KatyDid

Welcome to Corporate America!

2010-10-19T19:50:00.003-04:00

It is a bitter-sweet time. Today is the first day in our new building.

Let me back up a step.

In a previous life(wife)time I drove past a little rock-front building every day on the way to work. And every day I wondered what that little building was going to be. Even after the sign was put up in front of the little building, I still didn't know what the business was! Lo and behold, I became one of their employees in January of 1990. The little building became a bigger building, then a bigger building. The business that a wonderful family built from nothing had become a thriving business that a much larger company coveted to the point that they were happy to pay the almost ridiculous asking price!

I didn't stay in the little (big) building continuously for 20 years. I went on my way and tried other things, only to come back twice and be welcomed back with open arms. I am so grateful to the S family for letting me back in!

I knew this time was coming, and I tried to prepare myself. The younger folks who have only been around for a few months or a few years, and those who didn't even know the S family, cannot possibly understand what I am feeling. Last night when I left the big(little) building for the last time, I actually cried. I didn't sob--it isn't as if I have really lost a friend--but I was nearly overcome by my emotions.

The new building is huge, everything is brand spanking new and it's all just wonderful (except that it is twice as far from my house and there is a really ugly green wall to my right). But it isn't my home.

The only reason I am able to compose this post from work is that the phones are not working correctly and we have no databases at all. What we have are printouts and very limited information at that. But it's better than nothing. They will get the phones working eventually, the computer servers will be transferred and put online again, and all will be right with the world. But it still won't be my home.

Not sure I like corporate America.

Mom

2010-06-26T10:42:00.001-04:00

This post is not about my mother, but rather my mother-in-law whom I called "Mom" when I was living in Ohio with her son.

I'm not sure I even have the words to describe her, though some that come to mind are: loving, warm, kind, upstanding, truthful, righteous (but not self-righteous), good . . . truly good. There haven't been many people in my life that could be described with two of those words, much less all of them. And I know I'm leaving out a lot of them, just from lack of vocabulary. She prayed daily and often and had the strongest faith I had ever encountered. I'm still not sure how she could have produced The Man to whom I am still regretfully married, in spite of having been separated for nearly four years. (That's my project for August of this year, at which time I will have--hopefully--settled in from moving yet again!)

Mom died in January of this year from what I believe was a brain aneurysm. At that time I could not afford the price of the gasoline to get me to Ohio for her funeral. Just as well, I suppose, since the self-righteous hypocrite who is her son and my legal husband "ordered" me not to come. He did it out of spite because I had finally convinced him I was NEVER coming back to him, no matter what he did, and he might as well stop asking. Mom would not have been very proud of him for that.

My last conversation with this wonderful woman was concerning The Man, her first-born child, who never showed her one ounce of love or respect that I could see. This conversation took place after the death of his son in November of 2007, a time when I WAS able to afford to drive to Ohio for the funeral. Mom gave a beautiful eulogy for her grandson who had died in a motorcycle accident. I still don't know how she stood in front of all those people and read the most heartfelt and sincere account of her "Brian's Song." She was so composed, so loving and sincere. As she finished, I whispered to The Man to go help his mother off the platform where she had been standing. (Not only could he not think of it himself, being the selfish pig he is, but I actually had to repeat it.) He did help her down and even gave her a hug in front of everyone. And this simple gesture is what our last conversation was about. This small act had given her so much pleasure that it was really sad. She asked me if I knew what she could possibly have done to make The Man dislike her, and I told her truthfully that I did not know. He had indicated to me at some point in the last 15 years that there WAS something, but he never told me what it was.

Mom would have celebrated her 80th birthday today. I have been thinking of her since I woke up.

Merry Christmas

2009-12-24T20:44:00.003-05:00

It was such a nice gesture, it made me cry. My family has a long-standing ritual for Christmas Eve where we burn candles and read the story of the birth of Jesus from the Bible. Back when we were young we also sang "Silent Night", but that has sort of fallen by the wayside. Never mind . . . it's still a good ritual.

I am working tonight in order to allow the younger employees to do their thing with their children. There's not much going on anyway, so it's not much of a sacrifice. I'm watching whatever bowl game is on TV at the moment. (Although a little earlier I was busier than a one-armed paper hanger. The girl who ran the switchboard today failed to switch the phones into night mode when she left, so no one could get through to us! I just thought we weren't busy. Then I had to catch up. Anyway . . .)

I had asked several of my family members to call or text me when they were about to burn their candles so that I could burn mine "with" them. Lil Sis obliged, and my candle is still burning. However, around 7:00 p.m. my son called and said they were about to burn candles, so I lit mine and was preparing to bid them all good night. Suddenly I realized he had me on speaker phone and was reading the Bible story. After that my grandchildren read "'Twas the Night Before Christmas", taking turns reading passages. It literally brought me to tears.

I don't have much Christmas spirit. I don't know why. I just don't. (Oh, I do know why but it's so illogical.) But tonight I am filled with happy memories and looking forward to the coming year.

It has to be better than this one.

Lucinda Update

2009-12-02T22:47:00.002-05:00

If I live to be 100 I will never understand cats. Lucius is perfectly happy to lie around in the blanket-lined plastic container I have placed on the deck for him, moving only to go under the deck and eat or to walk with Chico and me (only when it is dark, though). Lucinda hides from me, coming out only to eat. She hears me when I call to her and comes running from somewhere in the woods behind the house, meowing furiously as if I am going to forget she is there and hungry. I have placed a blanket-lined plastic container on the deck for her as well, but I have yet to see her in it. In fact, Lucius has taken over the one I put out for Lucinda even though the containers are side by side. Lucinda rubs against my leg as if to thank me for the food, and she will let me pet her. I could probably pick her up and carry her around if I wanted to, but she'd really rather be eating.

But she's there . . . somewhere. I don't know where she goes, but she comes back.

As soon as my landlord gets his computer back and hooks up the router again so that I have Internet access, I will post pictures of my sweet kitties and my Chico. Right now I am posting this at work. Oops!

And She's Back!

2009-12-01T01:44:00.003-05:00

Just as quickly as she departed, Lucinda has now reappeared after an eight-day absence. I don't know where she is living these days, but she drops by to eat and will let me pet her for awhile. Then she's gone again. As I stated before, she has never been quite the loving cat that Lucius is, but after all I HAVE fed her!

It is a comfort, though, that she is still among the living.

Going Home

2009-11-25T16:20:00.007-05:00

When I moved to Ohio in early 2004 I insisted on taking my black cat Spook along with me. I failed to realize that he would not know the difference in our long driveway into the woods in Georgia and the narrow but well-traveled road mere feet from our house in Ohio. He lasted about a month before one of the locals who drove too fast on that little country road ended his life. I didn't have time to cry the day Spook died because it was the opening day of my sister-in-law's greenhouse. But the following morning while I was washing his food and water bowls and putting away all his things, it suddenly hit me that he was gone. I sobbed uncontrollably for quite some time and stared out the window at the spot next to the road where his life had ended.

About six months later The Man found a tiny black kitten while he was parking his tractor-trailer for the weekend. (I am convinced that the kitten was put there by someone who knew how upset I was over Spook's death, but no one ever owned up to it.) He brought the kitten home to me, which I suppose was the only tender thing I can ever remember from him. He did not like and did not believe in pets, so it was quite a sacrifice for him to bring me the kitten instead of snapping its neck and throwing it into the field. We wanted to name him Lucky since he was under the trailer by the time it was parked. But we thought it was a girl kitty, so we named her Lucy. The vet pointed out to me the difference (they weren't that big when we first looked at him!), and we decided to name him Lucius. When I moved back to Georgia it naturally followed that Lucius would come with me.

In August of 2007 I found Lucinda in an outbuilding on the property where I was house-sitting for my aunt. I waited to name her until I was sure she was a girl kitty. She is a calico, and I have since been told that all calico cats are females. (Reminder to self: Google that.) She was very tiny and very shy, and it took quite some time before she would come close to me. But as she grew she trusted me more and more, and at some point she came to live inside with Lucius and me. They got along very well, and I loved to watch them together.

When my aunt moved into her house and I moved to the basement apartment where I now live, it was not possible to take the cats with me and my aunt agreed to let them stay with her until I could find another home for them. After several months my aunt grew weary of the responsibility (which she took seriously) and asked me to come get them. Knowing I really couldn't keep them inside, and fearing that outside they would be at the mercy of some of the big dogs in our neighborhood, I debated and pondered and cried and cried. At one point I even pictured myself dropping them off in the middle of the night on a farm out in the country where they would be happy and catch mice and frolic and play all day. Of course it was only a fleeting thought which disappeared entirely when I saw them. Lucius came to me right away, but Lucinda seemed to be angry with me for leaving them in the first place. It took some time and patience, but I finally managed to get them both into my little pickup truck and head for home. I deliberately did not feed them until I got them to their new home.

It was raining and miserable that day. I found a place under my deck which was dry and decided to feed them there. Lucius came right away and ate voraciously, but Lucinda eyed me warily for awhile before timidly coming up to the food bowls. She ate a little and then went into the woods behind the house. I assumed she was going to check things out and explore the woods and the lakeside. That was five days ago, and it was the last time I saw her.

I have cried so much that I can't cry any more. I feel totally worthless, as if I have lost something rare and valuable. I have tried to tell myself she was just a cat, a stray that wandered into my life and never did seem to love me like Lucius does. But I keep seeing her sweet face the way it looked the last time I saw her.

Of course I have thought the worst. That's my nature. Think the worst and nothing can disappoint you. I have heard the dogs in the neighborhood barking and wondered if they saw her. I walk out on the deck and try to detect any sign of movement in the woods, but there is none. At times I think I can hear her meow, and I imagine she is in a tree or caught in some underbrush. I can't get to her, and I can't help her.

So I have decided instead to imagine that Lucinda has gone on a journey, trying to get back to the only home she has ever known. In my mind I see her slipping through the woods, crossing over the streets and following her cat senses leading her home. Maybe she stops along the way to eat whatever scraps have been discarded at a home or a restaurant. Maybe she rests under a shelter for a time before continuing her journey. This is the only way I can rest, thinking that she will succeed in making her way home again. I'm looking forward to the call from my aunt telling me Lucinda has shown up there.

Goodbye, Lucinda, and good luck. I will miss you.

Sometimes You Just Need a Good Cry

2009-11-08T10:59:00.003-05:00

While I was intending to check my bank balance, I ended up instead reading Lil Sis' post from last night. For some reason I decided to re-read all the ones she wrote with my name in them. Guess I have a wider streak of narcissism than I thought. (Good thing I have the dictionary on my iPhone. Had to make sure I spelled narcissism correctly.)

Anyway, I read the one she wrote on my birthday--which I am certain made me cry the first time--and I cried again. Coincidentally I had just been thinking about both of my sisters and how much they mean to me and how proud I am of all they have accomplished. Over the years I have lost touch with most of my "best" friends from my past, and my sisters have become my very best friends.

There are times when I feel that I just can't get out of bed, just can't make myself do anything at all, want to pull the covers over my head and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist . . . you get the picture. It's at those times that I think of my sisters and how they would respond. It would go something like: "Oh, I'm so sorry you feel that way. How can I help you? Now get your a** out of that bed and get on with your life."

Lil Sis and I went bicycle riding with our friend Rozmo yesterday, and it saved me from another day of sitting around like a bump on a pickle, worrying about things I can't do anything about right now. I came so close to calling (or texting, more likely) Lil Sis to tell her I just wasn't up to it. But once I got there and we actually started riding, I was so glad I hadn't bailed out. It was a glorious day, one which really makes you glad you're alive, and we had a most wonderful ride of 37 miles.

See, I know my sisters have both been in similar situations to the one in which I now find myself, and I know they persevered and overcame them. They probably still find themselves in difficult predicaments from time to time, and I know they fight through them. That's what we do: we fight--for each other and for ourselves.

And just as soon as I'm finished crying I'm going grocery shopping. I'll start figuring out the rest of my life when I get back!

Oh, well . . .

2009-10-25T20:43:00.001-04:00

I guess that dream I had last night that I won the lottery didn't come true.

An Act of Love

2009-10-10T21:18:00.005-04:00

It has long been my desire to ride a century (100 miles) on my bicycle, but circumstances (or hilly terrain) have always been against me. So when Lil Sis and I signed up for this weekend's BikeFest in the southern (flat) part of our state, we decided this might be the best chance for me to achieve this goal. Lil Sis has ridden several centuries when I was living out of state, and I was so jealous! She knew how much it meant to me to have this new bragging right, so she made the supreme sacrifice and rode the tandem with me.

I'm not going to sit here and say it was a breeze. The weather was good, though it got a little hot later in the day, and the terrain was indeed quite flat. But 108 miles is 108 miles . . . on a bicycle. And make no mistake: it is NOT easier because there are two people pedaling. There are still two bodies on the bicycle!

What would have made the day more bearable would have been a win by our beloved Bulldogs. Knowing the game would be played while we were riding, Lil Sis attached stereo speakers specifically made for a bicycle, and we each had an MP3 player which doubled as an FM radio (just in case one ran out of steam!). We were able to hear each and every horrible moment of the game.

It is a wonderful feeling of accomplishment, just being able to say I rode 108.09 miles ON A BICYCLE. But what makes it even more special is that I know Lil Sis did it just for me. She has her collection of century bandanas and wanted this one for me. Thank you, Lil Sis, and I love you.

Good night.

I Got the Music in Me

2009-09-08T09:39:00.005-04:00

Another thing I "always wanted to be" was a musician. I never got very serious about it (just taught myself a couple of songs on guitar), but it was always there in the back of my mind. Right now I have 1.9 days of music on my MP3 player (and on my phone--same music!), and I generally have ear buds in my ears almost every waking hour.

I was just thinking I might want to take up some sort of musical instrument--you know, something small and easy to handle. [Lil Sis has a hammered dulcimer (or is it hammer dulcimer, as I have seen it?), and I would love to hear her play it sometime.] Anyway, I was looking online for musical instruments and trying to decide which one I could defile the least. I had narrowed it down to either a ukulele or a mandolin when suddenly I realized I was listening to Tom Rush singing "Hobo Mandolin." I guess that's settled.

Wonder what a dulcimer and a mandolin sound like together.

You rode HOW FAR on a bicycle?

2009-08-31T10:09:00.010-04:00

It comes in spells, this love of cycling. The spells don't usually last much longer than it takes for my butt to become uncomfortable. But I remember at some point the reason for riding a bicycle became simply that it is something I can do, albeit not all that well.

In 1995 when I was in the absolute best physical condition of my life, I was all too happy to hop on a bicycle and ride 50, 60, 75 miles (I've never managed the elusive 100, not for lack of trying). Now it is more like that old saying "the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak" or whatever that saying is.

Yesterday Lil Sis and I (along with the other two members of Team Chi-Chis) rode in the annual Wilson 100 bicycle ride. I'm never sure if riding the tandem with Lil Sis is really easier or if it just seems that way because I'm not constantly trying to catch up with her! We never intended to ride the longest ride of 104 miles, but I think Lil Sis was thinking more of the 50-mile version. At one of the rest stops (#2 maybe?) we were trying to make the decision about the distance to ride, and I pointed out that the next distance was "only 15 miles more" than the one we had intended to ride. I'm usually the one to argue the shorter distance!

So ride on we did. And ride. And ride. At about mile 46 the rains came. Oh heck, it's just a little rain. But not for long. It became a deluge with lightning and thunder, seemingly coming ever closer and closer. We came upon a small town which was mostly deserted and took shelter under the roof of the porch of what was once a business. Presently the other two Team Chi-Chis joined us (we had left them at the previous rest stop, thinking we were getting ahead of the rain!) and we rode the last 10 miles in rain. You know that kind of rain that is just hard enough to feel like needles hitting your arms and face? And I felt sorry for Lil Sis on the front of the tandem--at least she was breaking some of the needles from my face!

Of course, we eventually made it back to the starting point, weary and wet. There was a surprisingly delicious meal waiting for us when we returned. Then we made the almost-two-hour drive back home. I remember coming home, walking Chico, soaking in a warm bath, but not so much about getting into bed! I must have been asleep before the room was dark.

I can hardly wait to get to work this evening and tell my co-workers (all young men) how this old woman rode 66.54 miles on a bicycle! Maybe that's why I do it after all: bragging rights!

I Wanted to be a Dancer

2009-08-29T11:26:00.005-04:00

Guess I haven't mentioned that yet. I'm sure I danced around when I was young and got into all sorts of trouble, as I'm equally sure it was something that would never have been allowed inside the house. So I danced outside? I don't know.

But I do know it was a dream of mine until I got to the age that I decided it was too late. That was probably about the time it occurred to me that we had been poor when I was younger. Not the poorest people in the county, and we always had enough to eat and clean clothes to wear, but we could not have afforded my dance career even if Mother had had the time and the inclination to help me pursue it. I might have been a ballerina or a tap dancer, even a ballroom dancer. But there were five children and we lived "out in the country."

So now while I'm walking my sweet Chihuahua puppy Chico I take along my MP3 player or my phone on which I have stored something like 700 songs. I don't even care that the neighbors might see me dancing up and down the street, following wherever Chico decides to go. (More about the neighborhood later and this will be funny!)

Maybe this winter (when there is no bicycle riding and the weather is not conducive to any kind of outdoor activities), I will enroll in some sort of exercise/dance class . . . or just make my own right here in the living room.

I Am Just Getting Too Old!

2009-08-08T21:07:00.002-04:00

In Dalton, GA with Lil Sis for a bike ride, and it was brutal . . . at least for me. I started out in decent shape in spite of the fact that I had had only three hours of sleep last night and did not eat a proper breakfast this morning. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Never mind that I am at least 30 pounds overweight and too old to go out and jump on a bike and ride up hills in 94-degree weather. Lil Sis looked very strong and stayed ahead of me most of the day . . . but not TOO far! Thanks, Little Sis!

Time to get ready for some much-needed rest. One more day to ride on this trip. The plan is to ride the shortest route tomorrrow . . . which is 47 miles. Wish me luck!

I Can't Compete!

2009-08-07T22:31:00.002-04:00

Okay, so now both of my sisters are blogging every night. I just can't keep up! I have time to read them and make comments, but I just can't seem to find the time to compose my own blog every single night.

I'll try, though.

Later.

Bragging With Bragger

2009-06-09T21:41:00.002-04:00

Here we are on BRAG again! Lil Sis and I rode our single bikes Sunday because it was in the mountains. We rode up Unicoi Gap (about 9.5 miles of constant climbing), then white-knuckled it down the other side (7 miles of terror and trying to maintain control of the brakes). I was so proud of the fact that I did not have to walk any part of Unicoi Gap, but later in the day it was a different story. I was completely spent by that time, never mind the fact that I did not train for this ride.

We both took Monday off due to the fact that Lil Sis was still in post-planning at school. Then today I left home on my bike, rode about 10 miles and joined the ride just before the last rest stop of the day! So my 21.2 miles was just fine with me. Tomorrow we will be back on the tandem.

Last year we gave up camping and have never looked back! It is just so nice to come in after a day of riding in the heat and have an air-conditioned room with a soft bed, a television and wireless Internet!

It's getting late, and it's going to be hot tomorrow! Good night.

And I'm back . . . sort of

2009-05-07T19:52:00.003-04:00

Today I rode 12 miles on my bicycle. Well, it was approximately 12 miles . . . I forgot to reset my bicycle computer when I left home. Since I have been riding tandem with Lil Sis for a couple of years now (can it be?), I no longer have the skills or the sense I had when riding single! I even started off wobbling and never did get my cleats clipped into the pedals! Fortunately I have campus pedals and can use the flat side even with cleated shoes.

I'm not sure what prompted me to actually ride today. I've been telling myself for some time now that I should get on that darn bike instead of sleeping longer, eating more, etc., then whining about the ever-increasing size of my backside. I don't like to ride by myself, but I live literally in the sticks surrounded by people even older than I and Lil Sis was working. It was a beautiful ride. I had intended to ride about seven miles (not sure why I chose that number), but I started riding and decided to take roads I have never traveled, even in the car. There was a moment of panic when I thought I had turned onto a road that basically went nowhere, but it worked out okay. It added more to the ride than I had intended, but it was a really good ride. I might do it again tomorrow if it isn't raining when I wake up.

(Oh, I know why I decided to ride today . . . I didn't have to be at work until 6:00 p.m. instead of the normal 4:00 p.m. due to the fact that a co-worker is taking a night off.)

So we'll see how this all works out!

Burning the Candles at Christmas

2008-12-26T00:08:00.003-05:00

I had intended to blog tonight about our family tradition of burning candles on Christmas Eve, and reading Lil Sis' blog served only to strengthen my resolve.

If I remember correctly the tradition began when I was quite young, so Lil Sis wasn't even a gleam in the old man's eye. Mom and Daddy had their own tradition of going out on Christmas Eve to visit friends, leaving the children at home. It sounds harsh and neglectful, but those were different times. We lived in the country where there was evidently no crime, never mind the fact that we lived next to Daddy's parents, so we could not have gotten into any trouble if we had wanted to. And don't get the wrong picture about our parents going out . . . it was very informal, no mink stoles and tuxes like you see in the movies. We were simple (poor) people. I think it might have just been an excuse for Daddy to get tipsy.

It is still incredible to me that we were able to pull off the candle burning thing. I have no idea where we got the money, how we got to the store to buy the candles, or how we had the nerve to actually burn the damn things. I can't remember ever in my life getting by with anything, so it is all unbelievable to me even now. The candles were usually in the shapes of animals or Christmas icons, and here again I am relying on my memory. It seems I had one in the shape of a grey cat one year. Nurse, Bo and I would wait until our parents left, then gather around some sort of low table and light our candles. Nurse (being the oldest) would read the Christmas story from the Bible, we would sing "Silent Night", blow out the candles, kiss each other good night and go to bed to wait for Santa Claus. This is my memory. Nurse might have a different one.

I'm not sure why we chose "Silent Night". Possibly because it was a song we could all sing at that stage in our lives. Like Lil Sis, sometimes I have a hard time getting through the whole song. On Christmas Eve this year I bought candles in the shapes of snowmen, Santa Claus and penguins dressed in their holiday best. I bought six: one for myself, one each for my son and his wife, one each for my granddaughter and grandson, and one for Bo. After we finished the ceremony, we all blew out our candles. My grandson thought it best that I blow out Bo's candle since he did not know him! My eyes were teary the whole time.

When we were still going to the cemetery to burn candles at Bo's grave, I remember one bitterly cold windy night when we had to re-light the candles many times. As we drove away, we looked back to see that all the candles had been blown out by the wind--all except three. It seemed to signify the original three of us burning candles alone on Christmas Eve all those years ago.

I Thought There Would Be Time

2008-12-08T00:51:00.004-05:00

Twenty-five years ago I met two of the most wonderful people in the world. Terry and Darlene were an inspiration to me. I never saw either of them angry--at each other or anyone else in the world. We met through our children who were playing sports. Terry was one of the coaches of the T-ball team where my son landed completely by accident, as I did not know anyone associated with his school or with the booster club. I didn't know to request to have my son placed on this team of star players coached by the world's most wonderful coach. Terry's wife Darlene was the scorekeeper for the team and also the unofficial team mom, just because everyone loved her so much. There was always a steady stream of kids in and out of their house, and my son became one of them. I remember the first time he spent the night there. When I went to collect him the next day I sheepishly apologized to Darlene that I had forgotten to send a toothbrush with him. She smiled and replied, "I don't think he missed it."

Darlene and I became the best of friends and at some point began coaching the youth soccer team on which our sons played. We were very successful, and I like to think at least some of it was our coaching style. But our boys were completely loaded with talent and were serious about winning while having fun. I remember those years as some of the best of my life.

But time moved on. The boys grew up. I divorced my (second) husband and did not feel comfortable in the circle of our friends who were married couples (totally unfounded). So we grew apart and no longer kept in touch. Over the years I have thought of Terry and Darlene many times and wanted to visit with them. I just thought there would be plenty of time.

I saw Darlene last night at family visitation at the funeral home where Terry will be laid to rest. I have not asked anyone how he died. (I had heard that he had been ill and using an oxygen tank and assumed he had emphysema or cancer from many years of smoking.) It took Darlene a minute to realize I was there, not because she didn't recognize me but because it has been so long since we have seen each other. It was like seeing something familiar in an unfamiliar place. She hugged me and we both cried. I told her I had thought Terry was a great man, that I had always been jealous of their relationship and wished that I had been so blessed. They were married for 37 years and were still in love, still doing everything together. I know she is going to be lonely in spite of her two loving (adoring) sons and their wives. Hopefully I can be of some comfort to her when she needs me.

Hopefully I will learn one day not to take precious time for granted.

If I'd known I was going to live this long . . .

2008-11-14T00:39:00.004-05:00

Old and worn-out line, but still true. I think our Creator got it all wrong anyway. I think when we are young and our hormones are raging and we are going to do all in our power to follow His will and procreate anyway, why do we have to be slim with bright eyes and taut skin? Why can't we have that when we're old and know how to make the most of it?

Well, anyway . . . For some reasons I will not enumerate here (mostly because for the life of me they don't make sense now) I did not see a dentist for 10 years. So when I recently went on this kick of "Ohmygosh, here I am old as dirt and falling apart and what am I going to do about it" I decided I really should have my teeth checked out and cleaned. I actually had a tooth which had been broken since 2001, but it wasn't causing me any pain or trouble so I did nothing about it. Let me just say right here that I was extremely fortunate considering the amount of time that had passed with no professional care for my teeth. The broken tooth was repaired in very little time, requiring a crown for which my dental insurance paid half. The cleaning was a different story. They had to do something called root planing and scaling, which actually sounds worse than it was. It took about and hour and a half this morning (and a lot of scraping by the hygienist, who is an absolute angel) to get the plaque off my teeth at the gum line. It was mildly uncomfortable (I was told by a MALE co-worker that it was just horrible), and my gums are a little sore. All in all I feel lucky. The hygienist said they weren't bad for being neglected as long as they were, and there was no significant bone loss and no indication that I was in danger of losing any teeth.

So in addition to my new diet (which eliminates almost everything I like to eat) and the exercises given to me by my physical therapist (who just released me from my weekly visits), I must now get into the habit of flossing my teeth. Oh, woe is me! How will I ever work that into my already full life? It is just possible that I will be forced to floss instead of watching Frasier on TV each morning. Oh no, wait . . . I can do both at once! Problem solved. I will just have to force myself to floss before working on my latest crochet project.

I guess it's never too late to start taking better care of myself.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch Changes

2008-11-09T23:23:00.004-05:00

While driving I normally listen to either country music or classic rock, sometimes oldies. My commute to work is 33 miles one way (actually 32.7 as my mother would say), so I have a little time to listen to music or whatever catches my fancy. Sometime during the presidential campaign I became more civic-minded than I usually am and actually wanted to know what the candidates stood for. When I left for work one night one of the debates was about to begin, so I started searching the radio stations for a news station that might be broadcasting it. I came across a station which was coming in clearly and was carrying the debate, and the time passed very quickly on my way to work that night.

I was either too lazy to change the station . . . or could it be my mind was actually open to trying a radio station that had more to offer than just the same old music? Anyway, I kept the radio tuned to this public broadcasting station and found that I was enjoying not only the news programs but the music--sometimes classical, sometimes jazz, and I swear I think I heard some downright hillbilly music one night. On Sunday nights there is a program called "The Infinite Mind" which can be about anything from insanity to telling lies to brilliance in music. I hardly ever change the station anymore.

Then today I was in a mood which I cannot describe. I needed to do some shopping at one of those well-known super stores that are open 24/7. There are several of them within short distances of my house, but for some reason I wound up on the east side of Athens. On the way there my public broadcasting station started to get a little fuzzy, so I searched for something else. What I found was the college radio station. It happened to be Alumni Weekend at the station, which meant former students who had worked at the station came back and were allowed to play anything they pleased. It was great! There was music I had never heard but enjoyed very much, and artists I had mostly never heard of but will seek out now. I found myself even laughing at some of the songs--so bold and raucous. I had forgotten how different the programming is on college stations.

The drive home turned into somewhat of an adventure. (Lil Sis will know what I mean.) At times I decide to take a different route from one point to the other. There is no rhyme or reason. It is just a decision I make on the spur of the moment. It could be from boredom, I'm not sure. At any rate, today was one of those times. I went in search of a certain drugstore (which I found and shopped successfully) and decided it was just too much trouble to take the "regular" route home. So off I go on a road I don't think I've ever traveled but somehow I knew it would take me home. And this time I didn't even get lost or turned around. Never had to turn around and go back. Oh, I saw a couple of roads that I recognized which would have shortened the journey a little--but what was the hurry? It was a truly magificent fall day, and I started looking at the beautiful colors of the leaves. (Is it my imagination, or are the leaves more vibrant this year than in years past?) At some point I passed a man on a bicycle and thought for a fleeting moment how I wished I were riding today. Like I said, it was fleeting. I knew I had to get home and get some sleep before time to come to work tonight.

(Reminder to self: Check those lottery numbers.)

Gotta go now. Need to see if I can find some of those artists from the college station today.

I Might Not Be Employed Tomorrow

2008-10-31T00:22:00.003-04:00

If I'm not, it won't be my fault. I am all about fairness and what's right. I try to be fair, I try not to lie (even a white lie to keep from hurting someone's feelings), and I have no patience for anyone without the same convictions.

One of my "supervisors" is such a person. I'll call him La-Z-Boy--anyone who knows him will know to whom I am referring. He lies about the most inconsequential things. So much so that when his wife became pregnant with twins, we kept waiting for him to come in and tell us she had unfortunately had a miscarriage. Ouch! But seriously, some people can lie so much that it makes other people feel that strongly. When the twins were born, La-Z-Boy had these two nannies (named Heather and some other name I forget) who were living with them and caring for the babies. Turns out they were totally fictitious. He tells outlandish lies. He went into great detail about two years ago telling everybody how they were digging a hole in their back yard to build a swimming pool. Every day came a new installment of the trials and tribulations of putting in a pool. I guess there was no way he could have known his wife would want to have a surprise birthday party for him and invite all his co-workers. I didn't go to the party, but I was told by several people that there was a pretty nice hot tub--no swimming pool. And nobody ever called him out on it!

So now La-Z-Boy has ruffled my feathers. Last week as my hours were approaching 40 and I still had one more shift to work, he called and told me not to come to work. I guess the wardens we work for in this prison have some sort of policy against overtime. Okay . . . it is a 45-minute drive and not worth it with the price of gas and I could certainly use the time off. Then I found out the other two people who work the same shift each got five hours of overtime. Never mind, just forget it, it's not worth the fight. It's only a few hours. Don't worry about it.

Tonight I came to work as usual, started to work as usual, and La-Z-Boy called me and said since I had 37.75 hours before this shift I need to go home at 2:00 a.m. We had a short heated discussion about how unfair that was to me since the other two people had gotten overtime last week when I didn't. He responded to me that the other two people would not get overtime because he had somehow adjusted their time sheets. (We clock in and out on our computers on the company website, but certain people can go in and change things.) Hmmm . . . I'm thinking there is something not only basically wrong with this but also illegal.

So I'm clocking out at 2:00 a.m.

But I'm waiting right here for the Human Resources Director to arrive.

When I Have the Time

2008-10-27T02:09:00.009-04:00

As previously stated, I catch up on all my Internet stuff at work whenever time permits. Time permits tonight because I just don't feel like working, so my two co-workers are taking up the slack for me. We do that for each other, and fortunately we don't all usually have a case of the I-don't-give-a-craps at the same time. So tonight it's my turn.

While reading Lil Sis' blog about OCD tonight I was reminded of the dishes I have which are exactly like her square ones. I don't recall whether it was an accident that we purchased the exact same pattern of dishes or if one of us copied the other. No matter. They are beautiful dishes, and I am hoping one day to actually use mine. Either that or I will leave them to Lil Sis so she will have LOTS of them. That's if I ever get back to Ohio to rescue them along with all the other "stuff" I left there.

I loved Ohio . . . really. I loved everything about it--even the snow--everything except (in the end) The Man who took me there. Actually it was my idea to move there. We had just endured a terrible ordeal in Georgia and needed a change of scenery, and besides The Man had grown up there and his family were all there. I loved it immediately and desperately wanted to stay, but when the time came I knew I needed to be with my family again. I had been estranged from them for three years, only seeing Lil Sis a time or two and my son and his family every chance I got. I did not see or speak to Lil Bro or Mom for the whole time I was in Ohio. When I came home my family all called me one by one, and they all cried--even Lil Bro.

The area in Ohio where we lived was farm land and not much else, yet I was never more than 10 miles from whatever I needed--three miles if I didn't mind paying a little more. The terrain was flat, and how I loved that for bicycle riding! There was an old railroad bed which had been transformed into a biking/hiking path, and I never lived more than 5 miles from an entrance to it. The trail was well used by bikers and walkers, old folks, children and dogs. Never did I feel threatened or in danger riding on this path which was 11.5 miles long. There was only one time when I rode the entire trail from end to end and back. And I never rode the trail that I did not wish Lil Sis could be there to ride with me.

I worked a seasonal job in a hardware store which was part of a grain elevator where the farmers took their wheat, corn and beans. For most of the time I lived there I was close enough to ride my bicycle to work, and I thought that was heaven. The locals thought I was insane. I guess new folks didn't move into town very often because I was certainly the talk of the town. Of course there was my Southern accent which stuck out like a sore thumb.

I also "worked" in my sister-in-law's greenhouse which she opened shortly after we got there. I say "worked" because it was more fun than work. I guess I miss her and the greenhouse most of all. She became my best friend and confidante. Since I left she and her husband have bought a larger greenhouse, and I have wished many times I could be there to help.

Here is a story that underscored for me how small the town was. A man called the hardware store one day to ask if we had peepholes for doors. I checked for him and told him that indeed we had one. (One only.) He asked me to hold it for him, and then as an afterthought he asked if I would charge it to his account and bring it out to the car for him. He said, "I don't feel like putting my leg on."

There seemed to be an inordinate number of people in that area with missing arms, legs, fingers, maybe toes. It took me quite some time to figure out that most of it was probably due to farming and getting things caught in machinery. There were also factories in the area--small though it was--and I had heard one especially gruesome story about how a very nice man named Bob had lost his arm. He mostly used a mechanical arm but sometimes came in without it attached. It took some time to get used to it.

I was amazed at how young the old farmers looked. One of the told me he was 73 years old, and I just refused to believe it. I wanted to stay there until I looked younger, too!

In this small town there was a very busy railroad. On my way to the hardware store one morning--on my bicycle--I noticed a plaque in the ground near the railroad crossing. This was something I might never have seen in my car. The train happened to be on the tracks this particular morning as I approached, and I stopped beside this plaque. It has the name of a night policeman who was killed there in June of 1896. While I lived there I asked every person I could think of who might know how he was killed. I even asked the computer guy at the library and he didn't know. Several people told me it was a bank or train robbery, and one even told me he was shot by the John Dillinger gang. I've done my research, and Dillinger wasn't born then. I have tried every way I know (and have had time for) to find out how this policeman died. Even on the website for the Ohio Fallen Officers, it lists his cause of death as "unidentified." They thought enough of him to put a plaque (marker, monument) in the ground, so I'm thinking he didn't just die of natural causes on that spot near the railroad. I never got around to taking a picture of the marker.

When I have the time (and the money?) I will go back there to collect my things. Maybe I will remember to take some pictures. I really miss that little old town.

What a Difference a Day Makes

2008-10-17T01:47:00.007-04:00

Now and then a situation arises which changes you. That was profound! As if no one else had ever had that happen. I can't even count how many times over the course of my life I have had these occurrences.

But recently I had an experience that was so life-changing that it has me looking at things through completely different glasses. I have struggled most of my life with nicotine addiction. I started smoking in the first place to be "cool", as it was cool in those days to be a smoker. We had no idea the harm smoking would do. Had we known, though, I still don't think we would have given up the coolness of it. Just like the hip-hugger bell-bottom pants, the peasant blouses, the platform shoes, the long stringy straight hair and going without a bra, it was a part of us. It defined us. It proved how grown-up we were!

Fast forward to adulthood with its pressures, responsibilities and challenges . . . and its excuses for not giving up cigarettes. Over the years I have quit and started back more times than I can count, never giving serious consideration to my family history and how these things can be handed down from generation to generation.

In August of this year I decided I needed to have a complete physical. It had been five years since I had had one. Oh, I had seen a doctor at some point when I was so deathly ill with a sinus infection that I could not go on another minute without a Z-Pak. But at that time my life was such that I just could not make time for a visit to the doctor. (At this point I was in Ohio, my favorite doctor was in Georgia, and I just wasn't ready for a change.)

My doctor is part of a diagnostic clinic, and when I say complete physical I mean complete. He obviously heard something in my chest he didn't like, so off to the X-ray department I went. The next morning I was awakened from a sound sleep by my cell phone playing "River of Dreams" (one of my favorite Billy Joel songs). It was my doctor's nurse telling me in rather unemotional tones (but I guess they have to do that) that the X-rays showed a "spot" on my right lung and I would need to come in for a CT scan. Somehow I managed to go back to sleep and when I woke up later I wasn't even sure if the call had really happened. But I checked my cell phone, and there it was . . . a call from my doctor's office.

I sat in my bed with my laptop typing out a pitiful poor-me-this-is-so-unfair account of the day. Oh, what would I do? I started compiling the DVD to be viewed at my memorial (I would, after all, be cremated). I could not decide whether to tell anyone; I didn't want to worry my family. But on the day I was to go for the CT scan I happened to be with my son and his wife. I did not want to tell them what was going on, but somehow I just felt compelled to. They were both visibly shaken but optimistic that the outcome would be a good one.

But how could it be? Had I not known for years that smoking was very bad for anyone but certainly worse for me because of my family history? How could I even expect to have a good outcome even though I had, once again, quit smoking? So I was planning my memorial, picking out the music and the photos (need to get some more photos out of storage and I don't have "At My Funeral" by the Crash Test Dummies on my computer). What to do first? There was so much I had not told my only child, my 31-year-old not-so-grown-up overprotected son. There was so much to do. Most of my "stuff" was still in Ohio even after two years of being back home in Georgia. What to do about that? And the "stuff" I do have will have to be disposed of. What about my two cats? They love each other, and I would like to keep them together. Oh, who will take them and love them?

So on Friday before Labor Day I tremble as I prepare to go for my CT scan. I can barely breathe, but I shower and dress and put on makeup as if it would matter at all, and drive the 20 or so miles to the diagnostic clinic. I wait only a short time before I am called into the room where the very imposing machine sits. The technician explains to me that I need not undress as she is only interested in a limited area and the machine is very precise. I didn't even need to take off my shoes, she told me, but it just felt more comfortable to leave them beside the chair where my purse was now sitting.

The CT scan took very little time, and the technician tells me that my doctor will call me with the results. Later that day my doctor's nurse called to set up an appointment to see the doctor for the verdict. Since it was Labor Day weekend, it would be Tuesday before I could see him. It was absolutely the longest weekend of my life. I could not force myself to see or talk to anyone at all. I don't think I even left my house again until Monday night when it was time to go to work. And then I went to work early because I just could not stand to be alone with myself any longer.

My appointment was for 1:15 p.m. on Tuesday, and I'm not sure how I managed to keep quiet until then. I waited for what seemed an eternity for the doctor to come into the room. When he did, he barely got one foot in the door before looking me squarely in the eye and saying, "You're fine." He obviously knew how worried I had been by the haggard look on my face. As it turns out, the "spot" was some sort of scar tissue, possibly from slight pneumonia or another ailment I had either forgotten or not felt sick enough to count. I will see him again at the end of November to have it re-checked, but the doctor saw no need for concern. Before CT scans and the vast strides made in medicine and technology, I imagine I would have had a biopsy to determine the nature of the "spot."

To say I felt relieved is more than an understatement. I was not even in my car when I was on the phone with my son, telling him the good news. "I'm fine," I said, echoing the doctor's words exactly, and burst into tears. I came into work that night practically floating on air, prompting one of my co-workers to ask if I'd had a sexual encounter, though he used other words. I told them all what I had just endured and how very grateful I was to be alive.

It wears off, of course. One cannot go around all the time in a grateful mood, floating on air. It just isn't practical. There are days I'm sure I don't even give it a thought. But on the days I do, I am more than exceptionally grateful for every day of life I have. By no means do I think I am completely safe . . . there is that family history, after all . . . but I do not believe I will ever even think of smoking again.

When I was so sure I was dying, another thought that entered my mind was, "Who will ride the tandem with Lil Sis?" Seriously. I'm doubly glad we don't have to answer that question.

That Reminds Me

2008-10-14T23:57:00.003-04:00

Seeing Lil Sis' blog tonight reminded me of all sorts of things: why the judge still fears our mother, why I missed Homecoming one year (I'll have to try to figure out which one), having a flat tire on a car I wasn't supposed to be driving and wrecking one I was supposed to be driving but not that fast on a dirt road with my Lil Bro and Lil Sis in the back seat.

The thing with the judge was this: I didn't see any harm leaving the house with him even though I was only 14, he was only 15 (and driving), and we had two other female friends with us. It seemed so innocent. Mom was gone for the weekend, or so I thought. We had been out having a grand old time (probably went to get an ice cream or something equally dangerous) and actually got back home pretty early. The judge and I came skipping up to the house with an arm around each other, laughing until we saw Mom standing in the doorway. (You see, the car wasn't there because my brother Bo had just left in it!) The two girlfriends had already gone inside and were shaking in their boots. I will never forget the look on the judge's face as Mom questioned him. She asked how old he was and when he told her he was 15 she said, "Don't you lie to me." He was tall and stocky, a football player, and he was driving a car. (A lot of the boys around there did that at that time. I don't know why, but their parents allowed it. I thought it was cool.) Anyway, she told him to leave and never come back or call me again. Another boy (who later became my first husband and the father of my only child) told me that the judge came directly to where a bunch of guys were gathered and was still so upset that the car in which he was sitting was shaking. The next day at school the judge had a new girlfriend. And to think . . . I could be happily married to a judge now.

And the flat tire . . . well, that was just stupid. However, I was just 15 and did a great many stupid things. (Oh, wait, I never stopped doing stupid things!) Anyway, we lived in a trailer park which at that time was top of the line as trailer parks go. A classmate who lived about a mile away--out the "back" of the trailer park on a dirt road--wound up at our house, and I decided it would be a good idea for me to give him a ride home. It was about to rain after all, and I couldn't let the poor guy walk a whole mile in the rain, could I? The car was just sitting there, doing nothing. It was a 60-something Volkswagen Bug, and I had been practicing driving in it since it had a manual transmission and all girls needs to learn to drive a manual transmission. Anyway, on the one-mile-each-way trip, wouldn't you know I would somehow pick up a nail in the tire and it would go flat? Fortunately it went flat at my classmate's house, and he was able to change it. Then I was on my way again with the flat in the trunk, and it was time for me to leave to spend the weekend at a friend's house. What was I thinking? That Mom would never see that the spare had been put on the car? She called me later at my friend's house and reamed me out. She must have had plans for the weekend, because she didn't drive up there, beat me half to death and bring me home kicking and screaming.

The wreck will be for a later post. There are still some powerful bad memories of that one. Ditto the missed Homecoming.

Go Dawgs! Woof woof woof woof!

2008-10-10T21:31:00.005-04:00

So it turns out Lil Sis slept (when she slept) mostly on the ground. Either the air mattress she brought on this bike ride had developed a leak or she brought an already defective one which I could swear we threw away. Did we somehow imagine we were going to patch it? What would have made us think that?

My intention was to leave work at 0600 this morning and drive the two hours to meet up with Lil Sis, ride 40 miles or so on the tandem, eat a couple or three meals and then sleep the sleep of the dead. Didn't quite work out that way. In the first place, my work never ever ever cooperates with what I want to do with the rest of my life. As is the case most every Thursday night--the only night of the week when it is expected to be calm and easy--several things fell apart. An early morning delivery had been assigned to a brand new driver who seemed to have a non-working telephone number. So I was calling or emailing his dispatcher all night long to get updates on the satellite hits he was performing on the trailer. (Ain't technology wonderful? When I first started in this business in 1990, there were no cell phones and very few trucks or trailers with satellite tracking. And even then I was expected to talk to each and every driver twice a day. The division I work in now requires us to be in contact with the drivers every three to four hours! Again . . . ain't technology wonderful?) And this was not the only thing to go wrong, but I won't bore you with that.

So I finally left work at 0648, dreading the drive through Atlanta, trying to decide whether to go straight through town or take I-285 (which I hate with a passion). As luck would have it, the ramp to I-285 westbound was backed up, so I went through town. It was a breeze! Still, it was nearly 0900 when I got here and after 0930 when finally we got on the bike, so we decided to do the shortest ride option (16 miles). Turned out it was just enough. The weather was just right, overcast but not cool and no rain. Then we made the best decision of all: get a motel room! Not only had Lil Sis slept on the ground but there was also a train which seemed to run every three minutes and sounded like it was coming through the tent.

And here we are at the Jameson Inn with our laptops and wireless Internet, air conditioning, television, comfortable beds--all the creature comforts! After 17 years of riding bicycles, we decided we have earned the right to be comfortable.

Tomorrow we will rise when we please, ride whatever distance feels right to us and be glad we will have this haven to welcome us at the end of the day. It will also be our sanctuary should things not go so well between our beloved Georgia Bulldogs and the Tennessee Volunteers.

Go Dawgs!

Counting the Minutes

2008-10-10T04:28:00.003-04:00

I noticed Lil Sis didn't blog tonight, so I assume she either couldn't find Internet service at the small college which is the base camp for our bicycling adventure this weekend--or she was too busy trying to get her air mattress inflated. I had to work tonight, and I had called her on my way in to see how she was doing. Then I felt guilty all night because when I called her she had been to buy batteries for her pump (she had loaned me her batteries at one point and I forgot to give them back), then she couldn't get the pump to work at all. I imagined her sleeping on the cold hard ground all night, and it made me very sad. Hopefully there was someone else with a pump who could help her out.

It wasn't bad enough that she had to load and then unload the tandem by herself, but now she is sleeping on the ground. Oh, well . . . we'll be in about the same riding shape since I have worked all night and will not sleep AT ALL before we ride today. I have done this before, and somehow the riding is more exhilarating than tiring, though I think tonight I will sleep very well!

I am strangely excited about this weekend's ride. It might be that I didn't do many "exciting" things this summer, or it might be that this ride signifies the end of the cycling season for us (normally), but why would I be excited about that? Change of seasons, maybe? There is a ride in Charleston which I have not been able to do (and won't be able to do this year due to work duties), but someday . . . It just happens to fall during the busiest time of year for me--just before Christmas when our logistics company is helping out one of those large carriers of packages. Have you ever wondered what they do at that time of year when their volume increases so drastically? Now you know: They get help. It is a crazy six-week period that seems to pass by in an instant. It is exhausting and frustrating, and then in a flash it is over. Kind of like Christmas itself.

Anyway, I'm taking a break from trying to keep up with all the drivers we have on the road right now, and I'm counting the minutes until my relief comes in and I can go. Normally I hang around to make sure the transition from 3rd shift to 1st shift is smooth, but I have already let them know they will see my backside going out the door as soon as they are in their seats this morning.

I really should get out more.

Yeah, what she said!

2008-10-08T00:47:00.003-04:00

Okay, folks, I'm trying really hard. I want to blog, I really do. I'm just having one hell of a time finding the time and the subject.

I read Lil Sis' blog every single night, as she takes the time every single night to compose them. I find her blogs to be informative and entertaining. As she is SOOOOO much younger than I, she remembers things that I have long ago forgotten; and she remembers them with such clarity that I know they must have been real.

So the Halloween thing rings really true. Except for one year before Lil Sis was even a gleam in the old man's eye! Our older sister (I'll call her Nurse), older brother Bo and I got honest-to-god real Halloween costumes one year, and they were not store-bought but HOMEMADE by Mom. And as I recall, they were gorgeous! I was a pink and white bunny, Nurse was a black cat, and Bo (Lil Sis will appreciate this) was a devil--shiny red, horns and all. We all had tails! I don't know why that still impresses me so much, unless it's the fact that I don't think I could construct any kind of costume with a tail that would actually stay on during a night of trick-or-treating. I don't remember how old I was at that time, but I was very young; and I don't remember much (good) about my childhood, but I remember those costumes. Maybe somewhere there are pictures of us, though they will be black and white.

And then there were the times when we were ghosts. I do remember those as well. And I'm not sure the eye holes in the sheets really helped much! I remember falling down a lot.

This job is really interfering with my blogging. Guess I need to go check the lottery numbers!

My First Blog Ever

2008-10-04T13:12:00.001-04:00

As the title suggests, this will be my first blog! I am sitting at the home of Lil Sis who is helping me to get started. Not sure how often I will be able to blog but hope I find it as therapeutic as she does. I admire the fact that, busy as she is, Lil Sis blogs every single day and I can hardly wait to read them.

I must be one of very few people without Internet service at home, so my blogging time will be limited to the rare nights at work when I have spare time. Yes, I said nights at work. I work in the transportation and logistics industry which runs 24/7. I prefer working nights because there are fewer people in the building . . . and no bosses!

Wednesday night I bid farewell to a co-worker who will be leaving for Iraq soon. It was a sad moment for us all to see this young man leave. But I couldn't help being proud of him. In fact, he had reasons to get out of going if he chose to: his father has just been diagnosed with leukemia, and his sister is chronically ill with some disease I was afraid to ask about. I pointed out to him that he might not have to go, and he agreed; but he said it was something he felt strongly about and was dedicated to. This made me feel even more proud, and I told him as an American I truly appreciate what he is doing.

I'm not a very political person, so I won't say whether I agree with the war in Iraq or that I even understand it any more than I did the Vietnam War. I guess I feel that once we have committed to do something we need to follow through . . . and win. In 1969 every "man" I knew was in Vietnam or on the way. They all returned, but some of them were never the same.