Ramble and Fantasy

I kinda like this new life of mine. Being Friday, I don't go to the day job (reason for celebration in itself), but spend the morning interviewing interesting people instead. I have a 5:00 deadline for any stories, and this week that's no sweat because two of my three are already submitted, the third needs a quote from todays interview and it will be gone... the fact that I can't imagine this schedule ever getting boring, talk in the mornings, write in the afternoon, leads me to today's Friday Fantasy:
I would like to tear down my house and replace it with a grown up sized, multi-level, tree house. It will require the instant appearance of a very large tree, but heck, it is a fantasy. One of these levels needs to have a swimming pool, I really need some exercise and that's my favorite kind. I'll save the top for my studio. From there I'll have an excellent view of town and the surrouding hillsides. Exit from the tree house will be by zip line, inside there will be no stairs, just escalators from floor to floor. I'll need a cook, driver and gardener, anyone want to volunteer for the job?

The picture is of Ophelia in a full out pout. Princesses little kitten is getting bigger by the day and now it's ON between those two. Since this day is a full out ramble... I must mention some very nice comments that arrived from Anonymous: thank you for dropping by, if you'll leave your name next time I will happily return the visit!

mad,Mad, MAD!

Have you seen the news today? Desperately seeking my happy place! This picture also by my talented friend Waldo. Unfortunately, it's not helping!

The news... homeland security people use their government issued credit cards to swindle the American public after hurricane Katrina. It's just making me sick. Big screen TVs, paying double for rescue boats and then half of them unable to be found, a beer making kit, a warehouse full of dog booties. The list just goes on and on, and the real question is WHY?

This makes me crazy on a number of different levels.

I'm a small town treasurer. We have 22 employees (not counting the lifeguards in the summer). According to state law, in order to purchase a lightbulb it requires a form documenting what is to be purchased, who from and for how much. This must be signed by me and the administrator. The form is then assigned a purchase order number and the light bulb can be purchased. Once the invoice arrives, the information is put on a list that must be approved by a six man council before the item can be paid for. Tedious, yes. But there has never been so much as a missapropriated penny in this village.

In 2004 my small town flooded. We lost everything on the first floor of the municipal building. The safe and it's contents, file cabinets full of documents, computers, police radios.... it was terrible, and even that wasn't half as bad as what the residents were suffering with the same amount of water in their houses. Eventually FEMA came down to help us sort things out. We lost nearly $400,000 worth of equipment. In order for FEMA to replace anything, we had to have three quotes for replacement, a report from a professional saying it had to be replaced rather than repaird, a request form, a picture and full description of the item. From the initial request for the next eighteen months I had to file a report saying we had the item. Tedious? Oh yes. Also unneccessary.

But handing out 25,000 credit cards willy-nilly is just ridiculous. I've always said if you throw temptation into the face of even the most honest people, they will eventually give in. We need new government leaders, we need to revamp these crazy agencies. Anything with a title so long its better known by its initials must be overhauled and streamlined. Clear Congress, Clear the Senate, clear anyone in government from the President on down and let's start over.

I Need A Navigator

Ruger and I are two grumpy travelers. I must remember for the future that when Dark Daddy says "left" he means "right". Thank goodness nobody was bleeding or unconscious... they'd have died before I ever arrived.

It was my intent to skip out of the day job an hour early, which I did. I was then going to drive thirty five minutes from home for a visit with two of my dearest, oldest friends. Two hours later, after I'd toured the same stretch of road four times, and had a pay phone steal the last two dollars I had in my wallet, I gave up and headed home for my writers meeting. I hadn't been in the house five minutes before Pap explained this error in my navigation (left rather than right). Just to aggravate matters more, he added "from that pay phone you could probably see his house." Has no one explained what a precarious position this man is already in without adding that??? Jeesh.

The first stories for my new job are due by Friday. I have interviewed, researched and written the three I plan to send in. In fact, two were finished by last Saturday, edited, polished and ready to go. But I just couldn't send them. I've spent the last several days imagining that the minute I hit "send", the stories would come flying back from my editor saying she'd made a mistake hiring me, every word was crap. I spent two days reading an old edition of the paper and agonizing over whether my writing was better or worse than what they already had. With time ticking away, I changed the title of my favorite story four times. Finally, today, Clay Guy says the equivalent of "just send them for Pete's sake!" So at lunch, I sent one. At two I checked my e-mail and there were three letters from my editor. My fears had to be confirmed, my writing was so bad she had to tell me three times! One would be "your writing's crap", the next would be "who do you think you are pretending to be a writer" the last would be firing me before I'd ever seen my by-line on a newspaper.

I opened the first one and there was just one line: "I have only one word to say...AWESOME". The other two were asking if I'd sent pictures, and then apologizing because she failed to see the line where I told her I'd sent pictures. I also had a letter from the graphics guy saying my pictures were good! That was just a lie though, I'm a terrible photographer, I need my sister-niece to come be my partner. She not only takes great pictures, she can also write. We could start our own newspaper. I can't even describe how happy this made me.

The good news is it's highly unlikely that I'll ever be an arrogant writer.

Warning - Parenthood is not for the Weak or Wimpy

The most frustrating thing about parenthood is the fact that once the little darlings enter the world, you can NEVER get them off your mind. It’s like one dormant quadrant of your brain comes to life in brilliant, neon, pulsing color. We worry about them in the same way we must probe a throbbing tooth with our tongue, or pick at a scab on our knee. Parenting books should come with a warning label.

My five kids range from 19-26. for the most part, they are independent, responsible young people. Logic dictates that if you have five children and four follow a path highly acceptable to society, conduct their individual lives in a way that brings respect and honor to themselves and their family, are known to all and sundry as happy, generous, kind people, you should say you've done your parenting job well. That isn't how it works.

When only four of the five are doing well, there's another quadrant of your brain that springs to life, this one spewing steam and lava, spotlights crossing paths above it, a really mean guy yelling into a megaphone: "You've messed this one up! Come one, come all and see the disaster this couple has created!" I think I told you yesterday that the prodigal had returned home. Grandgirls mom is back and despite having spent the entire day with her, I can not figure out how she turned out the way she did. I can't figure out how her mind works, I can't decipher the truth from the lies that spew from her mouth. How do you know when T is lieing? Her mouth is moving...

My intelligent, internal woman berates me constantly for blaming myself, but when did she ever have a kid? As I recall, she was the one clamoring about "population control" back when I was wishing on every shooting star for a baby. Years of soul searching and rehashing always reveal the mistakes we made with all the kids, but "all" is the key word. There wasn't any thing we did as parents to push her into premarital sex, drugs and a tolerance for the most extreme kind of self-inflicted poverty and misguided devotion. Easy to say, but my protests are no match for that guy with the megaphone.

Back to the Real World

I'm doing my best to find my happy place today, without much luck... it's Monday, that means the day job.

This beautiful picture was taken by my friend Waldo Schmidlapt... who once started all my days with beautiful pictures of clouds but has suffered a computer crash and hasn't the time to reload all the addresses... sigh*** it was a great way to start the day.



Yesterday, as I was feverishly scribbling notes about a local community theatre preparing to open their season with Fiddler on the Roof, I remembered that I was supposed to be at Dark Daddy's on Saturday. Hmmm... I haven't had any hate mail from him, so maybe I lucked out and he also forgot about our date. I forget many things now days, and have for some time. That's why it's so surprising to me that I can remember the smallest details of the interviews I've been doing for the paper even without my notes. Proof, that when you love what you do, it comes easier. Kristin over at blueridgewriter summed this up beautifully on her blog yesterday.

Prodigal is home again, with daughter and one on the way. Its hard for me to know what to say. She chose a lifestyle so alien to me, made decisions that are clearly poor over and over again. Now she's dependent on the kindness of her sister Bean. Hopefully this time it will work and she'll remember her upbringing.