What Was I Thinking?

Lucky Sevens

2011-03-26T00:23:00.013-04:00

There’s a saying that bad things happen in threes. Well, I think it’s more like sevens.

Perhaps not for great big bad things like Japan's disaster trifecta: 1) earthquake, 2) tsunami, and 3) nuclear crisis (sending thoughts and prayers to Japan).

But I think that bad little everyday things happen in sevens.

For example, in the short span of a few weeks: 1) my car tire went flat, 2) the back door knob came loose, 3) the front window shutter fell off, 4) the cable froze up, 5) the hem came out of my favorite pair of pants, 6) my computer caught a virus, and 7) the seam split on the shoulder of my coat.

None of these things are catastrophes. They’re bad little things, but they’re annoying. I expect everyday things to work. I take everyday things for granted. I admit it. I don’t think about the door knob or my hem or the shutter, until it breaks. When an everyday thing breaks, it’s a hassle. And when everyday things fall apart all at once, the days seem to s-l-o-w down while precious time (and patience) is wasted to fix each previously unnoticed thing.

There is a lesson to be learned when everyday things fall apart: React, don’t overreact.

How you react makes all the difference. To keep perspective, one just has to look around at the much bigger problems in the world (again, thoughts of Japan) and realize that when everyday things fall apart the best reaction is to laugh, repair, and move on with every day.

Be glad for seven little things instead of three big bad ones.

Think of it as lucky sevens.

Too Much Thyme

2011-03-03T23:44:00.003-05:00

I’m not a good cook. I can’t mix things up with a pinch of this or a dash of that and create something yummy and delicious. I need a recipe and measuring cups and perhaps even a copy of Cooking For Dummies (I have one) to make it from raw ingredients to cooked dinner.

Even then, it sometimes tastes bad.

Take tonight, for example. Inspired by watching Julie & Julia last week, I decided to try to cook a simple casserole. Believe me - I am under no illusion that I can cook French cuisine. You won’t find me anywhere near a Julia Child recipe. It’s not that I can’t boil an egg (I can’t, but I guess I could learn), it’s just that I never understood the need to boil an egg. Why, oh why, spend so much time making food when there are already so many cooked options out there to buy?

Cooking takes too much time.

But then there was movie inspiration paired with a hope to break free from the monotony of take-out dinners. And I took action. Recipe in hand, I walked the grocery store aisles and found the ingredients (more or less). I chopped carrots and sliced sweet red peppers (which, I discovered, are different from bell peppers). I diced green onions after my mom showed me which part to use – the white, not green (confusing). I thawed some frozen broccoli chunks and cut pieces of store-bought roasted chicken breast (I had to buy it already roasted. I have no idea how to roast a chicken – don’t judge - baby steps for baby cook). After all the prep, I had to cook the veggies and then dump everything together, mix it up and bake it. All in all, that “simple” casserole took about two hours from grocery to dish. Two hours!! Who has the time!?

And speaking of time…

I quickly realized after eating the casserole (the part of the project I was looking forward to the most, of course) that it had way too much thyme. Even though I followed the recipe to the teaspoon, even though it seemed to me (know-nothing cook) like such a small amount of thyme, the flavor of it was overwhelming. I still taste thyme now, about three hours after the meal.

What can I say? I tried.

It was nice to take a night off from take-out.

So...maybe next thyme.

Spring Fever

2011-02-20T17:40:00.006-05:00

I am so DONE with winter.

Just to recap, since you haven’t heard from me in recent months, here is a simple review of October through February:

Taylor has runny, goopy, Snotzilla nose (see previous post).

Stuffy nose leads to ear infection.

Taylor takes antibiotics for ten days.

Antibiotics create a terrible, raw diaper rash.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

And somewhere in there was Thanksgiving, the birth of my first nephew - my dad’s and brother’s namesake - precious baby Dale Sorlie Ness III (kissy-kisses!), Christmas, the start of new year 2011, and Taylor’s 3rd birthday. Not to mention a busy fourth quarter for my law practice (which was good, but made for some tricky juggling of mommy hat and lawyer hat).

We’ve been to the pediatrician monthly, sometimes weekly. This past weekend, we went Friday and Saturday. We have every diaper rash remedy known to man – creams, lanolins, Aquaphor, anti-bacterial prescription meds, anti-fungals, Maalox, zinc oxide, corn starch, baking soda, paste and paste and triple paste. Nothing beats this brutal diaper rash. Feel free to send ideas!? We’re desperate.

Right now, Taylor is on the second day of her fifth round of antibiotics. This is the third type of antibiotic we’ve tried so far and its most common side effect is diarrhea – oh, yay. I’m bracing for severe diaper rash to follow and trying to entice Taylor into cute little panties as quickly as possible. But current potty-training efforts have resulted in pee on the floor and carpet with no pee yet in the potty. Sigh.

Please forgive my long absence from blogging. Please keep reading. I’ll be back with more frequent posts as the weather warms, the germs dissipate, the potty-training succeeds, and we all move from actual fever to spring fever.

Coughee House

2010-10-30T18:10:00.000-04:00

Isn’t weekday school fun?

Almost-three-year-old Taylor not only makes friends and plays games, she also brings things home – things like drawings, posters, songs and…germs.

Yes, yes. I know all of you parents out there are nodding your heads. You know. You’ve been there.

F-u-n.

(Notice my sarcasm. I know you can’t hear it, but it’s there).

So, lately, I’ve been spending most of my time at the coughee house.

And I’m not talking about Starbucks.

Everyone in our house has been coughing. Taylor’s coughing fits came courtesy of her second double ear infection in a month while my mom’s coughs became pneumonia. Yikes! The rest of us managed to eke by with a few random coughs and nothing worse – yet -- knock on wood.

On top of all that, Taylor’s cough accompanied a monstrous runny, goopy, sticky nose that we lovingly referred to as Snotzilla (especially post-sneeze). The most annoying thing about Snotzilla was her tendency to interrupt Taylor’s usually sound sleep. In fact, Taylor didn’t nap for almost a week. That was NOT cool.

Snotzilla had to be stopped!

We fought Snotzilla with copious amounts of vitamin C, steamy rooms, and mountains of tissue. We tried fresh air, rest, and acetaminophen. Nothing scared her away.

Week after week, Snotzilla ruled the coughee house…until we finally brought in the big guns – antibiotics.

And now, almost ten days later, Snotzilla is nowhere in sight and the coughee house is quiet and peaceful once again. Afternoon naps stretch for hours. Outings no longer require a pocketful of tissue.

Life is well.

But I’m still at the coffee house…

Starbucks, that is.

Nikon Envy

2010-09-27T18:27:00.000-04:00

Jellyfish. Tennessee Aquarium, Chattanooga, Tennessee.

Friday, September 24, 2010.

Award Winning Dahlia. American Dahlia Society Exhibit, Chattanooga, Tennessee.

Sunday, September 26, 2010.

What is Nikon Envy? Click HERE to find out.

Poetry Snack

2010-09-10T18:04:00.001-04:00

I adore raspberry sorbet;
The kind you find in a grocery store.
Raspberry sorbet.
And if it was warm I wouldn't eat much more.

Bluesday Tip #7: Don't Be A Party Pooper

2010-09-07T16:32:00.000-04:00

Today is Bluesday!

Bluesday is the first Tuesday of the month. Each Bluesday, I share a tip for How To Be Blue. Being blue is about caring for the ocean -- what we put into it, and what we take out of it.

This month's Bluesday tip: Don't Be A Party Pooper.

Many of us have a dog. Many of us love dogs. But few (if any) of us love to pick up after our dog.

Dog waste left behind will end up polluting the ocean, especially when left on a beach. And people do it all the time. The proof is in the ocean pollutants.

Well, that just stinks.

Recent scientific studies of ocean water along beaches closed to swimming because of unhealthy levels of certain bacteria in the water found that most of the bacteria originated from dog poop. In fact, dogs are third in line behind birds and people as a source of ocean water pollution.

In most cases, this problem is easily avoided. You - the dog owner - need to pick up the poop. I know a lot of us already pick it up, so please take this post as a pat on the back for all the good work. It's a thankless job, but an important one.

To those of you part-time-scoopers and non-scoopers, don't be a party pooper by leaving dog waste on the beach. It will eventually end up in the ocean. Scoop the poop. Even if you live inland, waste finds its way to water sewers and into the ocean.

A very helpful article in USA Today provides a thorough overview of the health risks of pet waste in the ocean. Pet waste threatens the health of our oceans, which threatens our very own health as people.

Please click HERE to read the USA Today article.

Don't pollute the ocean with your dog's daily doo. You'll ruin the party for people and ocean creatures.

Use the opportunity to recycle a plastic bag to pick up the poop!

Don't be a party pooper. Be blue!

May you turn a deeper shade of blue with each passing month.

Angels Among Us

2010-09-03T14:52:00.000-04:00

There are angels among us. I'm convinced.

There are angels among us who guard us and make miracles happen.

Look for them.

There are angels among us like the one in the truck stopped behind me yesterday at the red light, a man who went to the trouble of getting out of his truck to knock on my window to tell me that my spare tire was hanging loose underneath the rear of my Tahoe.

I normally wouldn’t roll down my car window for a complete stranger – I know better - but I didn’t even think twice about it. I just did it.

Turned out there was an angel outside my window.

He might have simply saved me the hassle of a major car repair down the road...or he might have saved my life – or the life of my daughter – or the life of someone driving behind me on the highway if that spare tire had fallen down at the wrong time.

And it just so happened that there was a tire service station on the other side of that fateful red light. I pulled right in and had my spare tire reattached.

While I waited for my tire to be fixed, I thought about the angel.

I know who he was.

He was the one who had always been concerned about the tires on my well-traveled car – Did they have enough tread? Were they low on air pressure? Was the car safe to drive?

He was the one who had always been concerned about my safety.

And he was still looking out for me, keeping me safe.

I know who that angel was…

He was my dad.

Uncle Ernie

2010-08-31T19:55:00.000-04:00

[During a family dinner, my husband’s uncle Ernie told us his story of survival. I had to write it down and share it.]

Ernie was a Forward Officer in Vietnam.

During an operation to lead his platoon into the jungles, he and two radiomen scouted ahead of the group. That day, they were met with an ambush. His two radiomen were killed in the ensuing attack, leaving him unable to communicate back to the rest of the platoon about the ambush. He fought off the enemy until his platoon arrived to fight with him. By the time the platoon came upon him, he’d killed more than a dozen of the enemy attackers and held off the rest.

It wasn’t long after that heroic jungle day that he was taken as a prisoner of war. He was kept imprisoned for nine days, his legs and arms bound tightly behind him while he lay on the floor in a dark, damp hole. His feet were beaten with sticks to prevent his escape. He was made to defecate and urinate on himself. Food was a handful of rice, thrown with accuracy on the dirty, piss-covered floor. He had to move to the rice, lick it up with his tongue.

He was starving.

The physical damage was minimal compared to the lasting, destructive psychological trauma he endured each day. He didn’t know where he was, how long he would be kept a prisoner, or what would become of him after that. Every minute of every day was spent in agony, in dread of the next minute. His fear of death gave way to a fear of life in the dark cell.

But, no matter what they did to him, no matter the beatings and starvation, he wouldn’t talk. There was nothing his enemy could do to make him tell them what they most wanted to know. They would have to kill him. He would give them nothing.

Nine days he spent in this mental limbo. Nine days, in hindsight, was a short time to spend as a POW. But nine days, when he lay on the floor of his cell at the fifth day, and the sixth day, may as well have been a lifetime. The pain came with not knowing when it would end. He had no way of knowing, while imprisoned, whether he would be there for nine days or for one hundred; whether or not he would die there. The paranoia of the unknown is what drove some POWs to madness.

On the ninth day, he was released. He returned to the United States, a recipient of the Bronze Star for his heroism and endurance.

Before the war, Ernie had been offered a football scholarship to Marshall University. His dream of football stardom was dashed when he received his papers to serve in Vietnam. After the war, with his new accolades and experience, he was again offered a place on Marshall’s football team. This time, he was still unable to accept because his POW foot injuries were too extensive for his athleticism to overcome. He had to turn down the scholarship for a second time.

He was bitter and angry. His dream again thwarted by his own bad luck in life. He brooded about it. Lament and regret threatened to topple any sanity he may have salvaged from war….

Until November 14, 1970, the night that the Marshall University football team went down in an airplane crash that killed everyone on board.

Ernie then understood that he had been spared. Although he had horrible memories of his nine POW days, at least he had memories.

He would have been on that Marshall football team. He would have been on that plane.

Had it not been for his call to war, he would be dead.

Ironic.

Vietnam saved his life.

Summer Taycation

2010-08-25T19:30:00.003-04:00

Summer is my favorite season.

Sure, it’s hot, really hot some days, but I just love the sunny sun and warm rain, flip-flops and sunscreen, beach trips and bathing suits, and the slow-rolling weeks from May to September.

This summer was especially fun with our daughter, Taylor. She’s two and a half, which means that she is constantly learning new things and amusing us with her emerging personality. But she also has “terrible twos” tantrums and practices selective listening and makes us repeat ourselves to get the point across and makes us repeat ourselves to get the point across and makes us repeat ourselves – oh, wait, sorry – you get the point.

Whether we were playing with Taylor or scolding her, we were all about Taylor this summer.

We had a lovely summer Taycation.

Here are the highlights…

Little pool parties in the front yard with two blow-up pools, hose flowing, music mixes, popsicles and snacks, and folding chairs for adults (usually me and Gigi and Sarah, but also the Wolfsons one day – yay!).

Ten day beach trips to Isle of Palms (in May and August): giant drip castles and homemade tide pools; playful dolphins waving tail flukes and swimming close to shore; shell-collecting in the cool shade of dusk; endless wave-jumping; Taylor’s first (pretend) surfing with her feet on the kick board while we held her up and skimmed the board across the waves and sang the “Wipe Out” tune; fun beach days with Gigi, Nana, and Kassi; favorite meals at The Wreck, The Boathouse, Dunleavy’s, and Andolini’s; chai at Kudu, French-Asian fusion at Fish, and late lunch at Magnolia’s – all with dear friends; long beach walks; and rainbows.

Fish fountain fun at The Green uptown with Taylor and one especially fun day with Anna, Emma, and Will Johnson.

Sunny afternoons at OP kiddie pool with Taylor’s turtle float and swimmy suit, a random gathering of shared pool toys, and time to watch Taylor gain confidence in the water.

Discovery Place days, where we crossed the rope bridge over the rainforest, stared into aquarium microcosms of vibrant undersea life, pet a skink, and saw a 3D sea turtle movie - twice (Taylor’s first movie with 3D glasses!).

Strolling to Starbucks for scones and chai and vanilla milk and apple juice, a place to cool off, relaxing music, a small collection of children’s books, and good friends Brooke and Adam! 

Taylor’s first bike ride around the block on her big wheel bike, pedaling (as she would say) “All by my big self”.

Dancing and singing and playing in the house when it was just too hot to be outside.

Day trips to Columbia to visit Gigi, Dale, and Kerri; and an afternoon swim with Uncle Dale in Gigi’s pool.

Fourth of July - with Nana and Pete and Andrew and Sarah - watching uptown fireworks from the park.

Overnight Atlanta trip to see amazing tennis (a Taylor-free trip), and almost-close-enough-to-touch-the-stage standing room at the Jack Johnson concert with Sarah (also Taylor-free).

Slide n’ Seek game: driving around town in search of slides and stopping to try each one.

Gigi slumber parties, Suzie lunches, Tuesdays with aunt Ashley, Sunday brunches at Terrace Café for “whooped” cream, and weekend visits with Nana and Pete.

After such a fun-filled summer Taycation, I can’t believe September is only a week away.

Pool days will soon become school days…

So, let the autumn adventures begin!

Nikon Envy

2010-08-13T01:33:00.009-04:00

Thomas Jefferson Memorial, Washington, DC. Friday, July 2, 2010.

[What is Nikon Envy? Click here to find out]

Poetry Snack

2010-08-06T22:55:00.004-04:00

The rust moon rose.
A chocolate gown in my bitter garden.
From raw trip to honey spring road,
I love for power.
Sweet.
Bare.
Still.
Rob life of time.
Recall pink light like shadow vision.
Part over death.

[P.S. I made this poem entirely from Magnetic Poetry word magnets]

Overzealous Fan and Toddler Man

2010-08-05T02:03:00.008-04:00

Dear Saturday Night Live,

I have two new characters for you.

Meet Overzealous Fan.

She’s an average, forty-something woman who loves tennis. What she loves even more than the action on the court is getting into the action from the stands. Yes, she is the one who yells words of encouragement between the first and second serves. She is the one who coaches her favorite of the two players through the tough points. Not only does she cheer, but she’s on a first name basis. In fact, if you didn’t know her, you might assume she actually knows the player to whom she calls with such intensity, such excessive enthusiasm.

As you probably know, tennis is a relatively quiet sport when it comes to fans and cheering. There is a rhythm to each point within each game. There is appropriate space for loud cheering and moments when the crowd is asked to be still and silent. Overzealous Fan is oblivious to tennis etiquette. When the rest of the crown begins to hush, she shouts, “Bring it, Andy!” She stands up for almost the whole match and claps hard to rally her favorite player. “That’s all right, Andy. You’ll get the next one. Come on. Next point. This one’s all yours, Andy.”

Andy somehow ignores her.

I guess part of the price of tennis fame is putting up with an Overzealous Fan.

Meet Toddler Man.

He’s a full grown adult version of your typical two-year-old. When you’re with him, he won’t let you speak a word to another person. Not face-to-face, not even on the phone. He wants all of your attention. And when you try to speak to someone else, he makes it impossible to carry on a conversation. He yells, screams, makes noise, repeats your name over and over and over and over and over again until you say, “What!”, and, if all verbal accosting fails, he clings to your legs or throws himself on the floor in fits and tantrums.

Ah, yes, this is my daughter’s two-year-old behavior in a nutshell. She made a decision that I am not allowed to converse with another adult while she is in the room. In her mind, that seems perfectly acceptable. Why should I have any problem with it? We have fun together. We play. But, to say the least, it can be frustrating at times. We’re working on manners and “Excuse me”; however, she now repeats “Excuse me” – very loudly - to regain my attention.

Sigh.

I’m just glad she’ll outgrow it.

She will.

Right?

So, those are a couple characters inspired by my real life experiences this summer – the first by actual events, the second by my daughter’s recent behavior.

Feel free to use them in your upcoming skits.

Maybe you’ve met them before, but – for your sake - I hope you haven’t.

Bluesday Tip #6: If It's Yellow, Let It Mellow

2010-08-03T22:42:00.014-04:00

Today is Bluesday!

Bluesday is the first Tuesday of the month. Each Bluesday, I share a tip for How To Be Blue. Being blue is about caring for the ocean -- what we put into it, and what we take out of it.

This month's Bluesday tip: If It’s Yellow, Let It Mellow.

You may have heard this one before. It tends to provoke strong reactions for and against. The whole saying is well known among treehuggers and conservationists: “If it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down.”

And – yes – it refers to selective toilet flushing.

I know, I know, I probably just lost some of you right there.

Gross!

I’m hoping a few of you are still reading – out of sheer curiosity if nothing more.

No matter your reaction to the idea of thinking before you flush, it really is an effective and simple water conservation method once you get into the habit of it. And you don’t have to do it all the time – like, for example, it probably goes without saying that this method should not be used in public restrooms.

But, in the privacy of your own home, this water-saving technique works.

Basically, it means what it says. Look at the color before you flush. If it’s yellow, leave it there until the next time the toilet is used. Don’t waste a flush. It will add up to a lot of water saved in the long run.

I recommend yellow-mellow toilets in your private, master bathroom only. Keep on flushing any other toilets used by guests or by other household members who aren’t cool with this whole idea.

And while we’re on the topic of colors… although I still think that blue is a better color for the conservation movement than green - because our planet is mostly blue ocean, and we can’t live without the ocean – in this case, yellow and being blue do make green.

So, let the yellow mellow and be blue!

Water conservation is one of the best ways to help protect the ocean. So, even if your roommate or boyfriend or spouse or partner or anyone else sharing your bathroom resists the idea of selective flushing, be bold and caring enough not to waste a flush on just pee.

It’s just pee.

The ocean and its millions of beautiful creatures will thank you.

May you turn a deeper shade of blue with each passing month!

Nikon Envy

2010-08-02T01:00:00.000-04:00

I love taking pictures.

Through the lens of my camera, I’m forced to live in the moment in order to capture it.

My closet shelves are packed with rows of photo albums and stacks of prints, all documenting three decades of camera use – from old school Polaroids to random Canons to my first “real” camera, a Canon SLR Rebel EOS 35mm (which was amazing!), to my first pocket-sized digital.

Want to know a secret?

I have Nikon envy.

Well, I should say I had Nikon envy. Even while I had other great cameras, I really, really wanted a Nikon. Until - after a very Happy Mother’s Day gift from my wonderful, generous husband - I finally have a Nikon to call my own.

*content sigh*

It’s as good as I imagined.

I realize that a camera alone does not a photographer make, but having a digital Nikon SLR camera certainly helps to make my photos look more professional (and compensates for my lack of talent).

I can’t contain my Nikon excitement!

So, every now and then, to share my excitement, I’m going to post a photo I took with my Nikon to demonstrate why (if you don’t have a Nikon already) you should have Nikon envy…

Enjoy!

Virginia, Visas, and...Vomit

2010-07-27T12:49:00.004-04:00

Have you ever taken a trip where the reality of it turned out to be completely different from your expectations?

Well, that’s what happened to me on my recent trip to D.C.

It was my longest trip alone and away from my two-year-old daughter since she was born. What I expected was good times with friends I rarely see, enlightenment about the latest twists and turns in immigration law, and a free and fun-filled few days to tour and visit my favorite spots.

What I got was mostly King Street, Alexandria, Virginia; an overview of what I already knew about visas; and lots of vomit (apologies to the Jefferson Memorial groundskeeper…)

To begin with, my hotel was directly across the street from the Alexandria Courthouse, where media camped out in vans the whole time I was there in anticipation of hearings for several of the Russian spies. I was in the middle of national news every time I walked out of my hotel lobby, which I found to be amusing and totally unexpected.

Then, it turned out that my hotel was a good distance from the main street, King Street, in Alexandria. My shoe rubbed a big blister on my toe after I made the walk one time during my first night there.

Oh, and the traffic – horrendous - but I knew that. I just forgot how bad it could be until I was sitting in the middle of it on the way to and from my conference hotel, or driving twenty-minute-miles around town, or trying to get home on Saturday in what appeared to be the Fourth of July weekend parking lot on four lanes of I-85 South between D.C. and Richmond.

Aside from the location and traffic set backs, I was still enjoying Alexandria and the conference and the company of friends. I saved some of the best outings for the arrival of G, my dear college friend who just happened to be coming to D.C. the week I was there.

But my big plans for sightseeing and gallivanting around town with G were put to a quick end when she ate two soft boiled eggs during our lunch at some quasi-French corner café (that looked deceivingly quaint and European). A couple hours later, during our self-guided walking tour of the major D.C. monuments, G fell victim to food poisoning and wound up doubled over on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial unable to do anything but vomit in the grass (she was patriotic enough not to throw up on the actual monument).

G could barely move, which is when I discovered how poorly staffed those places are for any kind of health emergency. I couldn’t find a single person with authority to help her get out of there. Not even a golf cart or van or something. Nobody could tell me how to get my car from the mile-away parking lot to the circular drive next to the monument without drawing the attention of FBI and Homeland Security. Poor G was going to have to walk all the way back to my car. And she did. Such a trooper! But she was wiped out.

After all that, G insisted that we finish our monument tour by driving through the Mall area, even though poor G could only recline in the passenger seat and try to keep from vomiting again. I made it fast. Since we were so close to the Mall already, I drove around a few times, jumped out and snapped pictures, and then took G back to the hotel for some rest. As soon as we walked into the hotel room, more vomit.

Oh, poor G.

I doubt she’ll ever have soft boiled eggs again.

I won’t.

With G recovering in the hotel on the last night of my trip, I strolled alone down King Street past rows of restaurants and shops, taking pictures and wishing G felt well enough for the girls’ dinner we planned for that night. I just hated that she was sick during our visit because, living on opposite sides of the country, we rarely have time together. She came to D.C. early just to hang out with me. The last thing we expected was vomit.

Damn those eggs.

Most importantly, G was feeling better by Saturday. Unfortunately, that was the day I had to leave.

And so it goes.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I did have good times with friends (vomit excluded) and learned about Virginia and visas, but – looking back - I have to laugh about the many unexpected situations in three short days.

Just a reminder to me, plans or no plans --

Life happens.

Bluesday Tip #5: Learn from Aquariums, but there's a Catch

2010-07-06T14:20:00.005-04:00

Today is Bluesday!

Bluesday is the first Tuesday of the month. Each Bluesday, I share a tip for How To Be Blue. Being blue is about caring for the ocean -- what we put into it, and what we take out of it.

This month's Bluesday tip: Learn from Aquariums, but there’s a catch.

Summer is upon us in the United States. We are wading through the warm (often very hot) months of June, July, and August, spending more time outside than inside, and making frequent trips to the nearest body of water -- pool, lake, river, ocean – for an escape from the heat.

With kids out of school and vacations on the horizon, now is the time not only to enjoy the ocean, but to appreciate it. One of the best ways to appreciate and care for the ocean is to learn about it and the variety of fascinating creatures that call it home.

There are many sources for ocean education, the most obvious being a trip to the beach to explore the environment first hand. To hear the heartbeat of ocean waves and to find a coiled shell in the sand usually inspires love for the ocean; however, the acts alone of standing on the beach, collecting shells, or swimming in the ocean do not guarantee newfound knowledge. Just as one needs labels to learn about paintings in a museum or a map to find historic landmarks in a city, one needs a guide of some sort to fully appreciate and learn about the ocean environment and marine creatures.

For example, on almost every trip I make to the South Carolina coast I come across a bunch of perplexed tourists standing over a beached Cannonball Jellyfish (scientific name: Stomolophus meleagris). They prod at it with dried marsh reeds, afraid to touch it because it’s a jellyfish, and jellyfish sting. Right?

Well, most of the time, yes, jellyfish sting. But the cannonball jellyfish sting is so weak that humans rarely feel a thing – believe me, I’ve picked up more than my fair share of cannonball jellies to demonstrate their harmless nature to newbie beachgoers (it is important to note that cannonball jelly toxin does irritate human eyes – so don’t touch your eyes after touching this jellyfish). In Japan, cannonball jellyfish are considered a delicacy.

Funny fact: A school of jellyfish is called a smack.

And all of this discussion about jellyfish brings me back to my main point – learn about the ocean and its creatures. You just did! You now know more about cannonball jellyfish than most people on the beach this summer.

And I know just where to learn even more…

Aquariums!

Before (or during) your trip to the beach this summer, visit an aquarium for a full ocean education. Like museum labels and city maps, aquariums are excellent sources of information. Aquariums allow a rare, up-close view of live marine creatures – those you may see on the beach and many you have never seen (and may never see) in the wild. Show your children the wonders of the underwater world and inspire their lifelong love of the ocean.

But, there’s a catch.

While established large-scale city and state aquariums are excellent sources for learning about the ocean world, individual aquariums kept in offices, restaurants, public places, and private homes often do more harm than good. Tropical fish sold for small aquariums are usually caught in the wild using unsustainable and destructive methods.

To avoid the catch of an aquarium that harms the ocean, make sure to follow these general rules (and suggest to owners of individual aquariums at local businesses that they do the same):

Don’t buy live saltwater fish caught in the wild for your aquarium. The fishing methods used for the live fish trade include such things as cyaniding and dynamiting, which destroy the marine environment. Every year in the U.S. alone, hundreds of thousands of young and rare tropical reef fish die in small aquariums.

Buy only Marine Aquarium Council (www.aquariumcouncil.org) certified fish to be sure that your fish are sustainably caught or reared in captivity. Encourage local businesses to buy MAC certified fish for their aquariums.

Never return aquarium fish to the ocean or any body of water because doing so could introduce non-native species that may disrupt the delicate balance of marine ecosystems.

To be blue this month, learn more about the ocean and its creatures by visiting beaches and aquariums, but beware of the aquarium catch.

The more we learn about the ocean, the more we will care about protecting it. We will discover that, like the cannonball jellyfish, the ocean is full of contradictions and exceptions to common sense rules…

When caught in a riptide, don’t try to swim toward the shore (and directly against the pull of the tide), but rather swim parallel to the shore and eventually out of the tide.

The best way to care for the ocean is to learn about it and teach others. Some knowledge may help us identify marine creatures on the beach (cannonball jellyfish), while some knowledge may save a life (surviving a riptide).

May you turn a deeper shade of blue with each passing month!

State Of Mind

2010-06-26T02:18:00.004-04:00

While running my boring errands today, I saw something very interesting.

I had to drive into South Carolina, which was about forty minutes out of my way. It would have been an uneventful trip if I knew exactly where I was going. But I didn’t.

I was looking for a small bank along a wide stretch of road with lots of traffic. That’s why I noticed the sign marking the state line. I needed to know when I crossed into South Carolina so that I knew to look for my destination soon after that. What I didn’t expect to see was what sat on the property behind the state line sign – a house.

The state line sliced right through the middle of a house!

Well, that brought up all kinds of questions in my head, questions that distracted me until I finally found the bank.

First of all, how did such a thing happen? Did the owner of the house choose to build it on the line? Or did the state move the line after the house was built?

Second, where do “they” – the people in the house – live? In North Carolina or in South Carolina? Both, I guess. But that doesn’t work for a mailing address. Do they live where they eat, or where they sleep (which could be in two different states)? Do they live in the state with the front door? Then, to digress, I ended up on a train of thought about where we each live – do we live where our house is, or where we work, or where we get the most out of life…? Does an address really have anything to do with where we actually live?

Perhaps the only state that matters is state of mind.

Hmm…

And getting back to the state line house…

Do they have to pay income tax in both states? Do they split property taxes down the middle between North and South Carolina?

What about a driver’s license and a license plate? Which state?

Can they vote in both states?

My list went on and on. The state line house brought up so many questions that I don’t understand why anyone would want to live in it.

Maybe they have kids in college and came up with this brilliant plan to qualify for in-state tuition in both states.

I must admit, it isn’t such a bad idea…

Have you ever seen a state line house? What would you ask?

Poetry Snack

2010-06-22T00:21:00.003-04:00

Open ocean all around me,
And land nowhere in sight.
Then again it becomes morning.
Then again it becomes night.

My Dad

2010-06-20T00:47:00.002-04:00

My dad isn’t here this Father’s Day.

For the first time in my life, I face Father’s Day without my father.

He died nine months ago, on a Wednesday. I was there beside his hospital bed.

I was there.

But I still can’t believe it.

So, even though I want a happy Father’s Day for my husband -- and for all the other fathers out there -- I’m sad.

I’m just too sad.

I wish I could hug my dad today. I wish I could talk to him and hear him answer and see his face (for real, not just in pictures) and look into his eyes. I wish we could play Quoridor fifty times in a row, or however many times it would take for him to be the “Champion” and for me to remain the “Champion-to-be”…

He’ll always be the Champion -- my Champion.

I wish he could play with my daughter, lift her up and feel her giggling in his arms. I wish I could tell him that he was the greatest dad. My life will never be the same without him.

I wish, I wish, I wish…

For my sister and brother and mom, my endless love and many hugs. I know how you feel. I’m thinking of you.

For my family and friends without fathers this Father’s Day, my love and deepest sympathy.

Remember him.

“They lived and laughed and loved and left.” ~James Joyce

“[A] final comfort that is small, but not cold: The heart is the only broken instrument that works.” ~T.E. Kalem

I love you, Dad.

I miss you every day.

Always yours,
KJ of America

Poetry Snack

2010-06-18T01:03:00.002-04:00

Water runs. Time flies. Light dances. Wind dies.
We don't need legs or hearts or wings to do the very simple things.

Moonlight

2010-06-16T01:30:00.004-04:00

I spent an hour on the beach at midnight a few weeks ago, gazing at the biggest and brightest full moon. It rose over the ocean, shining on the waves like quicksilver, so bright I could see my shadow.

Other people were out there – my fellow night owls drawn to bask in moonlight - walking beside calm low tide waves. With my mind adrift, I almost forgot that all the morning people were sleeping. They were missing an amazing moon!

I’ve come to accept that most people are morning people. That’s okay. Based on the several dozen sunrises I’ve seen (admittedly, about a dozen of those after pulling all-nighters), I understand the appeal of songbirds and dewy grass. Early morning has a different though equally beautiful rhythm and freshness.

But I’ve always relished the dark and quiet post-midnight hours.

I just love to stay up late.

That night on the beach, spellbound by the moon, I thought about life and dreams, time and how to spend it, what matters and what should matter. And then it dawned on me (no pun intended) – it doesn’t matter what time of day we each favor so long as we find time to pursue our dreams. Whether middle day or middle night, sunrise or sunset, we each have a favorite time when the rest of the world seems fast asleep. A time when we sit and unwind, or we focus and create, or we exercise and practice...until we become who we want to be.

I know talk of dreams often sounds idealistic and warm-fuzzy (try to ignore the little cynic on your shoulder). This isn’t a new concept. But we all need reminding that our dreams are out there and worth our time.

So, here’s a reminder.

Find your time. Live your dream.

The full moon reminded me of how best to work toward my dream…

I’ll be moonlighting!

Mashed Potatoes On The House

2010-06-15T00:28:00.005-04:00

[Note: One way I work through writer’s block is by writing down bits of conversation I overhear in public places. The following dialogue evolved from one such exercise about five years ago. Please excuse the formatting.]

In a coffee shop, HUSBAND and WIFE discuss with their REALTOR the best way to get the sellers -- the Wife’s father and step-mother -- to make repairs on the house before closing.

WIFE: He used so many complicated words and so much syntax. You would think he was a lawyer. You know, he came from that generation of doctors and lawyers. He’s a smart guy, well, he’s my father.

REALTOR: Does agreeing to certain portions of what he’s asking give us the ability to go for replacing the furnace? That’s what I don’t know. How would he react to that?

WIFE: (touching Husband’s arm) Honey, do you want another coffee now that you discovered the joys of Hershey syrup and coffee?

HUSBAND: A mocha, blended coffee thing would be great. (Wife walks away to the coffee bar to get a second round of drinks). She’s worried that we’re going to press too far. I mean, at one o’clock, do they refuse to do the furnace if we push?

REALTOR: I need to find the answers to these questions. Is the window warranty transferable to the new owners, and, if it is, can we get that in writing?

HUSBAND: I know what he’s thinking. If you have a say in replacing a unit, then you’re going to pick the most expensive one.

REALTOR: We also need a more complete report from Bob. When I’m representing the seller, I tell him that the buyers asked these things to be fixed and we should do it. A good seller should fix significant repairs.

(Wife returns to the table).

WIFE: Make sure I don’t get the sweatiness from my coffee drink on your paint chips.

HUSBAND: So, how should we put it? “We love your house. Now, get out.”

REALTOR: I’ve had so many people almost buy this house, but the pink is killing me, killing me. And she keeps asking me why the house hasn’t sold. She painted it inside and out last year and they’re bad colors. And I can’t tell her.

WIFE: She loves those colors.

REALTOR: I got the best feed back from a realtor once, but I could never tell her. It was, “Love the house, built in the 1900s, very nice architecture, but if Florida were a person, then it looks like he threw up all over that house. All over it.”

HUSBAND: I’ll write a suggestion and have someone read it.

REALTOR: To be sure it won’t be harsh.

HUSBAND: It won’t be harsh. It will be trying to decipher what he said. I would like to bring up the water issues. I’ll do it gently - a letter or dialogue, but not a firm response as to what we’re going to do.

REALTOR: Could you start it out with, “Dear Joe, your baby is not ugly.” (They laugh) Seriously, though.

WIFE: This is my father’s generation. Approach it from where he’s coming from, and then it’s understood.

REALTOR: Back when he bought and sold houses, everybody worked for the buyer and nobody worked with the seller.

HUSBAND: He wrote this, but he didn’t give us any way to get in touch with him to talk about these issues. He softened as he got through it. He started harsh. (Husband looks down at a letter to them from the father).

REALTOR: You may ask him some questions that he has not asked himself. Even though he’s been mean about it, he is inviting some dialogue.

WIFE: Yeah, let’s be careful talking about my father.

HUSBAND: I feel bad because your step-mother was running some interference.

WIFE: She’s nice and everything, but we could not even talk to one another. She was very disruptive. She treated me like a kid with bad manners. She was like that. She had that level of expectation.

HUSBAND: Joe cut corners on the long term care of the house. But we don’t need to tell him that.

WIFE: Everybody cuts corners, really, everybody does. But the house is over all in good shape. I heard him say more than once to you that he did not see any real problems in that house. I heard. So there’s a little wood that needs replacing and there’s some water damage, but nobody gets mortar fixed, nobody does, it’s just old brick. I heard him say there’s nothing significantly wrong with this house. The HVAC is bad. That’s all.

REALTOR: Furnaces were his main concern.

WIFE: I’m not saying that we shouldn’t do what he said. It’s just to noone’s benefit to overstate it. He did not neglect that house. I’ve seen houses that were far worse.

REALTOR: You have a positive way of asking questions. If you can use that, that may not be a bad way to ask. Maybe he’ll surprise us, you know. So was Sullivan’s a good place to eat?

HUSBAND: How many bowls of mashed potatoes do you think they would bring one couple?

WIFE: Yes, it was an event. We got there at five fifteen. We were seated around ten of six and didn’t leave until after ten.

HUSBAND: He hasn’t answered how many bowls yet. That stuff is heavy.

REALTOR: They brought the salad wedge, right? Did you send it back and have them chop it up? That really bothers me.

HUSBAND: They bring it on a small plate so it looks big. I saw people picking it up like a sandwich, dipping it in salad dressing.

(They all laugh)

REALTOR: I could see Tom Hanks doing that in a movie. So, how many? Two bowls? Three? Were you eating them all?

WIFE: Well, I was eating mashed potatoes and hit something hard. I got the spoon and there was this clear shard of something. I thought it was glass. I said to stop eating the potatoes. Then Pierre came over and said it is “plasteek.” It should not be in the potatoes, but it is not a “cat-ass-trophee”. I was laughing and irritated at the same time.

HUSBAND: Then the second bowl came out and that was okay. And the floor manager came out. At this point, all the help knew it. Pierre went back and scolded someone for it.

WIFE: Well, what can we do for you? And I said a little more than a free bowl of mashed potatoes. And they brought us a bottle of wine.

REALTOR: Thirty dollar bottle of wine or one hundred dollar bottle?

WIFE: For them, it was like a seventy dollar bottle.

REALTOR: There is a waiter in the middle of all of this, too?

WIFE: A waitress. And she was cool.

HUSBAND: The manager was like the stickler saying, “You’re fork eez not in zee right place, you must move zee fork.” Well, about half the table was mashed potatoes. When they found the plastic piece, Pierre went back and cleaned off the plastic.

WIFE: Every five minutes somebody was at the table. They had two crumb guys. I didn’t see them do anything else. Two crumb guys and the table was only big enough for two people.

HUSBAND: But it was a nice night.

REALTOR: I’ve only been to Sullivan’s once, and it was with this girl that I really, really wanted to go out with and I didn’t think that she would say yes in a million years, but she said yes. We started off by going to Les Mis – a great way to start a first date – then we went to the Sullivan’s bar and had martinis. But it is an expensive meal. It’s an anniversary meal, not a first date meal. You don’t start there, you end there.

HUSBAND: Who’s this girl?

REALTOR: It’s a girl I knew from work. Anyway, the next time we had a date, she asked where we were going. And I had nowhere to go from there. So that ended it.

WIFE: Well, it’s probably better that you found that out right away.

REALTOR: That was about five years ago, when I had my Mustang. But I don’t have it now, because you can’t put your kids in the back and can’t show houses in that car. (Realtor takes a sip of coffee). So, you’re going to write the letter and when will you have it for review?

HUSBAND: I’ll get the draft done tonight. Then you can look at the draft.

WIFE: (looking at the paint samples on the table). So, this orange for the living room, and some kind of lively but subtle yellow in the den.

REALTOR: I’m always interested in what they name colors. It’s somebody’s job to sit in a room and come up with names for twenty different hues of green. (Realtor starts to get up from the table). So, we’re done. I’ll look for an email with the letter.

HUSBAND: I’ll send it from work.

WIFE: I want to get outside and get some air.

HUSBAND: Well, thanks for everything.

REALTOR: Hey, it was worth coming out just to hear the mashed potato story.

WIFE: Yeah, we always make a spectacle of ourselves. Like when we were leaving, the whole staff was like – bye, bye, congratulations. They were clapping and telling us to come back.

HUSBAND: They weren’t clapping.

WIFE: Yes, they were. They were clapping.

REALTOR: Were they clapping because you were finally leaving?

WIFE: (laughing) No, no, but they were clapping.

Scott Free

2010-06-09T23:31:00.012-04:00

[Today’s Fiction Free Write – I woke one morning about a month ago with the last line of this free write in my head and this is what it became.]

I hated Uncle Dean and didn’t want anything from him.

He was my mother’s brother, the oldest – and shortest – of five. But his lack of height didn’t stop him from bossing people around. I think it bothered him that he couldn’t tell me what to do like he did everyone else in his life.

“You’re a bum, Scott,” he snarled at me more times than I can count. “Get a real job and stop wasting your life on idiotic dreams. You’re just like your mother, except she was smart enough to finally listen.”

I guess I could have fought back or believed him, but that’s what he wanted me to do. Instead, I just ignored him, shook my head, and took my board out to the ocean to watch the sun set on the surf.

My uncle was bad enough when he was bitter and poor. I didn’t think he could get worse…until he won the lottery. Somehow, money made it okay for him to be a mean little gnome-man. Family members who feuded with him for years forgave him as fast as it took him to press hundred dollar bills to their palms.

They became his possessions.

I wasn’t going to be one of them.

He couldn’t buy me like one of his ten cars or three houses. I would tell him as much, if he ever asked. But I think he already knew how I felt. He didn’t seem to care. Material shit never mattered much to me. I had my friends, miles of ocean, and lots of time.

That’s why I asked the lawyer to repeat himself when he read Uncle Dean’s will a week after the bastard choked to death on an olive in the master stateroom of his yacht somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea.

I couldn’t believe he left everything to me.

I bet you’re thinking this must have been the best thing that ever happened to me. I had all the money I’d ever need. I never had to work again. I could do whatever I wanted to do for the rest of my life. And so on. All the thoughts you’d think when you imagine having millions.

But leaving me everything turned out to be the cruelest thing that damn Uncle Dean ever did.

There was no place to go when I had it all handed to me. No motivation to find something I loved - to strive and try and fail. Sure, it made things a hell of a lot easier in many ways. I’m not complaining. But it didn’t give me purpose. For a long time, I didn’t see the point in putting one foot in front of the other to go in any direction. I wondered if people liked me just for my new money.

He sucked the life right out of my life.

I’m sure he was laughing out loud in his fancy grave.

And I wasn’t about to let him have the last laugh.

So after about a year of floundering and partying, squandering money and time, and becoming the bum my uncle always said I was, I woke up on a poolside lawn chair after a night of heavy drinking with a wrinkled paper menu stuck to my arm that changed everything.

On the back of that menu was a plan I’d scrawled out after a few too many brews with the four friends I trusted most – Jake, Kev, Eli, and Olivia, the girl I’ve loved for almost twenty years, although I haven’t ever told her.

The five of us planned to travel the world on my dead uncle’s dime, surf the best waves, and feed our souls with the culture and kindness of strangers. We’d take my uncle’s cursed millions and have the adventure of a lifetime. We turned my paper menu vision into three dedicated months of preparation and research and anticipation that led us to the deck of this boat I chartered, complete with captain and crew.

But you know what Burns and Steinbeck said about the best laid plans.

I guess we should have known better when we set out that blustery April morning to begin our two year journey. We should have known we couldn’t escape the things we tried to leave behind – our problems, our families, ourselves.

We had each other, which seemed to be enough at the time.

The boat was stocked, the money endless, the tide high, and our spirits even higher.

Pelicans flew in v-shaped flocks pointed out to sea.

And away we all went to darkening waves.

World Oceans Day 2010

2010-06-08T18:29:00.004-04:00

Welcome!

My new blog design is ready just in time for World Oceans Day 2010.

Yay!

Today -- June 8th -- is World Oceans Day!

Although celebrated unofficially for more than a decade, World Oceans Day was officially designated to be June 8th by the United Nations in 2009.

This year, World Oceans Day events are focused on the diversity of life in the oceans. And this focus could not come at a better time. We’ve all seen the heartbreaking pictures from the Gulf of Mexico of birds, sea turtles, and even dolphins covered in oil and struggling to survive through one of the worst oil spill disasters in history.

For those of us who don’t live close enough to volunteer to help, we’re left wondering what we can do. In honor of World Oceans Day and the diversity of life in the oceans, here are few ways that we can help protect the wildlife endangered by the oil spill:

The National Wildlife Federation is assisting with the clean up and rescue of animals stranded in oil. Visit the NWF website here. But, most importantly, to help with their rescue effort, please text "WILDLIFE" to 20222 to donate $10.

Buy Dawn. One bottle purchased = $1.00 donated to save wildlife. Click here for details.

Wear blue and tell two. Wear blue in support of the oceans and marine creatures and tell two people about World Oceans Day and how to donate to the wildlife rescue effort in the Gulf.

Be Blue. Read my Bluesday tips (on the menu tab at the top of this page) to learn about tips for how to protect the oceans and sea creatures now and in the future.

World Oceans Day is a reminder that the ocean is not only our life support system, but a thing of great beauty, teeming with amazing creatures. The ocean is resilient, but we are testing it almost to its limits. The oil spill underway in the Gulf of Mexico is a startling and sad example of just that.

Wear blue today. Be blue today. For the ocean and its diversity of life, celebrate World Oceans Day 2010 by doing your part to help with the rescue of wildlife in the Gulf of Mexico.

Thank you for checking out my new blog design!!

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