Yesterday I had occasion to vaccum up my bedroom floor. My boys are sloppy eaters (ok, they're disgusting) and even when pursuing something as innocuous as dog biscuts, they always leave a trail. You should have seen the size of the crumbs that were going up the tube. Jagged, lopsided. A terror to step on barefoot.
My dogs pretty-much have the run of the house. They sleep on my antique furniture and at night, Cosmos deigns to allow me into his bed. They rummage through the pantry and refrigerator at will. They shred paper, scatter trash, play with my dirty laundry. All without reprisal. But there is one commandment in my home.
Thou shalt not eat thy dog biscuits in my bed.
That rule came about through a lesson hard learned. One of my dogs past took a biscuit in bed, and I'm here to tell you that not eating crackers in bed, lest the crumbs disturb you, is nothing compared to rolling over in the dead of night onto a piece of Milk Bone. The commandment is a hard-and-fast rule in my home and seldom tested.
Seldom. There was that time a couple of years ago with Cosmos...
It was spring. Every spring my dogs seem to go through a phase where they are re establishing who is Alpha. Or should we say Beta, because I have the honor - just barely - of being Alpha in our home. My status as such is directly tied to the can opener, but such as it is, it's mine.
Generally, they fight with eath other. Snarling teeth and laid back ears and a lot of posturing. I learned early on not to get in the middle of their arguments. Generally they don't hurt each other. But if I interfere, I get bit. By both of them.
One day, I came into the bedroom to find Cosmos in the middle of the bed. (Those were the days when Cosmos could still jump in bed on his own.) He gave me a somewhat malovelent glare when I walked in, so I knew that something was up. I took a closer look and sure enough, he was just starting to eat a dog biscuit. "Get out of the bed!" I roared. And he laid there and stared at me, declaring himself as in charge.
"Get out of the bed. NOW!" No move on his part.
I stepped closer. "You know that you are not allowed to eat dog biscuits in bed." Cosmos seemed to rise to his feet like strings were pulling him upwards from the shoulders and hips. If looks could kill, I would not be typing this story now.
"Get out!" Cosmos slowly reached down and picked up his dog biscuit. Then even slower, turned his eyes-of-defiance on me. And peed. Right there on my down comforter, through the sheets, the mattress pad, and into the mattress itself!
To say I was furious was an understatement. Don't get me wrong. I love my dogs. I love Cosmos. But at times, I could kill the little son of a bitch. And I can say that because he was a son of a bitch. Really. Think about it.
Well, I don't believe in physical punishment, especially of dogs. I removed his dog biscuit, yelled at him until he cowered, removed the sheets and blankets, and did laundry. I was not happy.
It took about 2 1/2 hours to complete the job and remake the bed. Comforters take a long time to dry. But finally the task was done and I was feeling much more kindly towards Cozie. Kindly enough to give both dogs biscuits once again.
A few minutes later, I walked into the bedroom. Cosmos was again in the middle of the bed, munching down. I screamed. He rose quickly and didn't even give me a chance to get him down. He gave me yet another malevolent glare full of fury at being disturbed at his snack and let loose. Yes, you guessed it. He peed in the bed for the 2nd time that day.
At that point, I had had it. I knew that I was going to have to go through the entire cleaning again. Hours and hours wasted because my dog is a pig. And so I came as close to getting truly physical with him as I ever have. I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him down off of the mattress. Dragged him across the floor. Through the master bathroom. And in there, I installed him inside of the glass-door shower. Dog jail.
Cosmos was miserable. He barked and cried and scrached and made a rucus of unprecedented volume. And trust me, his precedented volume was at many decibles. I was so mad that I made a point of being seen by him, but paid no attention. I went about the business of cleaning our bed yet again. Wash, dry, another 2 1/2 hours. That's all I did that day. Laundry. As a result of a dog.
Cosmos was paroled once the bed was remade. He was quite contrite. And to this day, he has never peed in the bed again.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Gone Fishin'
Saturday, as I was off doing my own things, Eric decided to take Garrett, Gabby, & Miles fishing at Trout Dale in Agoura Hills. Now mind you, they weren't exactly roughing it. The Ol' Fishing Hole is actually a concrete basin fully stocked with trout for the amateur fisherman to catch. You go there, pay your entrance fee, and hope for the best.
Total # of Splaver Fisherman - 4
Total # of fish caught - 1
That fish was caught by Gabby and it was a 14" one. That's important because besides paying an entrance fee into Troutdale, you also have to pay for the fish you catch based on size.
Now mind you, the fact that they only caught one fish between them is not so much of a problem because between all of the fishermen (and women), the only one that likes to eat fish is Eric. One fish caught for one man to eat. It works. Until you total out the tab.
Entrance into Troutdale for four - includes bamboo poles and corn bait - $7 per person; $28.
Can of worms (works better than corn bait according to the reviews) - $5
One caught 14" fish - $10
Cleaning of the 14" fish - $1 (best deal of the day.)
The total dollar expenditure for Eric's trout dinner was $43. Without any of the extras like vegetables or dessert.
I think I'd rather go to Crustacean.
Total # of Splaver Fisherman - 4
Total # of fish caught - 1
That fish was caught by Gabby and it was a 14" one. That's important because besides paying an entrance fee into Troutdale, you also have to pay for the fish you catch based on size.
Now mind you, the fact that they only caught one fish between them is not so much of a problem because between all of the fishermen (and women), the only one that likes to eat fish is Eric. One fish caught for one man to eat. It works. Until you total out the tab.
Entrance into Troutdale for four - includes bamboo poles and corn bait - $7 per person; $28.
Can of worms (works better than corn bait according to the reviews) - $5
One caught 14" fish - $10
Cleaning of the 14" fish - $1 (best deal of the day.)
The total dollar expenditure for Eric's trout dinner was $43. Without any of the extras like vegetables or dessert.
I think I'd rather go to Crustacean.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Aggitating Situation
As long as I've brought up the laundry so many times as of late, I thought I'd reminise about a story that I heard several years ago. Elissa and I had decided to attend the Fibers Through Time Conference sponsored by the Arizona Federation of Weavers, and we were staying in a small hotel just off of campus. These conferences tend to be very social events, the women and men attending gather in the lobbies of their respective abodes after the day's events conclude to spin and knit, compare notes and finished projects, and just have a good time in general. This conference was no exception.
I wish I could remember the names of the women we were sitting with, outside by the pool with our spinning wheels in motion in front of us. I do remember that one of them was a teacher. I still find that odd; I always think of teachers as lofty individuals and when one that is teaching me in the daytime comes down to socialize with the group as an equal at night, I enjoy it immensely but am usually startled that they have strange kind of lives similar to mine. No matter what our status in the fiber world, we are all eccentric to the same degree.
Anyway, we were discussing odd pets, and the teacher brought up her son's habit of collecting snakes. I told her the story of L- and her snake "Muffin" that had disappeared for several weeks at one point, to finally be discovered curled around the seat of her neighbor's toilet. Apparently Muffin had spent a good portion of his time transversing the plumbing system of L's apartment complex. And so the teacher told the story of her son's snake getting lost.
It had been missing for weeks. Unlike L- who generally believed that the absent reptile would eventually turn up curled in one her shoes or something like that, the teacher figured that her son's snake was gone for good. She went about her housework like nothing was amiss, and that's how she perceived the situation. Oh how wrong she was.
One day she was doing the laundry. She opened the lid of the washer and removed the majority of the clothing out of the barrel. Looked in, and was shocked. There was the missing snake, angry as all get out. She quietly shut the lid of the machine and left the room.
We were all hysterical at this point. Of course. I mentioned that since snakes can make their way through plumbing, it was apparent that they can swim. I figure that, during the wash cycle, it just swam around like a merri-go-round horse or a sea serpent waiting for the ride to be over. That would probably not make it angry. But I figured that the spin cycle would be enough to do it. After all, that would make me pretty mad.
First we speculated on whether the snake had been mixed in with the clothing in the hamper or made it's way into the machine via the plumbing. But we were all anxious to know the outcome of the story. "What did you do?" we asked with gleams in our eyes.
"Well," she replied. "I did what any sane woman would do. I called my husband at work and told him he neeed to come home immediately to remove the snake from the washing machine."
"Did he?!?!" we responded.
"Not at first. He was really annoyed with me and wanted to know why I could not take care of the situation myself. To which I said, 'I'm not having anything to do with it. That snake is clearly aggitated.'"
I wish I could remember the names of the women we were sitting with, outside by the pool with our spinning wheels in motion in front of us. I do remember that one of them was a teacher. I still find that odd; I always think of teachers as lofty individuals and when one that is teaching me in the daytime comes down to socialize with the group as an equal at night, I enjoy it immensely but am usually startled that they have strange kind of lives similar to mine. No matter what our status in the fiber world, we are all eccentric to the same degree.
Anyway, we were discussing odd pets, and the teacher brought up her son's habit of collecting snakes. I told her the story of L- and her snake "Muffin" that had disappeared for several weeks at one point, to finally be discovered curled around the seat of her neighbor's toilet. Apparently Muffin had spent a good portion of his time transversing the plumbing system of L's apartment complex. And so the teacher told the story of her son's snake getting lost.
It had been missing for weeks. Unlike L- who generally believed that the absent reptile would eventually turn up curled in one her shoes or something like that, the teacher figured that her son's snake was gone for good. She went about her housework like nothing was amiss, and that's how she perceived the situation. Oh how wrong she was.
One day she was doing the laundry. She opened the lid of the washer and removed the majority of the clothing out of the barrel. Looked in, and was shocked. There was the missing snake, angry as all get out. She quietly shut the lid of the machine and left the room.
We were all hysterical at this point. Of course. I mentioned that since snakes can make their way through plumbing, it was apparent that they can swim. I figure that, during the wash cycle, it just swam around like a merri-go-round horse or a sea serpent waiting for the ride to be over. That would probably not make it angry. But I figured that the spin cycle would be enough to do it. After all, that would make me pretty mad.
First we speculated on whether the snake had been mixed in with the clothing in the hamper or made it's way into the machine via the plumbing. But we were all anxious to know the outcome of the story. "What did you do?" we asked with gleams in our eyes.
"Well," she replied. "I did what any sane woman would do. I called my husband at work and told him he neeed to come home immediately to remove the snake from the washing machine."
"Did he?!?!" we responded.
"Not at first. He was really annoyed with me and wanted to know why I could not take care of the situation myself. To which I said, 'I'm not having anything to do with it. That snake is clearly aggitated.'"
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Death of a Camera
If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know the story of my last camera. How I sent it to Fuji for repair and how they tried to say that I had damaged it and the warranty didn't apply. And how we finally came upon a mutually agreeable solution and I had a camera back into my posession to use taking pictures for my blog. But that all changed at the end of last week.
I take my camera pretty-much everywhere I go, always on the look-out for a photo opportunity to blog about. And so I wore my Sears man-pants, the cargo pants with all the deep pockets that I bought from Sears on a shopping trip with Elena a year ago, to Lake Balboa for a walk. Put the camera into one of the pockets. And had a Crohns Disease accident there (again) and came right home to clean up and do laundry.
The thing is, I was a little discomboobulated by the situation this time; the lake had been abnormally populated by people who saw me in all of my misglory, and in my upset, wasn't thinking things out when I put my pants into the washing machine.
Yup. You got it. I sent the camera through the wash cycle.
Now you have to understand, washing small electronics is not an abnormal event for me. Eric, out of love, wanted to buy me a very expensive watch a year ago. I implored him not to do it, knowing that I would destroy it post haste. "I don't deserve such expensive things such as that!" I told him, and I meant it. He did eventually buy me a beautiful watch anyway, and so far it has not been washed, but it's currently misplaced and I may even spend a part of this afternoon looking for it.
Watches actually do quite well in the washer, though. Once you discover them, whether immediately after the wash cycle, or even when they go through the dryer, they keep on working. The crystal fogs up for a few days, but there is never doubt that they will survive the experience.
Cell phones are a little more sensitive. Yes, I've washed my cell phone more than once too. They generally don't work after being washed and or and not dried. But experience after doing this to several phones taught me that you can take the battery out, let the whole thing dry for a few days, then re-insert the battery and charge it up. It will generally work again once the moisture is gone.
But the camera is a different matter. It is not meant to be handled roughly at all, and I think that it must have been the spin cycle that did it in, or maybe it was just being aggitated. It is out of alignment and I have a hard time even opening and closing the compartment that contains the battery and the chip. I've dried it for a week, inserted the removable components, and tried to charge it up. It didn't even register that it was plugged in.
And so I suppose that this blog will go either pictureless for a while, or I will be relying on old photos and stuff that I steal from the internet. Next week after I get my monthly check, I will pay my bills and see how much camera I can afford with what is left over. And then check out Overstock.com and Costco and see what they have that will work. Something simple, and more important, something durable.
Because I am decidedly hard on things that I own.
I take my camera pretty-much everywhere I go, always on the look-out for a photo opportunity to blog about. And so I wore my Sears man-pants, the cargo pants with all the deep pockets that I bought from Sears on a shopping trip with Elena a year ago, to Lake Balboa for a walk. Put the camera into one of the pockets. And had a Crohns Disease accident there (again) and came right home to clean up and do laundry.
The thing is, I was a little discomboobulated by the situation this time; the lake had been abnormally populated by people who saw me in all of my misglory, and in my upset, wasn't thinking things out when I put my pants into the washing machine.
Yup. You got it. I sent the camera through the wash cycle.
Now you have to understand, washing small electronics is not an abnormal event for me. Eric, out of love, wanted to buy me a very expensive watch a year ago. I implored him not to do it, knowing that I would destroy it post haste. "I don't deserve such expensive things such as that!" I told him, and I meant it. He did eventually buy me a beautiful watch anyway, and so far it has not been washed, but it's currently misplaced and I may even spend a part of this afternoon looking for it.
Watches actually do quite well in the washer, though. Once you discover them, whether immediately after the wash cycle, or even when they go through the dryer, they keep on working. The crystal fogs up for a few days, but there is never doubt that they will survive the experience.
Cell phones are a little more sensitive. Yes, I've washed my cell phone more than once too. They generally don't work after being washed and or and not dried. But experience after doing this to several phones taught me that you can take the battery out, let the whole thing dry for a few days, then re-insert the battery and charge it up. It will generally work again once the moisture is gone.
But the camera is a different matter. It is not meant to be handled roughly at all, and I think that it must have been the spin cycle that did it in, or maybe it was just being aggitated. It is out of alignment and I have a hard time even opening and closing the compartment that contains the battery and the chip. I've dried it for a week, inserted the removable components, and tried to charge it up. It didn't even register that it was plugged in.
And so I suppose that this blog will go either pictureless for a while, or I will be relying on old photos and stuff that I steal from the internet. Next week after I get my monthly check, I will pay my bills and see how much camera I can afford with what is left over. And then check out Overstock.com and Costco and see what they have that will work. Something simple, and more important, something durable.
Because I am decidedly hard on things that I own.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Yoga Bear
OK Claudia. I did it. For the first time ever, I tried Yoga today.
This experience started out about 4 weeks ago as I was perusing the internet looking for venues of physical activity in my neighborhood. I discovered The Yoga Loft located in Woodland Hills, about a 15 minute drive from my front door. I was intrigued, and more so when I discovered that they had an on-line coupon good for unlimited classes for two weeks at a very favorable price. The final clincher was that Eric was interested in trying it out with me. Or should I say, Eric was interested in going, even more than I was interested in experimenting. He has done Yoga before and truly enjoys the experience.
We arrived promptly at 5 and was admitted into a lovely reception area by our teacher who's name escapes me. I would have taken pictures - assuming that they allow that activity - but the demise of my new camera is a topic for another post on another day. Lets just say that the room was appointed with wicker furniture, carved wooden screens and bookshelves, plants, incense, and fabrics very appropriate to the activity at hand. Nice.
Then we found out why the place is called "The Yoga Loft." The yoga happens in the loft! The class was 90 minutes and pleasant. I can't say that I was wild about it, but I did not dislike it at all. The positions - except for the ones requiring me to be on hands and knees which does not happen at all in my world - were easy and fairly reminiscent of the stretching poses that Richard has us do during his classes. Of course the music was very different, as was the atmosphere and intent.
The issue that I have is that I am a very nervous person at the best of times, and this evening I was particularly stressed. When forced to be still, I have a hard time controlling my mind and being in the present. In fact, I think that is the reason that I like crafting like spinning yarn and knitting and making jewelry so much. The tedium of the repetitive task settles me, and I've heard many other crafters say the same thing.
So rather than completely relaxing into the experience, I had to force my mind off of my worries many times. But I do admit that when I could concentrate solely on the breathing exercises and the movements, I did attain a certain state of relaxation and I did feel a little better on departure.
I have two weeks in which to play with this experience. I intend to use them well and figure out if this is an activity that I can pursue or whether I am not the right personality type. The class schedule says that anybody can do Yoga if they have an open heart and an open mind. I do have an open mind. I'm willing to consider the possibility that this may be good for me.
The rest will just have to take care of itself.
This experience started out about 4 weeks ago as I was perusing the internet looking for venues of physical activity in my neighborhood. I discovered The Yoga Loft located in Woodland Hills, about a 15 minute drive from my front door. I was intrigued, and more so when I discovered that they had an on-line coupon good for unlimited classes for two weeks at a very favorable price. The final clincher was that Eric was interested in trying it out with me. Or should I say, Eric was interested in going, even more than I was interested in experimenting. He has done Yoga before and truly enjoys the experience.
We arrived promptly at 5 and was admitted into a lovely reception area by our teacher who's name escapes me. I would have taken pictures - assuming that they allow that activity - but the demise of my new camera is a topic for another post on another day. Lets just say that the room was appointed with wicker furniture, carved wooden screens and bookshelves, plants, incense, and fabrics very appropriate to the activity at hand. Nice.
Then we found out why the place is called "The Yoga Loft." The yoga happens in the loft! The class was 90 minutes and pleasant. I can't say that I was wild about it, but I did not dislike it at all. The positions - except for the ones requiring me to be on hands and knees which does not happen at all in my world - were easy and fairly reminiscent of the stretching poses that Richard has us do during his classes. Of course the music was very different, as was the atmosphere and intent.
The issue that I have is that I am a very nervous person at the best of times, and this evening I was particularly stressed. When forced to be still, I have a hard time controlling my mind and being in the present. In fact, I think that is the reason that I like crafting like spinning yarn and knitting and making jewelry so much. The tedium of the repetitive task settles me, and I've heard many other crafters say the same thing.
So rather than completely relaxing into the experience, I had to force my mind off of my worries many times. But I do admit that when I could concentrate solely on the breathing exercises and the movements, I did attain a certain state of relaxation and I did feel a little better on departure.
I have two weeks in which to play with this experience. I intend to use them well and figure out if this is an activity that I can pursue or whether I am not the right personality type. The class schedule says that anybody can do Yoga if they have an open heart and an open mind. I do have an open mind. I'm willing to consider the possibility that this may be good for me.
The rest will just have to take care of itself.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Manic Monday
I'm glad that the day is almost over. Sometimes we all have days like that, I suppose.
It started with, once the morning chores were done and today's dose of Medication was injected, a noon-time appointment at the dentist. Oy. I am on a "short rotation" for teeth cleaning. That means that I am in his office every three months for a cleaning and exam whether I like it or not. And like it I do not.
Unfortunately, with all the years of disease and medications and throwing up, my teeth have been badly affected and need to be watched closely. To this day, I have only lost one wisdom tooth although to maintain that record of dental health, I've had to endure many a root canal and it's less insideous cousin, crowning. In fact, all four of my front teeth are "fake" as well as the better part of my molars. But I have had an on-again-off-again pain in the upper right corner of my mouth since the beginning of April, and the dentist took a look today.
"Pull all of her remaining wisdom teeth!" was the edict.
"WHAT?!?!" Or should I say, "SMMMMMMMPH!" because the technician had her instruments in my mouth when this went down. I spat them out.
"What do you mean pull ALL of my wisdom teet? People have been telling me that for I don't know how many years and I don't think they really need to go, do they? If you pull them, I will have to get thicker glasses to compensate for the drop in IQ." (Everyone knows that people who wear glasses have an increase in IQ of 15 points.)
"They're not doing anything for you." he said, and left the room.
Well, I can tell you that I have not scheduled an appointment to have them taken out. I will give you that the one on the upper right is problematic and I will probably have to aquiese on it when it hurts a little worse, but the rest? They're mine, I tell you. Mine!
From the Dentist, I made a brief stop at Home Depot where I needed to buy a new nut to replace the one that fell off of a screw on my spinning wheel. With my ongoing drug (chemo) therapy, I am not thinking cohesively enough to make jewelry, but I think I can spin yarn. If my wheel was operational. So I'm going to try it later this evening and see how it goes.
From Home Depot, it was on to Bally's Fitness where an appointment to get a free 2 week pass from "Art" had been scheduled. Oy. Oy. OY!
Now I don't know if all Bally's are like this one or not, and in fact I suspect that they are not. But I arrived to find that Art had left for the day, but had left Juan behind to field his appointments. Juan was very insecure about me, and for good reason. He was trying to sell me a health club with antiquated and broken equipment, mildewed walls, and a college-age clientele. There were barely any classes available, and those that were weren't impressive.
It thought it would be prudent to sit with him anyway after the tour. If I was going to get a pass, would it be good at only this Bally's location or could I use it at others too? "No, only here. And by the way, as soon as I put your name in the system, you will not be able to get a pass at any other Bally's location for six months."
Well, I would like to see and try out the one that is closer to home too and I have a feeling in better shape. I took a pass on the pass.
Home to walk the dogs, then attend Richard Simmons weekly chat in his clubhouse. If things continue down the path that they are on right now, I will not be a member any more next week. I sat quietly during the chat, thinking of cracks that I could make, but sitting still. After it was over and Richard had left, I thanked all the people in the room for having been there, telling them that it had been an honor to have spent time in the forum with them. And then it happened. I had the melt down that has been coming on for the past five weeks.
I am eternally grateful to Iris and Joy who understood what I was trying to say, even as I took them out of left field. I apologize to the rest of the people in that room who I'm guessing had no idea that feelings and issues could run so deep in one who was seemingly riding the crest as one of Richard's poster girls.
And Richard? He was not there. I suppose I owe him an apology for opening my mouth up 'in his home,' but not as big an apology as I think I am owed.
I've had a good cry now. I'm probably ready to tackle the evening.
It started with, once the morning chores were done and today's dose of Medication was injected, a noon-time appointment at the dentist. Oy. I am on a "short rotation" for teeth cleaning. That means that I am in his office every three months for a cleaning and exam whether I like it or not. And like it I do not.
Unfortunately, with all the years of disease and medications and throwing up, my teeth have been badly affected and need to be watched closely. To this day, I have only lost one wisdom tooth although to maintain that record of dental health, I've had to endure many a root canal and it's less insideous cousin, crowning. In fact, all four of my front teeth are "fake" as well as the better part of my molars. But I have had an on-again-off-again pain in the upper right corner of my mouth since the beginning of April, and the dentist took a look today.
"Pull all of her remaining wisdom teeth!" was the edict.
"WHAT?!?!" Or should I say, "SMMMMMMMPH!" because the technician had her instruments in my mouth when this went down. I spat them out.
"What do you mean pull ALL of my wisdom teet? People have been telling me that for I don't know how many years and I don't think they really need to go, do they? If you pull them, I will have to get thicker glasses to compensate for the drop in IQ." (Everyone knows that people who wear glasses have an increase in IQ of 15 points.)
"They're not doing anything for you." he said, and left the room.
Well, I can tell you that I have not scheduled an appointment to have them taken out. I will give you that the one on the upper right is problematic and I will probably have to aquiese on it when it hurts a little worse, but the rest? They're mine, I tell you. Mine!
From the Dentist, I made a brief stop at Home Depot where I needed to buy a new nut to replace the one that fell off of a screw on my spinning wheel. With my ongoing drug (chemo) therapy, I am not thinking cohesively enough to make jewelry, but I think I can spin yarn. If my wheel was operational. So I'm going to try it later this evening and see how it goes.
From Home Depot, it was on to Bally's Fitness where an appointment to get a free 2 week pass from "Art" had been scheduled. Oy. Oy. OY!
Now I don't know if all Bally's are like this one or not, and in fact I suspect that they are not. But I arrived to find that Art had left for the day, but had left Juan behind to field his appointments. Juan was very insecure about me, and for good reason. He was trying to sell me a health club with antiquated and broken equipment, mildewed walls, and a college-age clientele. There were barely any classes available, and those that were weren't impressive.
It thought it would be prudent to sit with him anyway after the tour. If I was going to get a pass, would it be good at only this Bally's location or could I use it at others too? "No, only here. And by the way, as soon as I put your name in the system, you will not be able to get a pass at any other Bally's location for six months."
Well, I would like to see and try out the one that is closer to home too and I have a feeling in better shape. I took a pass on the pass.
Home to walk the dogs, then attend Richard Simmons weekly chat in his clubhouse. If things continue down the path that they are on right now, I will not be a member any more next week. I sat quietly during the chat, thinking of cracks that I could make, but sitting still. After it was over and Richard had left, I thanked all the people in the room for having been there, telling them that it had been an honor to have spent time in the forum with them. And then it happened. I had the melt down that has been coming on for the past five weeks.
I am eternally grateful to Iris and Joy who understood what I was trying to say, even as I took them out of left field. I apologize to the rest of the people in that room who I'm guessing had no idea that feelings and issues could run so deep in one who was seemingly riding the crest as one of Richard's poster girls.
And Richard? He was not there. I suppose I owe him an apology for opening my mouth up 'in his home,' but not as big an apology as I think I am owed.
I've had a good cry now. I'm probably ready to tackle the evening.
The Scarlet Letter
Even though 'The Scarlet Letter' was on the recommended reading list - or maybe it was required - as far back as in high school, I had never actually read it. I've had a copy in my library for years and years and years. Enough years, in fact, that the pages are yellowed and brittle. I had started it enough times, or so I thought, but in getting only a few pages into "The Custom House," I couldn't stand the book and would quit. But this time was different. And why? I took the time to read the forward and found out that "The Custom House" was not really a prologue to the story but an additional story that Nathaniel Hawthorne threw in when he realized that his novel was not long enough to stand up for publication on it's own. It was perfectly acceptable to skip it, and so, knowing that I didn't have to really pay that much attention, I forced my way through it and on to the real story.
I can undersand why this book is a classic. Even though the writing style is a little stilted for today's day and age (and I'm not talking about the Puritan way of speech but actually Hawthorne's method of writing), it still flows beautifully. And even though out-of-wedlock children really is a non-issue in my society and today's day and age, it was still a story that I could relate to on an intimate level.
You see, I believe that we do not have to have an embroidered "A" on our chest to be wearing a scarlet letter of our own. So many of us - especially me - have quirks or issues or garb of clothing that society considers out of synch with the standard. And we have been ostracized for it.
Have we never looked at a person from a different culture or religion who's skin color or way of dress might be different than ours and not react on some level at least with some faint suspicion or curiosity? Personally, I love mingling with different peoples and learning about their practices, but even after the initial gulf between us is bridged as they understand that my intentions are not hostile, they still must feel a little awkward to be the focus of that kind of intrusion.
I often feel the same way. My weight loss has branded me as different. My illnesses have branded me as different and socially unacceptable. My living circumstances certainly have done the same. I have been the object of curiosity and scorn or been put on a pedastal more times than I can count. There have been some occasions that I might as well have been wearing a scarlet letter and indeed, to wear one would have been preferable to the reason that attention was being paid to me.
The point of the story and the lesson that I am taking away from it is that I need to try and be ever sensitive to how others are feeling. That when in doubt, I need to keep my peace and silence, and try to react to other's differences with as much kindness as I can muster.
It will not always be easy to live by this creed and, indeed, I think that we are programmed on a biological level to be suspicious of anything that is different than the norm that we are used to. But it is an ideal to which I would like to ascribe to.
I can undersand why this book is a classic. Even though the writing style is a little stilted for today's day and age (and I'm not talking about the Puritan way of speech but actually Hawthorne's method of writing), it still flows beautifully. And even though out-of-wedlock children really is a non-issue in my society and today's day and age, it was still a story that I could relate to on an intimate level.
You see, I believe that we do not have to have an embroidered "A" on our chest to be wearing a scarlet letter of our own. So many of us - especially me - have quirks or issues or garb of clothing that society considers out of synch with the standard. And we have been ostracized for it.
Have we never looked at a person from a different culture or religion who's skin color or way of dress might be different than ours and not react on some level at least with some faint suspicion or curiosity? Personally, I love mingling with different peoples and learning about their practices, but even after the initial gulf between us is bridged as they understand that my intentions are not hostile, they still must feel a little awkward to be the focus of that kind of intrusion.
I often feel the same way. My weight loss has branded me as different. My illnesses have branded me as different and socially unacceptable. My living circumstances certainly have done the same. I have been the object of curiosity and scorn or been put on a pedastal more times than I can count. There have been some occasions that I might as well have been wearing a scarlet letter and indeed, to wear one would have been preferable to the reason that attention was being paid to me.
The point of the story and the lesson that I am taking away from it is that I need to try and be ever sensitive to how others are feeling. That when in doubt, I need to keep my peace and silence, and try to react to other's differences with as much kindness as I can muster.
It will not always be easy to live by this creed and, indeed, I think that we are programmed on a biological level to be suspicious of anything that is different than the norm that we are used to. But it is an ideal to which I would like to ascribe to.
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