THE NEW BOOK CLUB

I love hearing widely varying opinions.

Wait, let me qualify that.

How about I enjoy listening to views opposing my personal philosophy and/or political opinions which have some basis of rational thought process behind them.

Hmm, not quite enough.

I welcome outlooks that have not been passed on untainted and unchallenged from one generation to another, been installed unconsciously via a long-term relationship (i.e. marriage), and/or have been beaten into someone brain's by long-term exposure to Bill O'Riley, Jon Stewart, Fox News, and/or subject lines that begin "However, **** brings word that ***** creator **** is sneaking __(insert particular extreme political viewpoint here) bashing messages into his **** sitcom, ******* via near-subliminal vanity cards."

There. Now I think it's clear.

I did have a good time meeting with my new book club last night. We had read "3 Cups of Tea", which was a wonderful, stirring true story of a humanitarian.

Regrettably, it was co-authored by a ghost writer who poured all his creative descriptive ability into graphic details like the unfolding drama of riding on top of a truck balanced on the brink of a deep canyon instead of delving into character description, even limited physical portrayal of important individuals, and even a pretense of plot.

Still had fun.

WHY DO WE CARE

I am discovering that the older I am getting, the less I care. About a lot of things.

I mean, I still care about my kids. I can't say I'm exceptionally fond when one calls me at 4 a.m. (this morning, as a matter of fact), but I at least took the trouble to pick her up at the ER.

I care about my animals - even when it's an extremely silly gelding whinnying for two hours before feeding time or a dog who whines and whines about going outside and then turns around and comes right back in the house,expecting to get a treat.

And I care about the environment... at least to the point that if a recycle bin is immediately under my fingertips, I'll throw a soda can in.

But I honestly don't care about a lot of things that used to matter. I don't care about how my car looks... well, wait a minute, I guess I've never really cared about what my transportation looks like. I mean, I drive an extremely dusty truck with 138 bumper stickers on it.

I don't worry about how I look in public... hmm, well, that's been almost all my life. My mom was one of those dress-me-pretty-in-pink and ringlets in my impossibly straight hair - and I was enough of a 60's and 70's child to be one of the denim forerunners. I mean, I actually was part of TWO protests against school clothing policy, one in high school, one in college (both about blue jeans)

I'm not concerned about my weight. To be honest, though, I think I have simply giving UP on trying to LOSE any weight. I can get slightly trimmer, I can lose an inch or two, but the actual, literal POUNDS never seem to budge.

Hmm. I don't think I have stopped caring - I just don't have enough ENERGY to care any more.

Pass the ice cream.

DR DOOLITTLE

I have always loved animals. I can't remember a time growing up when we didn't have a cat and/or dog, which in retrospect makes absolutely no sense . My mom was MORE than anal-retentive about cleanliness and everything being spotless 24/7; in the last house we lived as a family, we had WHITE carpeting. Honest.

But I remember having at least one cat and one dog when we lived in Highland Part - I had a Siamese cat at the first apartment we had in South Pasadena - I had a tabby when we moved to Laurel St., and then took care of my uncle Leigh's Samoyed for the two years he was in Australia.

And then when I went out on my own, there was always a horse or a dog or a cat that was moving along right next to me (in fact, a couple of kitties and puppies that made the trip from California to and from Michigan).

But are a lot of questions which have occurred to me only since my dad died five years ago. For instance, how did he talk my mom into letting us have animals, and did he have pets growing up? I know he grew up 'in' the city of Kalamazoo (what a cool name for a city), but his grandparents (on the Russell side) had a farm that they'd go to during the summer. But I never heard him mention a particular dog or cat... of course, in a family of five kids, there may never have been a 'individual' pet.

But I grew up with a love for almost all animals (exceptions: alligators or spiders, though), and kept constant a dream of becoming a veterinarian. At least until I applied for veterinarian training at San Luis Obispo, and allowed myself to be talked out of large animal work, which of course, was what I wanted to specialize in.

But back to the main point ABOUT TIME!); now that I have an 'empty nest' of children, I still have the animals. Murray, Pandora, Delilah, Najale and Sally.

And since I am by myself the majority of the time, and am by nature a chatty creature, I end up talking to the animals... perhaps a little bit too much.

But (taking the chance that I will be struck down with lightening) it's sort of like prayer. It's someone to talk to, who you know is listening, and with at least four of the animals, you can count on a nice, respectful and polite listening face (Najale is the one who will shake his head in negativity at almost anything I say if I'm not scratching his stomach at the time).

And do they speak to me (as the title of this blog seems to be hinting at)?

Well, let me put it this way (again, in danger of being struck down where I sit) - how do you feel you receive an answer to your prayer?

Yeah - sometimes they do.

IS IT JUST ME

There is some music that each and every time I hear it bring tears to my eyes. I have repeating one eight-minute segment for over an hour now, and keep having to drag the box of Kleenex over.

I will stand outside in sub-freezing temperature if I happen outside just as the moon rises or sets.

I have seen the 'green flash' on the horizon four times now, and it still strikes me as magical beyond belief, even though I understand the scientific rational behind it.

I marvel each and every time I see a hawk rising on the warm thermal air currents - and this is something I see almost each and every day here in southern Arizona.

I can see something like "My Joy is Full" church video and never fail to cry like a newborn baby (completely off the subject, but a comment that I just adore - John McCain right after the election: "Sure, I sleep like a baby. I wake up every two hours and cry.")

The world is full of incredible things, and I am lucky enough to keep discovering and rediscovering so many of them.

Yet I still get irritated each and every time I hear my husband begin to snore - and this is after being married to him more than thirty years (although I insisted on separate bedrooms eight years ago).

I get irked about cat hair - after having the same exceptionally hirsute and constantly shedding animal for not quite ten years.

I still expect drivers to use their turn signals, maintain a safe distance, and keep to the posted speed limits... 'nuff said about that.

And I get furious every time I hear Bill O'Riley speak.

Is it just me?

REGULAR OR IRREGULAR

I love this woman's blog. She was on "Blogs of Note," so I can't take any credit for revealing her lyrical prose to the masses (well, the three or four of you who actually read my blog), but I can easily relate to her, and (sorry, this is the bad news for you three or four) she inspires me to tell my OWN analogous tale (See? Aren't you already impressed that I am using big words like 'analogous'? Can you tell she's an educator?).

Okay, now if you have clicked on this link, and read her entry, do it now.

No - really, do it.

STOP READING THIS AND CLICK CLICK CLICK ON THAT *#&@)* LINK BEFORE YOU DO ONE MORE DAMN THING!

Sorry, got a little carried away there (but I'll bet you anything Harmony is smiling right now because "YEAH! My mommy CUSSED!").

I was born with... well, let's put it this way. Beauty in human is often (read that "ALWAYS") judged by the symmetry of facial and body features (that supposedly is why Denzel Washington is so hot; his face is amazing symmetrical. Personally, I think he's hot just because he's hot).

So guess what. I am not. Symmetrical, I mean - not hot... well, wait, at least my husband thinks I'm hot, so.... but again, not symmetrical.

I am not 'evenly distributed.' Some of it is minor - I mean, very few faces are completely symmetrical (discard 99% Hollywood actors) - and some of it is just a little inconvienant (I have one leg almost one inch shorter than the other - added up to a lot of lower back pain for a lot of time).

And since I never received any orthodontic treatment when I was growing up (I barely got dental treatment), I grew up to adulthood with a pretty severe overbite (i.e. my top front teeth were about an inch and a half in front of my bottom front teeth). The chipmunk look. Very popular in the wilderness.

Long story made short ("TOO LATE!"), I tried for the necessary jaw surgery while my husband was active duty Army (translation - FOR FREE). And since I had to be referred from an ENT specialist (ear nose and throat - and read that 'expert', not the military rank), I took advantage of church familiarity (member of my ward bishopric) to get the aforementioned referral.

Major Dennis (first name, I can't remember his last) was such a sweet guy - he happily gave me the referral, and then oh so carefully added, "Hope, I love your nose. You have a great nose. But have you ever thought about having it fixed?"

My nose wasn't humongous, it was just a little bit drooped and had just a slight ridge - what they used to call "Aquiline" or "Roman" in old novels, and with men, at least, it always seemed to be meant complementary. And new Army doctors-destined-to-become-plastic-surgeons-in-their-civilian-lives needed the practices, so...

It's free, why not?

So I had the jaw surgery (the most painful thing I've ever gone through, and that includes three 'natural' childbirths), and then six months later the nose surgery (rhinoplasty - doesn't that word just bring forth wonderful images?).

And yes, you do look like this after nose surgery. Everyone glared at my husband so much he refused to be seen with me until the black eyes were gone (about two weeks).

And, following Cheri Block's example, I figured I saved....

Chin Lift: $5900.00 (since that's what my jaw surgery actually did)

Nose lifted up at the bottom: $1700.00

Nose smoothed down at the top: $1700.00

Operating Room: $2300.00 X 2 surgeries = $4600.00

Anesthesiologist: $1300.00 X 2 surgeries = $2600.00

Grand total that (at the time) seven years of military life saved me: $14,800.00

And guess what? I STILL ain't symmetrical.

AND I'M PROUD OF IT!

WHO IS RIGHT AND WHO IS DEAD

One of my favorite books in the whole wide world is "God and Mr. Gomez" by Jack Smith, who was a great columnist with the LA Times in the 60's and 70's (the dark ages, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, for you younger people).

I am mentioning this mainly to prove that I am not stealing copyrighted material, because I am shortly going to quote directly from this book.

And even though I do not get any royalties from this book, it really is a great book. I can't see anyone not enjoying it because it was written in 1974.

So here's the excerpt:

"There was music in the air, though, and it seemed to be coming from the ramshackle cantina

"I walked over to the counter. The storekeeper reluctantly withdrew her gaze from the electricians and fetched me a cerveza from an ice box. I took a table and joined the others in watching the show. It turned out to be a two-beer performance. The men were in no hurry, as long as there was cerveza and music. They took turns on the ladder, each politely giving the other time to test his own theory as to how it should be done. Meanwhile the musicians sang sadly and passionately of love and betrayal, which are the themes of rural music everywhere.

"Finally, the fixture was installed, everyone had a last bottle of cerveza, and the entertainment was at an end."

Okay, back to my blog. But isn't that great writing? The book's available on amazon.com for $11.53. No pressure here, but you really should read it.

The point I am trying to make (and failing miserably, because two readers have already given up trying to read this... wait, now it's three) is the quoted passage - "The men were in no hurry, as long as there was cerveza and music. They took turns on the ladder, each politely giving the other time to test his own theory as to how it should be done."

Putting aside the cerveza and music (which would help any job, I must admit), the point (now five lost readers) is, they cooperate. The electricians respect each other's opinions, they are allowing the other one the chance to be right.

Ah, here's the rub.

I have been 'assisting' (in the loosest definition of the word) in constructing a shelter for the horses for the last three plus months. Our friend Bruce has already done about 98% of it, leaving only the three walls for us to put up (easiest part of the job).

However, it is virtually impossible to put up 8' long metal sheeting, suspended about six inches from the ground, by yourself (and believe me, I have tried). So instead of hiring someone who actually knows what he/she is going, I have taken then path of least resistance) - enlisting the aid of my spouse.

Now, this is NEVER going to be a case of, 'oh, please, you try it your way and then I'll try it mine" - at least not with us. It's two stubborn minds that are already made up that "I" am correct (fantastic line from "The Princess Bride" - 'we will both drink... and see who is right, and who is dead").

Solution? I keep my mouth shut.

It works. At least when I remember to do it.

Okay, any readers left out there? Really?

PAPER OR PLASTIC?

I have been trying to 'stay in the present moment.' To fully embrace exactly what is happening without thinking ahead (which becomes easier and easier as I age, as is not looking back into the past… I can't remember anything anymore).

I have learned that SOOO very much of our conscious time is spent in the future.

For example, standing in line in the grocery store (which I did for insane amount of time this afternoon - another entire story there, maybe tomorrow's blog). It's very easy to begin thinking, okay, what do I have to do when I get home/tonight after dinner/why didn't I buy that blue dress when it was on sale and/or why DID I buy that blue dress that was on sale?

But when I can pull my thoughts back to what is actually happening at that moment, in reality, not in my head, but standing in that grocery line...

Okay, besides learning that Angelina Joline is pregnant with Donald Trump's love child, that Barack Obama half-step- auntie who is illegally in Massachusetts is actually an alien, and garlic powder can lead to increased virility - I had a very nice conversation with a lady behind me who was 4'10" - the cashier had been working for six hours without a break - they were playing some GREAT 80's music in the background - and I could actually smell both fresh bread and rose petals.... maybe from Frebreeze and Glad Air Fresheners in the shopping cart ahead of me instead of the grocery's 'bakery' and 'florist.'

But I enjoyed the moment. I was there.

At least until the cashier asked me to move on so other shoppers could be helped.