumbfounded with disbelief. "Really? REALLY? Wow. " he'd say. I told him we kept the Passover and the feasts and the holy days outlined in the Old Testament. So then he thought that we disregarded the New Testament. No, I said, we believed that even the NT Christians kept the OT holy days (at least that's how I understood it).

We talk pretty openly about religion. He asked me what I thought of his mom's church. It's a Baptist church; we went a couple months ago for the "going away" service/dinner for their pastor of 7 years. It was a small congregation, maybe 50-75 people, and it was mostly elderly people; not many teens or young couples with children. So that's what I said: "Seems like it's mostly elderly people that go to church anymore." His response: "They're studying for the Final Exam." Haha, how witty.

Past the Honeymoon Stage

2009-08-27T14:03:00.000-05:00

October 15, 2007

Friday Joe and I went to our friend Sam's 40th birthday party, at the American Legion Hall in Edmond. It was fun – lots of food, all the friends, we even had karaoke. I got to feeling a little crowded in, which I should have expected. I can't stand to be around a lot of people, I get claustrophobic in crowds.

But also, I was frustrated that Joe was sitting so close to me that I could hardly move my chair back to get up when I needed to. He can be a tad clingy. I wanted to tell him to “scoot over!!” But I didn’t want to be rude, especially in front of so many people. He kept saying, Are you OK, do you want this, do you need that. And I just wanted him to leave me alone and quit babying me.

It’s in his nature to be a caretaker, and most of the time I love and need the attention. But sometimes it drives me nuts how he feels he has to come to my rescue every time he hears a peep from me. I am not helpless. I am a grown woman! Then finally I just had to go outside and be by myself. Wouldn’t you know it, he followed me out there. He needs to be needed. And I need breathing space.

So I think I’m moving past the honeymoon stage. Don’t know about him, but my attitude is changing. I’m getting to where I don’t want him around as much. Doesn’t mean I don’t love him, just means times are changing. When I said Nathan and I would be driving out to Georgia to visit my relatives for Thanksgiving, his response was, "What am I going to do without you for a week?” And I’m like, get over it. You’re a grownup. I'm not your entertainment coordinator.

Am I growing out of him already? Sure as the world, I’m not compromising my standards or changing my values in life for him. But – it’s still early. I've known him for a mere six months. I can’t look at only what I want to see, I have to see what’s really there. And that takes time.

Competing with 4 Other Women

2009-08-27T13:44:00.000-05:00

October 3, 2007

Good news, Joe gets his LES’s tomorrow. Those are basically his pay stubs from the military. His ex-wife (his first one, that is) is trying to claim child support from BEFORE they were even divorced. He paid support from the divorce up until 1997, when she “disappeared off the face of the earth,” as he puts it.

In June of this year he located her & their daughter, and thought everything was going just fine, until she slapped him with nearly 10 years of back-child support. He’s fighting it. At this point he’s not even sure the daughter is his. He said they were together 4 weeks out of 5 years of marriage, and that she conceived almost as soon as they were married. He said she sure got pregnant awfully fast, for them not being together any more than they were.

They married in Oklahoma, and she refused to move to San Diego with him. She wanted to stay near her mother. She never even made a trip to visit him. So anyway, he’s wanting a DNA test. The social worker said that paternity’s already been established, but I’d like to know how. A name on a birth certificate doesn’t mean anything. [We found out later that according to Oklahoma law, if a child is born within wedlock, then said child is YOURS, regardless of who the biological parents are.]

What if he does wind up paying thousands in back-support? I mean, what about us? He’s already paying $900 a month to his other ex-wife for child support. I was shocked, as it is, to find out he'd been married TWICE. He’s staying with his mother, doesn’t have a home of his own, and I’m sure he helps her out (his stepmother too) financially (as a good son should).

So, no way am I supporting a guy who’s already supporting 4 other women. I’d love for him to live at my house, one day in the future. But I can’t depend on how much he’d be able to contribute to the joint finances. This is maddening. I’m getting to a point where I’m ready to begin merging our lives. But that may not be a possibility.

And what about the moms? They are both widowed and depend on him being there, being the “man of the house.” I asked him last night if they were jealous of the new woman in his life. “A skosh,” he said, which is a colloquialism for "a tad." It's hard for me to comprehend a woman in her 60s depending on her son so much that she is jealous of his new girlfriend.

But then, he is his mom’s only son and practically his stepmom’s only kid who helps her out and gives her any respect. I come from a family of 6 kids, and we each have our own lives. Plus, my mom learned long ago to be independent and “get things done” herself. Myself as well, I’m used to doing everything myself.

It’s hard for me to comprehend a woman who isn’t capable of doing things herself. But then again, Joe's mom and stepmom are of a different generation, one where the man generally “takes care” of things. Anyway, you’d think they’d be happy that he’s met a good woman who loves him dearly and has a good head on her shoulders – not like his ex-wives.

What's Going On Out There

2009-08-27T13:37:00.000-05:00

September 26, 2007

Sure, I won't deny it. I spend quite a bit of time on the internet at work, during my down-time. Most of what I read relates to work, careers, the economy, the business world – I think it makes me a better employee because it keeps me abreast of what’s going on “out there.” And who knows when I’m going to stumble on an idea or concept that could have an impact on our department or our business?

I just read an article on Gen Y’ers – I’ve read many of them; I enjoy pondering on the world my son will one day enter. I enjoy studying the different attitudes the different generations have. According to what I’ve read, Generation Y expects their parents to be involved in every part of their life – including recruiting and job interviews. I think that’s crazy. A generation of people who can’t make decisions without mommie or daddie.

Many from my generation (Gen X) are the same way. And the parents let them. I get it, the parents don’t want their kids to go thru the hardships they did. I feel the same way about Nathan. I want to take what opportunity I can to prepare him for adulthood. But, that includes encouraging him to take responsibility for himself and his actions, and to learn to “deal” without my holding his hand. Let him make his own decisions and be responsible for the outcome.

"Gotta Have A Man" Syndrome

2009-08-27T13:22:00.000-05:00

Later, same day

I was reading “Single in the Suburbs” on MSN.com again today. It's a feature-blog about this 40-something divorced lady trying to get back into the dating game after 20 years of marriage. I wonder how much of it is actually true, and how much is just story-telling. Because, if what she says is actually true, that woman is a LOS – ER!

She’s upset that her ex-husband’s life insurance premium is still coming out of her checking account, and she called him to make a deposit to cover it AND the overdraft fee. I agree with that. But he’s arguing with her saying she should have a “cushion” so that she wouldn't have to worry about the occasional expense that will come up.

She said that when she was married she never had to check her bank balance and had no problem at all writing checks for big-ticket items because her husband always kept a healthy cushion in their account. She’d always heard of people living paycheck to paycheck but never thought she’d be one of them. She’s complaining that she can no longer afford a housekeeper and has to do all the house cleaning herself; she can no longer afford to get her nails done; and I don’t remember what else. Well, welcome to the real world!

I am betting that very few average, normal, everyday 40-something moms (single or otherwise) have such luxuries. Most of us have to carefully budget our expenses to make sure our money lasts. And what's wrong with doing your own nails? Why not clean your own house and even *gasp!* have your teenage daughter help? No, she just wants a man around to support her so that she won't have to worry about such trivialities.

In one post she was considering pursuing a man she wasn't even attracted to, for no other reason than that he had a lot of money and he'd be able to take care of her financially. Respect yourself, girlfriend!

Makes me want to write my own “single” column, from someone dealing with REAL issues. This woman symbolizes the epitome of the “gotta have a man” syndrome that permeates single-woman society these days. She’s sacrificing her self-respect just to have a man in her life, because she doesn’t know how to live without one. I have little respect for a woman like that.

Eating Out

2009-08-27T13:10:00.001-05:00

September 25, 2007

One day last week Joe and I tried Primo’s, a new restaurant in Yukon. An Italian place. Although the service wasn’t that great, the food was quite good. We had the complimentary bread with olive oil & balsamic vinegar with our pre-dinner drinks. I couldn’t resist ordering the bruschetta for an appetizer. It’s one of my favorite dishes no matter where I go. We both ordered prime rib for our entrees, which came with mashed potatoes – red potatoes, smashed up. They weren’t creamy as with milk and butter, but were dry as if they’d been steamed then simply taken out of the pot, mashed up, and put on a plate – the way I like them. I mixed some of my horseradish sauce in them, and they were quite tasty.

Joe is so spoiling me. He says that’s his job! Isn’t that what a boyfriend’s supposed to do, he once asked? I said I didn’t know. I haven’t had many boyfriends who are worth much. I’ve always craved attention – lots of it. I’ve always needed lots of deep affection, but never got it. From my parents, friends, even from my first husband. I think my deep need for attention and validation was a big reason I had such a difficult time with relationships. But Joe gives me what I need. It’s nice to have a boyfriend treat me once in a while, instead of me doing everything and paying for everything by myself.

It’s also nice to be able to eat at nice places and actually enjoy the menu. Growing up, we “ate out” at the Waffle House and the local Truck Stop. At home, my mother fixed the same foods over and over, out of necessity. She didn't get much chance to try new recipes. My father liked only particular foods and she had to fix what he liked. That was just the way it was.

Still, we got to enjoy eating out at the convention we attended with our church each year. But even then I remember having to always stick with the basics, the plainer and less-expensive foods because we “couldn’t afford” the good stuff. You know, the better, tastier, snazzier menu items. There were always so many things on the menu I wanted to order, but I had to keep my expenditures within a budget. Now, with Joe spoiling me so much, it’s hard NOT to eat what I want when I can. And it’s showing.

As Summer Ends

2009-08-26T22:22:00.001-05:00

To Be a Writer

2009-08-26T22:15:00.000-05:00

August 27, 2007

Yes! I want to be a writer. Years ago in my late teens or early twenties, before I chose accounting as a career, I sort of halfway checked into freelance writing. I don’t think I would have been very successful at that time – I didn’t have the experience or insights that I have now. Also I didn’t have the confidence. But now… I got on the internet to find out what I could about freelance writing jobs. Here’s what I found:

Advantages and disadvantages of freelance writing. Of course the main advantage is that you can work when you want and set your own schedule and not be locked into an 8-5 workday, but conversely the main disadvantage is that the work isn’t steady and you don’t have the comfort of paid vacations and health plans.

Top 5 personality traits of freelance writers: Loner. I’ve been a loner all my life! And love it. Self-motivated. I’ve always been self-motivated, no one has to tell me how to reach my goals. Doggedly determined? I’m a CPA, aren’t I? Mental multi-tasker. I multitask all the time. Persistent. I’ve always been persistent when something is important to me.

Another list names the top 5 periodical markets for your articles. This is a great place to start. The more I read, the more information I’d get in my head, and the more opinions and subjects I could expound on. And you know, if people will watch those sappy reality shows, or read the garbage the tabloids write, or heck, if Sara Katz can have her own column on MSN Dating & Personals (her stuff is no better than anything of mine), I KNOW people will read my work.

41 and Contemplating a Career Turn

2009-08-26T21:55:00.002-05:00

August 9, 2007

Friday is my birthday; I’ll be 41. Nathan, Joe, and I have tickets to see Once on This Island at the Civic Center. For dinner I want to try Cheeseburger in Paradise up on Memorial Road. I didn’t realize this (although I should have) but it’s owned by Jimmy Buffet. I found their website on the internet and printed out a menu…it looks like such a fun place to visit. I thought it would fit in nicely with the “island” theme. We should all dress tropical for the evening. Normally for the Civic Center I like to dress a little more formally, but this time I’d like to dress for the theme. And I definitely should take the camera and get a few pictures of all of us with the tropical background.

We spent the weekend in Broken Bow, camping and canoeing the Lower Mountain Fork. It was a good trip overall, but I’m glad it’s over. That canoeing for 9 miles wears your arms out. Not even to mention the sun…it’s wise to keep lots of high-power sunscreen handy. We did see lots of wildlife; a raccoon visited our campsite Friday evening. Joe fought a water moccasin from our canoe Saturday near the end of the trip. I’d like to camp out again sometime when we aren’t on a schedule, and just spend the evenings by the campfire.

I think my career needs a change of pace. What I'd really like to do is write, but I'd like to combine that with the nearly-20 years I've spent in the accounting business. I could submit something to CPA Focus, a bi-monthly publication from the Oklahoma Society of CPAs. Something on Statutory Accounting – a primer, maybe, on basic GAAP vs. STAT concepts. Statutory accounting is a niche-market and it's nearly impossible to find literature on the subject. Or, issues facing the industry. Impairments, that is, impaired securities? That’s a hot topic in our office right now, with all the volatility in the stock market. Reinsurance? Or even a bit about a general business-related topic, something applicable to anyone and not just accountants.

A good starting point would be to begin reading up on magazines and current events, mainly the business news. Wall Street plunged 400 points today. Fuel prices have skyrocketed in the past year or so, but have actually dropped recently to $2.50 per gallon for unleaded. Now milk – it’s up to $4 a gallon!! That’s outrageous! The mortgage market is dimming; people aren’t buying as many houses as they were a few years ago.

One idea is to submit a piece our trip to Minneapolis for the IASA Conference, to our company's monthly newsletter. Another is one I have personal experience in, and that is an article on working-mom CPAs. Then I could do a follow-up of working-dad CPAs. I need to keep my eyes and ears and mind open to ideas on what to write about. They could come from anywhere.

Reassessment

2009-08-26T17:04:00.002-05:00

July 26, 2007

My 40th birthday brought with it a trip to Philadelphia to see Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, and then to a small town in northwestern Pennsylvania called Titusville to visit my mother's relatives.

It also brought with it a whole new change of mind and attitude! Priorities have been reassessed. I look back to things I wish I'd done differently in my younger years, and, knowing the past can't be changed, I look ahead to how I can make the most of the next 40 years. I wonder where old friends are and wish I'd taken the time to be a better friend to them. I wish I hadn't been in such a hurry to get married the first time. I wonder what my life would be like had I not moved to Oklahoma 13 years ago!

I think about the career path I chose nearly 20 years ago, that of an accountant. I don't regret it; in fact I enjoy it very much. But after 9 months at my current employer, my thoughts move to, "Is this all there is?" I feel I’m not really contributing much anymore. My company is a workers' compensation provider for the State of Oklahoma -- an insurance company. The job is a natural extension of my previous job, accounting for an insurance agency who also manages various insurance companies. After more than 5 years there, there was just not enough work on a CPA level for me to do.

So for the first 6 months at my current job, I was so enthusiastic and thrilled to be here. I wanted to accomplish and contribute so much. I couldn't wait to parlay my experience and skill set into an exciting new job (not to mention, to impress my new boss with what I could do!). But the new has worn off. It all seems so routine now. That’s how I came to feel at my old job. How can I make more meaningful contributions to this insurance company?

Pamela, our new administrative assistant, has lunch in the breakroom (unlike anyone else in the department except myself) so she and I got to talking. She’s only been here a couple weeks but near as I can tell, she’s recently out of college so she’s maybe 25 or younger. She’s got a boyfriend in the Armed Forces. She recently moved over from Santa Fe and has an apartment on the west side of town. She’s a psych major…and we got to talking about drugs and learning behaviors and personality differences and children and school and eventually board games. She likes to read, and thought about majoring in English but what the heck can one do with an English degree. She likes to write and has so many interests. I feel like we have a lot in common, on an academic level. She’s at the age where anything is possible and the roller coaster that life can be hasn’t come her way yet. I remember being young with my whole life to look forward to.

But in just talking to her I remembered how much I once loved school and education and learning. Suddenly I felt so ordinary, working a desk job when so many thoughts and ambitions permeate my mind continually. I mean, I like accounting and I have to make a living. But, if I’d been able to go to college and be a student in my 20s in the traditional manner, how much more could I have done or accomplished? I always had so many interests and ideas and things I wanted to do and learn.

I wasn’t of the sort of family where my parents could or would support me while I figured myself out. I had to buy a car and earn a living. All I thought about was wanting to get married; I always thought Mr. Right would “rescue” me one day and I’d have someone to support me. It took a while for it to occur to me to map out my own life instead of waiting for someone to do it for me. I figured life out the hard way. That’s OK, in retrospect; I’ve learned so many valuable lessons along the way.

All this has brought me to reassess what I'm doing with the life I've been given. Maybe I could take some French classes and expand on the basic bits of the language I learned in high school. Perhaps I could take piano lessons and learn to actually play rather than just pick out notes. I would love to work with young children in some way.

Opportunities are everywhere. I’ve got so much more to offer than I ever gave myself credit for. Life is about so much more than earning a living and paying bills.

Spoiling Me

2009-08-26T14:11:00.002-05:00

July 20, 2007

I realized how stupid and childish I was being, and got over being angry. In a way I’d hoped he’d come over and spend the night Friday, and stay for breakfast on the patio Saturday morning. But as the day wore on I thought how it was OK that he didn’t come over, that I had some quiet time to myself. Nathan's Dad brought him over about 11:30 and we went about our day as usual. I pulled weeds by the back fence and planted 2 of the azaleas I bought before going to Minneapolis. Later in the evening I had Nathan help pull weeds while I trimmed the grass around the patio.

Finally I called Joe about 9:30 at night…he’d worked in concessions at the swap meet all day, in the heat (it was in the 90s and very humid), and poor cabana boy was zonked out. He did come over Sunday to go with me to Lowe’s to pick out a storm door. He was going to install it for me, but I had to special order the color I wanted, so it’ll be 2 weeks before it gets here.

We ate at Rib Crib … he made me laugh so much all weekend! He has all these stories to tell from his service in the Navy, plus we have so much fun together anyway. I don’t know when I’ve had such a good time with someone. After dinner we drove down to Earlywine Park on SW 119th for a Twilight Concert, but not before stopping at the sno-cone stand. I got a pina colada. Good taste, but too sweet and syrupy. Ran into our friend Bill at the concert. We didn’t get there until about 7:30, so we didn’t get to sit and enjoy the music for long (it ended by 8:30).

Joe came over again Wednesday after bowling. I had called him a little after 8:00 when he was on the 2nd frame of his 4th game, and I asked him how many errands did he have to run before coming over. I wanted have a realistic idea of what time I could expect him, so as not to be disappointed this time. He said none, he has cleared his schedule for the evening. He got there about 9:30, and after a dinner of chicken teriyaki he rubbed my back and shoulders. I was beginning to get a tension headache from being so tense and tired.

Today when he called at work (he generally calls during his lunch, between 11:30 and 12:00, and sometimes at his morning or afternoon break) I jokingly asked, “When are you going to come mow my lawn?!” I said I was just kidding; he’s gotten me spoiled. He said he likes spoiling me, but I reminded him that he took care of his ex-wife for 6 years and now he’s taking care of 2 moms, and I refuse to be another person for him to take care of. After all, I've lived on my own and supported myself for 5 years. He said that I spoil him too; and I responded that I just try to treat him as well as I’d like to be treated.

Tea and Cookies and Disappointment

2009-08-26T13:51:00.001-05:00

July 12, 2007

Joe & his mom served me up tea and cookies. Fern is a very nice lady; the quintessential kind, gracious “mom.” Spending most of her adult life working in restaurants and waiting tables has taken its toll on her knees, and even at the not-old age of 64 she requires a walker to get around. Raised Catholic, she teaches a Sunday School class at a Baptist Church now, and is a faithful Christian lady to this day. She was adopted; her parents couldn't have children so they were older when they got her. Her dad had wanted a girl and her mom had wanted a boy; dad won out and one day back in the 1940s they came home with little Fern.

The three of us made conversation for a while after which Joe and I did some makin’ out in the kitchen. It was fun. Like being a teenager again! I kept worrying his mom would walk in. But hey, he’s 44, I guess her boy can do what he wants.

I stayed later than I should have (after all, it was a work night) and finally got home about 11:30. We’d talked about him coming over the next day after I got home from work, since Nathan is with Dad this week and neither of us had other plans. He gets off work about 3:30 and said he had some errands to do, but would probably have them done by the time I got home at 6:00. Cool, I thought, tomorrow evening we can pick up where we left off tonight.

I almost expected Joe to already be there when I got home Thursday. He wasn’t, so I called him to let him know I was home now and he could come over anytime. He said something about having to get “motivated.” Motivated? You’ve got a girlfriend over here just waiting for you to run your hands all over her body, and you need more motivation than that? I thought. At any rate, I expected him to be over in about 30 minutes; certainly within an hour.

I waited for 2 hours. TWO HOURS. Finally I called to see if everything was alright, and by the time he got to my door, I’d lost interest in even seeing him. Oh, he had to take something to his stepmom or pick up something for her or something. But he never apologized or acted like he was sorry for making me wait. Oh, and of course he smelled like nicotine. I have known since that night at Crabtown that he was a smoker, but he said he was "trying to quit." Besides, he knows my feelings about smoking. One of my first rules when we began dating was that he was to never smoke at my house and never around myself or Nathan.

I felt as if he didn’t really want to see me. I felt neglected. I tried acting pitiful, saying, “I thought you forgot about me.” No response. Later I tried a more direct approach: “It really upset me that it took you so long to get here.” Apparently the point still did not get across! When he asked me if I was going to miss him the next day or would I be too involved in work, I hesitantly replied, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’re going to miss me?” he said.

“Well, I missed you today then it took you 2 hours to get here,” was my response. It takes me a while to get my thoughts together and figure out what to say. But what I need to say is this: If you make me wait for an hour or more again without at least calling, don’t expect me to stick around.

Nevertheless we watched the 1930 version of All Quiet on the Western Front on Turner Movie Classics, and he spent the night then left for work about 5:00 in the morning. It rained pretty hard and the power blipped out about 4:00. I felt no passion or interest the whole night. I just didn’t care if he were there or not. I was so disappointed.

So tonight he’s taking Veronica (his stepmom) out for her birthday, to Olive Garden then to a movie, probably Harry Potter. Not sure why I wasn’t invited, but I’ve never met her anyway so I would probably feel out of place. So I’m meeting friends for a Happy Hour tonight, and although Joe and I talked about hooking up afterward, I may go to a party afterward. I’m not planning my life around a guy, especially one who makes me wait for 2 hours.

Old Memories

2009-08-26T13:02:00.004-05:00

July 11, 2007

I met Joe at the bowling alley again tonight for his Wednesday night bowling league (he bowled a 190 on his first game!). I got to go to his house and meet his mom afterward this time! I'd wanted to meet her last week after the league but she said she wasn't prepared for company.

Being 40 often enables -- or forces, I'm not sure which -- one to look at things much differently than you would have in the past. Joe's living arrangement with his mother is one such example. After he & his wife divorced and he retired from the Navy, he moved back to OKC from San Diego. He started a new job as a machinist for Wood Group and had planned to buy a house, but soon was hit with thousands of dollars in debt left over by his ex-wife. She is disabled and living on SSI and supporting their kids with the monthly child support she gets from Joe, so it was left up to Joe to pay off those debts. For years I have said that I wouldn't get involved with a guy who isn't financially stable (or who lives with his mother), but I've had to look at the big picture and realize that 1) he didn't create those debts, and 2) he is taking the responsibility of paying them off just as quickly as possible. Therefore rose the necessity of him staying with his 64-year-old widowed mother until he can get on his feet.

They live down in the Del City area in a small brick house in an addition that has seen better days. Joe tells me that his mom and her 3rd husband, Charlie, bought and lived there up until Charlie died in 1999. It was a nice neighborhood, he says, when they first moved in. And now it is his mother's "home" and she doesn't want to leave.

Just being in the Mid-Del area brings back so many bad memories. Well, not really bad memories, but let’s just say I’m glad I moved out of that area. After work this Wednesday evening, I drove south on Lincoln Blvd. down Reno Ave., past Scott Street and Burk Drive where my ex-husband and I lived for 7 years. Those were dark years. The marriage was not a happy one, and the area was not the nicest of neighborhoods, but I endured for as long as I could.

Eastward down Reno I drove past a closed establishment called “city beach.” At that place once stood The Landing, a fairly nice restaurant that served things like pheasant, where Mike and I tried out once upon receiving a half-off coupon in the mail. I drove past Sunnylane and the Bingo Hall where Joe and his mom go, which used to be a church, I think. I drove past the convenience store which has changed names numerous times, where I would stop at for gas or a snack before driving to UCO in Edmond in the evenings. I had begun attending the University of Central Oklahoma in 1997 during the evenings while working during the day. In 1998 and 1999 I stayed home with 2-year-old Nathan during the day before going to class at night. We didn't have much money, and those were tough times. But I was determined to complete my Accounting degree as quickly as possible.

I drove past the 7-11 at Sooner Rd. where we stopped for gas on the way home from the hospital when I broke my left knee in a hit-&-run accident. That was November of 1996, and it's amazing I remember anything at all, I was so doped up with Demerol. I drove past My Baby Resale in that little Sooner Marketplace shopping center, where I used to buy many of Nathan’s clothes when he was a baby. I remember being there about 11:00 on a Saturday morning with Nathan. It was around his naptime, and he was tired and crying and VIOLENT to the point of hitting me because I wouldn’t let him play on the toys in there. He would get that way when he hadn’t had his nap. I drove past what is now Anthony’s TV & Appliance which used to be a Kmart, and a Venture before that. I drove past the car wash I used to frequent (I could wash my car for $3 --12 quarters!) and the YMCA around whose track I would walk during the evenings.

As I neared Air Depot, suddenly Heritage Park Mall was on my left. I took Nathan on his first trick-or-treat trip there; he was 5 years old and dressed as Superman. Mike had to work that night so he missed it (some things never change). I remember eating that night at the Chick-Fil-A inside the mall. I had always gotten my hair done at the Mastercuts down the way. For a time I had a booth at the craft mall which had been fashioned out of a department store which was no longer in business. I had hoped to make a little money while I wasn't working, but the venture proved unsuccessful. One day while Christmas shopping, I ran into Hunter, a classmate from Rose State, at Waldenbooks.

I made a right turn and headed south on Air Depot Blvd. to look for a place to pick up a quick dinner before meeting Joe at the bowling alley. I passed what used to be the Winchell’s where I had picked up a box of donuts to share with the office at MBSI the day I lost my job in 1995. About a block further down was the gym, All American Fitness Center, where I would work out at in the mornings. I’d go work out before Mike and Nathan were up and take my shower there because Mike would be in the shower by the time I got home, and if I waited for him, I’d be late to work.

Finally I stopped at Subway near 15th Street, across from the old Hobby Lobby I spent so much time in. And where was that Furr’s Cafeteria we’d go to? It was somewhere back behind the Kinko’s I’d frequent to fax letters and resumes when I was job hunting, or use the computer while I was a student at UCO. And ahhh, the old Checquers restaurant. Somewhat of a sports bar, the walls were hardwood and the interior had a bit of a musty smell. I do remember they had a good mushroom & swiss burger. Mike liked that place real well; also I remember eating there before an interview I had with International Environmental near Meridian and I-40. That place was old, dark, and cramped. I'm glad they never called me back.

After having my sandwich at Subway, I turned south again on Air Depot to 15th Street. On the corner, now a CVS Pharmacy, stands what was the Eckerd Drug I’d get prescriptions from and have pictures developed at. Westward on 15th, I passed Traub Elementary where Nathan’s first t-ball team had pictures taken. Further down toward Sooner Rd. was the recovered strip of land that was blown away by the May 3, 1999 tornadoes. Of course I drove past Sooner Rose Elementary, where Nathan went to kindergarten. I wonder if he even remembers it. Just west of Sooner Road on the left was a Wal Mart Supercenter. That’s new! Certainly wasn’t there when I moved out in November 2001. Then, just before underpassing I-40, was the old Mega Market, or Beachler’s IGA, depending on what time frame you’re talking about. Lots of grocery runs were made there – it was just so much closer than Crest Foods.

Finally I reached Sunny Lanes, the bowling alley. The old memories are behind me. Now there are new memories to be made.

Fourth of July

2009-08-25T14:48:00.000-05:00

July 4, 2007

Joe, Nathan, and I went to our friends' annual 4th of July Pool Party. What a great way to spend the afternoon. We got there about 3:00, and Nathan immediately jumped in the pool. He looks forward to this all year. He stayed there all day except to eat and late in the evening, to play ping pong. I introduced Joe around; a few times, I was asked where we met, so I got to tell the speed-dating story.

When we got home that night (we left about 9:15), he said my friends are cool (of course!) and they were probably wondering what this tattooed rebel-guy was doing there with me. I said that they’re my friends, and he’s my friend, and if they don’t accept him that’s their own problem. He treats me well, does good honest work, and served our country for 20 years. And Nathan likes him.

Oh, and, his ex-wife is paralyzed from the waist down and is in a wheelchair. He met and married her that way. You KNOW that anyone who would voluntarily take on that responsibility is a good-hearted, selfless person.

The Early Days

2009-08-25T14:39:00.001-05:00

Spring 2007

So we began dating and getting to know each other:

Friday, April 6. Joe and I met for dinner at Santa Fe Cattle Co on the Southside, then shot a few games of pool at The Clubhouse.

Friday, April 20. Nathan and I met Joe at Texas Roadhouse on MacArthur & I-40, then went to see Meet the Robinsons at the Yukon theater.

Saturday, April 28. He came over to mow the lawn, after which we watched Night at the Museum on DVD, I fixed lunch (tuna helper), and we went to Lowe’s where I picked out a few things for the yard.

Sunday April 29. We all 3 ate at Alfredo’s Mexican Café on Garth Brooks Blvd in Yukon, then went to see Spiderman 3 at the Yukon theater.

Friday May 18. We met in the parking lot at Bass Pro in Bricktown, and went to Don Quixote’s for karaoke and our friend Ted’s 50th birthday.

Tuesday, May 22. He brought his guitar and a bottle of wine to the house, and showed me a few chords and rubbed my feet and back.

Saturday, June 2. The 3 of us went to a car show/auto parts swap meet at Remington Park, after which we ate at Crabtown in Bricktown.

Sunday, June 3. He mowed my lawn the day I flew to Minneapolis. That wasn’t exactly a date.

Sunday, June 10. I invited him over for dinner as a thank-you for mowing the lawn while I was in Minneapolis, but he couldn’t come over that night.

Sunday, June 17. He drove the street rod over for dinner, and brought his shoebox full of pictures. We watched Ghost Rider on DVD, after which he stayed the night.

Friday, June 22. We met for dinner at Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar & Grill in Bricktown, then saw Evan Almighty at Harkins Cinema, after which he stayed the night.

Saturday, June 23. We spent the morning together, after which he mowed the lawn and the 3 of us went to a car show in Mustang.

Wednesday, June 27. I met him at Sunny Lanes [bowling alley] in Del City – he played on a bowling league on Wednesday nights. I was his personal cheering section! New rule: every strike gets a kiss. Afterward I’d wanted to go see his house and meet his mom, but she wasn’t ready for company, so we went to my house instead.

Monday, July 2. The 3 of us went to “Red White and Boom” at the Downtown Airpark. A big Independence Day festival by the River.

Friday, July 6. The 3 of us went to Mitch Park in Edmond to see West Side Story, “musical under the stars.”