Angels in Devine

Driving home from Laredo, I prayed for a safe journey. I had prayed for a safe journey there as well, as we left Marble Falls at about 7 pm on a Monday night, arriving around 11 pm.
We left Laredo on Saturday at about 1:30 pm and were discussing what we would eat after two hours on the road. Jack in the Box, Sonic, and Dairy Queen had made the final list. About a mile from Divine Devine, forty minutes from San Antonio, I heard a huge "POP!" on the back of my car. I pulled over but was concerned about getting out of the car on the highway so I just made my way to the next exit, Devine, Texas, turned left and pulled into the Sonic. Without wanting to panic, we ordered, then my daughter got out to look at the tire. A flatty getting flatter.
I got out of the car and walked to the outdoor seating area. I saw a couple of guys, one a cute blond beefy football defender type, and the other a more slight, dark headed boy, and calmly walked over to them. They were both HS seniors/early college age and looked up at me as I approached the table. I asked if they knew of a place I could get my tire changed and they asked if I had a spare. I replied, "yes," and they said that they would change it for me, and immediately started to get up, hot food still in front of them. I told them to please finish their food, that we had just ordered and would be glad to wait for them.
A short time later, after we had received our food, they came over and started working. During, they asked where we had come from and where we were going, overall friendly guys that looked like they had changed a tire before. One of the boys shook his head and was amazed that I had the flat where I did, instead of on the wide open road from Laredo to Devine (the avocado capital of South Texas). It only took about 15 minutes. When they were done, I tried to hand them my last $20 and they said the most lovely words, "No, No, you're in friendly Devine, we couldn't take that from you," even as I tried to insist. I was most appreciative.
We smiled, waved and drove away, thankful for those two angels.

Sick Momma

Not to be cruel or anything, but isn't it interesting that Obama's white grandmother is ill just two weeks before the election? I understand that the media has said that she is ill, and I am praying for her comfort and longevity if it is meant to be.

As we know, however, the drive-by media has a tendency to blow things out of proportion because of the liberal organization that it is and the left wingers it supports. What if she is only "slightly" ill, and to show her support for her grandson, she exaggerated her illness to highlight the fact through photos of her and Obama that she is white, and thus her grandson is part white, to help the undecided voter flip the switch for the democratic ticket?

I am not a racist, but merely observing the current political race with eyes wide open. We shall see her prognosis in the days ahead.

FOR SALE

Houses for sale in every neighborhood. Signs in yards, on windows and mailboxes, with directional signs at the entrance of the development. On clean, well-kept yards and houses with tall grass, unruly vines and indoor discards. Million dollar homes and less than $50,000 makeover possibilities. Many homes are on the market today, with individual stories behind every sign.

One home may have a family relocating to another part of the country or overseas with a new job or promotion. Another may be a family “moving up” with a recent landfall of cash from an inheritance or professional bonus, or a savings account reaching an appropriate level. Sometimes, it’s empty nesters moving to a smaller abode, or older people, moving to a retirement community for less daily maintenance.

The sad stories are those of the death of the owner, or death in the family, leading the remaining occupant responsible unable to maintain the maintenance or mortgage. Divorce puts many homes up for sale, as neither partner wants to remain surrounded by bad memories, or can’t afford to keep up the payments. And there’s the loss of a job or income from an individual business, or over limit credit crunch that forces the owners to sell. Why, there’s even the gruesome reality that an owner killed the other spouse/occupant, confesses, and is thrown in jail, tossing the house on the market. (This one happened to my next door neighbor – he confessed in a bar when he was drunk one night that he’d put most of the body in the disposal, with the bones buried in the back yard.)

Many more stories exist, and working in the real estate market for the past two years causes me to ponder. As I walk through my neighborhood, I consider the possibilities of the current owners. Is it a welcome sign in their yard? Is the move desired or forced? Are they desperate to sell? And then there are the interior questions. Is it nicely staged and appealing? Was it a good floor plan and well-appointed to start with? Have there been any remodeling jobs completed to enhance it? Or does it have blue and purple floral wallpaper and turquoise Formica counters?

With all these question and stories to behold, I’ve come make up my own stories about the entire situation of particular houses. In the future, I plan to write either a book or a series of short stories, written from a spunky Realtor’s perspective, about some of these stories. Who knows, maybe I’ll publish a few here.

Why I Love Spicewood

The things I love about Spicewood are many, ranging from the general friendliness of the people who have either grown up here or made it their home after escaping from "city life." A few things, however, stand out, and prompted me to post this blog.

The vortex of a trail near my house that pulls me in and doesn't let me stop pursuing the end of it.

No sound but the chirp of crickets on my 20 minute walk on a public road at 8 p.m. last night.

Autos picking up children at the only elementary school in this small "post office" town ranging from a new Cadillac Escalade to a Diesel fuel truck. Eighteen wheelers and tall wheeled "show cars" have been seen in the car pick-up line as well.

The star-filled sky every clear night.

There are many more, but family life is calling. I must mention a few I don't like ... the slow internet service next to the lake or the abundance of small rodents for our cat to enjoy, blood and all, on the front porch.

Why Wait?

WARNING: Please evacuate the island immediately, as strong winds and rain can be devastating to you and your home. Loss of power and water are likely.

"But I love my home, and I can't leave my dog here alone," said the Galveston islander as Ike was preparing to strike. "I'm going to ride it out," another comments. "It might not be that bad anyway," is added. And lastly, "I don't have any money for gas, and I've got to work Monday."

So when the rains came down and the wind blew out all electricity and water use, the "Ike Waiters," as we'll name them, were stranded on their porches and roofs, without transportation to get out. So they looked to FEMA, the National Guard and other city, state and federal entitites for help and rescue. Workers risked their lives to recover thousands of others who did the same thing. Then they needed transportation to shelter, food, water and clothing to make it through the next couple of days, using public electricity and water.

These people were not "stranded," however. One third of the 60,000 residents of Galveston Island did not evacuate. Reports of people "not being able to leave" when their couch was floating or the TV becoming flooded by water are ridiculous. The evacuation plan was announced because of the likelihood of such events. The people actually stranded there now are suffering without electricity, water and proper sewage over the majority of the island causing a health crisis that mayor Lyda Ann Thomas is concerned about.

When the water has drained and the electricity is back on, they'll be making claims to insurance and to city, state and government agencies to be paid for the property destructed by the storm, time lost from work, and possibly disability for injuries suffered during Ike. And who will be paying for these gifts of rescue and living quarters for the Waiters? Why, it's you and me, of course. One Austin KLBJ radio commentator, Jeff Ward, today suggested that the Waiters be charged for their rescue. When are people in harm's way going to learn to listen?

Author's Note: My sympathies go out to those who did evacuate, and are now struggling to survive in shelters where help cannot get in quickly enough. Texas Governor Rick Perry praised rescue worker "heroes" who are doing their best to provide relief.

Proverbs 31:10-31 - Revisited for the Modern Mom

Proverbs 31:10-31 – Revisited in the 21st Century for a Mom with children in school.

A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than diamonds.
Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.
She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.
She selects organic and made in the USA products and works with eager hands.
She is like the 18-wheelers, bringing her groceries from Whole Foods and HEB.
She gets up by her alarm clock while it is still dark; she provides food for her family and pays for her gasoline
She considers a computer and buys it; out of her earnings she pays for internet service for her children.
She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks.
She sees that her volunteering is valuable, and her electricity does not go out at night.
In her hand she holds a cell phone and pushes the microwave buttons with her fingers.
She opens her arms to the poor and extends her arms to the needy.
When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in jackets from Target.
She buys coverings for her bed at a discount; she is clothed in designer clothes from outlet stores.
Her husband is respected at the corporate offices, where he takes his seat among the board of directors.
She makes homemade greeting cards and delivers them, and supplies teachers with gifts.
She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her.
Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the PTA meeting.

Back to School Blues

It's nearing the end of August, and the lazy, relaxed days of waking up later, exercising on a regular basis, eating breakfast, lunch and dinner at odd hours and staying up late are coming to a halt. For mom's of elementary, middle and high school students, that is. It is no surprise to you, and the dread of it has kept you thinking of what fun it was to swim and play with your dear ones. What fun it was to sleep in until 7:30 or 8:00 am, get up and exercise while the babes slept, then get on the computer, clean closets, do laundry or complete a couple hours of work, emailing or creativity while they snoozed.

Watching movies during the daytime, eating homemade popcorn nightly and playing in the pool for several hours at a time were commonplace. Yes, there were moments when the sibling bickering became overwhelming and caused you to raise your voice and ground them from the TV or computer for a day. And the occasional project you worked on would be often interrupted by a "mommy!" or an "I'm bored," statement. But overall, summer is remembered as a time of relaxed schedules and play time.

With the weeks leading up to, and the subsequent school start, the road trips begin. New school clothes, school supplies and registration for fall semester activities are the first. Then, the daily trudge to and from school, PTO meetings, school events and after school activities and events. The burden of waking those sweet children and encouraging them to eat a bit of breakfast before school, picking them up and prompting them to complete the horrific homework, then pleading with them to go to sleep are almost here.

I don't like to going back to school either.

Oily Plastic

Blah, Blah, Blah on saving wildlife - fish, birds and plants - in favor of having lightweight ipods and cell phones and portable computers and containers in general. What are all of these items made with? Plastic of course, and what is plastic a derivative of? Well, oil.

If we would just take advantage of all the proven reserves of oil in and around this country and not worry about a bunch of sea animals and go build the systems to drill it, we might be in a better position to negotiate with the Arabs. We and other wildlife will always adapt. There is the potential for oil spills, but how much worse is that than a cyclone in Myramar, an earthquake in China or flooding in the US?

The dependence on oil is not just evidenced by the use of autos/planes, but also every bit of plastic in your home/office is made from petroleum by-products, derived from oil from the ground. Can you see using metal or glass IV's, or no more baggies or Tupperware? What about computers, TVs and radios? LOTS of plastic in this great country of ours. Take a look around your surroundings now and see how influential it is.

Initiating all hybrid or cell-fuel cars, or eliminating air travel is not going to reduce our dependence on oil. Yes, it's a great answer, but by the time those things are evolved to that point, we could have access to tons of our own oil/fuel and be in better shape than ever, if we'd only begin setting up and drilling now. Of course, those plastic bottles, baggies and food containers are leaching chemicals into the food you swallow, so maybe we can find a solution for that as well. More on that later ...

Sometimes we don’t really even think about a word until we have to see it, feel it, and live it, over and over. Take the word fever. We have all had a fever at some point, whether during a flu episode, virus or sinusitis. It lasts a couple of days, maybe, and we probably don’t even check it ourselves too much, unless we have an easy-to-use tympanic (ear probe) thermometer. And we probably only have one of those if we have children.

Fever on a child, taken with a tympanic, is over 100.4 degrees. Imagine you child’s fever rising to 104 degrees and above, every four to six hours, despite the repeated dosages of junior strength Motrin, for five days straight. Imagine how fun it is to deal with a raging nine-year-old hallucinating about game shows and making purchases, and having to cajole her into taking the ibuprofen. Imagine your glee at having to rise at 3 am and 4 am, for five nights in a row to check on her, re-administer the medication, and often give a cool bath to lower her temperature. Imagine her horror at the taste and consistency, and subsequent vomiting, after administering the awful tasting grape-flavored liquid Tylenol. No, don’t imagine it, because it’s just too painful.

May you never have to endure the discouragement and frustration of an unknown fever/virus on your child, and have to think, feel and live fever.

Brown Ease

Annabeth had never been a big brownie fan, either to bake or to eat. The pre-packaged box with the dirt brown mixes had never appealed to her. Adding eggs, water and oil to the chalky powder, then only mixing it fifty strokes just did not get her attention. Until the advent of Pam or Crisco cooking spray, which makes it much easier but can leave an artificial taste in the mouth when biting into the baked chocolate, it was quite a pain to have to grease up a paper towel to spread across the heavy glass pan, making sure to get every inch covered, lest a spot of brownie that would stick to the pan.

Cooking them could be tricky sometimes, with the variance in mixes, pans and grease method. It was rare to get the “perfect brownie.” It was either too dry on the outside and firm on the inside, or perfect on the outside crust – chewy but not too crisp – but then too gooey in the middle. The texture from both her own and others brownies and the chocolate taste did demand her sampling or making them.

She remembers a time when her younger sister decided to bake brownies herself, when she was still living at home. Having made several cakes with their mother in the past, Jennifer followed the sign of readiness being that a toothpick stuck in the middle would come out clean. After the appropriate time of 25-30 minutes, the pick of course was not near clean, so she baked another five minutes. Again, no clean toothpick. So, she set the timer for another five. Still sticky. She proceeded to cook the brownies over an hour before the pick was clean enough to her satisfaction. Proud of her persistence, Jennifer took the brownies out of the oven. She put the pan on the cooling rack and went to read a book.

A little while later, Jennifer went to cut the brownies she had just baked. Was she in for a surprise! Her handy dandy knife had a bit of difficulty getting through the top crust of the brownie, her hand slipped, and Ow! She picked up her hand to examine the hurt from hitting the brownie and what did she see but blood! The hardened brownie had cut her sister. This experience of her sister’s prompted her to halt her brownie making, lest she draw blood.

With time, Annabeth overcame her fear of brownies, for her busy lifestyle had demanded an easy and affordable dessert. She’d been inclined to make hundreds of them in the past couple of years, for teacher appreciation, Bible study gatherings, dessert for neighborly get-togethers, girl scouts and get well soon dinners. The simplicity of slitting open the chocolate dust and adding the three ingredients with relatively little muscle movement was appealing and fast.

But something happened over the course of baking those dozens and dozens of dark brown goo. She began to sample, experiment and test new boxes and recipes. She tried an old fashioned version of brownies from her grandmother. She experimented with the store brand and the Duncan Hines variety. She bought the milk chocolate version and the dark chocolate version.

Annabeth found that she was required to prepare so many snacks and treats that she wanted to at least sample them and then began to truly like eating the brownies. She decided to make the box recipes her own by adding ingredients and seeking new methods. Walnuts, chocolate chips, pecans, caramel, coconut and almonds found themselves in her brownies. She did a taste test to see which brand was the best and found that it was a dark chocolate store brand.

She actually began to like eating whole brownies. And they came to become her identity, as to her friends, with them wondering what ingredients, box mix or recipe she would bring to that event. Finally, Annabeth began to make them for herself and her family to enjoy. Now, when someone asks her to bring something to a potluck or teacher appreciation, Annabeth will ask, “how about brownies?”

Strong and Noisy

It is amazing that we can feel or hear some weather occurrences but not actually see them. We can hear and feel that it is windy outside but it is invisible. We can “feel” heat or cold but not see it. The wind is one of those natural occurrences that we can perceive in another way besides visualizing it, although we can see the effects of it as it sways trees, wave’s flags and creates mini funnel clouds of dust.

The high pressure system over south central Texas has affected our wind patterns lately and makes me think of how I was taught as a child about the month of March, even though it is June – comes in like a lion (with winds, rain, extreme weather), and goes out like a lamb (calm, comfortable temperatures, predictable weather). The strength and power of this invisible force called wind is startling sometimes. Jumping on the trampoline, a 50 pound child can be swayed by the intensity. An adult walking along a ridge can be zigzagged. Tree limbs bend and twist. Oak branches and leaves are knocked off of the tree and pound on my roof, as just happened moments ago. The gusts are what just occurred there, an inconstant blast of wind characterized by the rapid change in the force and/or direction of the wind.

Wind is a mysterious force that feels good when it is warm, awesome when it is the perfect temperature, and awful when it is too cold. It is simply air in motion, caused by the uneven heating of the earth, absorbing the heat of the sun at different rates. During daylight hours, the air above land heats up more quickly than the air over water. The warmer air particles over land expand and rise, and the heavier, cooler air rushes in to take its place, creating winds. Cool.

The other way we know about wind is by its sound. The sound of the wind must have something to do with the air particles being so compacted and forcefully pushed around that we hear it. It is also the noise of the various items that are tossed and pressed together with the wind – plant and tree leaves, grasses, insects and other dirt and debris – clattering and banging around to howl or moan.

The wind intrigues and stimulates me. I take comfort in the fact that the wind will blow as long as the sun still shines.

Who Am I?

Instead of asking a person close to us “what would you say about me if I died tomorrow?” we should maybe impose the question of, “Would you say that I am kind, generous, a good parent, spouse (or whatever words we wish to describe ourselves) if I was gone tomorrow?"

If the person has hesitation, or honestly says no, we can work to achieve those descriptions. Another way to look at it is to ascribe to be a certain way and then ask if we are meeting our goal. If we wish to be described a certain way – humorous, funny, loving, goofy, fun, brainy, smart, pretty, or a good engineer, writer, Realtor or businessman, it should be a goal to act or do in the way that could be described as such.

The reason for the question is my recently being "stuck" with the Metro section of the Sunday paper. As I browsed through the obituaries, I noted all of the lovely prose about the now deceased. Were these people truly as they were described? Had they written their own obitiuaries, or at least contributed to them before they died? Will I like my own obituary?

Once, in a Mary Kay training session, or maybe a church-related retreat, we were asked to write our own obit. The task I have detailed, of describing yourself and then living up to it was the point. If you want to be described in a certain way, act it. If there is a description about yourself that you don't like (which may be true) change it to avoid the description in your obit. Although I doubt anyone has ever been called selfish or a nag in their post-mortem portrayal.

Darkness ... Really

The darkness continues. I search in vain for a glimmer of a moon. The night before, I saw a few stars peeking down, but for some reason, it seems that they are being very timid to brighten the sky as well. I’m concerned, where is the moon? It’s been too many days. I saw it one Friday night, less than a week ago, a full summer moon that was bold and orange on the way home from church. By the time I arrived home, it was a plain white bulb in the sky.

What a scary thought to have to live without the moon, without the sun, in darkness. I can’t imagine living in the winter in the North Pole, or the summer in the South Pole. Only a few hours of sun per day would wither me. Fake light just doesn’t do anything for me. I like to feel the absorption of vitamin D to my skin, the light rays on my hair that bleaches it blonde, and the warmth. I love cold sunny days as well as hot sunny days. I love the sun.

Of course, the beauty of darkness can be enjoyed, on a limited basis. In the evening, when there are only a few hours in the day left, to be surrounded by darkness is a calming feeling. To not be able to see the distractions of the day, indoors or out. No mess or disarray to view, no tasks to be accomplished. If we were to compare it to the days of no electricity, not much was carried out in the evening hours, just small handiwork that could be accomplished by the light of a fire or an oil lamp. But with electricity, we may endure many more hours of activity after the sun goes down.

Darkness is difficult to describe because it is more of a feeling than something visual, and doesn’t have any scent, touch or taste characteristics. It is something that is seen, but then, not really because there is nothing to see, especially if there is no contrast with a light. How then, is it felt? It is not a touch sensation, but more of an emotional sensation. And how is it described? It is a mere bit of fear, a bit of the unknown. It is a feeling of seclusion, aloneness, especially if the only night noises are crickets and occasional wind sound or leaves and debris dropping from a tree and hitting the metal roof.

Now, I'm going to go into the bedroom, turn off the light, and feel the cloak of darkness around me as I rest.

Weather or Not

It’s amazing to watch the weather, especially times like last week, when there were tornado warnings and watches, threats of severe thunderstorms with hail, and flood warnings. When the weather is clear and calm, it’s just so boring. The excitement of hearing the rolling, cracking thunder and watching the bright flashes of lightning, hearing the tip-tapping and sometimes pounding of rain and hail on a metal roof is just a natural phenomenon that can’t be beat.

There are weather fans everywhere, and I’m one of them. You can watch the radar on the TV and see a storm moving towards your home or wherever you happen to be, but the direction can change, and the storm can fizzle out with no reason known to the observer. It is similar to watching a movie - you don’t know the ending until it happens.

With the horror of the cyclone in Myanmar/Burma, the recent tornado through the southeast US and the flooding of the Midwest, it makes us realize that we are not in control. We try to be, however.

By having sophisticated weather tracking systems and keeping our eyes glued to the TV for the slightest movement of the storm, and seeing the radar images in red, yellow or green, it appears that we can at least gauge it. On Fox news beginning at 9 p.m., the general news program and most advertising was suspended for continuous presentation of the storm traveling from west to east. The tornado warnings ended at 10:30 p.m. at which time The Simpsons, the regularly programmed television show, appeared. The radar picture stayed at the bottom of the screen, however.

The recent over-observance of the weather could be caused by a sense of guilt on the part of the television stations and media in general. The people of Myanmar/Burma were helpless to the extent that the media stations may not have had the technology to warn the residents. On top of that, the residents themselves did not have the tools – TV and radio – to hear and see what was coming at them. With the type of potential scare that weathercasters feel, and the excitement it brings, they are glad to be giving point by point descriptions of what’s going on. By broadcasting each second, they can feel that they provided the most warning possible, so they will need to shoulder no blame for uninformed citizens.

While we cleaned out the pantry of a few floor items and the heavier items on the shelves above to make it our safety retreat should we hear the roar of a train signifying a tornado, we still kept the TV and computer going, virtually dismissing the angry storm revealed on the TV. And while there was another storm on the way in a few hours, we went to bed without thinking more about it. The more we see on TV, with no real effect except a bright, beautiful flashing night sky with noisy thunder and rain, sometimes deadens us to the real threat. How many people have not fled from hurricanes, tornado and flood warnings in the US? What will it require, if intense TV doesn’t do it, to make us take heed?

Weather is exciting, fun to watch, and exhilarating to make it through, yet unpredictable until the show is over.

(This should have posted by midnight, Wednesday, May 14, to make up for the missed May 11 posting, but exhaustion hit and it didn’t happen. May 18 posting will hopefully happen by May 20)

53 Years with No Change

The US election process for president hasn't changed much since 1955. Oh yes, the speed at which results are calculated, the process of using an electronic machine instead of a pencil to mark a vote, and the new varieties of ways that we can be "touched" by candidates, although remotely, has increased immensely. But the vast quantities of dollars spent on promotion, via television, radio, telephone, internet sites, email and print media, hasn't.

Take this quote from Franchise, a futuristic, science fiction short story written by Issac Asimov in 1955, about the 2008 election,

"Listen, I was around when they set up Multivac (the new computerized way to choose a president in the futuristic 2008). It would end partisan politics, they said. No more voters' money wasted on campaigns. No more grinning nobodies in high-pressured and advertising-campaigned into Congress or the White House. So what happens. More campaigning than ever, only now they do it blind."

In 1955, when the story was written, in Asimov's eyes there was a good deal of money being wasted on advertising and plenty of plastic-faced politicians trying to win votes. And maybe he saw the delegates move into more power and the disagreement of the true voters of their respresentation which may not have supported their view. Maybe he wanted to predict that with all the delegate disagreement that the almighty US government would have to capture that power by giving the vote for the president to just one voter, determined by unnamed attributes.

Franchise is an excellent story, and quite fun to see the date, November 4, 2008 in the pages of the story. found in ISAAC ASIMOV, The Complete Stories, Volume I.

No Complaining

On Monday, my brother-in-law, a paraplegic pain managment physician, was admitted to the hospital with a high fever and high white blood count with a severe infection.

That same evening, a friend who is also my daughter's Girl Scout leader said she had just returned with her husband from the oncologist in planning chemotherapy for the next year for his rare cancer.

Wednesday, I received a text message from my sister in law, telling me that her daughter was back in the hospital after only two and a half weeks, suffering yet again from terrible pain of colitis, and not able to keep anything, food-wise, in her body.

Last week, my mother-in-law lost two friends to cancer and illness.

Our nephew, a US National Guard volunteer, last week heard that he would be sent back to Iraq in November, and his term with the Guard was to end in June.

My husband's business is at the cusp of greatness. Our older daughter is excited, yet hesitant about middle school next year. Our younger daughter is going camping at the zoo tonight. My days are filled with working at the school, for my husband and my mother, and at my home fulfilling the responsibilities of wife and mother.

Am I complaining about my personal life now? Not any more.

Sound. Listen.

Go outside and listen.

Okay, now that you’re back, what did you hear? Do you hear the TV inside, your phone ringing, traffic from a nearby thoroughfare or a car driving down the road in front of your home? Or was it just, Quiet. The buzz of a fluorescent street light or electricity poles, a faraway dog barking, crickets, or just the tiny cracks and creaks and droppings of the earth as a soft wind rustles through the debris on the ground. The Quiet sound is lovely.

The quantity of sound in cities has increased in the last two hundred years. Especially back in the early times after the death of Christ, there were no automobiles to cause engine and horn noise giving you the dull roar of a nearby busy road, only horses hooves clopping along the stone and dirt roadways. Electricity did not exist, eliminating the sounds of a television, stereo, blow dryers and washing machines. No telephones meant no ringing, blinging cells and home phones.

Wouldn’t it be nice to hear the Quiet more often? An example of this quiet was during the above mentioned times. The Roman and Greek architecture of the outdoor amphitheaters built is amazing. One sitting on the top row of the theater can hear a person whispering to another on the stage, one hundred feet away, with no microphones or speakers. The architects must have had excellent knowledge of acoustics to be able to do that, we conjecture.

But wait, how did they figure it out, so long ago, without the many formulas and equations that have only been around for a few hundred years? No fancy Mega-billion byte computers to measure and test the effects of sound, to then be implemented in an outdoor site on the outskirts of town. What an awesome evening that would be, to watch a live outdoor performance with talented artists entertaining an audience of hundreds, and to hear every word.

Listen for the quiet, and see how quiet it really isn’t.

The Heart is a Muscle

Have you seen the new New Balance running shoe television advertisement? It features a male runner, plodding through a techno-futuristic-high-rise landscape with a grim look on his face. It appears that he has gone quite a distance, for the sweat on his body glistens to display this. The ad addresses balance, and achieving it through running. A Love / Hate symbol appears at the upper left hand side of the screen, and as the commercial comes to a close, and the man fades away, a smile beginning to creep across his face, the Love side of the graphic enlarges, while the Hate reduces – Love / Hate. We love to grow, get stronger and faster, but we sometimes hate the process we must go through to reach that.

A friend made an analogy between this type of muscle growth – a race, to win, compared to the trials and tribulations of life, for our goal of a stronger, more peaceful life. When we work out our bodies lifting weights, running, biking, swimming, or participating in a team sport, we actually tear down healthy muscle to build new, stronger muscle in its place. It sounds a bit backwards when you think about it, that we actually break down, and feel the pain sometimes, to reach a goal. To win a race, to score points, to be more healthy.

This tearing down of our own bodies puts into perspective some of the trials we go through in life. By trials, I’m talking about love hurts, family issues, raising children, financial difficulties, illness and death. Everyone has trials. Life is not easy, whether you have lots or little of wealth, beauty, talent or intelligence.

I feel safe in saying that every person in the western world has been hurt physically and emotionally in some way in their lifetime. Of course, the degree of hurt or pain may vary according to the way it happened or was inflicted. We’ve all bumped, scratched or bruised at least some part of our body. Some of us have had illness and life-changing surgery. We all had a brother or sister or friend that said something mean to us and hurt our feelings, and many of us have been hurt much worse by the words or actions of a colleague, dear friend or family member. And many of us have dealt with financial strain, brought upon by emergency situations or by our own misdeeds. And death, it speaks for itself as a trial.

The beautiful thing is that we can regard these trials as the tearing down of our heart, as opposed to our muscles, but that the tearing will reap a stronger heart, revealing a faster recovery time the next time we endure a hurt. The process of healing, if we can recognize it, is when we can realize that we are not in control. The next time pain happens, we are better/faster at healing and dealing with it.

Pain is there for a reason, so rejoice in it! We will be stronger in the future.

No Electricity

I’m ready to go back to the dark ages and eliminate electricity (E). My reason for this is the busyness of our lives. We would be so much less busy if we had none. After talking with several other people this week, bemoaning the constant “to do” list, I was thinking about what we could eliminate to be less frantic. The primary factors in many of our hectic lives are available because of E, because without E we could not build and maintain them:

1. Cell phones and phones in general
2. Email via Computers
3. Television with hundreds of stations
3. Automobiles enabling us to go places faster
4. FedEx/Mail delivery to get things to people faster

With the above modes, it is so much easier to create expectations that things will happen faster. And fast is the word that equals busy. Because something CAN happen fast, people expect that it will, regardless of other priorities.

Think back to early days with no electricity. To invite someone over or to ask someone to help you with a task, you’d have to physically go to their home or send a messenger and travel via foot, horseback or other four-footed creature. No cell phone call, email or text message. No planes, trains or automobiles associated with FedEx or US Postal Service Express mail.

Same goes for buying something. The printed word was much more valuable, with beautifully written pages with excellent word choices or grammar, now it’s acronyms in text messages and speedily written emails. Now you can turn on the TV and see advertisements for every type of product out there, from prescription drugs to fast food. Go online to buy it, and it can be delivered via swift or unhurried delivery.

Of course, I’m getting this message out via the www which is plugged into electricity and cyberspace, but that’s just the way it is. I think I’ll turn off my computer, my lights, and go to bed. Should I unplug my alarm clock too?

Thirty Minutes A Day

I'm always writing. Whether I'm folding laundry, preparing a meal or even speaking to someone, I can see words in my head that I'd like to put down on paper. Unfortunately, it's difficult to multi-task with something such as writing, because you must either put hand to pen to paper, or hands to keyboard to computer or typewriter that is actually plugged in and turned on. It's so frustrating to me sometimes that I can't get to that point of putting words into being.

As a wanna-be published writer, in the year 2008 no less, I must train myself to write at least thirty minutes a day, as is suggested by many writing handbooks and magazines. Thirty minutes is not much time, but finding that thirty minutes can be diffifult. Of course, I usually will write for thirty minutes a day, but not always on a single piece or on a topic of my choosing. The writing time comes from either a response to an email, an assignment from my husband for his business (presentation, news release or product label), a thank you letter or a note to my children's teachers or principal.

The thirty minute desired daily result for me is either blogging, as I am doing now, writing on my weekend story or my beans story, or writing about a topic from my ever growing list. Maintaining the interest in the task at the time in one of the above means is part of my problem. With so much going on in life it is difficult for me to focus on one topic at a time. As I write right now, I am indecisive as to whether I should work on this once a week blog or pursue one of the aforementioned tasks. Or should I let in the cat who is meowing on the front porch and feed the dog his morning meal? Should I open my TOPICS file add another idea to my list? Decisions! I think I could be described as being ADHD because I never lack for something to do, and it is just prioritizing the need for all those tasks that is my dificulty. In prioritizing, I nearly always can find something more "productive" to do than write. But this feels so good right now to get words on a screeen!

Timer's up, I've had my thirty minutes for today. On to the next task with words floating in my head and never getting on a screen.

Analogy

When you hear the first strains of a piece of music, and it appeals to you, it strikes a chord (pardon the pun) in your heart and brain that it is something to be pursued, that is, you want to keep listening. The bass or snare drums, the strum or screech of a guitar, a soft or intense voice, something about the tempo and just the recognition of the sound of it draws you in. As the song builds, whether by beat or lyrics, a smile forms on your face, and you are pleased. Most songs have an introduction, a chorus and a crescendo. If you are listening to a compilation, as in a CD, different aspects of the music stay similar, whether it's the voice or the instrumentation. Each song builds upon the next, and when you've listened to the first few cuts, and you are now drawn in, sometimes you don't want to turn it off. You want to finish it.

The same thing happens when you open a book with writing that pleases you. It is on a topic you want to pursue - be it mystery, romance or non-fiction, it is well-written, and it is familiar in language and style. Each book and hopefully each chapter has an introduction, a chorus (repeat of character names and personalities), and a crescendo, to keep the reader enticed until the finale. Instead of using the hearing sense, you are using the sense of vision and touch - to turn the pages.

Music and writing are both very creative endeavors, and I am in awe of those who can write lyrics and music. What an endeavor to be able to create something with different sounds and beats and words and assemble it in a manner that it sounds good. Of course, not everyone likes the same music or writing, and that is the beautiful thing about all the different personalities of the world. There is something for everyone.

This analogy came to me as I listened to my brother's band, the Blackouts, on Saturday night at Bar of Soap in Dallas. I'd heard them play several times years ago, and the lyrics and beat (they are so tight) drew me right in again, as if I was reading it, I mean hearing it, for the first time. It was an awesome time, and I thank my brother Chris for the invitation.

Good Night.

Sorry Election Process

Well, Well, it's another election year, or rather, a continuation of the process that takes a lifetime to reach as an individual who declares he or she wants to be president some day. Maybe they aren't born with this intuitiveness, but once someone makes the suggestion, or they come up with it on their own, they can be destined to pursue it. Others, who usually fail, may just think of it too late, and that is why they do not succeed. They haven't made a plan in their mind over a lifetime.

Back to the process - and the ridiculousness of it. I'd like to list the idocracy of each part.

1. The wasted campaign money - millions of dollars that could be spent on the very things the candidate is campaigning for.
2. The wasted energy - the burning of energy for travelling from state to state.
3. The burden on the candidate on their physical body.
4. The waste of television and radio time, and print media space for coverage and advertising. Texas Independence day was not even mentioned on the 10 o'clock news in Austin last week on March 2, as the Democratic primary was approaching.
5. The stupidity of those who will vote for another's party in the primary to assure the failure of a particular candidate, i.e.: Republicans in Texas who voted in the Democratic primary for Hillary to make sure Obama didn't get the nomination, for fear that if he is on the ticket, the Democrats have a potential for president. Huckabee had 33% in the Republican primary in Texas, and I would certainly have preferred him to wishy-washy McCain. He might have won Texas (or am I only dreaming) if all the traitor Republicans had voted for him.

Of course, I do not wish to complain without a solution, so - basically, put a limit on the dollars spent, the travelling allowed, the time spent by the candidate, and the amount of air time and print space allowed for campaigning. The media restrictions would of course violate the constitution, and we couldn't ask people to not make stupid decisions about primary voting, so I guess we're stuck with the last two.

Good night.

Texas Independence Day

Today, March 2, is Texas Independence Day. In 1836, the Texas Declaration of Independence was adopted at Washington on the Brazos. Texas was declaring its independence from Mexico, after paying too much in taxes and tyranneous rule. As an immigrant Texan (born in Italy on a US Army base), but born to a true Texan in my father, and a resident myself for over 38 years, I have a closeness to this great state.

According to a friend, Roger Moore, no, not the actor, the new year begins on Texas Independence Day. An advertising man, he publishes an annual calendar that begins on March 2. And why not? Each of us has "anniversaries" we recognize and visualize as a new start for ourselves. A marriage, a birth, a move, a job change or second chance is an independence day.

We can also have multiple independence days, a memorable day for different aspects of our lives. For a marriage, it may be purchasing the first home, for children, it might be the last day of school, personally, it could be the day of recovery from an illness or spiritual awakening. I myself have several days of independence. I will write about some of these in the future.

Every day is a new opportunity, remember your independence days.