Deuces

Elephants had come to be my favorite of all animals on thise trip to India. I really love all animals and find most to be quite extraordinary, but the elephant, in all its gentle giant wisdom, amazes me. I will never forget the story one of my students told me. I love a good story. I love a good story-teller. The person that hunkers down deep, stares off into the distance as if to see the scene from which they are recounting their tale. Here was a small child, educating me on the elephants. He told me the differences between the African elephant and the Asian elephant. The last of 3 remaining elephant types that exist today. The differences in their sizes, 'hair', ears and other physical characteristics. To me, an elephant was an elephant was an elephant. It was the first time I learned that elephants were in grave danger of becoming extint. (Since 2004, actually, the ban on killing elephants has been lifted, putting elephants at an even greater risk of poaching). They are high...

.... And so the school days were long, and hot.... and hot and sweaty and funny and a learning experience. When we returned "home" each afternoon, many of us would take a long nap. It was one not-so-creative-way to dream our way through the heat. I was the unfortunate one who had the adverse recation to my malaria pills. I had read that fine print when I got my prescription: " may cause nightmares..." but I always scoff at label warnings. These nightmares were horrendous. Eerie dreams of death and dying. This could also be because of my own paranoia. In truth, in my own lame ignorance, I had this fear I would be kidnapped by neighboring Pakistani rebels. This was 2004, during the height of Americans being kidnapped and beheaded in the Middle East. I would write letters to Lloyd as if it were the end of my days. What can I say? Nightmares mixed with American ignorance, current event pages, and feeling a sense of isolation from all of the things I loved had me in fear...

The next morning I woke up on my cot. I was starving. Wait. That's a cruel word to use. I was pretty dang hungry. I was still tired and had not slept much the night prior, ready to knock out any would-be-attackers with my hard bound journal. I suppose it sounds silly. Here I was in a hostel hosted by fellow Christians within a Christian organization, but... you can never be too sure. I dressed myself as quickly as possible. Long pants and long sleeved shirt with my collar completely buttoned up. Despite the intense heat and humidity, I was well aware prior to coming that India is extremely conservative, and shorts were not an option for us ladies. I was greeted by the gentleman who would come to serve each of our meals over the course of that summer. He would see to our general needs and inquiries. He would spend afternoons boiling water to make it safe for us to drink. I sat down on one of the 4 available chairs in that kitchen. I was served a strawberry jam sandwich with hot tea....

Some days I struggle with what to write about in a blog. I then consider taking the day off from it, and then have my husband come home from work to ask me why I didn't write that day. It's warming, really, to know that he, and at least 2 other people (JN & Maria, I heart thee), read my blog daily. It is warming that it will be the first question he might ask when he comes through the front door at 5 p.m., and he'll even seem a little bit mad that I didn't get to it. This dude that I live with and spend every evening, weekend and other spare moment with wants to read what I have to say. Perhaps it is a male thing, since I am certain he doesn't like to listen to what I have to say. Lately I have been thinking about my summer in India. Maybe because it is summer here, because I recently saw "Slumdog Millionnaire", or because I have been more actively seeking opportunities to do more volunteer work. India was a really difficult place for me. I hate to adm...

"Dear Littlefoot, I hate to say this because I love you but.... I think you might have a weight problem. Some call it being a 'closet eater', but you actually have no qualms about eating in front of people several times a day. I am worried you might be an emotional eater..."  My Lovely Littlefoot... you are the softest cat I have ever known. The absolute softest. You are my little Butterball, so named after the plump Christmas turkeys. I love you, let me count the ways. In September it will mark a year when we found you, which would put your entrance into this world right around late June. Lloyd and I were taking a drive one night through our neighborhood and he saw you first. A little, tiny black kitty. I asked him to stop even though we had 3 cats at the time (Chewy, Lando, and Obi) and I was adamant I didn't want more stinking cats. But a perfect tiny kitten was there, all alone, crouching near a truck tire. I am so happy we stopped that car. I exited ...

In a week, we will welcome September. Or thereabouts. I can't be bothered to check the calendar. But... you know... I am ready for September. I am ready for a full work schedule. I am ready to hear all about my nieces' school schedules. I am ready to start unpacking my fall sweaters, even if it is still premature in September. I am ready for my teacher friends to be in the swing of their work schedules so we can reconnect and have more to complain about. That is us. We are women who have everything to be grateful for but love to hear ourselves moan. It brings a warm sense of camaraderie. We exaggerate our troubles so we can reassure one another of our wonderfulness. That is us. We are women. To me, each month has a feeling associated with it. When I hear August, for example, I immediately think "the end of summer, the winding down of days over 100 fahrenheit, the last of long days to dig my toes into the sands of the beaches". When I hear "September", it br...

I worked at Mimi's Cafe for 6 years. In those years I worked at several locations, including my traveling stints as a corporate trainer opening up new locations. I have met many, many, many, many Mimi's workers in those 6 years and 5 locations. There are a dozen that I remember well and call close friends. In a few short weeks I will be in Rachel's wedding- who I met at Mimi's in San Diego. And then there are the Rancho girls. You know who you bossy brats are. ;) Mimi's Rancho was a unique place, indeed. Like most restaurant workers everyone was close and yet there existed these fun, silly, and very non-sensical rivalries. You know.... day versus night, for example?? (Mimi's workers nodding their heads in unison). What is even more unique about the Mimi's workplace is the ratio of females to male servers and hosts. Maybe it was the cummerbund or the colored bowtie (first gen), but it didn't attract many male workers. (I see someone raising their ...

One of the hardest things about life is accepting that other people aren't just like me. Wow. What an ego! I strive to be a good wife. I do. I don't want to be Naggy Naggerson but sometimes... I am. Being the overly analytical type, I will often spend useful time wondering what I can do to make my husband pick up those socks from the carpet. Didn't we just have this conversation? I try another approach, the way us teachers do when a student doesn't seem to get what we are teaching them. I run through Gardner's multiple intelligences' list and try new ways. I even went so far as to ask Lloyd the other day "what can I do to help you remember to put your laundry in the basket?" He thought about it a brief moment, the way he does when he wants to stop irritating me. He said "put the laundry bin by the bedroom door". I crinkled my face. "The laundry bin has been next to the door for the last 2 months- I put it there so you would use it."...

My mom is someone's grandmother. Well, she is many someones' grandmother. This makes spending time with her uniquely enjoyable. She is not my grandmother, but still her house has all the smells and tastes of children, even when they can't be seen for miles. Everyone who knows my mom knows she has a sweet tooth to no end. The moment I step into her house, all the rules about being good go out the window. As if by habit, right when I walk through that wooden door, I head to the refrigerator. It's like heaven, isn't it? You open that fridge and the bright light shines on everything as if it is on display. My mom has all the stuff I don't buy at my house. She has sodas and candy and cookies. She always seems to have an endless supply. When I tell her this she scoffs and denies it. Sometimes I will then stand at her cupboards and call out what I am seeing in them as if to prove her wrong. Many times she has a good reason why she has those treats: "Ariel wanted ...

"Dear Bobby, I love you. I always look forward to when my husband leaves for work, and you sneak into bed with me. Sometimes, you will wake me up, but usually, you just lie there next to me waiting for my eyes to open." Bobby. You are a cat. But you are the cat of all cats. Unliked some others whose names I will not mention.... you like being a cat. You are my original Obi Kenobi... But you don't like your name and insist I call you "Bobby" or "Bob". You are my predator. You can catch anything- including a rabbit almost twice your size. I remember the time you brought a baby possum into our home. I had just awakened and sleepily headed to use the bathroom when, peering from inside the toilet, was a little possum begging to be released. You cheeky bastard, Bobby. That poor possum. I scolded you and you just turned the other whisker, as if to say "look lady... I am a cat, that's how I do...." The other cats beg for forgiveness when ...

When I was young I loved to roller-skate. I remember my first "real" good pair. 4 wheels, 6th grade, hot pink laces with hot pink matching wheels on white. I even remember what I wore to my 6th grade graduation gig at Roller City- those perfectly pink and white skates with white shorts and a hot pink top. I remember my first birthday party. I was seven and I got a small machine that blew up balloons. I remember for years my mom's day off work was Tuesday, and my 5 brothers and sisters and I would always pretend to be sick on Tuesdays so we could stay home with her. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. I remember my first pair of cowboy boots. They were white leather. I was in 5th grade and they had those little leather streamers down the sides. It wasn't the fashion to wear them at the time, but I wanted them and I always wore them. I must have been on to the trend very early on! I remember my dad taught me to ride a bike. It was my half-sister, Margo who tau...

It is quiet. Lloyd is still asleep. I am in my jammies. The t.v. is off. The radios are off. The street seems to be off. There aren't any usual sounds of summer Sundays: lawnmowers, car fixers, bike riders, dog barkers, kitty hissers, bird chirpers. I listen...... nothing. Only the slight hum of my laptop. It is as if everyone knows the same thing: July is over. August has officially set-in. School days are around the corner. Weekday traffic will be heavier. Laughter will be fainter. Ahhhhh, but the days of fall are around a corner. I can't complain. I love fall. It's my favorite season. The unusual days of summer heat still linger and there is the occasional cold day. Maybe even some fall showers. It's the time of year when you can dust off your winter coat, scarves, and boots. Ahhhhh, but I am getting ahead of myself. It is technically still summer! Today Lloyd and I will hang out. Just hang out. We will allow ourselves to be completely lazy. We will enjoy the ice-cre...