Life is full of wins and losses. When I was growing up it was very clear who was a winner and who was not. Organized sports was not the norm. Parks and Recreation Departments had one job: keep the stoners and gangs out of the park. They were usually not successful. So we played in the street, in the back yard and on the railroad tracks. We played marathon games of whiffle ball, kick ball and cops and robbers. We played to win and to gloat. We either sent our best friends home crying and furious or we went home feeling the same way. The next day we were all best friends again and we played the same game.
Raising my own children in the 1990s saw the advent of the premise that everyone's a winner. Due to our busy, both parent working lives Parks and Recreation met our demands to entertain our children by morphing into the activity café where we chose what kind of fun our children will have based on the programs they offered. We structured our children's free time to include valuable learning experiences and skill building programs instead of just hanging out in the back yard playing kickball.
Being the soccer fans that we were, we indoctrinated our children into the world of soccer programs. Jerseys, boots (the official word for soccer cleats. DO NOT use the word "cleats") and shin guards. Adorable five year olds on the field all huddled around the soccer ball like a swarm of bees. Then there was always the one child who was on the other side of the field picking dandelions, usually my kid. The interesting thing about these soccer leagues was that no score was ever officially tracked, though all the parents tracked it, and at the end of the season everyone got the same trophy. Everyone was a winner. I guess this had its merits. It gave our children confidence to participate and not get discouraged. It reinforced a positive self image. But it also didn't teach them about real life. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. If you are not good at something you should really find something else to do. You can and will be crushed by your competition at some point. It's okay to lose. It's okay to win.
There's a commercial on TV lately where Flo, the insurance lady we all love to hate, is giving a pep talk to a new insurance guy. She assures him that his mistakes are temporary and he will learn and offers to take him for ice cream. "With sprinkles?" he asks excited at the prospect of the special treat. "Sprinkles are for winners." She sadly informs him. A victory in life, much like a victory in sports, is only sweet when you know the taste of defeat. Save the sprinkles for your victories.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Friday, February 27, 2015
Gone To The Dogs
For some reason, whenever the subject of owning a cat or a dog comes up in conversation, people generally ask me if I own a cat. What do I do to lead people to believe I'm a cat person? Is it my independent nature, my sarcastic humor, or the way I fall asleep instantly if I cross a sunbeam? For that matter, what makes anyone a "dog" person versus a "cat" person? I have done extensive research and have come up with the following answer; I don't know.
My research has revealed some interesting characteristics of such species, but there is always the exception. However, I will share with you my findings and let you draw your own conclusions.
Subject one: Me. I grew up in a family that liked cats and hated dogs. So my bias was tainted toward cats from an early age. The cat of my youth, named Sabu, was a huge 18 pound part Angora, part Tom Cat. He was neutered, so that made him mad from an early age. He was your typical cat. He loved you when he wanted to, hated you when he wanted to and terrorized you on a regular basis. A little five pound cat who runs and pounces on you is amusing, an 18 pound cat doing that is truly frightening. I loved Sabu because he was our pet and the closest thing I had to a cuddly animal, but nothing could have prepared me for the love I felt for our first dog.
My husband and I got a dog when he graduated with his Masters. Craig's family was a dog family so Craig was biased toward dogs. He was also allergic to cats, so a dog it was. We got an American Eskimo puppy named Natasha. She was a very good doggie and was our companion through the birth of our two boys, two moves, and me attempting to give her the Heimlich Maneuver when all she had was gas. She died at the ripe old age of 18. We now have a West Highland Terrier named Sherlock who is my constant companion. He has a ton of personality and is fiercely devoted - to anyone who will pet him or play with him.
So through my extensive experience with pet ownership and my observations of other pet owners I have found the following:
Cat Lovers are usually independent, stylish, the oldest or only child, have a sarcastic or warped sense of humor and are allergic to dogs.
Dog Lovers are usually devoted, comfortable, the middle or youngest child, love physical humor and are allergic to cats.
People who own both cats and dogs love a good fight.
I still love cats, but my heart has been stolen by the dog's I've owned, so I've definitely gone to the dogs!
My research has revealed some interesting characteristics of such species, but there is always the exception. However, I will share with you my findings and let you draw your own conclusions.
Subject one: Me. I grew up in a family that liked cats and hated dogs. So my bias was tainted toward cats from an early age. The cat of my youth, named Sabu, was a huge 18 pound part Angora, part Tom Cat. He was neutered, so that made him mad from an early age. He was your typical cat. He loved you when he wanted to, hated you when he wanted to and terrorized you on a regular basis. A little five pound cat who runs and pounces on you is amusing, an 18 pound cat doing that is truly frightening. I loved Sabu because he was our pet and the closest thing I had to a cuddly animal, but nothing could have prepared me for the love I felt for our first dog.
My husband and I got a dog when he graduated with his Masters. Craig's family was a dog family so Craig was biased toward dogs. He was also allergic to cats, so a dog it was. We got an American Eskimo puppy named Natasha. She was a very good doggie and was our companion through the birth of our two boys, two moves, and me attempting to give her the Heimlich Maneuver when all she had was gas. She died at the ripe old age of 18. We now have a West Highland Terrier named Sherlock who is my constant companion. He has a ton of personality and is fiercely devoted - to anyone who will pet him or play with him.
So through my extensive experience with pet ownership and my observations of other pet owners I have found the following:
Cat Lovers are usually independent, stylish, the oldest or only child, have a sarcastic or warped sense of humor and are allergic to dogs.
Dog Lovers are usually devoted, comfortable, the middle or youngest child, love physical humor and are allergic to cats.
People who own both cats and dogs love a good fight.
I still love cats, but my heart has been stolen by the dog's I've owned, so I've definitely gone to the dogs!
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Playing Games
I have always liked playing games. I mean real games. Monopoly, Sorry, card games. Almost every game has some level of interest to me. I do not like the following games: Chess, Stratego, Risk. These are games of strategy. These are games I never win. I like to win.
I grew up in a family that played a lot of games. I learned how to count playing dominoes and Rummy 500 way before I started school. Both of my grandmothers loved dominoes and made sure that time we spent with them included a dominoes marathon. I had one grandma that actually called the other one a sissy because she only liked playing with double sixes. My Grandma who was a diehard domino champion played with no less than double twelves. Even when she had cataracts and had to hold the dominoes right in front of her eyes to see how many dots were on them, she refused to settle for anything less.
My grandma who was a more simple person in terms of domino domination, was more enthusiastic about Rummy 500. She would visit us for a weekend every three weeks or so with Friday night consisting of sitting around the kitchen table smoking cigarettes (she smoked real ones and we "smoked" candy cigarettes that she supplied), and playing cards. We would play for hours until someone reached 500 points, then we'd have ice cream. It was amazing that she never won. She would "mistakenly" miss opportunities to make points that we would then capitalize on.
Playing games with my sisters was usually a different story. They are both older than me by three years and six years so I rarely won a game. To top it off, the oldest, Joanne, cheated. Oh yeah, you heard me. She cheated! We would play Monopoly and she was always the banker because she claimed she could count better than us. When we had to pay the bank she would slip the cash into her own pile instead of the bank. She always won. My middle sister, Jeanne, had a strong sense of right and wrong and never cheated, but she also had a "no mercy" rule and also always won any game the two of us played. However, she was so merciless that she wouldn't just win, she would kill me. I would get so frustrated with her that I would lunge across the board and attack her in a fit of rage. She was bigger and stronger so she just laughed, pinned me to the ground and tickled me. ARGH!!!
Playing games has taught me many life lessons that I didn't even realize I learned.
I grew up in a family that played a lot of games. I learned how to count playing dominoes and Rummy 500 way before I started school. Both of my grandmothers loved dominoes and made sure that time we spent with them included a dominoes marathon. I had one grandma that actually called the other one a sissy because she only liked playing with double sixes. My Grandma who was a diehard domino champion played with no less than double twelves. Even when she had cataracts and had to hold the dominoes right in front of her eyes to see how many dots were on them, she refused to settle for anything less.
My grandma who was a more simple person in terms of domino domination, was more enthusiastic about Rummy 500. She would visit us for a weekend every three weeks or so with Friday night consisting of sitting around the kitchen table smoking cigarettes (she smoked real ones and we "smoked" candy cigarettes that she supplied), and playing cards. We would play for hours until someone reached 500 points, then we'd have ice cream. It was amazing that she never won. She would "mistakenly" miss opportunities to make points that we would then capitalize on.
Playing games with my sisters was usually a different story. They are both older than me by three years and six years so I rarely won a game. To top it off, the oldest, Joanne, cheated. Oh yeah, you heard me. She cheated! We would play Monopoly and she was always the banker because she claimed she could count better than us. When we had to pay the bank she would slip the cash into her own pile instead of the bank. She always won. My middle sister, Jeanne, had a strong sense of right and wrong and never cheated, but she also had a "no mercy" rule and also always won any game the two of us played. However, she was so merciless that she wouldn't just win, she would kill me. I would get so frustrated with her that I would lunge across the board and attack her in a fit of rage. She was bigger and stronger so she just laughed, pinned me to the ground and tickled me. ARGH!!!
Playing games has taught me many life lessons that I didn't even realize I learned.
- Know your strengths
- Challenge yourself
- Show grace
- Have fun
- Never trust the banker
- Play to win, don't play to kill
- Frustration will get you nowhere
Saturday, February 21, 2015
A Prequel to the Oscars
Every year my husband and I take the Oscars very seriously. We hardly go to a movie all year long, but as soon as the Oscar nominations come out, we make in depth plans to view as many of the nominated films as possible. We review which movie got the most nods and start with them. Then we watch the movies we think we'll actually like, which is usually not many. Lastly, we choose the movies that we really have no interest in, but got enough nominations that we feel we must see it to be fair in casting our ballots.
Oh, we cast ballots alright. We are not members of the Academy (yet) so our ballots don't count, but they count to us. We usually make some sort of small wager that will benefit the winner and the loser as well as provide bragging rights.
Over the years of viewing movies that Oscar feels are worthy of the award I've noticed a pattern. Every once in a while the pattern is broken and an unusual pick wins something, but if movies were horses and the Oscars were a horse race there would be some definite odds. Actually, I think Vegas does have betting on the Oscars with actual odds, but I haven't looked that up - yet.
Best Picture:
Oh, we cast ballots alright. We are not members of the Academy (yet) so our ballots don't count, but they count to us. We usually make some sort of small wager that will benefit the winner and the loser as well as provide bragging rights.
Over the years of viewing movies that Oscar feels are worthy of the award I've noticed a pattern. Every once in a while the pattern is broken and an unusual pick wins something, but if movies were horses and the Oscars were a horse race there would be some definite odds. Actually, I think Vegas does have betting on the Oscars with actual odds, but I haven't looked that up - yet.
Best Picture:
- Must be over two hours long. The longer the better. If it's so long it needs an intermission, it's a shoe in for best picture.
- It must be about a serious subject. Comedies are completely out. Any level of humor is suspect but acceptable if it's dark humor.
- It must be rated R. Every so often a PG-13 sneaks in, but is doomed to lose. Apparently, life is an R and PG-13 is too sweet. PG is the death knell for an Oscar. It won't even be considered, unless its animated.
- Must be well known, but not too well known. If a male actor is extremely famous and is nominated he will lose to the relative unknown. The voters of the academy want us to believe that they believe in underdogs.
- Must not have been previously a comedic actor. Comedy is a sign of weakness.
- Must not portray a conservative character. The academy also want us to believe that conservative men are not worthy of Oscar.
- Contrary to their male counterparts, a female lead needs to have principals, however warped, to be worthy of Oscar. Even in the liberal world of Hollywood a woman is still held to a different set of standards.
- Does not need to be naked in the film, but it helps. Another stereotype. Yikes!
- If Meryl Streep is up for best actress, she will win.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Mini-Golf
I love mini-golf. I love the colorful balls, the smell of fake turf and the feel of the tiny pencil in your pocket stabbing you every time you bend over to pick up your ball. I consider every course a work of art. A masterpiece created by some aspiring architect or a janitor who wanted overtime.
There are definite classes of courses. There are the ones built on a fake hill with a water feature running throughout the entire course. This type of course usually means two things; you will lose your ball in the water at least once and you will pay way too much to play mini-golf. Then there are the courses built next to a driving range or real golf course. These courses are usually built to appease the children of the adult golfers and lure the parents into the pro shop. They are usually in some level of disrepair. The windmill doesn't turn, the bowling ball pins don't pivot, They forget to put an actual hole in one of the holes.
But a new type of course has sprung up in malls across America. Glow in the dark mini-golf. This is a brilliant idea! The only thing better than having a bunch obstacles in the way of seeing the hole, is not actually being able to "see" the hole! Glow in the dark courses usually include wooden cutouts of trolls and mushrooms painted in neon glowing colors. It's as if a troll on mushrooms painted the course. These courses are usually in the worst shape since, well, they are in the dark. The employees can't fix anything because they can't see anything and also, it's dark, none of the customers can see anything either, so who cares!
So what do I really love about mini-golf. It is 30 to 45 minutes of uninterrupted connection and fun. I usually play mini-golf with my family. We know each other well and can just have fun. Oh, it hasn't always been fun. When my sons were young we would get to hole 8 and there will have been at least one melt down, two trips back through the entire course to go to the bathroom and the threat of using the putter as a deadly weapon. And that was just me! But now we are all adults, sort of, and there is no competition or fighting, sort of.
The best news is that there is a class two course close to us that is part of a driving range and pro shop. It is cheap, run down and best of all, they serve beer which you are allowed to take on the course with you. The only thing better than mini-golf on a hot sticky summer evening, is mini-golf and a beer. I love mini-golf!
There are definite classes of courses. There are the ones built on a fake hill with a water feature running throughout the entire course. This type of course usually means two things; you will lose your ball in the water at least once and you will pay way too much to play mini-golf. Then there are the courses built next to a driving range or real golf course. These courses are usually built to appease the children of the adult golfers and lure the parents into the pro shop. They are usually in some level of disrepair. The windmill doesn't turn, the bowling ball pins don't pivot, They forget to put an actual hole in one of the holes.
But a new type of course has sprung up in malls across America. Glow in the dark mini-golf. This is a brilliant idea! The only thing better than having a bunch obstacles in the way of seeing the hole, is not actually being able to "see" the hole! Glow in the dark courses usually include wooden cutouts of trolls and mushrooms painted in neon glowing colors. It's as if a troll on mushrooms painted the course. These courses are usually in the worst shape since, well, they are in the dark. The employees can't fix anything because they can't see anything and also, it's dark, none of the customers can see anything either, so who cares!
So what do I really love about mini-golf. It is 30 to 45 minutes of uninterrupted connection and fun. I usually play mini-golf with my family. We know each other well and can just have fun. Oh, it hasn't always been fun. When my sons were young we would get to hole 8 and there will have been at least one melt down, two trips back through the entire course to go to the bathroom and the threat of using the putter as a deadly weapon. And that was just me! But now we are all adults, sort of, and there is no competition or fighting, sort of.
The best news is that there is a class two course close to us that is part of a driving range and pro shop. It is cheap, run down and best of all, they serve beer which you are allowed to take on the course with you. The only thing better than mini-golf on a hot sticky summer evening, is mini-golf and a beer. I love mini-golf!
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Lean Cuisine
Let's face it. We all hate to diet. Well, at least I do. I hate to join groups and pay them to tell me what to eat. I hate to count calories and keep food journals. None of the nutritional shakes work because I'm allergic to everything healthy. I figured out that if I'm given a system to follow, I spend all my time figuring out how to work the system to still get what I want. So, I've given up on systems. No more Weight Watchers, Slim Fast, calorie counting. I'm just going to eat less. Yeah, right. But there are products out there that force you to eat less. My personal favorite, Lean Cuisine.
Lean Cuisine is made by Stouffers. That's a good start. I mean, anyone who can perfect Macaroni and Cheese in a frozen meal can't be all bad, right? Lean Cuisine has about 255 different types of frozen meals, all of which are right around 300 calories per meal. Perfect. That is, until you eat it. The descriptions are scrumptious. "Succulent shrimp with angel hair pasta in a creamy vegetable sauce." Translation: Four tiny tough shrimp with soggy pasta in a chemically reproduced cream sauce with pieces of red pepper and carrots. Yum. It's actually not too bad, but the problem is, you just get to the point of starting to enjoy it and it's gone. If there were four frozen dinners of succulent shrimp all sitting in a row waiting for me to eat up, then we might have success, but four dinners would equal 1200 calories and that would be all I should eat for the whole day.
I'll keep fighting the good fight, and eating healthy when I can, but until they can make a 300 calorie hamburger and fries that fills me up and tastes delicious, I will eventually lose a few battles. The question becomes will I ever win the war, and what does winning the war look like?
Lean Cuisine is made by Stouffers. That's a good start. I mean, anyone who can perfect Macaroni and Cheese in a frozen meal can't be all bad, right? Lean Cuisine has about 255 different types of frozen meals, all of which are right around 300 calories per meal. Perfect. That is, until you eat it. The descriptions are scrumptious. "Succulent shrimp with angel hair pasta in a creamy vegetable sauce." Translation: Four tiny tough shrimp with soggy pasta in a chemically reproduced cream sauce with pieces of red pepper and carrots. Yum. It's actually not too bad, but the problem is, you just get to the point of starting to enjoy it and it's gone. If there were four frozen dinners of succulent shrimp all sitting in a row waiting for me to eat up, then we might have success, but four dinners would equal 1200 calories and that would be all I should eat for the whole day.
I'll keep fighting the good fight, and eating healthy when I can, but until they can make a 300 calorie hamburger and fries that fills me up and tastes delicious, I will eventually lose a few battles. The question becomes will I ever win the war, and what does winning the war look like?
Monday, February 16, 2015
Photographs and Memories
"Photographs and Memories
of the love you gave to me.
All that I have are these
to remember you."
Jim Croce
Photos have become extremely important to me. As I age, photos become my story, my history. I can look back and see my youth, my parents, the love from and for my husband, my babies growing into strong young men. Now with these new fangled inventions of cell phones and digital cameras photos are everywhere. I can send or receive a simple smile to my husband when the day is long and I need to see a smiling face. I can see what crazy things my youngest son is doing at college though he's 400 miles away. I can see the sparkle in my oldest son's eyes as he gazes on his new girlfriend.
I see the importance of certain photos in my friend's lives. A husband who left this earth too soon, a father who meant the world to them, a son fighting for our freedom in Afghanistan, a daughter on her way down the aisle. Through the social media I come in touch with friends and family's lives and what's important to them. Words are written, true, but the pictures, the pictures speak the story.
If you were to ask me what would be the first possession I'd grab to rescue from a fire, I'd say my photos. If you asked that same question to a mother in her 30's, she'd say her phone, because her phone is the photo album of her life. No matter how they are stored, the answer is the same. With a photo we capture a moment in time when someone purposefully decided that this moment should be recorded. Whether it's a child's first smile, a bride and groom, or just a funny way your dog is acting, it's your life and you want to hold on to that moment in some way.
My husband is a great photographer. He works diligently to provide me with the best shots of all the birds and other sights we see on our vacations and even just on our walks together. But the photographs I cherish the most are the stupid selfies where we laugh at how awful we look and I fall in love all over again with the man who smiles at me in a photo.
of the love you gave to me.
All that I have are these
to remember you."
Jim Croce
Photos have become extremely important to me. As I age, photos become my story, my history. I can look back and see my youth, my parents, the love from and for my husband, my babies growing into strong young men. Now with these new fangled inventions of cell phones and digital cameras photos are everywhere. I can send or receive a simple smile to my husband when the day is long and I need to see a smiling face. I can see what crazy things my youngest son is doing at college though he's 400 miles away. I can see the sparkle in my oldest son's eyes as he gazes on his new girlfriend.
I see the importance of certain photos in my friend's lives. A husband who left this earth too soon, a father who meant the world to them, a son fighting for our freedom in Afghanistan, a daughter on her way down the aisle. Through the social media I come in touch with friends and family's lives and what's important to them. Words are written, true, but the pictures, the pictures speak the story.
If you were to ask me what would be the first possession I'd grab to rescue from a fire, I'd say my photos. If you asked that same question to a mother in her 30's, she'd say her phone, because her phone is the photo album of her life. No matter how they are stored, the answer is the same. With a photo we capture a moment in time when someone purposefully decided that this moment should be recorded. Whether it's a child's first smile, a bride and groom, or just a funny way your dog is acting, it's your life and you want to hold on to that moment in some way.
My husband is a great photographer. He works diligently to provide me with the best shots of all the birds and other sights we see on our vacations and even just on our walks together. But the photographs I cherish the most are the stupid selfies where we laugh at how awful we look and I fall in love all over again with the man who smiles at me in a photo.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Valentine's Day is What You Make It
Who created this holiday anyway? A special day to mush over that special person in your life. A day to celebrate love, find love, make love and eat large amounts of rich foods and chocolate. For those without lovers there exists a plethora of fast food and non romantic restaurants waiting for them with open arms. There's also TV and the bottom of a bottle of wine to provide entertainment for the lonely.
I never thought I'd be lonely on Valentines Day. My husband had always found a way to make the day special for us, but work got in the way this year and we found ourselves with 600 miles between us. What's a girl to do? The game plan was to hole away in my bedroom and watch TV and search for that bottom of the bottle, while my son entertained his new girlfriend downstairs. But it turned out that I had people in my life who rescued me from certain disaster. My husband and I talked and skyped for most of the morning. My son and his lady took me to lunch and mini-golf (though they didn't let me win) and a good friend whose husband was also traveling hung out with me for dinner and an improv show.
Not everyone is this lucky. This holiday is downright painful to some who have loved and lost, or never loved at all. We are surrounded by hearts and flowers, candy and perfume, red and pink dresses and sweaters, young lovers kissing and holding hands and, worse yet, old lovers kissing and holding hands! Is this holiday a great idea or an evil plan to crush the hearts of all single people.
So I end my night with TV and not my honey, but as lonely Valentine's Days go, it wasn't too bad.
I never thought I'd be lonely on Valentines Day. My husband had always found a way to make the day special for us, but work got in the way this year and we found ourselves with 600 miles between us. What's a girl to do? The game plan was to hole away in my bedroom and watch TV and search for that bottom of the bottle, while my son entertained his new girlfriend downstairs. But it turned out that I had people in my life who rescued me from certain disaster. My husband and I talked and skyped for most of the morning. My son and his lady took me to lunch and mini-golf (though they didn't let me win) and a good friend whose husband was also traveling hung out with me for dinner and an improv show.
Not everyone is this lucky. This holiday is downright painful to some who have loved and lost, or never loved at all. We are surrounded by hearts and flowers, candy and perfume, red and pink dresses and sweaters, young lovers kissing and holding hands and, worse yet, old lovers kissing and holding hands! Is this holiday a great idea or an evil plan to crush the hearts of all single people.
So I end my night with TV and not my honey, but as lonely Valentine's Days go, it wasn't too bad.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Facebook Booty
Everyone with a Facebook account has done it. You take a photo and post it to brag on whatever wonderful gift, meal or vacation you've enjoyed. It's innocent enough. You just want to share how wonderful your life is with all your followers. Your husband sent you flowers, you made your spouse a special meal, you went to Disney World! Here's the problem, your friend who got not flowers, has no spouse (or worse yet, a lousy spouse) or can't afford to ride the bus let alone Space Mountain now hates you. We don't mean to hate you. We even press "like" to show you how happy we are for you. But, we hate you.
Sometimes opening up Facebook is like getting a Christmas letter every day of the year. Not in that its joyful, but it shows us how wonderful all our friends' lives are and how our life sucks. I am totally guilty of this. I only post my booty. Those of you who know me know what I mean. If I were to post my actual bootie I would lose 253 friends at the speed of sound. I mean the good things in my life. Today alone I posted a photo of the beautiful flowers my husband sent me for Valentine's Day, a note about how wonderful my son is to his girlfriend and how he's just like his dad in his thoughtfulness, plus I made a few zingingly wonderful comments on friends pages and "liked" at least three new grandchild photos, and it's only 6pm.
There are also the brutally honest people out there who post how horrible their lives are going. Since no one knows what to comment on these posts, most people say nothing or "I'll pray for you." I've yet to understand how it's socially acceptable to "like" someone's calamity. "I just lost my Dad to Cancer. I am totally distraught. Please shoot me now." - - "Like" What?!
I've also fallen into the trap of thinking a post to wish Happy Birthday, Happy Anniversary, Get Well Soon, Happy Baby, Happy Wedding, and Happy Sympathy are quite enough. No card necessary. Hallmark is going out of business due to Facebook!
Don't get me wrong. I do not intend to change one thing about the way I use and misuse Facebook. Just know that I am aware that the decline of civilization will be blamed on this behemoth and I will have been a part of it. For that I am terribly sorry and . . . look at how funny my doggy is!
Sometimes opening up Facebook is like getting a Christmas letter every day of the year. Not in that its joyful, but it shows us how wonderful all our friends' lives are and how our life sucks. I am totally guilty of this. I only post my booty. Those of you who know me know what I mean. If I were to post my actual bootie I would lose 253 friends at the speed of sound. I mean the good things in my life. Today alone I posted a photo of the beautiful flowers my husband sent me for Valentine's Day, a note about how wonderful my son is to his girlfriend and how he's just like his dad in his thoughtfulness, plus I made a few zingingly wonderful comments on friends pages and "liked" at least three new grandchild photos, and it's only 6pm.
There are also the brutally honest people out there who post how horrible their lives are going. Since no one knows what to comment on these posts, most people say nothing or "I'll pray for you." I've yet to understand how it's socially acceptable to "like" someone's calamity. "I just lost my Dad to Cancer. I am totally distraught. Please shoot me now." - - "Like" What?!
I've also fallen into the trap of thinking a post to wish Happy Birthday, Happy Anniversary, Get Well Soon, Happy Baby, Happy Wedding, and Happy Sympathy are quite enough. No card necessary. Hallmark is going out of business due to Facebook!
Don't get me wrong. I do not intend to change one thing about the way I use and misuse Facebook. Just know that I am aware that the decline of civilization will be blamed on this behemoth and I will have been a part of it. For that I am terribly sorry and . . . look at how funny my doggy is!
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Romantic Nights and Raccoons
Not words usually uttered in the same sentence, "romantic nights and raccoons." At least not words I'd ever thought I would use to describe an evening at a high end resort in a tropical paradise, but there we were. Our second night in Costa Rica and we have just had a beautiful, relaxing day together, young and in love. Well, at least young at heart and in love. We chose a more secluded, quiet restaurant to have dinner at to really just have a romantic evening to top off our perfect day. Peruvian cuisine in an open air pavilion near the sea.
We were enjoying a glass of wine to start our meal when we noticed a cat sauntering from one table to another begging for food. We thought this a little odd, but also oddly endearing. Not far from us was a couple enjoying a special evening in a private dining area closer to the water with curtains tied to the four edges of the canopy, flowing in the breeze. Candle light on their table, champagne chilling on ice and three raccoons standing in a row on their hind legs begging for food. Now and again, one of the vermin would boldly approach the table and wave his little paw demanding a morsel. The poor couple who probably paid good money for the private meal tried to ignore their uninvited guests, but it was hard to do, with all the other diners laughing amusingly at their predicament.
The couple finished their meal and slunk away embarrassed by their poor luck and the raccoons disappeared into the woods. But not to be deterred in their efforts to ruin a romantic evening for yet another couple the trio set their sites on us. We finished our meal returned to our room, etc., etc., and fell asleep. At two in the morning we heard a terrible racket outside our front door. We had heard that monkeys come on the property at times, so we quickly ran out our front door to see if monkeys were greeting us. No, the trio of raccoons were having a coon brawl in the bushes. They saw us and started running in our direction. I screamed and we hightailed it back to our room and locked the deadbolt, because everyone knows raccoons know how to pick locks but they can't get those deadbolts open.
When we got back in our room we noticed the full moon shining right over our patio. Romantic, right? Not quite. We were too scared to open our patio door.
We were enjoying a glass of wine to start our meal when we noticed a cat sauntering from one table to another begging for food. We thought this a little odd, but also oddly endearing. Not far from us was a couple enjoying a special evening in a private dining area closer to the water with curtains tied to the four edges of the canopy, flowing in the breeze. Candle light on their table, champagne chilling on ice and three raccoons standing in a row on their hind legs begging for food. Now and again, one of the vermin would boldly approach the table and wave his little paw demanding a morsel. The poor couple who probably paid good money for the private meal tried to ignore their uninvited guests, but it was hard to do, with all the other diners laughing amusingly at their predicament.
The couple finished their meal and slunk away embarrassed by their poor luck and the raccoons disappeared into the woods. But not to be deterred in their efforts to ruin a romantic evening for yet another couple the trio set their sites on us. We finished our meal returned to our room, etc., etc., and fell asleep. At two in the morning we heard a terrible racket outside our front door. We had heard that monkeys come on the property at times, so we quickly ran out our front door to see if monkeys were greeting us. No, the trio of raccoons were having a coon brawl in the bushes. They saw us and started running in our direction. I screamed and we hightailed it back to our room and locked the deadbolt, because everyone knows raccoons know how to pick locks but they can't get those deadbolts open.
When we got back in our room we noticed the full moon shining right over our patio. Romantic, right? Not quite. We were too scared to open our patio door.
Monday, February 9, 2015
Show Off
The only thing worse than not seeing a bird you've longed to lay your eyes on for years is having your son see it first. My oldest son had the privilege of serving on a missions trip to Brazil during the World Cup this past June. He came home and said "oh yeah, and by the way, I saw a scarlet macaw while I was there, mom. It was spectacular!" Shut up!
I do love hearing from friends who visit exotic places and tell me they saw a specific bird while there. This means two things. The fact that I love birds has opened their eyes to the fact that birds are actually out there, and that they care enough to mention it to me. What this also means is that they have likely seen a bird I would kill to see and they don't even realize how lucky they are!
When my son was in Brazil, he was probably not aware that just standing in the street afforded him the opportunity to see birds that would be life birds for me. If I stood on that same street I would be jumping up and down in pure ecstasy over the wildlife that surrounded me. He was more excited about soccer. Can you imagine? Soccer? Now I like soccer just as much as the next female who appreciates young, fit men with tight shirts, tight buns and muscular legs, but I'd give that up in a heartbeat to see the birds of Brazil. Wait, what am I saying? Let me think . . . yeah, I'd still choose the birds.
Hah! I saw a scarlet macaw in Costa Rica! Craig spotted it's tail sticking out of a nesting cavity in a tree on a river boat trip we took to find, you guessed it, scarlet macaws! We stopped the boat, waited and little by little, the bird, turned around, stuck just his head out of the hole then slowly hopped out onto a nearby branch and preened himself. If I were writing this with pen, the words would be smudged right now from drool. You see these birds in zoos, and think, "hmm, nice." But in the wild? What? I couldn't contain myself. Craig took photos like crazy and the guide took photos with my little snap and shoot camera through the lens of his spotting scope. And then, just like that, the macaw flew away, leaving me with an unforgettable memory.
I repeated this story to my son when we got home, happy to report he wasn't the only one in the family who'd seen a macaw, and he blithely replied, "Yeah, but did you see five of them flying in formation right over your head?" Rotten kid.
I do love hearing from friends who visit exotic places and tell me they saw a specific bird while there. This means two things. The fact that I love birds has opened their eyes to the fact that birds are actually out there, and that they care enough to mention it to me. What this also means is that they have likely seen a bird I would kill to see and they don't even realize how lucky they are!
When my son was in Brazil, he was probably not aware that just standing in the street afforded him the opportunity to see birds that would be life birds for me. If I stood on that same street I would be jumping up and down in pure ecstasy over the wildlife that surrounded me. He was more excited about soccer. Can you imagine? Soccer? Now I like soccer just as much as the next female who appreciates young, fit men with tight shirts, tight buns and muscular legs, but I'd give that up in a heartbeat to see the birds of Brazil. Wait, what am I saying? Let me think . . . yeah, I'd still choose the birds.
Hah! I saw a scarlet macaw in Costa Rica! Craig spotted it's tail sticking out of a nesting cavity in a tree on a river boat trip we took to find, you guessed it, scarlet macaws! We stopped the boat, waited and little by little, the bird, turned around, stuck just his head out of the hole then slowly hopped out onto a nearby branch and preened himself. If I were writing this with pen, the words would be smudged right now from drool. You see these birds in zoos, and think, "hmm, nice." But in the wild? What? I couldn't contain myself. Craig took photos like crazy and the guide took photos with my little snap and shoot camera through the lens of his spotting scope. And then, just like that, the macaw flew away, leaving me with an unforgettable memory.
I repeated this story to my son when we got home, happy to report he wasn't the only one in the family who'd seen a macaw, and he blithely replied, "Yeah, but did you see five of them flying in formation right over your head?" Rotten kid.
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| Scarlet Macaw - photo taken through a spotting scope |
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Toucan Sam's Got Nothing on These Guys
I always loved Toucan Sam as a child. He was funny, colorful and had great taste in cereal. It seemed inevitable that I should want to see Toucans in the wild. However, Toucan Sam and all of his sugary glory did not prepare me for the true beauty of the two types to Toucans I laid my eyes upon in Costa Rica.
For my birthday gift late last year, Craig hired a birding guide for a full day of birding when we were to be in Costa Rica on vacation. Jorge, our guide, was a great guide. He loved birds and wanted to make sure I saw as many different species as possible. We traipsed through dry, lowland forest and then drove over an hour on a bumpy dirt road to the foothills of the rain forest. In all, we saw well over fifty species with at least half of them being "life" birds for me. Not too shabby.
The day was coming to a close and we were headed back. We were slowly coming out of the rain forest and headed toward farm land when it happened. I spotted a keel billed toucan in a tree on the side of the road. I sputtered the words "stop! Back up, back up, back up! Toucan!" Our driver slammed on the brakes and threw the van into reverse like we were backing out of an alley after a bank robbery. Jorge and Craig jumped out of the van like a swat team to see the bird and take photos. I, however, could see perfectly through my window. There he was, a keel billed toucan sitting in a tree eating berries. The colors of his feathers were so brilliant nothing could match them. Then after we got our fill (in bird terms that means the bird flew in a direction we couldn't follow) we moved on. Not two minutes later we spotted chestnut billed toucans in another tree. Again, we all jumped out of the van and swarmed the area to get a good look.
Photos can never do justice to the beauty that our eyes beheld that day. But do not be mistaken. We got photos! A few of the best ones are posted here. But the best pictures are the ones in my memories of the day that I shared the air with these beautiful birds.
For my birthday gift late last year, Craig hired a birding guide for a full day of birding when we were to be in Costa Rica on vacation. Jorge, our guide, was a great guide. He loved birds and wanted to make sure I saw as many different species as possible. We traipsed through dry, lowland forest and then drove over an hour on a bumpy dirt road to the foothills of the rain forest. In all, we saw well over fifty species with at least half of them being "life" birds for me. Not too shabby.
The day was coming to a close and we were headed back. We were slowly coming out of the rain forest and headed toward farm land when it happened. I spotted a keel billed toucan in a tree on the side of the road. I sputtered the words "stop! Back up, back up, back up! Toucan!" Our driver slammed on the brakes and threw the van into reverse like we were backing out of an alley after a bank robbery. Jorge and Craig jumped out of the van like a swat team to see the bird and take photos. I, however, could see perfectly through my window. There he was, a keel billed toucan sitting in a tree eating berries. The colors of his feathers were so brilliant nothing could match them. Then after we got our fill (in bird terms that means the bird flew in a direction we couldn't follow) we moved on. Not two minutes later we spotted chestnut billed toucans in another tree. Again, we all jumped out of the van and swarmed the area to get a good look.
Photos can never do justice to the beauty that our eyes beheld that day. But do not be mistaken. We got photos! A few of the best ones are posted here. But the best pictures are the ones in my memories of the day that I shared the air with these beautiful birds.
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| Chestnut Billed Toucan |
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| Keel Billed Toucan |
Saturday, February 7, 2015
"Happy Wife, Happy Life"
The memorable words of a Costa Rican gentleman who takes his job of making people smile seriously. Julio is a shuttle driver at the Hilton de Papagayo. We spent a week there recently enjoying sunny, breezy days, all inclusive cocktails and dining and the beauty of nature surrounding us. As lovely as all that sounds the simple acts of Julio made our vacation even brighter.
Upon our arrival the reception area called the shuttle to bring us to our room. Julio met us with a huge smile and a willing hand to get us to our room on the top of a hill. He asked us our names and never forget them all week. After he got our bags to our room he said "remember Craig, happy wife, happy life!" The beginning of our vacation was kicked off with a giggle and a great feeling about the resort.
We discovered throughout the week that, while the resort was indeed nice, the one thing that made this place special was Julio. Over and over again, other guests would echo our sentiments that Julio was the best thing about the place. I don't know Julio. I don't know if he makes great money or lives quite modestly as most Costa Ricans do. After all he is a shuttle driver, not the hotel manager. But maybe the reward Julio gets for making people happy is the satisfaction of knowing that he is making people happy.
A truly great employee is one who does his job with the attitude that no matter what its importance in the spectrum of the big picture, the employee does his part with the knowledge that he is making a difference. Sometimes a small difference makes all the difference. That little phrase Julio said a few times to us "happy wife, happy life" kind of sat with us and we ended up saying it to each other now and again during our stay with a little chuckle, but also a little wink that we knew we wanted to make each other happy. Julio is just a shuttle driver, but a wise man, indeed.
Upon our arrival the reception area called the shuttle to bring us to our room. Julio met us with a huge smile and a willing hand to get us to our room on the top of a hill. He asked us our names and never forget them all week. After he got our bags to our room he said "remember Craig, happy wife, happy life!" The beginning of our vacation was kicked off with a giggle and a great feeling about the resort.
We discovered throughout the week that, while the resort was indeed nice, the one thing that made this place special was Julio. Over and over again, other guests would echo our sentiments that Julio was the best thing about the place. I don't know Julio. I don't know if he makes great money or lives quite modestly as most Costa Ricans do. After all he is a shuttle driver, not the hotel manager. But maybe the reward Julio gets for making people happy is the satisfaction of knowing that he is making people happy.
A truly great employee is one who does his job with the attitude that no matter what its importance in the spectrum of the big picture, the employee does his part with the knowledge that he is making a difference. Sometimes a small difference makes all the difference. That little phrase Julio said a few times to us "happy wife, happy life" kind of sat with us and we ended up saying it to each other now and again during our stay with a little chuckle, but also a little wink that we knew we wanted to make each other happy. Julio is just a shuttle driver, but a wise man, indeed.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
A Hill to Climb
How can one top off the perfect day. Thus far, we had a great breakfast, a wonderful walk near the beach where we saw an entire troupe of Howler Monkeys and gorgeous birds, many of them life birds for me. Then we went souvenir shopping and had lunch at a beach front restaurant that was delicioso! An afternoon nap and then that awkward time in the afternoon where it's too late to go swimming or start another big event. So we decided to take a walk on a nature trail on the hotel premises.
Our walk began with a jaunt up a fairly steep hill. Not too bad, but we were sure it would flatten out soon. We turned a bend and before us was another steep hill. We ascended up several steep hills stopping only for me to catch my breath and consider what I may have forgotten in my last will and testament. We finally reached a bench and thought this must be it, the zenith. It was beautiful. Overlooking the bay with the sun shimmering on the water. However, at this point I was too dizzy to care. I was using every ounce of oxygen I could find to just stay alive.
We turned and looked toward the path and it continued upward. Are you kidding?! We pushed on. Another steep hill and we actually did reach the zenith of the hill. Once again, it was beautiful. Once again, I didn't care. I just wanted this walk to be over. We moved onward. We were so high that there were no birds or animals and barely any vegetation anymore. When we looked out over the hill the vultures were lower than us. They were circling close by, just waiting for one of us (namely me) to fall over the edge and kill ourselves. We finally reached a dead end in the path and had to choose whether to throw ourselves into a ravine or turn around and go back down.
I thought long and hard, but chose to turn around and go back down the steep hills. Now as I lay here with ice on my foot, I ponder the choices I made in this journey and realize that, like life, pushing forward through the tough times seems like the obvious choice as everybody has their own hill to climb. But when the vultures are circling and there seems to be no way out, sometimes turning around and saying "the heck with it" may be your best option.
Our walk began with a jaunt up a fairly steep hill. Not too bad, but we were sure it would flatten out soon. We turned a bend and before us was another steep hill. We ascended up several steep hills stopping only for me to catch my breath and consider what I may have forgotten in my last will and testament. We finally reached a bench and thought this must be it, the zenith. It was beautiful. Overlooking the bay with the sun shimmering on the water. However, at this point I was too dizzy to care. I was using every ounce of oxygen I could find to just stay alive.
We turned and looked toward the path and it continued upward. Are you kidding?! We pushed on. Another steep hill and we actually did reach the zenith of the hill. Once again, it was beautiful. Once again, I didn't care. I just wanted this walk to be over. We moved onward. We were so high that there were no birds or animals and barely any vegetation anymore. When we looked out over the hill the vultures were lower than us. They were circling close by, just waiting for one of us (namely me) to fall over the edge and kill ourselves. We finally reached a dead end in the path and had to choose whether to throw ourselves into a ravine or turn around and go back down.
I thought long and hard, but chose to turn around and go back down the steep hills. Now as I lay here with ice on my foot, I ponder the choices I made in this journey and realize that, like life, pushing forward through the tough times seems like the obvious choice as everybody has their own hill to climb. But when the vultures are circling and there seems to be no way out, sometimes turning around and saying "the heck with it" may be your best option.
If You See A Snake
If you see a snake, just kill it - don't appoint a committee
on snakes.
Ross Perot
A morning walk on the beach.
That’s one of Craig and my favorite things to do on vacation. Kind of hard to do when visiting Iowa but
since we happen to have a beach where we actually are (not Iowa), we
proceeded. A local family visiting the
same resort was gathered around something on the sand. The mother was farther away with a look of
dread on her face so we figured it had to be something live and also not
adorable. As we approached the father
was poking at a sea snake with a stick.
I’m sure the snake was more scared of us than we were of it, but I was
ever so slightly terrified.
The snake was small, about 20 inches long. Craig later read that the same breed could
get up to nine feet long. Post traumatically,
I suddenly had even more respect for our new friend. The family consisted of all boys so they were
thrilled with their find; jumping up and down and offering advice about how to
handle the snake. Since the advice was
in Spanish I can’t tell you if it was good or not, but the father just ignored
them and did what he thought was best.
His wife yelled obvious phrases of insanity using words like “loco” and
“macho,” but like all men everywhere in the world he ignored her as well.
It ended up his intent was to save the snake and return it
to the sea but far away from the area where people swim. So he figured out a way to safely carry it
down the beach toward the rocks and released it back into the water. I’m not sure, but I think we witnessed the
Latino Steve Irwin before our very eyes.
At least I’m sure he thought that’s who he was.
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