adieu, 2015!

Tonight, as I catch up on various projects, including partially composed posts, I came to a realization.
Three blogs require quite a bit of time to keep up.
This coming year, the delights 2015 will come to an end, having served its purpose. It was to document the people, the events, and the places which brought a smile to my face and cheer to my heart...and that it did!
But at what cost?
This bit of beach, which I hold dear as my sounding board, my refuge, my virtual best friend, has been left largely on its own, with great expanses of time in which I am absent.
That will not do.
This bit of beach has also become a repository of monologues in which I was ranting at the world, or to the world, about humanity's lapses in kindness or judgement or respect.
That will not do, either.
I'm not saying that I haven't done plenty of those types of rants on this shore in the past. I certainly have, as you well know.
However, until this year, those postings have been interspersed between flights of fancy or soarings of joy, tempering the tone experienced on this ether coast, preventing a gray cast to these skies.
I had noticed the uneven, almost negative tone, sometime ago and sought to adjust what flotsam and jetsam washed up on these sands. There were even times when I reposted an entry from the "delights" blog to this site, or divided up a post to appear both here and there.
Even here and there.
And once, here, and here and there.
That separation of my logical mind from my frivolous nature may have also had a cost to my psyche. Perhaps having my beach cluttered with so much pain and so little pleasure has caused me to dwell too long on the darkness instead of following the light.
That will not do, either.
Henceforth, toward the sun's light and warmth I will face when I come to my beach!
Sure, sometimes clouds may block the light and cold winds dispel the warmth, but these sands will remind me of days of joy past and days of joy to come.
Even when we cannot see the stars, they are always there.
We must simply keep looking up.
(smile)

unmaking Christmas before the new year

I don't want you to think these were the only Christmas cards I received. Au contraire!
But these didn't come from family or friends.
They were from institutions, companies, organizations.

This one was from
Linda and Carl Bleicken
at Armstrong State University.
How cool that they
paid homage to the
school's beginnings!

Cinematique is that lovely place in Daytona Beach! They'll be celebrating 25 years in February!
The Lucas Theatre has provided me with such a wide range of events to enjoy!
And the Smoky Mountain Performing Arts Center even sent a card!

The Lucas Theatre is included here
because it is where I donate
much of my time,
whereas the American Red Cross
is where I donate
body fluids to help others!

And here are three causes dear to my heart!
The Union of Concerned Scientists
has a worldwide scope,
as does Ocean Conservancy...
or should that be
an ocean-wide scope?
The only local place
that sent a card was the
Georgia Sheriffs Youth Homes.
Very nice!


Other great causes sent calendars and notepads, which I have shared with family and friends.
But I sure do like cards!
(smile)

choice of perspective

Sometimes, I need to reboot my consciousness.
After Mama died in 2001, I realized that I had been living my life with her at its center.
All I did, all I experienced, was with an eye toward sharing that aspect of my life with her, to make it real.
I had no idea that she was as much my heart as I was hers.

After she died, I was a zombie for a while, walking through the motions of my life, but rarely truly present.
My sincere apologies to my husband of those years for the many times when I was lost in grief.
My heartfelt thanks to him for the many special moments he gave me during those years.

I discovered that repeating things in the present which I had done, and shared with her in the past, allowed me to regain part of myself.
I made that discovery by a fortuitous event.
My dear friend Sue (the OriWhiGirl) was returning to Okinawa with her two small children and needed assistance for the flight back to her home. Her husband unexpectedly had to return there earlier, due to work requirements. She had asked her family for help, but there had been no takers.
Then she recalled how much I had enjoyed my time while stationed there. Would I consider making the trip with her? They would gladly cover the cost of my plane fare there and back.
All I needed to do was be there to help her with the children.
And so, I had gone with pregnant Sue and toddler Max and almost-toddler Steven.
Whilst there on The Rock, as I had known it, they took me to some of my old haunts. Hanza's elephant cage on the hill. The barracks, NCO club, and theater at Torii Station. Azul, the restaurant I had frequented. Kadena Circle. Okinawa Churaumi Aquarium and the Ocean Expo Park.
What an experience that had been! To go and experience those places again for just myself.
To not be trying to document the experiences for my mother to share with me, vicariously.
That was when I realized that I had just rebooted part of my psyche.
I had visited a place and time from my history and brought it into my present.
That was the summer of 2004.

After that experience, I set about making some other changes in my life.
After Mama's death, chocolate had completely lost its allure for me.
The love of that substance had been something she and I had so enjoyed together.
Chocolate became nearly tasteless, not signaling any pleasure sensors.
After the trip to Okinawa, and the realization of my new dawn, I discovered that custards were my new special treat.
Flans, egg custard pies, creme brulees, coconut custard, lemon custard - all of it!
In the next few years, I also discovered the joys of dark chocolate. Milk chocolate and white chocolate were still blah substances to my taste buds, but the dark chocolate - yeah, baby!

After my divorce in late 2007, I had to find myself again, as a newly-single woman after fifteen years of marriage.
The universe provided me with an opportunity to relive a particularly special time from that period.
One of the best vacations I had while married was to Italy, on an eight-day cruise. That had been my first trip to Rome and was a truly eye-opening experience.
That was when I had discovered how the name "Faustina" had come to exist for my mother (and later, for me). I realized that Grandpa had been the driving influence, with his love of Greek and Roman history.
How did I come to know that?
Jeff and I had been tromping around in the Forum, on our visit to Rome. I had wanted to do that since I was a girl, reading about Roman mythology. So, there we were, tromping around, and he spotted my name.
Carved into the marble mantel above six columns.

It was the Temple of Faustina, built in 141 AD.
Later, it had been renamed The Temple of Antoninus and Faustina, in honor of both her and her husband, Antoninus, Emperor of Rome. They had been very much in love, even after twenty years of marriage and four children. After her untimely death, he had her deified and built the temple, in the heart of Rome, to honor her.
(He also had her image, with her pearl-entwined hair piled high on her head, commemorated on the coins in use, way back then. So many of the commemorative coins were made, in different metals, too, that they are easily available today.)
So what had the universe done to help me regain my sense of self?
In 2012, my third year of teaching full-time, found me flush with funds when an opening arose in the upcoming Study Abroad trip, with nursing students, to Italy.
With three days to be spent in Rome.
Again, I was able to tromp around in the Forum.
Again, I was able to gaze upward at my name, carved into marble, withstanding the tests of more than two centuries of a changing world.
I was even able to share that experience with my ex, to better put it into perspective.
Such an amazing opportunity! Such an amazing experience!

And here we are now.
Ever since the wreck in August, I have been not quite myself. My car was nearly totaled. Although I came away with little physical damage to myself, my spirit suffered incredible bruising.
My friends and family came right to my emotional rescue, keeping me afloat in my sea of sadness, especially needed in that first week or so.
Of course, life then had to get back to normal, for all of us.
I find myself adrift once more.

In the New Hope brought forth by the latest Star Wars mythology, perhaps it is time for me to rescue myself.
I simply need to venture out there and do so.
And to remember that I am still loved by many.
That last bit is the most important.
It is also the easiest truth to lose sight of when living alone.
I am still loved.
By people in my past.
By people in my present.
By people in my future.
I am still loved.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Courageous is the soul, Faustina,
who adventures into time and space
to learn of their divinity.

For while they cannot lose,
they can think they have,
and the loss will seem intolerable.

And while they cannot fail,
they can think they have,
and the pain will seem unbearable.

And while they cannot ever be less than they truly are -
powerful, eternal, and loved -
they can think they are,
and all hope will seem lost.

And therein lies their test.
A test of perceptions:
of what to focus on,
of what to believe in,
in spite of appearances.

YOU, Faustina, are divine -
The Universe

bumble takes the tree!

Ya gotta love Ted Forth.
He's such a geeky, sappy guy!
(smile)
Here's the Christmas tree he decorated for his family.
Gold star on the top, Santa ornament on the next tier down, the Grinch sandwiched between a candy cane and a blue ornament.
Nice and normal, right?
Then you have BB-8 from the new "Star Wars" film, leading a white diagonal that includes two snowmen, Sam and Frosty.
Rudolph smiles just above the two snowmen.
Rounding out the waist-high portion of the tree are two Hermie The Elf ornaments, one Charlie Brown, and one 'Bomble.
Lots of Christmas show favorites from "Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer", but I'm totally cool with that!

Here's that same tree, but it's after the frenzy of gift-opening!
Gone is the gold star at the top! Instead, the 'Bomble reigns supreme, even emitting a little ROAR from his new vantage point!
He isn't the only one that's shifted upward.
The Grinch, perhaps?
Nope, he and Santa are still maintaining position.
So are the robot and the narrator snowman.
But both of the elves are gone! Out of sight!
So is Frosty!
Even Rudolph seems to have galloped off!
And good ol' Charlie Brown?
He's way up, occupying the site the reindeer vacated.
Hahahaha haha!
Good ol' Charlie Brown!
(smile)

white envelope

Christmas Story: For the Man Who Hated Christmas
By Nancy W. Gavin

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it—overspending and the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma—the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was on the wrestling team at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.

As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.

Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.” Mike loved kids—all kids. He so enjoyed coaching little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came.

That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes, and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed a small, white envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done, and that this was his gift from me.

Mike's smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year. And that same bright smile lit up succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition—one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.

The white envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, and our children—ignoring their new toys—would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the small, white envelope never lost its allure.

The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree. And the next morning, I found it was magically joined by three more. Unbeknownst to the others, each of our three children had for the first time placed a white envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing to take down that special envelope.

Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit will always be with us.

***** ***** *****

I think I will start doing this.

Even if all the envelope contains is my donation record as a Hope Builder for Habitat For Humanity, that's a wonderful gift of love to the world.
There's nothing like having four walls, a door, and a roof to give a child a sense of security and a feeling of being loved by someone they don't even know.

Even if the only thing in the envelope is my blood donation sticker from the American Red Cross, that's a wonderful gift of love to the world.
There's nothing like precious life-giving fluids for someone's child, parent, spouse, or best friend, to bring light back into someone's eyes and joy to their heart.

I think Mama would have approved.

I so miss sharing Christmas with her.

power of the pen

This is all about the one film I saw today.
"Trumbo".
I had especially wanted to see it because it starred Bryan Cranston, one of my favorites from "Malcolm In The Middle" (the white kids' version of "Everybody Hates Chris"). The film was about a dark decade - starting in the late 1940's - of American history, when Hollywood went after writers, actors, and crewmembers for being members of the Communist Party USA. Blacklisting, it was called, instigated by fear after Congress started blaming the film industry for begetting spies. Crazy, right?
But true.
Dalton Trumbo, a highly praised novelist and screenwriter, had to use pseudonyms and write schlock for a small studio for a decade because his name had been trashed by scaremongers like Hedda Hopper. To his credit, he made sure to spread that work to other blacklisted writers, so all were able to stay afloat.
In spite of the difficulties of writing under such conditions and in such times, the man still wrote award-winning material. Not once, but twice during this period, his scripts won Academy Awards! Perhaps you've heard of "Roman Holiday", the gem starring Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck? That was the first one, though his family did not receive the trophy under his name until 1993, more than a decade after his death.
The other was "The Brave One", based on a scene he had witnessed years earlier while on holiday in Spain. The Oscar for Best Story was presented to Trumbo in 1975, when he was 70 years old and still alive to enjoy it. (He died the next year.)
How did that terrible time come to an end? Kirk Douglas and Otto Preminger, and even President Jack Kennedy, are the ones to thank. By officially naming Trumbo as the author of "Spartacus" and "Exodus", respectively, and by the President publicly attending the screening of "Exodus", Hollywood had to kiss its blacklist goodbye.
How very appropriate that two tales of justified rebellion won the freedom of so many. One was the tale of a slave's fight against the Roman use of slaves as gladiator fodder. The other told of a fight by Holocaust survivors against British interment and for a return to their religious homeland.
How very appropriate that a man imprisoned by fear was able to craft such incredible tales of empowerment to gain the freedom of himself and others.
Hallelujah!
Such an uplifting tale!
It was also entirely appropriate for this holiday season, when the birth of Jesus is heralded. In two of the world's major religions, Christianity and Islam, Jesus is a game-changer, born of virgin birth, striving for the acceptance of all peoples on this planet we call home.
Amen, sister.
Amen, brother.
Amen.

rashes, rashes, rashes!

Trust me, if you say it like Jan of "The Brady Bunch", it's pretty funny.
That's the only way to look at it.

Today, I spent four hours at the VA Outpatient Clinic.
I had made an appointment on Monday for 10:30 this morning. I was a little late, but that wasn't the issue. I had thought I might have shingles, but that was not the issue, either. (Shingles affects only one side of the body, I learned.)

The issue was the clinic was on holiday schedule. So, even though the place wasn't that busy, I had to wait to see my doctor, after nurse Kim had verified that I did not have shingles. Then I had to wait for the pharmacist to release the Benadryl and the Decadron steroid for the two shots I needed. (The pharmacist was at lunch.) Then, my doc had to prescribe a different steroid as the pharmacy had the other drug on back-order. Then, we had to wait for my doc to get back from lunch so she could order a rash test to be performed, with the drawing of the six tubes of blood to accomplish that.
Sigh.
Kim was great. I knew none of this was her fault, so I was patient. What was my other option? Be snitty and ruin both of our days?
I opted for the less stressful choice.
Kim made sure the Benadryl injection in my left buttock was the final procedure. Then, she encouraged me, yet again, to drive straight home, as quickly as possible.
She wanted to be sure I didn't fall asleep on the way.
I did as she requested.
I made it home in time to fix some lunch before I passed out.
I slept for an hour on the couch.
Then I slept another two hours in my bed.
I would have crashed out longer if I had not set an alarm. I wanted to make sure I saw tonight's episode of "The Big Bang Theory".
I'm glad I did! Sheldon has a musical tune plaguing him for most of the show. Finally, he realizes the song is "Darlin'" and recognizes that his subconscious mind is telling him he wants to make up with Amy. She is "the fabric softener of his heart". I do love how that boy's mind works!
He rushes over to her apartment and the show ends with them in an endless kissing session.
Very nice!
Then I watched most of "Toy Story".
Very nice, too!

And what was my medical issue?
I was diagnosed as having hives from an allergic reaction.
Again.
I first had it in June, while at McKee Gardens in Vero Beach. I had thought it was heat rash, exacerbated by stress. (That was when my car battery died and stranded me on a very hot day.)
That rash on my lower arms had lasted well into my trip to the Polynesian Isles. Hydrocortisone cream seemed to have handled it.
Then, only two months later, I had the poison ivy incident. That rocked on for a month, with the rash on my arms, chest, and legs. Hydrocortisone was alternated with benadryl itch cream, as well as the two-week Prednisone regimen and oral benadryl.
Shite.
This latest rash from hell is on both arms, from mid-forearm all the way up to my shoulders. Not very itchy, except at night, or when I wear sweaters.
I've had it for about a month.
The usual at-home creams didn't faze it.
Now that school has finished and my grades are turned in, it was time to take care of me. The result of the bloodwork will be known in the next week or so. Meanwhile, back to the daily children's Benadryl doses.
At least they come in grape flavor.
(smile)

Samuel L. Jackson says: "WAKE UP!!!"

I had to get a little car work done, so I scheduled my time for that task for today.
Tuesday.
Tightwad Tuesday, as it is known at the cinema near my mechanic.
I specifically wanted to see "Chi-Raq", the latest from Spike Lee. You can always count on him to get a conversation started, right?
How very true this time around! What a star-studded cast! With Samuel L. Jackson, John Cusack, Angela Bassett, D.B. Sweeney, and Wesley Snipes, you knew the message must be important and must be meant for all people to hear.
That's quite a bit of celebrity fire-power locked and loaded, aimed straight at the heart of the matter: sex for peace. Incredible, right? Especially when you consider that this film is a timely remake of Aristophanes' "Lysistrata" - a Greek play that's almost 2400 years old. I have no idea how Spike Lee learned of the work, but kudos to him for his part in updating it into a modern script.
Kudos for him, also, for the acknowledgement that men are not going to solve the problem of black-on-black crime. The mothers, sisters, grandmothers, aunts, and female cousins of the children shot dead or maimed by stray gang weapons, these are the women of the world who are going to have to lead the fight to stop the death toll of innocents. More than SEVEN THOUSAND DEAD in Chicago? A city in a peaceful state in a peaceful country? Outrageous. Unconscionable. As Spike Lee said, "I'm trying to save lives. We have to save lives."
Amen.
Kudos to the folks in charge at the Victory Square 9 for screening this film.
Of the five multiplexes in Savannah, they are THE ONLY CINEMA SHOWING THIS FILM.
It bears noting that this location had long been regarded as the "black" movie theater in Savannah, before Frank Theatres took charge. They have certainly worked hard to remove the once-negative stigma of that branding. It was only a few years ago since I was "run off" from this cinema after one too many threatening encounters with black teen groups on one too many evenings.
So, again I say: Kudos to Frank Theatres.
Let's hope the womenfolks, the murderers, and those in charge in Chicago, ILL, take heed.
There certainly weren't any gangbangers, 'bang' shorties, or politicos in attendance with us tonight.
Me? I think only the choirmembers will show up for this practice session.
Still, I'm going to sing its praises to all who stand still long enough and all who wander to my piece of ethernet.
Hallelujah!
And pass the inspiration...

running with ghosts

Not me, of course.
Well, not literally running, anyway.
Today, the incredible Jin Hi Soucy Rand was one of the participants in the Savannah Bridge Run.
This is her fourth time crossing that span on foot.
Literally.

She posted the photo, as well as some lines from Clinton Powell, the impetus behind her first run in 2011.
He was better known in the land of hashtags as #skinnydudesneedlovetoo.

I can't control
my destiny
I trust my soul
my only goal
is just to be.
There's only us,
There's only this
Forget regret,
or life is yours to miss.
No other road,
no other way.
No
Day
But
Today

Totally concur.

spotlight on sadness of the world

How appropriate that a gentle rain was falling as I exited the cinema.
It may not have masked my tears, but it gave me a gentler reason for having a wet face and streaming eyes.

This morning, for who knows what reason, I watched part of CBS This Morning. The weather segment was on and I heard that Mark Ruffalo would be on shortly to talk about his latest movie.
I stayed tuned in.
"Spotlight" was one of the night films at the recent Savannah Film Festival. I had missed it then and I missed it again on Sunday, when I had gone to the Wynnsong to see it.
(On that occasion, I had missed about fifteen minutes of it, so I went to "Brooklyn" instead, another SFF night film which had come to the multiplexes. As I told some friends, that film was not only a nice history piece, but it also dealt with nonracial bias, which was a refreshing change of pace. It seems that black and white are the only colors of the spectrum, especially these past eight years. people who were young, scared parents at the time of desegregation in the late 1960's are now great-grandparents, spreading that fear to yet another generation. Very sad state of affairs. Change takes so very long.)

As I was saying, I was watching for the interview with Mark Ruffalo. When he came on, he was with Mike Rezendes, the Boston Globe reporter he portrayed in the movie. [It should be noted that Rezendes still works for that newspaper. Amazing.)
After listening to their talk about the scientific process of reporting, I resolved to see the movie this afternoon. After all, I would be out and about southside anyway, collecting my students' Lab Final Exams and attending the talk and luncheon.
And so I did.

Heartbreaking.
I sat there and cried throughout most of the movie.
So very much sadness in the world, sliding off the screen and into my head.
Overwhelming.
The church had known all along.
So had the lawyers.
So had the police.
The Boston Globe had even known back in 1973 and wrote a short story about it. Then, no follow up occurred.
No one - no one - did anything to stop it for many years.
Five years before breaking the story, the Boston Globe had a victim's group bring a box full of evidence. The reporters wrote him off as a lunatic with an axe to grind.
Really.
It wasn't until a non-Catholic, non-Bostonian was put in charge at the newspaper that the story of priests abusing underprivileged children started gaining momentum.
All the time, the survivors spoke of the deceit of having a man of God betray them physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
All the time, everyone else spoke of how much the people of Boston needed the church, needed to have the church's reputation as a safe haven safeguarded.
Heartbreaking.
If not for Mitch Garabedian, a lawyer working to help several victims of abuse, the story might not have ever come together. He had told Rezendes that he was arranging to have fourteen files unsealed by the legal system that had hidden them for decades.
Then the carnage of September 11, 2001, distracted everyone's attention away from the scandal with the Catholic church.
Everyone's attention, that is, except Garabedian's. He had said he would hold off for six weeks - and then he made his move. The onus was then on the Spotlight team at the Boston Globe to rise to his charge and follow through with their reporting.
And they did.
But not before realizing that their leader had dropped the ball on the story back in 1973, when only 20 priests had been accused.
Now, in 2001, the count was up to 87 abusive men of the cloth, almost six percent of the number of Boston priests.
That was the same percentage a researcher had told them there would be, based on his three decades of study.
Heartbreaking.
At the end of the film, a list of other cities in which priests had sexually abused children appeared on the screen.
Savannah, GA.
Damn.
Heartbreaking.

While in Venice at a premiere of the film, Mark Ruffalo called on Pope Francis to please use the film to promote change. He said they all were “hoping that the pope and the Vatican use this very, very sober and judicious story to begin to heal the wounds that the church also received. [Spotlight is] a perfect opportunity to begin to right these wrongs, not just for the victims and their destroyed lives, but for all the people who’ve lost a way to order a chaotic world for themselves.”

Pope Francis, please do the right thing.
Please help all of the people involved, both the victims and the abusers, to find their way back to God, if not to the church.
Please.

mizzou and the choir

Honestly, I came for the free lunch.
I had no idea what #MIZZOU meant and the invitation from President Bleicken's office did not explain the cryptic hashtag.
Google was not much help, either, sending me to the website of the Missouri Tigers.
Was Armstrong getting a football team? Highly doubtful. Those are very expensive sports teams, requiring lots of players, lots of equipment, and a football stadium.
Was Armstrong teaming up with University of Missouri for some educational benefit? Possible. There are sister cities, why not sister universities?
So, curiosity also drove me to this meeting.

A panel of five, in comfortable chairs, awaited in the Ogeechee Theatre in the Student Union. One was a student, one the new provost, one the diversity & equality aide, and two professors. Another professor moderated the event, making sure none of the panelists tried to monopolize the microphone.

The first two questions were fairly explosive softballs. No worries, the panelists had been given the questions earlier so they could each have a two- or three-minute reply.
The first question dealt with the student demands for fair treatment from an unresponsive University of Missouri administration.
The second question concerned the "Black lives matter" movement.

Wow.
Not softballs after all, but hard balls pitched directly into the gut.

Good.

Conversations like this should occur on university campuses.
Open minds don't occur without a little use of a prybar.

I was glad to be one of the many faculty and staff that stood to be recognized at the end of the discussion.
Hopefully, in January, when a second discussion is held, a larger venue will be needed.

The choir always needs more members.

taking a stand

Dagnabbit.
As much as I have enjoyed going to the baseball games these past two decades, and as much as I have enjoyed cheering for the Sand Gnats alongside Mister Willie, I don't know that I'm going to be as devoted for these new folks.
Honestly.
They've recently posted the results of their search for a new team name, as 'Sand Gnats' no longer exists.

Savannah Anchors
Savannah Ports
Savannah Seagulls
Savannah Bananas
Savannah Party Animals

Seriously? These were the "top five" gleaned from "over 1000 suggestions" from baseball fans???
Not Savannah Swarm (suggested by Sherry)? That would have been a very nice homage to the twenty years with the Sand Gnats.
Not Savannah Shamrocks (suggested by Jim C)? That would have pointed to our fine Irish heritage.
Not Savannah Sparrows (my suggestion)? That would have brought attention to the little birds first found here, but which are now all over the Southeast.
Not Daffin Ducks (suggested by Lee M)? Not only would that refer to the park where the stadium is located, but it also brings to mind that funny cartoon character.

I swear, right here and now, I will not go to the games if "Party Animals" is chosen.
I will not.

Fans First Entertainment, also known as Savannah Baseball 2016, supposedly embrace the philosophy of a fun environment for fans of all ages. How much fun could it be for children if they're amongst a horde of screaming drunks at a game? And you know that will be the case if "Party Animals" becomes the team's name.
It'll be 'Drunk Night', aka 'Thirsty Thursday', at every game.
Those were the night games I opted to miss.
I already have alcoholics in my family, thanks, and I'm willing to bet most other folks do, too.
I choose to not watch other drunks.
What say you?

farewell to royalty

You can take all the
Harry Potters
with their lightning bolts
o'er their brows,
Put them all in
one room together
and they would have less
power than her.

She was sweeter than
purest honey,
Now she's an angel
of the first degree,
Yes, she was sweeter,
sweeter
than purest honey,
Sweeter than honey,
oh yes,
from the bee.

Honestly, I think Van Morrison would not mind one whit my taking inspiration for the above poetry from his lyrics for "Tupelo Honey".
Especially when such poetry is in memory of the Contessa.
Contessa is now stardust.
I hope the physicist will take solace from that.
I have spent part of the last two days with him.
Contessa died on Saturday afternoon, with her energy ebbing away as the daylight turned to dusk.
He called me on Sunday evening.
No, let me emphasize that.
He called me on Sunday evening.
The man whose every communique has been by text or email called.
Knowing it was his birthday, I sang the tune, then said hello. He wanted to ask a favor of me, he said, his voice not quite right. Would I be able to take him to Fox & Weeks tomorrow (Monday)? Contessa had died and he wanted to take her there for cremation.
Shock.
Definite shock.
For him.
For me.
I had known 'Tess had a stroke last fall, but she had recovered.
I knew her hyperthyroidism had worsened and the bfe was having trouble getting any weight on her slight frame, but that seemed to be a controllable issue.
No, it was Chloe that was the bigger concern, always, with her tumor in her peritoneal cavity. Chloe was the one that had me holding my breath in summer of 2013 when I was tending the girls.
Chloe's health was the reason I had researched pet cremation two years ago. I knew the folks at Tail Spin through First City Network, so trusted their recommendation. The two gentlemen I spoke to at Fox & Weeks about their Pets at Peace were very understanding and gave me brochures for the bfe.
Now, two years later, he had pulled them out for use. For the other cat.
For Contessa.
The cat that whispered to me.
The blue tortoise with the peach blur that controlled the radio waves to make sure I came to see her.
The kitteh that kidnapped my cooler.
The cat-dog who found my hands and my lap to be purr-fect for her.
(Sigh.)
Now, her ashes are in a cloth bag in a Cherry-hued, multi-tone, wooden, Rainbow Bridge urn.
At least I was able to make sure she made it home safely, without the bfe having to endure questions from strangers on the bus about the Pets at Peace bag and its contents.
I know he can handle the ride alone just fine. Time amongst strangers provides a needed breathing period during emotionally-charged times.
But if he had the urn and Contessa with him, he would have to explain the loss, possibly over and over.
I know how hard loss is.
I hope I was able to soften that loss a little for him.

I sure am going to miss that sweet, loving cat.

do ghosts have safe sex?

Funny question, right?
And yet, that was one of the odd topics of discussion last night.

Where were you???

I was actually at a bar, downtown -

Well, that explains it right there -

You should let me finish, please.

Okay, but you know what folks will think when you start out with 'at a bar'.

True, but allow me to clarify. It was after the screening of "Serenity" at the Trustees last night, as part of a fundraiser for a local musician who needs a kidney transplant.

Oh. That must be hard on you, having already watched Sam Johnson die while waiting for a kidney.

I must admit, I have been distancing myself from the events hosted for Keith. It isn't that I don't know him, because, well, you would be hard-pressed to find someone active in the music or downtown scenes who don't know him or know of him. I've danced to the music of his various bands for some few years now.
The fundraisers, especially those involving local bands, also remind me of the failed attempt we had at one of the bars. The Mercury Lounge, one of Sam's favorites, had agreed to host Samapalooza, with a long list of bands to play the event. Jim Reed even wrote about it in the local entertainment paper. But the work to organize and promote the event was done by Jeff and I, Wendy and Mike, and Annie. Oh, and Sam, who faithfully wrote about in his "I need a kidney" blog.
April 2, 2005, arrived. We were all there, ready to go! We even had some really great prizes to raffle off! The bands showed up when they were supposed to and the music was great!
But the bar changed how things were to be done. No cover charges were to be charged for the event. (They were afraid their regulars wouldn't come off the $5 for entrance.) The raffle tickets sold would be good for all drawings, all day, not sold from one drawing to another.
What difference did that make? Well, folks came in for free, spent a dollar for a raffle ticket, then took up room at the bar all day long. Not only did that limit the funds to be made, but it also limited the turnover of the crowd, what with Fire Marshal codes and all that.
The Mercury Lounge really let us down.
We barely cleared $1000, after expenses.
We had more fundraisers, of course. The quest was to hit $5000, which would then merit a matching grant by the Georgia Transplant Foundation.
By the end of May, 2005, we were about 60% to that goal.
The fundraiser at another drinking establishment, The Bar Bar, fell through, after being rescheduled twice. That was a shame, as Sam would have been the DJ that night and could have truly made 'The Big Score', as he called it.
The one on Flag Day, Sam's 39th birthday, was a lot of fun, but didn't raise much. The Sand Gnats were having a promotion which was a take-off on the tv show, "Survivor", and we sold tickets for the game. Sam was selected to throw out the first pitch for the Savannah Sand Gnats and sat with folks he didn't see often. To me, that was more of a success than anything we had done at the bars.
Oh, and lest I forget, there was the one at Steed's for his last birthday. That one was coupled with karaoke and requests - with Sam singing songs for cash. We all had a blast and he had pocket money - and lots of birthday wishes! - for his 42nd birthday.
I consider that a success, too.
Now, it's a new day and I guess I'm protecting myself, and my heart, by keeping Jim Reed's fundraisers for Keith at arm's length.

Totally understandable.

Tonight was the second of two screenings at the Trustees, both to benefit Keith. Jim, and his Psychotronic Film Society of Savannah, had wagered all they had on this venture. I had worked as an usher at the Lucas and missed about the first 45 minutes of the Nathan Fillion film tonight. I don't know, maybe I didn't miss that much, as I know there was a raffle beforehand. I came in when the space battle was going hot and heavy.
Good timing!

Most excellent! I know how you enjoy those. (smile)

I do! It was a really good action flick, too. I'd like to see the whole thing some time.
Meanwhile, back to the present. I have a Pink Flamingo fundraiser for JinHi to get to and this post is taking longer than expected.

Well, that's because you started talking about Sam...

Yes, I did, and glad of it.
Anywho, I knew the peace Guy was in town and at the Trustees, so I waited out front. Soon enough, I was joined by him, Joe Buttner of New Jersey, Carolyn, Teri, and Jim. We all walked over to the Irish bar and settled into a booth to talk of all manner of things. Devil dogs, queer versus gay versus homosexual, ICE, oral and anal sex as contraceptives, and ghosts.
Those topics just riffed right off of each other, being revisited a time or two and even merged.

Well, what would you expect, after folks started drinking?

Hold up, hoss, neither Carolyn nor I were drinking. Everyone else had a beer or two over the two hours we were there. And most of the talking was between me and Jim. I certainly realized during our talks that he and I are from different generations.
Much of the time, I can neglect that age gap.

Even so, you had a good mix of ages there last night.

We did! No one under forty, but that's okay.
You know what? I think I'm done here. I had thought I was going to expound upon ethereal spirits, but maybe some other time.
(smile)
Off to see JinHi about some birds!
Then, I'm going to treat myself to a free jazz concert, the first in months. Maybe I'll even run into those same ladies again!
Wish me luck!

Good luck, dear! Enjoy the sunshine!

that bird is not with those others

The title is a line I wrote on my phone's draft pad some time ago. I was looking at the sky, as I do, and noticed some birds. There was a group that were obviously traveling together, in a pretty tight formation. Then, there was this other lone bird, winging in the opposite direction.
At the time, I felt a kinship with that solo flyer.
I would even venture to say I've identified with that bird for most of my life.
Not that that is a bad thing!
(smile)
When I found the following card, I thought it perfect as a return note for my youngest brother's latest note.
Trust me, it really is!

Dearest Tony,

That bird is not like those others.
You know, that bird in the middle. His necktie stripe is a bit crooked and that's why the other two are looking at him.
Hahaha!

I really like the Halloween card! I take it that someone there is the artist? William Vito?
Tweety with the cat tail over his arm was a perfect tie-in with a movie I saw at the Savannah Film Festival, about a boy who had to kill cats in the barn and collect their tails for proof. Pretty gruesome stuff, but i guess that's life on a farm.
Your card was waiting in my mailbox when I got home from that movie. Nice coincidence!

The weather has cooled off again, but i have hopes it'll find its way back to warm in just a few days.

I can't believe it's only two more weeks until i see you for a belated birthday! Would Saturday or Sunday be better?

with my love!

twick or tweat!

Darkness Falls throughout the land,

The bewitching hour is close at hand.

Ghosts and Goblins, Witches and Spooks,

Good guys and Bad guys, Clowns and Kooks,

And some kind of thing you've Never Seen

Will be coming to Visit you on Halloween!

Twick or Tweat!

- William Vito, artist

Tony added:
Thinking of you today and every day.
Love ya lots!
God bless you and peace be with you.

just be yourself

I have to share "The Saint of Dry Creek".

Without a doubt, this is the best parenting video ever.

Ever.

The message?

Just be yourself.

Don't worry about what anyone else thinks.

Don't worry about what anyone else says.

Just be yourself.

it's a long, long way to tipperary

At the Summer Olympics in Mexico City, three young men choose to use their few minutes of fame to make a stand for human rights.
It was October 16th of 1968.
It was more than a century after the US Civil War had ended.
It was twenty years after the United Nations' Universal Declaration of Human Rights had been adopted. In that document, the first Article stated:

All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.

Tommie Smith, Peter Norman, and John Carlos had taken the top honors in the Men's 200-meter race, winning gold, silver, and bronze medals, respectively.
The two Americans had already made plans to bring attention to the fight against discrimination in the United States.
The Australian decided that very day to join them, in his stand against discrimination in the world.
The two Americans were both members of the Olympic Project for Human Rights, a primarily black organization. They each brought a pair of black gloves with them to Mexico and wore OPHR badges for human rights. They had determined before leaving for the Olympics that if one of them won, that one would don a pair of black gloves and raise his hands in the air, as a salute of solidarity with those fighting for human rights in general and black rights in particular.
Amazingly, they both won, but John had forgotten to bring his pair of gloves.
The Australian suggested they each wear one of the gloves. Hence, in the photo, Tommie, aged 24, is raising a black-gloved right fist and John, aged 23, holds up a black-gloved left fist.
No glove was available for Peter, aged 26.
Then again, he had known nothing of their plans to stage a protest for human rights. They only told him after the race, when he had placed second and would be joining them on the medal podium for the Olympic medals ceremony.
However, when they did tell him, he made an instant choice to support their actions. He also chose to wear the OPHR badge on his jacket. When he saw it on one of the American rowers, Paul Hoffman, and asked for it, he had been given that man's badge to wear.
So, there's the scene.
Three young men with bright futures, in a time of change, advocating for a brighter future for all mankind.
Three young men who faced immediate, and lasting, repercussions for that moment of brave conviction.

That was almost sixty years ago.

My thanks to my Grandpa for making sure my mind was open to all possibilities.
His certainly was.
Pretty amazing for a white, middle-aged, Southern Baptist, former traveling minister, writing editorials and living in the small town of Waycross, GA, in the 1970's.
I wonder what he thought of that photo.
I truly wish he and I could have one of our debates about the topic.
He was a man decades ahead of his times, but well aware of how slowly change actually occurs.
Most folks think that just enacting a law signals the change has been finalized.
Not hardly.
Change occurs one person at a time.
One
person
at a time.
Regardless of what the law may or may not say, regardless of a country's official stance, that fact holds true.
Change occurs one person at a time.
That truth is the reason that it takes several generations - and sometimes longer - for a change to become accepted as "standard", as "the rule", by the majority of society.
Change occurs one person at a time.
As I said earlier, it is our responsibility to continue the battle for human rights for all people.
One person at a time.

denial is not just a river in eqypt

Seriously.
I know this to be a control issue.

I have no control over my middle brother's choices or actions, but everyone he knows seems to think i do. They want me to allow him to live in my house. That's right, they think i should welcome his alcoholism, smoking, and lewdness. As long as the house is in disarray, it looks like there is no room for anyone else.
God knows i can't afford to have him here.

Again, i have no control over Ronnie's choices or actions. He has "lost" his phone for the fourth time this year. I am expected to buy a new one for him, again. I will, but i grow increasingly frustrated over this extra drag on my limited funds and time.

Again, I have no control over Ronnie's choices and actions. I have fielded text messages and phone calls and messages on facebook for the past week from friends who are concerned about him. They all want to accuse me of being uncaring about him. They do accuse my older brother of being uncaring.
We have been helping to take care of him for the past twenty years, especially since Mama died in 2001. We cannot sacrifice our lives to his choices and actions.

I have no control over my finances, as i am still only teaching part-time. I had thought i had a good part-time job set up to supplement that < $10k/year situation, but i was mistaken. I have applied elsewhere, but no word yet.

I have no control over cheating students. This semester, i have one particular student who constantly cheats. At least her partner is now trying to fly right. Still, it is a very frustrating situation.

I have no control over the choices and actions of other drivers. My poor car is now banged up on one side from a driver who ran a red light. My poor car has wreck wrap on its rear end to hold the trunk closed after a hit-and-run driver slammed into it. My poor car has only recently regained clutch action, again after damage from that hit-and-run driver.
My beautiful car once looked so good for her age.
It hurts my heart to see her this way, but i have no funds for cosmetic repairs. She moves when i need her to move and stops when i need her to stop, and those are blessings.

i am not alone

That was the message in the two movies I saw at the Royal Cinema today.
The work on my car took less time than I had expected - most likely because Tim the mechanic was looking out for me - so I took her for a spin out to Pooler.
You know, where it's cooler.
(Maybe you have to be from around these parts to get that joke.)
One of the movies was a limited-run foreign independent feature; the other was a newly-released science fiction blockbuster. Both were movies that very much appealed to me.
Each of them carried the same message to me.
"I am not alone."

"Meet The Patels" was the first film of my double-feature picture show. It followed Ravi, a 29-year-old single Indian man in the United States, still unwed and never with a girlfriend. At least that's what his parents thought! So, they convince him to allow them to help him find a wife. His sister, a couple of years older, also unwed, and his house-mate, is filming the whole process, probably to keep the focus Ravi and his troubles.
(Get it? That bit about "keep the focus"? Nice one, eh!)
(smile)
He was very uncomfortable about the dating process. The small talk, the whole business of trying to get to know someone and judging their compatibility over a lunch or dinner. His folks enlist the aid of all they know, as well as having him search Indian matrimonial sites and having him attend the Patel Matrimonial Convention, to enlarge the pool of possible wives for him.
Yikes. Meanwhile, his sister is realizing the things she may have been doing wrong on her dates as she watches her brother flounder around.
And I realized I was not alone in my dread of dating.
That's reassuring, in an odd way.
I've been married twice. The first time was with a guy I was going through school with in Great Lakes, Illinois. After just two years, we both realized we were not quite right for each other. Ten years later, I wed for the second time, this time with a man who worked with my friend Rhonda. I had thought that marriage would last forever.
Not quite, but it did last for fifteen years, and most of that time was happy.
I want that again.
I have no idea how to get it.
Like Ravi and his sister, I've tried two of the online dating sites, and had limited success with one of them. Like Ravi and his sister, I have found that manner of meeting people to be awkward and complicated.
Good to know that others have shared those experiences.
That's not to say that I don't know people who have successfully navigated those ether waters and emerged with a spouse in hand. In fact, those people started fishing at the same time I did in 2008. Those people are still married to the catches they found there, too.
So, it is possible, apparently.

The second movie today was "The Martian". Oddly, the message I heard from this one echoed that of the first.
I am not alone.
Seeing the man on the red planet, stranded without company and without communication capabilities, turn to keeping a video journal for company resonated with me.
My journal isn't video format, although I do include photographs and pictures on occasion.
Many times, I am writing to clear my thoughts, to make sense of feelings, to record observations.
Mainly, I write to fill a void, to retain my sanity.
To not feel alone.
He was keeping his journal for the same reason, not knowing if anyone would ever see his messages, hoping someone would.
He truly was alone, 140 million miles away from the closest human, from another living creature, for almost four months before contact was finally made with NASA.
Watching him is when I realized: I am not alone.
I am on a planet with billions of other humans.
I have neighbors I can call upon for help.
I have family and friends, in town and scattered outward, that I can call or visit on facebook or in person.
I am not alone.

I am truly blessed.

third down, one to go

My thanks to this website for helping me understand, in simple terms, how my clutch works. Howstuffinmycarworks not only provides an in-depth explanation of operational systems in mechanized vehicles, but also provides instructions and videos for you to do the work, should you decide to do so.
Best of all, the people explaining the operations are women.
That's right - women.
Hooray! The site has only been in operation since late 2006, but, now that I know it is there, I plan to share it with all the women I know. No longer should unscrupulous auto mechanics be able to prey upon those of the fairer sex!
I've been pretty savvy about basic car repairs since 1983. I had bought a POS Chevy Monza when a guy I worked with - big mistake - and it seemed to always need repairs. I did the oil changes, changed the spark plugs, set the timing, flushed the radiator, and even replaced the water pump. (That last one is how I injured my lower back...but that tale will keep for another day.) Of course, I was thirty-two years younger then, and could easily get under the car, if need be.
My next car was a 1983 Subaru. What a great car! Sadly, the spark plugs in the cramped little engine required a special tool to get to them, so I started leaving the grunt work for the professionals. One time, I had taken Surefoot to get an oil change and the guy behind the desk told me I needed a new timing chain. Oh, really? How could I need a new one when my car did not have a timing chain? What a scam artist, trying to steal money from fake repairs!
So...why am I revisiting the clutch in my car?
Well, on Tuesday, I had returned to Dixie Motors for the third replacement of the master cylinder. When I had taken it in last Thursday, again for clicking, they decided to try another source for the part. This master cylinder had been ordered from a different manufacturer than the first two.
Still, it came in a box, so we know what that means.
(smile)
I know you are wondering why I seem to be happy about all this. Honestly, it is because I know they have become a little embarrassed about my frequent trips back to them for the same repair. I have heard only good things about them from anyone I have told this tale to, so I trust them. If Tim and Mark say they are going to make it right, then I can take them at their word.
Plus, none of this has cost me another dime. They have absorbed the labor cost these two other times and are set to absorb yet more.
You see, this third master cylinder started losing its capability yesterday. No clicking sound this time, so that was good. But the problem was worse: my clutch was riding the floor and shifting, especially into first gear, had become an iffy proposition.
Yikes!
Tim, the mechanic who is now in charge of my car, had come to meet me when I drove up this morning. Frankly, he was amazed to see me! He had been sure the problem had been resolved. He verified that I had almost no clutch positioning and told me another master cylinder would have to be ordered. In the meanwhile, he would do what he could to adjust the clutch play so I could still drive.
And so he did.
I shall return on Tuesday for the fourth replacement.
I wonder what movies I'll see that day?
You see, that's another reason I haven't been too hard on them about all these extra trips to the shop. They are located near several restaurants, a Home Depot, a Target, and... a cinema! Frank Theatres offers "Tightwad Tuesdays", with all movies only $6 all day long!
Also, their medium popcorn is only $2.50 that day! So, I have deliberately been coming for the repairs on Tuesdays. I get to see two movies on the cheap and I even get a munchie treat!
So far, I have seen "Hitman: Agent 47" and "The Man From U.N.C.L.E." as a Tuesday doubleheader. (Excellent, but I think seeing the first one with "American Ultra" would have made for a better comparison and contrast discussion.) Good thing I saw that one about Ilya and Napoleon - I finally understand their relationship in the television series!
This week, I had another Tuesday doubleheader, featuring "Hotel Transylvania 2" and "The Perfect Guy". Totally different movies, but both new to me! This duo let me hear Mel Brooks again and gave me good dating tips, too. (Listen up: If your new catch doesn't introduce you to his chums, you should cut him loose and keep fishing.)
Plus, on my Thursday outings to Dixie, I have seen "Paper Towns" (actually seen with my first niece), "War Room", and "Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials". Quite a mixed bag, but good to have seen.
What will I see this next Tuesday? Most likely "The Martian" and "Everest", as they have just begun their run here in the cinemas and I have not yet seen them.
I'll have to let you know.
(smile)

kittehs to my emotional rescue

me: So- here is an odd request. Would you make one of your goofy faces and send it to me? I need a laugh and that will help.
me: Seriously.
me: It is just insane sometimes the things that can make me desperately miss my mother.
me: Just insane.
me: Like the movie The Intern. That should be safe, right? Apparently not.
me: Insane.
bfe: Oh, gawd, don't you just love them!
bfe: But you don't need some emoticon! What you need are...cats! I have two here for you:

bfe: That's the Tess!

me: Lol! How on Earth did you get her to consent to that shot? Beautiful.

bfe: Awwww, it's the Chlo!

bfe: Chlo always takes a good pic. She's always putting her paw on her hips and making a duck face. That's Chlo.
me: I guess that's how Michelle Pfeiffer got started. :)
bfe: Was there something wrong with the movie? We are thinking about seeing it this weekend.
me: I think it was very good. It was the unconditional support of Ben for Jules that just clicked on a switch in my head. I don't know that i have it under wraps yet, but i am better.
bfe: Well, you will be better after this...

me: ha ha ha :-). THAT was priceless, and you can tell her i said so.
bfe: I was scratching her neck and I think you can see the smile on her face!
me: Most def. Thanks. Got to go. Sandy is in the Story Slam and it's starting.
bfe: Have a good night Faustina, and when you go to bed, have sweet dreams.

oh, about the car...

Note: The above photo is from one of my older posts. Why is it here?
Because I like the message.
(smile)

Almost a month has passed since my younger brother commented about the state of my car. I should have addressed the issue earlier, but... well, you know. I've been a bit distracted since the car accident.
Here's what he wrote in that August 25th letter.

"Just a note to say hi and i love you! Again, i am so glad that you are not hurt from the accident.
I must say that i was a little surprised when i read in your letter that the value of your car is only $900.
Not that having a $900 car is a bad thing. But depending on a $900 car for all the traveling that you do seems just a bit risky. Please make sure that you stay safe, okay? Thanks. I really love you so do be careful! - Cool. :-)"

What a sweet thing for him to say!
Truly, I was touched that he should worry so.
I had intended to write to reassure him about the car, but one thing came up after another. While I was waiting for something noteworthy, time passed.

Today, just a few minutes ago, I finally rectified that.
Here's my message to him.

"I do appreciate you being concerned about my car. Trust me, I keep up with the maintenance on it, especially oil changes, brakes, and tires.
Cosmetic things, like how it looks, really aren't the things that get you from Point A to Point B.
Like people and books, the outside isn't anywhere near as important as the contents."

Now, let's see if I can catch the mailman.
Bye!

swinging to a new world

Truth takes a long time to be accepted.

It is our responsibility to raise children who will make the world a little less cruel and heartless.

The problem is, children learn best by emulating the words and actions of their parents and other adults in their lives.

How are children going to make the world less cruel and heartless if their teachers do not show them?

Truly, it is our responsibility to raise children who see us making the world less cruel and heartless.

fishing line

My first niece's husband, Jason, had sent a photo of their foster son proudly holding a fish.
The conversation was cute, as you can see for yourself.


him: Little bream R caught all by himself at the Cub Scout rally we had today.

me: Cool! What bait?

him: We were just using nightcrawlers.

me: Ew - squishy. :-)

him: LOL. Well the fish like them. We either use those or Georgia Reds half the time.

me: Yeah, that's why i don't fish. Squishy bait. Ugh. Glad y'all had fun!

him: Lol. I know it was fun though texting u about bait. :-)

shortest. job. ever.

It was the shortest, and strangest, period of employment I have ever had.
No, I was not employed at the lingerie store.
I had been hired as an inspector by a vacation rental agency.
Today was my final day.
Let me tell you how it all began.

Two of my nieces, one of my nephews, and two friends of mine already work at this establishment, in various capacities. One of my nieces had known of the need for inspectors. Inspectors are those people who check the properties after cleaning and prior to guests checking in. In other words, inspectors are the ones who check the work of the housekeepers and take care of any little things left to do.
Sweet! That definitely sounded like work I could handle, especially as I had heard my niece discuss it on several occasions. The hours sounded good to me and I could work part-time, so I submitted my resume online and waited to hear back.
Did I receive a phone call from a supervisor to arrange an interview? How about an official email message from the Human Resources department to request my presence?
No and no.
I received a text message query from my niece. On Wednesday, September 2, she asked, "Can you come for an interview tomorrow?"
Seriously.
I responded that I had car repairs already scheduled for that day and could not, but how about Tuesday? Would that work for the person in charge?
My niece responded that it would and that it was "more of a hiring than an interview."
Curiouser and curiouser.
On the designated day of September 8th, I arrived early, dressed for the interview. An hour later, I walked out with the Employee Handbook and a handshake. Success! The job required four days of training, with my first day scheduled for Friday, the 11th. Okay! First day of home games for the Sand Gnats at the Playoffs, but I would just plan to go straight to the stadium. No worries!
Still no "welcome to the team" official emails, no "glad to have you onboard" phone calls from the people in charge.
Odd, right?
Friday arrives and I'm there early, waiting for the trainer to come in. Meanwhile, her supervisor takes me to the supply room and shows me where things are. She also helps me set up my cleaning caddie and restocking bin, telling me she would make name labels for them later.
The trainer arrives and off we go, after pulling filters for the units we are to check. We gather linens at another location, then arrive at the first property to be checked. What chaos! Sand on the floor, sand on the counters, sand in the drawers, sand on the furniture. No hospital corners on the beds, missing hand towels on the sinks, soiled blankets and stained pillows in the closets.
Seriously, I thought it was left that way on purpose so I would see what was wrong with it. Surely the housekeeping staff was not that negligent... right?
On to the next property, a few blocks away. We had barely started when we were pulled off to check another property, not one on our agenda. Another callback, as it turned out. Then we returned to the interrupted inspection and finished it, moving on. We had a total of seven properties, ranging in size from four-bedroom houses to one-bedroom condos, that we were scheduled to inspect. We managed to finish five of them, as well as two that were not originally ours, and we cleaned two grills that had been missed by the housekeepers. Ugh. A very full day of trudging up and down stairs, up and down stairs, up and down stairs, with me in shoes that were totally wrong for the job.
Still, I made it to the ballgame just fine, so all was good. Then the Sand Gnats won the game - woohoo!
My next training day was Tuesday, the 15th. I arrived early, this time with a snack and a water bottle. You see, there is no stopping for meals, at least not with this trainer. On Tuesday, she had teased me about stopping for lunch after a particular property, then we had been called to another just as I had placed my order at the Arby's. I drank the soda and ate fries to the new property, then had to wait on the sandwich until later. And it was already after 3 pm! No breaks that first day, not even for the bathroom.
This second day for me was different, though. Two others, a husband and wife team, were now training with me. The trainer had brought water for them, but first teased them about stopping for lunch, with no lunch ever happening. I guess that is part of the teaching process.
We did take a bathroom break, after the other woman asked if we could, after five hours of work.
That Tuesday was not a particularly good day for us. We were scheduled to inspect five properties. We only were able to do three of them and they were all callbacks. That means we had essentially wasted our time for eight hours.
Very frustrating for all of us.
To top things off, I was wearing new sneakers and wasn't very comfortable with them. I tripped on the last step while going up the exterior flight of steps, ending up sprawled on the porch, right in front of the other three. The trainer freaked out. I was okay, I really was, but she was totally freaked out.
The third training day for me was today. I was joined, once more, by the couple who were training and we had all brought drinks and snacks with us. Well, we had snacks; I was almost running late and had left my bottle of water in my car. No time to retrieve it!
Before we could even leave the office, the trainer and I had to go up to Human Resources. Why? The trainer had noted my fall on the steps and an accident report had to be filled out. Apparently, this was the first time the trainer had ever had to do such a thing.
I showed them the small bruise on my knee, signed off that I was fine, and we were finally on our way to the ten properties of the day.
That's right: ten properties to inspect.
With a trainer in a bad mood.
The very first one was a HUGE house! Dirty grill, dirty sheets in the master bedroom, broken furniture on the porch - nothing that improved her mood. I found a dirty paper plate and wad of tinfoil in a planter that someone had used as a trashcan. No telling how long that had languished. The trainer graced me with a "Good work, Tina." She even said it twice! Okay, definite progress!
It was a callback, so we documented all that needed to be done, then went to our next property. Just a few minor touch-ups and we proceeded along. Honestly, we had a much better day and even managed to cross off eight of the properties assigned to us! The guy bumped his head twice, once on the tailgate of her van and once on the underside of an exterior stairwell at one of the properties, so the trainer will get more experience with writing accident reports. But not on me! I was going up and down stairs with nary a problem!
The last property we inspected was mine, too. That means, I acted as lead person, checking for any errors left behind by the housekeepers. It was a three-story house, too, and I did really well with it! I even found a scummy shower curtain liner (and had the trainer's help changing it out) and an earring under one of the beds!
But by that time, the trainer was hurrying me along. "Nancy needs to talk with us, we need to hurry up." "Nancy is waiting for us, we need to get back to the office." "We need to go to the office before Nancy leaves."
O-kay. But first, let's finish this property, right?
So, we get back to the office. The trainer goes to talk with Nancy first, then I got called in and the trainer left. Doors were closed.
That can't be good, I thought. I wondered if this was also about the trip on the stairs on Tuesday.
No.
This was about me getting fired for "not enough attention to detail". Say what? This had been a stellar day for me! I had even won praise from the trainer at two of the properties!
I think my getting let go had more to do with the fall up the step than on my "skillset" for the job of inspector.
At least they're going to keep my resume on file in case they have any openings that would better fit my skills.
But I won't be holding my breath.