The River Bank

Just one more week...

2007-07-01T22:25:00.000-07:00

It was with a great deal of joy that I finished up my Risk Management and Insurance class on Thursday evening. I know way, WAY more about insurance of all types than I ever wanted to. It was not a particularly interesting class, but probably a good one to give me some basic knowledge about insurances.

I’ve still got one more week left of my Applied Investments class. I’ll just have to say that this class is probably one of the most interesting classes I’ve ever taken. The only other class that tops it was my study abroad in Germany and that’s really not even a fair comparison.

Applied Investments is a class about investing in mutual funds. In a former period of my life when I had a nice steady income, I invested in mutual funds. I had a basic knowledge of how they worked, but didn’t have a clue as to which fund was good nor how to determine what makes a fund good. And so I invested blindly. I got some returns on my investments, so I was happy.

When I enrolled in Applied Investments, I didn’t realize that it would be about mutual funds. I figured any finance professor worth his salt would recommend investing in individual stocks and playing the market. Playing the market has always seemed so risky to me, so I was quite relieved when my professor informed us of his investment philosophies, which made far more sense than I ever could have hoped.

One of the things that has been so enjoyable about the class is that what Dr. W is saying makes sense. I love things that make sense!! It makes the world of investing seem a little less cryptic. I never would have imagined that I could read a book about investing and not being bored out of my mind. But here I am, reading a book about investing and actually finding it very interesting.

I was reading about some studies of people and how they invest, and I couldn’t help but enjoy the following quote when I came across it the other day:

“The conclusion we can draw is that there is an inverse correlation between confidence and performance—the more confident one is in his/her ability to either identify mispriced securities or time the market, the worse the results. In studying men versus women, they found that although the stock selections of women do not outperform those of men, women produce higher net returns due to lower turnover (lower trading costs). Also, married men outperform single men. The obvious explanation is that single men do not have the benefit of their spouse’s sage counsel to temper their own overconfidence. It appears that a common characteristic of human behavior is that, on average, men have confidence in skills they don’t have while women simply know better.” (The Only Guide to a Winning Investment Strategy You’ll Ever Need by Larry E Swedroe)

I’ll let you draw your own conclusions. :-)

In checking out the mutual funds I hold, I have discovered that some of them have characteristics that are less than desirable, so now I need to do some research utilizing my new knowledge and fix my meager portfolio.

It would seem that there is a lot of dishonesty and shady stuff that goes on the CFP (Certified Financial Planner) occupation. A lot of people are being taken and used by their financial planners. They take advantage of their clients’ ignorance in financial matters. It’s evidently an occupation that is hard to keep the people honest because of the ignorance of their clients and the ease with which they can make money.

I find it all very fascinating. I suppose it’s a little late to change one’s major? Actually, I don’t need to change anything—with the Certificate in Financial Planning that I’ll be getting, I could get certified in financial planning if I so desired. Of course, Dr. W says that the certification exam is a highly difficult exam to pass. :-/ I guess he should know, he’s somehow affiliated with the testing organization.

Just one more week until my summer begins...

I'm ready!!

The Squirrels

2007-05-20T22:33:00.000-07:00

During the summer, campus is nearly deserted. Shortly after 7:00 in the morning, it is so deserted that one could virtually go streaking across campus (if they were so inclined) without getting caught. It was because of this desertedness that I was startled on Thursday morning by a noise near the construction dumpster as I was on my way to class for a final round of studying before my first test.

I had just exited the parking structure and crossed the street to cut through a small parking lot near my building. A nearby building is being worked on and the construction dumpster takes up a portion of the parking lot. The street was deserted, and I had seen not a soul anywhere. As I was passing by the dumpster, I heard a noise that seemed awfully loud in the still morning. I took a few more steps toward the end of the dumpster and caught sight of an empty plastic peanut butter jar bouncing its way to the curb.

I looked up and there, peering mournfully over the edge of the dumpster, was a squirrel. He had lost his peanut butter jar. I stood there watching him to see what he would do. His alternating glances between the peanut butter jar and me kept him frozen in place as if he dared not move. Since there wasn’t any action going on, I moved on to class, a bit charmed by the squirrel with the peanut butter jar.

After I had taken my test, I retraced my steps to my car. As I approached the dumpster, I was amused to find that the squirrel had descended from the dumpster and was nibbling on the jar. He had literally eaten a hole in the bottom of the jar. As I stood there watching, he made an attempt or two at sticking his head in the jar, but the opening was just a bit snug, which had led to his determined nibbling on the bottom part of the jar.

I stood there for several minutes watching him. During that time, I watched a buddy come and try to share the jar, which was totally unacceptable to the owner of the jar. He made a buzzing growl of sorts, and his buddy backed off. Several more attempts were unsuccessful, so his buddy went in search of other things. I glanced to my right and saw another squirrel walking away with a peanut butter cracker in its mouth. A glance to my left revealed a sight that I’d never seen before coming to Western—a white squirrel.

I think the squirrels add such a charm to the place. Someday I’d like to get a picture of one of the white ones.

Appreciating Art. Or Not.

2007-05-17T22:36:00.000-07:00

The thing about art is that anyone can do anything and call it art. Take, for instance, Fountain by Marcel Duchamp. I’m sorry, but I just have a hard time appreciating that as art. I can really appreciate it when it’s used as it’s intended to be used, but art?? Nah.

My teacher said something on Monday about some people being able to look at a piece of art and get a certain meaning out of it. Other people look at it and get nothing out of it. He asked a question about a work having that actual meaning or is it a case of “the emperor has no clothes?” I, being a non-artistic person, think that there’s a lot of time, energy, and money spent on a lot of emperors running around in their underwear.

I’ve had three days of class and already have a test scheduled for tomorrow. Seems kinda harsh, but there’s no help for it. Here’s how my three-week course should shake out: one holiday, four exam days, ten and a half lecture days (two and a half hour classes with none lasting that long so far) with a possibility of one of those days being spent drawing on the sidewalk with chalk. Incredibly expensive for what I’m getting out of it, but considering I really don’t want much out of it (I really don’t like the humanities category of general education) that’s not too bad, huh?

A Week to Forget

2007-03-31T12:50:00.000-07:00

In the history of my life, this week is one week that I would like to Forget. Erase. Delete. Poof. Shaza’am! Gone. If stress would indeed cause gray hair, my hair should be white as snow by now. My outlook this week has been similar to that of Eeyore and Chicken Little. I’ve been expecting the sky to fall at any moment.

Back-to-back exams and accounting projects have been the culprits causing the increased stress levels. The results—less than pretty, for sure. And I even took a day off work to study. Yes indeedy…it’s been a bad week.

I was quite relieved to see the end of my school week by Thursday afternoon. I went to Wal-mart and didn’t even have the heart browse. I just bought the three items I needed and went home.

The lawn needed to be mowed, and I thought maybe a stint of riding the lawnmower and listening to music would brighten my mood. I got on the mower…and the battery was so dead it couldn’t even produce an ignition light. Figured…fit right in with the week.

Martin got me going and off I went. It proved to be a good chance to brood for the first while. I finally began to let loose of my horrible week—that is, until a short time before I was finished when I ran into a cable hidden in the grass that wrapped itself around the blades and stalled the mower. It was getting dark and supper was ready, so I just left it. I just didn’t have the heart to deal with it.

Friday morning, I was glad to be going to work instead of school. At least I know what’s going on there. Not a lot there that I can’t handle…or so I thought.

After fielding the normal razzing for taking a day off, I gladly sat down at my desk and hit the power button on the computer. I was ready…payroll, deposit, orders, phone calls—Bring. It. On!

The computer booted up and prompted me for the password, except WAIT A MINUTE!! I don’t have a password for the computer. It has NEVER required a password. Let me repeat that. This computer has never required a password. It always goes straight to the desktop, and I’m ready to go. A cold chill flooded my body and wrapped itself around my heart. My week had followed me to work.

I interrupted the office conversation to inquire if anyone had set a password recently. Blank looks—not a good sign. I called my assistant at home to see if anything unusual had happened the day before. Nope, not a thing. Rebooting did nothing for the password request. Putting in the two variations of the usual office passwords got me exactly nowhere. I felt ill.

I remembered that this exact thing had happened to my boss’s new laptop and tech support had run him through a reformat of the hard drive without him even realizing what they were doing and him losing everything (which luckily wasn’t much). Reformatting this hard drive would NOT be an option. Seven and a half years of hard work down the drain? I don’t think so!

I’m not sure how visible my panic was, but at one point, Wayne said, “You’re probably trying to remember when the last time was that you backed up the computer, aren’t you?” I hated to admit it, but I was. It was one of the first things that flashed through my mind.

I pulled out the paperwork I received with the computer and started the horrendous process of calling tech support. Wayne spent some time on the phone calling local computer shops while I was on hold with someone on the other side of the ocean. He received responses that varied from “Never heard of it” to “I could fix it in 15 minutes but can’t come until Monday.”

Well, the long and the short of it is that I spent the next two and a half hours on the phone with tech support (probably at least two of those hours were spent on hold) and spent somewhere between $85 to $130 (I got three different quotes from three different people) for a fifteen minute procedure that saved me from one of the biggest potential disasters of my career.

One nice thing is that if you’re willing to pay for the tech support, they’ll give you someone on your own continent to talk to. Understanding Joe was not a problem, and he knew what to do without reading from his list of procedures in a halting monotone. He was even somewhat apologetic about the price I’d had to pay for such a short conversation and a relatively easy fix. He took the time to review the entire procedure verbally again after the problem had finally been fixed.

No one knows how a password got set in the first place. Once I was up and running, the first thing that I did was back up my accounting file. A review of the files on my backup revealed backup dates of which I’m thoroughly ashamed. I had backed it up since then, but to the hard drive where it would have done me no good in this case. Needless to say, an external hard drive and backup software are on the top of my shopping list.

If I hadn’t been in such a snit, I may have been able to think further than the tip of my nose and come up with personal acquaintances that could have helped me for free, but I wanted help and I wanted it immediately! I know that the hard drive could have been removed and data retrieved that way, but I had stuff to do then—not later. For sure, I know how to take care of it now if it happens again.

Yup, it’s been a rotten week. And if I were you, I’d stay away from me. You might get hit by a piece of falling sky.

Down the Tubes

2007-03-22T22:14:00.000-07:00

On Monday night (early Tuesday morning), I was up until 2:15 writing an 11-page paper that was due on Tuesday. When I finally deemed it finished enough to allow myself to go to bed, I printed a copy out, saved the file, and stumbled into bed for 4 hours and 55 minutes of sleep. It was God's providence that had me hit that Print button before going to bed.

On Tuesday morning, as I was getting ready, I read over the paper and found a number of small adjustments to make, which I did. I threw the old copy in the trash and, for some unknown reason, decided to hit the save button before I printed the final draft. I received an error message saying that it could not save the file to my flash drive. Fine. I'd just save it to My Documents and then try to save it to my flash drive. I did a Save As and got another error message saying that the program had an error and would have to save all files and shut down.

Well, that would be fine...just as long as it actually saved the file. I held my breath as I went to My Documents to look for my paper and to my relief...there was the file. I double clicked on it and there, where just moments before had been an almost perfectly lovely 11-page paper, were 46 pages of small squares.

I checked my flash drive then and discovered that the error with my flash drive had removed my copy of the file from it. With a sinking heart, I reached back down into my trashcan and pulled out my only basically complete copy of the paper I spent hours and hours writing. All that remained of my paper was a paper copy with a few minor errors, a 46 page file of squares, and a copy of the file I had e-mailed to myself when it was a mere 2.5 pages long.

By this time, it was 8:00, and I had drive to BG and be in class by 9:35. No time to retype. I made my way to school and went looking for my professor's office to see what she would have me to do. She was very kind and sympathetic and said that rather than making me retype the entire paper, I could just pencil in any changes I wanted and she would accept it that way. God bless nice professors!!!

I thank God that I hit Print before I went to bed that night. Had I not done that, I'm afraid I might have spent the day in bed weeping at the many lost hours of excruciating writing. As I told my professor, for me to write a paper must be akin to birthing a child, for it is a painful process.

A word to the wise: save several copies of any document you value. I had saved my document--in two different places, in fact--and both copies ended up being destroyed. What are the chances??

In the Finance Department...

2007-03-06T15:12:00.000-08:00

As I was walking down the hall of the Finance Department this afternoon, I passed a bulletin board and caught sight of the word “God” out of the corner of my eye. I stopped and turned back to see what the board said. My amusement quota for the day came closer to being filled as I read:

May those who love us, love us;
And those who don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts;
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May He turn their ankles

So we can identify them by their limping.

Frustration Detected

2007-03-05T20:24:00.000-08:00

You know you’ve been around for a while when your classmates begin to sense your mood or emotions.

I had an assignment due today that was less than explicit in the instructions given to complete the assignment. I periodically checked in with other students to see how they completed parts of the assignment, checked with the prof for input, and became increasingly disillusioned with the assignment as time went on. I’ve wrestled with it for a week or more and was quite sick of it by this afternoon.

I arrived at the university today, frustrated by the traffic that cut into my already small window of time to walk to class. I didn’t realize that the combination of the frustration with traffic and the assignment had affected me that much, but about five minutes after I arrived in class, the girl that sits to my left overheard me talking to the guy that sits to my right about the assignment. She laughed a little and told me that she didn’t say much to me when I walked in because she could tell I wasn’t having a very good day. Oops. I didn’t mean to let that show.

After I turned the assignment in at the end of class, I went back to my seat to pack my things up. Several students were standing in front of my table talking, and as I was putting the last of my things away, one of my friends in the group must have been watching me because she said, “Sharon, you can smile—it’s not that bad.” Oops again.

I couldn’t help but laugh at my brooding and left class feeling a little better because she cared enough to try to cheer me up.

An Unwanted Classmate

2007-03-01T21:54:00.000-08:00

As I settled in this morning in accounting class, I idly noticed a wasp buzzing around one of the light fixtures in the middle of the room. I didn’t think much of it and spread my book, binder, and tablet on the table in front of me. I paid no more attention to him until I saw him descend from the heights and land in the middle of Dr. H’s overhead projector midway through class.

The sight of the oversized wasp on the screen was amusing to a number of us (it doesn’t take much to be amused in the midst of an accounting lecture), and it didn’t take Dr. H long to figure out that he was no longer the center of attention.

He walked over to the projector, lifted the paper the wasp was sitting on, and attempted to shake him to the floor. The wasp hung on for a bit, then reluctantly let go and flew over several inches and settled for sitting on the projector cart, instead of the projector itself.

Dr. H resumed his lecture, and the wasp spent some time enjoying the pros and cons of recognizing revenue from his front row seat. As one is wont to do, he must have gotten bored with the percent-of-completion method, so he lazily took flight to explore the light fixtures again. It was somewhat distracting to Dr. H, and he said, “Well, if I’d known he would be here, I’d have brought my flyswatter.”

Everyone resumed their respective duties—lecturing, dozing, doodling, or taking notes. A few minutes later, I became aware that the wasp had once again descended from his lofty playground because of a somewhat strangled squeal from Emily, who was sitting in my row about five people away from me. She emitted the sound again, only at a slightly more elevated pitch and volume. She was trying—without much success—to control her fear as the wasp buzzed around her head.

By that time, Dr. H had caught on that, once again, he was no longer the center of attention. He quit talking, and we all watched as poor Emily scooted her chair back, trying to dodge the wasp. She must have thought he landed in her hair, for she bent over and shook her hair while combing it with her fingers. As she finger combed her hair, the wasp lazily floated away, not caring much for the commotion. Once she had been assured that the wasp had not taken up residence in her hair, Emily resumed her seat and class continued.

I, of course, was down at the end of the row dealing with a problem of my own. Now I know it’s not nice to laugh at people, and even though I didn’t really want to be laughing at what was an uncomfortable situation for Emily, it became one of those situations where it was acceptable to “chuckle, chuckle” and then be done with it—and I could not comply. And to make matters worse, my buddy sitting to my left was not doing so well at complying either. It took a bit, but we finally managed to dry it up.

Less than five minutes later, the wasp disrupted class again by landing on the projector. This time, Dr. H was not going to let an opportunity slip by without at least making an attempt at punishing the wasp for being disruptive in class. He strolled over to the podium, picked up his large accounting textbook, and approached the projector with his weapon in hand. I was hoping he wouldn’t get too slaphappy, because I didn’t think the projector would be too keen on getting that particular type of attention.

Dr. H took aim and struck the wasp with a controlled swat that didn’t have the desired effect. The wasp toppled down onto the cart where Dr. H took aim once more and landed a solid punch. With a “So there!,” Dr. H strolled back to the podium in a dignified manner and resumed his lecture.

Accounting books are such useful items! And see? We do have fun in accounting class.

The Road to Rome

2007-02-15T22:50:00.000-08:00

Upon the completion of the fall semester, I have finally completed all of the requirements to be admitted to the College of Business. (Note: In case you—as was I for many years—are unaware of the difference between a university and a college, a university is a group of colleges. WKU has at least six different colleges: College of Business, College of Health & Human Services, College of Science & Engineering, College of Education & Behavioral Sciences, College of Arts & Letters, and the Community College. Most of them send chills up and down my spine at the thought of the classes held within their walls. There are then a number of different degrees you can obtain from the various colleges.) I have been a university student seeking admission to the College of Business for two and a half years and have jumped through all the right hoops—all, that is, except one.

The final hurtle to admission to the College of Business is filing my degree program. In a nutshell, filing a degree program is simply filling out a form that lists all of the classes that you’ve had so far, as well as defining what classes you will be taking to finish your degree—a sort of contract with the college. Some of the classes are confined to particular classes, and some of them are electives that I can choose—within the confines of accounting and business classes.

If I were merely trying to achieve graduation with the 128 required hours for a bachelor’s degree, filing a degree program would be a piece of cake because that part is pretty much spelled out. Unfortunately, my life is complicated by that 150 credit hour CPA exam requirement. Up to this point, I knew I would be going for the 150 hours, but that requirement was just a blob. 150 hours—gotta get ‘em. I didn’t have to define of what those hours would consist.

I met with my advisor a week and a half ago, who gave me some general instructions and advice and sent me on my way with paperwork for me to complete. After I filled out the basic 128-hour program, I realized that I still have to define that extra 22 hours. These extra 22 hours are “fondly” referred to in the accounting world as “22 hours of underwater basket weaving.” Ultimately, I can take any classes I please (frivolous or otherwise) to fill the 22 hours, but I feel I should be wise and do something constructive with them. The options available to me are what confound me.

First of all, I could take all of the accounting classes available to me and end up with a Certificate in Advanced Accounting Studies in addition to the bachelor’s degree—except that would mean I have to take another course in cost accounting. I don’t want to take another course in cost accounting. I’m not fond of it. At all. There is one class that is an alternative to advanced cost accounting, but it is not currently offered because of a lack of available instructors. But even if I did the certificate, I would still need about 7 more classes.

Second, I could (and plan to) get a minor in finance. But a finance minor will only require four additional classes, leaving me with at least three or four to go. If I take an additional four classes, I could also have a minor in computer information systems—except that some of the classes that I would be interested have prerequisites that complicate the whole thing. Or I could ditch the minors and go for dual majors in accounting and finance—except that I would have to take an economics class that I’ve been trying to avoid.

All of these options are contingent on classes not conflicting and that everything is available to take when I’m ready to take it, because my semesters will be crammed. If everything worked exactly perfectly, with a whole lot of effort and a few extra hours, I could potentially end up with a Bachelor of Science Degree in Accounting, a Certificate in Advanced Accounting Studies, a Minor in Finance, and a Minor in Computer Information Systems, although I don’t think I could meet my goal graduation date. Then again, I could take a leave of absence from being sensible and just do the “underwater basket weaving” thing, take what I want to take, and forget about any minors or certificates. Decisions, decisions, decisions.

After I was done with classes today, I went on an information finding mission to the computer information systems department. I spoke with one of my former instructors about my interests. He gave me some suggestions and good feedback. As I got up to leave his office, he made a comment that gave voice to some of the feelings and frustrations I’ve been experiencing this semester, “If there’s anything more I can do to help you on The Road to Rome, let me know.” Somehow, this semester has been particularly difficult in getting into the swing of things (still not there) and the road looks so long—the end so far away.

Before I left school, I stopped by my advisor’s office once more to ask another question or two and discovered that I don’t have to make all of these decisions now. All I have to decide now is the 128 hours to complete admission, but that doesn’t eliminate the need to make those decisions in the future. I still need a plan—a way to get to Rome.

Overheard...

2007-02-08T21:43:00.000-08:00

Two guys were sitting at the table behind me in my marketing class today. While we waited for class to begin, one of them was passing the time by reading the campus newspaper. I’m certain the many red-colored ads caught his attention, for this is the conversation I overheard:

Guy #1, very casually: “So when is Valentine’s Day, anyway?”

Guy #2, equally casual: “February 14th.”

After a small pause, Guy #1: “It’s on February 14th every year, isn’t it?”

Chuckling, Guy #2: “Yeah.” Another pause and then, “I don’t have to worry about it this year—she’ll be out of town.”

I hope he didn’t like her too much...

The Diagnosis

2007-01-30T15:02:00.001-08:00

Because I’d rather not do homework right now, I guess I’ll give a Wisdom update. It is, in fact, my wisdom tooth that is giving me grief.

It’s quite handy that mom baby-sits for my dentist and his wife. It is quite handy that his wife is also the receptionist. So I got mom to ask his wife this morning if I could stop by on my way to school to get a diagnosis. She said that I could and said for me to arrive a bit early to get ahead of the 8:00 patients. It is also quite handy that my dentist’s office is less than a mile from my house. I left about 8 minutes before 8:00 and arrived about 7 minutes before 8:00—very handy.

They took an x-ray and Dr. H declared it to not be an abscess; therefore, it must be the wisdom tooth. Said it will need to come out. {sob} He took a syringe with medicine and slipped it between the back of my tooth and the gums (not comfortable!) to irrigate it with the medicine so the swelling will go down. He gave me the syringe, along with an additional syringe, and told me to repeat the procedure a couple of times a day until the swelling goes away. They then took a panoramic x-ray of my teeth, and I zoomed away to school.

I’ve been on campus all day so I haven’t had any opportunities to do the gum irrigation. My tooth and jaw began aching about an hour ago, so I took another Aleve. I’m hoping I can concentrate thru my finance class that won’t start until 5:30. All I want right now is a big ol’ nap under my electric blanket!

I asked Dr. H if he thinks I might be able to wait until summer to do The Deed, but he thinks that I’ll just end up with a bunch of episodes like I’m currently experiencing. Okay, that doesn’t sound like much fun. I’m wondering if I can make it to Spring Break, except that I was hoping to enjoy Spring Break.

So if I go ahead and go under the knife while school is in session, I wonder—if I have the procedure done right after class on a Thursday afternoon, will I be recovered enough to go to school by Monday afternoon at 3:25? Maybe I can make it ‘til summer…

Why Now?

2007-01-26T21:40:00.000-08:00

I have never had a stitch of trouble from my wisdom teeth. I’ve had plenty of trouble otherwise, but not from my wisdom teeth. Until now—I think.

I’m not sure at what point today I became aware that my lower gums way in the back on the left side of my mouth felt somewhat swollen and sore. It’s a very uncomfortable sensation. I chewed a piece of gum, hoping the pressure would help and the sensation would go away. It didn’t.

Now my back tooth is somewhat sensitive to being tapped. I know that the last time I had x-rays taken the dentist commented that my wisdom teeth were coming in at an angle. As far as I’m concerned, they can just stay put. I don’t care if I ever see them, feel them, or hear from them in any manner. But right now, it feels like they are beginning to call.

Certain individuals think it's about my turn. I’m rather devastated about it. Very sad. I just hope that I injured my gums by flossing too vigorously and that I’m hypochondriacing myself into thinking that my tooth hurts. All I can say is:

“Please God. Not me. Not now.”

On the Eve of a New Semester

2007-01-21T23:38:00.000-08:00

The spring semester begins tomorrow. I suddenly realized this afternoon that I never did make it to the university last week to purchase the textbooks I’ll need for this semester. Oops. So now I’m bookless except for the one book I ordered online for my Statistical Analysis class. Thankfully, I only have one class on Mondays so I might be able to stop by the bookstore tomorrow afternoon on my to class and get what I need.

Upon receiving the aforementioned book, I opened it and quickly flipped through it to see if it looked remotely familiar. It made me want to weep large crocodile tears of grief and complete despair. It all looks so foreign and complicated—and I’ve already had one round of this stuff. I can only hope that this instructor will have a better method of explaining the material, so it is more graspable. A statistician I am not!

When the fall semester ended, I told myself that I would do some serious sewing to revamp my wardrobe. As I look back over my break, I sadly realize that I got a grand total of one—that’s right, one—dress done. And it’s a Sunday dress that was partially done from Thanksgiving break. My productivity in the sewing department was very bad. (I learned about Productivity during the Winter Term. Isn’t that grand? Of course, common sense will tell you the same thing.)

On a brighter note, I did get the medical aid bookkeeping that was handed over to me in November pretty much caught up. I’ve got a few loose ends yet, but most of it’s as up to date as I can get it right now. Receiving that responsibility in the middle of the semester wasn’t exactly conducive to diving right in and learning all the ins and outs. It’s only been since I finished my Winter Term that I’ve had the time to spend any type of quality time on it. So that, to me, is a Happy Thing. Now I’m going to make a concerted effort to stay On Top of things.

My schedule this semester will be similar to last semester, with some minor time adjustments. My first class is Accounting Information Systems on Mondays and Wednesdays at 3:25. The later time will allow me to get an extra two hours in at work on those days. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I will be in class from 9:35 to 2:05 taking Intermediate Accounting II, Statistical Analysis, and Basic Marketing Concepts. Additionally, on Tuesdays at 5:30 I will have a Principles of Financial Management class. The timing of my Tuesday, Thursday classes will make it impractical to get any hours in at work. Then, I’ll work a full day on Fridays because I have no Friday classes.

The statistics and marketing classes are the most frightening to me on this end of the semester. I don’t anticipate any major hiccups with the accounting classes, although it seems like I should have already learned most of it; and I’m hoping that I’ll enjoy the finance class, since I’m planning to get a minor in finance.

It would seem like I’m starting things out normally—deficient on sleep. Some things never change.

Ladybugs

2007-01-16T23:52:00.000-08:00

I like ladybugs—in theory. They’re cute, and they make nice little drawings for themed stuff.

Last night as I was getting ready for bed, I noticed a ladybug on the wall above my mirror. I thought it looked kinda cute up there and briefly wondered if I should do something about it. I promptly forgot it.

Earlier today, I discovered a ladybug—quite dead—on the carpet right outside my bedroom door. I fleetingly remembered the ladybug from last night and figured that it must have perished from lack of nourishment. What would a ladybug dine on in a place such as this? Then this evening when I was, once again, readying for bed, I saw the original ladybug—still alive—sitting on my silver toothbrush holder. Again, I thought it looked kinda cute and did nothing to bother the ladybug.

I left the bathroom for a span of five or ten minutes. When I returned, my eyes fell upon the ladybug once again—sitting on the bristle part of my toothbrush. Now that was not cute!! Not knowing where ladybugs normally hang out, I figured it would be kinda gross to use the toothbrush again.

The ladybug met a rather untimely demise, and I went in search of a new toothbrush, which I finally found after climbing a ladder to peer in the upper recesses of my cupboard. Upon the discovery that I did indeed possess a new toothbrush, the old toothbrush met a slightly less untimely demise.

What are two ladybugs doing in my house in the dead of winter?? Shouldn’t they be in Florida on vacation?

Ladybugs

2007-01-16T23:49:00.000-08:00

I like ladybugs—in theory. They’re cute, and they make nice little drawings for themed stuff.

Last night as I was getting ready for bed, I noticed a ladybug on the wall above my mirror. I thought it looked kinda cute up there and briefly wondered if I should do something about it. I promptly forgot it.

Earlier today, I discovered a ladybug—quite dead—on the carpet right outside my bedroom door. I fleetingly remembered the ladybug from last night and figured that it must have perished from lack of nourishment. What would a ladybug dine on in a place such as this? Then this evening when I was, once again, readying for bed, I saw the original ladybug—still alive—sitting on my silver toothbrush holder. Again, I thought it looked kinda cute and did nothing to bother the ladybug.

I left the bathroom for a span of five or ten minutes. When I returned, my eyes fell upon the ladybug once again—sitting on the bristle part of my toothbrush. Now that was not cute!! Not knowing where ladybugs normally hang out, I figured it would be kinda gross to use the toothbrush again.

The ladybug met a rather untimely demise, and I went in search of a new toothbrush, which I finally found after climbing a ladder to peer in the upper recesses of my cupboard. Upon the discovery that I did indeed possess a new toothbrush, the old toothbrush met a slightly less untimely demise.

What are two ladybugs doing in my house in the dead of winter?? Shouldn’t they be in Florida on vacation?

Just In...

2007-01-14T21:21:00.000-08:00

!!NEWSFLASH!!

At 10:13 PM, CST, Sharon, of The River Bank, KY, completed her Winter Term class--6 days ahead of the scheduled due date. Ms. Sharon was elated at the completion of the project and celebrated the occasion with a bowl of caramel-coated cornpuffs, a freshly made rice crispy treat, and a bottle of water.

When asked for a statement, she smiled and said, "My heart goes out to the unfortunate souls that have not, as of yet, completed their Winter Term. I wish them well in their endeavors.” Further inquiry as to her future plans received a response of “I can think of 100 different things that I could do with this next week, but for now, I think I'll just sit back, twiddle my thumbs, and think Happy Thoughts."

And having made that statement, Ms. Sharon quietly withdrew to think Happy Thoughts.

In Search of Places

2006-12-17T23:01:00.000-08:00

Freedom…it’s a beautiful thing. It was with great relief that I handed my last final in on Friday—the end of another semester. I now have 61.72% of the required number of hours to receive a bachelor’s degree and 52.67% of the required number of hours to sit for the CPA exam. Unfortunately, it’s the 52.67% is the key to my current goal.

And so I will be out of school for 17 precious, already-filling-up days. I am determined that my life will be more caught up and more organized going into the next semester. It must! I cannot put up with such chaos—being pulled in at least eight different directions and probably more if I stop long enough to think about it. There must be a Place for everything and, even more importantly, everything in its Place!

I think organization is The Key to efficiency, and I need to figure out how to be more efficient. There may need to be an Executive Meeting or two, a good dousing of a fire or two to make things happen, but happen it must or someone’s not going to get their desired share of my time/services.

I spent yesterday in search of a number of Places and feel pretty good about the condition of my desk. Now if I can just empty those bags and baskets that I put the stuff into…

The Verdict Is In

2006-12-07T11:22:00.000-08:00

I went to bed last night (or early this morning) at 1:00 and got up again at 5:00. My pre-econ quiz routine for the last 4 or 5 quizzes has been to rise at 5:00, get dressed, and go to the university to study in the lobby of the 4th floor. It’s usually quiet, and I can ambush my prof with my questions when he arrives.

My stomach was rather upset with the impending quiz. About 10 minutes before class started, I headed down the hall to his office for a final clarification before heading into class. He heard my footsteps as I came down the hall and greeted me with a large grin, saying, “How did I know it would be you?”

The quiz felt like a comprehensive final, involving formulas from long ago. I was utterly nervous and the 25 minute deadline didn’t seem nearly long enough. The prof gave us an additional 10 minutes to complete the quiz. I handed it in with many misgivings, and he promised to have it graded by noon.

After my last class of the day, I landed a computer lab. I went directly to his website and, true to his word, the grades were posted. To my complete astonishment, I got a perfect score on that last quiz. I think it may be the only perfect score that I’ve gotten. My relief knows no bounds! There will be no econ final for me!!! Praise the Lord!

Unfortunately, I’m taking Statistical Analysis in the spring semester. I had a choice of three different classes…and it sounded like the lesser of three evils. Can you imagine?

Will I Have to Take It?

2006-12-06T20:20:00.000-08:00

It’s hard to believe, but tomorrow is my last day of regular classes this semester. It has gotten here none too soon! This has been an exhausting semester for me, in more ways than one.

Economics: Statistics—I entered this class with a lot of trepidation—and with good cause, I believe. The first week or two, I thought, “Mean, median—I can handle this.” In the next two or three weeks we branched out into standard deviation and z-scores. I began to get a little nervous. Then we began to study Probability Theory, and I began longing for the ease of z-scores and residuals. Since then we’ve delved into the Central Limit Theorem, Confidence Intervals, Statistical Significance, T-distribution, and more. It’s enough to make a person beg for mercy.

There are several things that annoy me about my statistics class:

The first, and greatest, annoyance is my ability to fall asleep in class. I started the semester out with a sleep deficiency and don’t think that I’ve managed to catch up yet. With accounting being so demanding on my time, I find myself averaging less than five hours of sleep on nights before a quiz, which happen all too frequently in this class. I cram into the early morning hours, and then get up extra early to cram some more before class. With stats being my first class of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I wonder what ever ailed me when I chose to take a stats class at 8 a.m. I have firm convictions against sleeping in class and never thought that I’d be one to do it, but that matters not to The Sandman. I carry a bottle of No-Doz in my backpack to aid in the fight against snoozing.
Another annoyance is the girl that sits next to me in class. During class (when she chooses to come) she sits and sends text messages pretty much all during class, except when she pauses to copy something the prof has written on the board. If I didn’t have a conscience, I would have kept her phone the morning that she left it lying on the chair in between us and I found it on my way out of class. I do my best to ignore it, but some days (most) my ignorer is out of commission.
You could almost set your watch by the third annoyance. On the first morning of class, the prof asked us to arrive in class on time. In the event that we do arrive late, he asked that we slip in quietly and sit in the back. Well, there is one guy that consistently arrives five minutes late and insists on sitting in the front of the room at the table that is the farthest from the door. He used to be able to get there on time on mornings we had quizzes, but he can’t even do that anymore.

I do enjoy the prof in the class. Mr. L is a native Ukrainian. I enjoy listening (when I’m not fighting sleep) to his perspective on American culture. He married an American and has a two and a half year old daughter and a several month old daughter. He too arrives in class sleep deprived. He came to class one morning and told us that he never believed in the theory that a full moon makes people do crazy things—until both of his daughters woke up at 4:00 a.m. that morning for no reason whatsoever and refused to go back to sleep. From him I have also learned that I must not be “intellectually curious.” He launched into a side lecture as an explanation about something that we won’t be learning in this class that went way over my head. He ended it by saying that those of us that are “intellectually curious” could look further into it. I guess I’m not.

I’ve trying so hard to do well in that class. If I can make an average of 9 out of 10 points on all of my quizzes, I won’t have to take the CUMULATIVE FINAL. My performance was less than ideal on several of them. I even resorted to attending his Thursday night class one week, just so I could hear the material a second time and hoped for better soakage and thereby a better quiz score. It actually worked because I got my best score on the following quiz. I wish I had thought of doing that earlier in the semester.

I now find myself in a precarious position. I’ve only one more quiz in that class, and I will have to make 8.72 out of 10 points to be exempt from the final. I could just weep! I’m so scared that I won’t be able to do it. Needless to say, I have been petitioning the Father on a rather frequent basis. If I have to take that final, I’m sunk. I don’t think I can go back in time and remember how to perform all those calculations and interpret them as they need to be interpreted.

A person can only take so much...

A Clue

2006-11-09T15:06:00.000-08:00

This afternoon after class, I went to various office supply stores in search of the cheapest price for an antivirus program. My journey took me to Sam’s Club, where I picked up a few supplies.

As I was headed down a main aisle, I noticed a small group of people gathered around a man. The man was giving a demonstration on a knife that will evidently outlive its owners in the sharpness category. My senses on high Scamboozle Alert, I paused several feet away from the group to watch him as he handed a hammer to someone in the audience so they could verify that it was, indeed, a real hammer. The gentleman verified the realness of the hammer and gave it back to The Demonstrator.

The Demonstrator then began to hack away at the hammer, stating that he wasn’t claiming that he would saw thru the hammer, but that he would create dust. Then he began hacking on the wooden cutting board after which he went back to slicing the tomato into small delicate slices. Sharp as ever!!

In the midst of the presentation, another lady that was, like me, standing on the outskirts of the group sidled up to me and whispered in my ear that the man was giving away a paring knife at the end of the presentation to everyone that watched and that I should stick around and at least get a free paring knife. “Well,” I thought, “I am Me, after all. And ‘if it’s free, give it to Me.’” I thought it was quite nice of the lady to clue me in on the free knife.

I watched the man as he kept adding knife after knife to the stash of knives on top of the table, all for the price of one knife that currently sells on TV for $39.33. He ended up with a pile of knives valued at $261 for only $39.33. At one point he said that he’d throw in an extra filet knife to the first 7 people in the group to throw up their hands. Not wanting to get left out, people were throwing their hands up all over the place.

I saw the women that clued me in slip up around the group in a place sort of behind The Demonstrator. “Ah,” I thought, “Isn’t she clever? She’s going to slip up there and pretend that she was highly involved in the group in the first place so she can for sure get her free knife.”

As The Demonstrator was finishing up his sales pitch, he threw into the pile of knives two more boxes of knives, just because he’s such a great guy. It turns out that anyone could have a filet knife because they were all prepackaged. How clever was it to get people to commit to buying knives in the heat of the moment of only 7 people getting them? Very clever, I thought.

As he went to give the first person their boxes of knives, Clue Lady slipped up behind The Demonstrator and picked up two of the boxes that he needed to finish out an order. “How nice,” he said, “A helper.” I thought it was quite bold of her, and my Scamboozle Alert went into overdrive.

I watched for a few more seconds and came to the conclusion that she wasn’t just a helpful bystander, but a part of The Demonstration. Disgusted at her for thinking I was too naïve to notice her shenanigans, I decided to let her keep her paring knife and walked away. As I passed by a few minutes later on my way to the checkout, my suspicions were confirmed as I saw the two of them hanging out waiting for their next round of eager shoppers.

Embarrassingly enough, I’ve fallen for a few high pressure sales pitches in my time. And I wish it was only for $39.33, but unfortunately for those people, I have developed a healthy level of cynicism. I hope Clue Lady didn’t take me as an easy target because of my religion, because what she doesn’t know is that under this white bonnet of mine exists A Clue! And I didn’t get it from her.

Cherry Sunshine

2006-11-07T21:03:00.000-08:00

I’ll admit it. I’ve been feeling a bit sorry for myself recently.

Getting up at 5:00 AM to study for statistics quizzes, multiple accounting quizzes due, the closing of the ice cream shop that carried my favorite ice cream (amaretto), an influx of multiple new accounting duties, a team project in management, lack of sleep, lack of time, multiple other stresses…my list could go on and on. I can find plenty of reasons to feel blue.

But tonight, I found a small ray of sunshine on the shelves at Wal-Mart—cherry 7-Up and Almond Crescents Cookies. Ah! Cherry 7-Up is something I’ve only been able to find when I’m on trips, and Almond Crescents are only available during the holiday season. Maybe there is hope on the other side of all this stress or possibly even in the midst of it.

On another note…how strange is this? I love cherry 7-Up, Almond Crescents, and amaretto ice cream. These all have a cherry-type flavor, but I can’t stand cherries. I’m not sure if I’ve ever eaten a piece of cherry pie. Oh, I can choke a cherry down if I have to, to get to the cream cheese beneath it, but I don’t enjoy it.

Well, I believe I’ll go have a drink and a cookie. Or two.

Quizzes

2006-09-19T18:38:00.000-07:00

Aaargh!!

My professor in my Weed-Out 102 accounting class wants me to construct a predetermined overhead rate from a little bit of nothing and journalize a bunch of accounting entries from a little more of nothing!! I went to his office this morning before class to inquire whether we’d had sufficient instruction from prior classes to complete the quiz at this point. He claimed we had. I, and every classmate that I’d spoken to, would differ in opinion! He wouldn’t even let me tell him where my thought process was going to see if I had any clue whatsoever. Didn’t mean to put me off—just doesn’t want to give any undue advantage, he said. Hogwash and malarkey!!

He did acknowledge in class that he’s heard from a lot of students about the predetermined overhead and gave us a teeny, tiny morsel of a hint that could have been missed, had one been mildly distracted at the moment. That tiny hint did sorta confirm that I was beginning to meander down the right path, but still…what does he think we are?? A bunch of genii??

I’m figuring out why people speak of these classes with such horror in their voices. Each class has a quiz due nearly every week that involves much time and lots of backward thinking to back into a solution. If they get progressively harder, whatever shall I do?!?

Well, this quiz is due in a little less than 48 hours and I’ve got lots of ground to cover between now and then.

A Hillbilly Hermit Fax

2006-09-12T21:08:00.000-07:00

Martin was in fine form on Sunday at lunch. Kris and Martin were expressing their frustrations with their respective all-in-one fax machines not connecting with certain other fax machines. They came to the conclusion that an all-in-one office machine isn’t really good at anything.

Martin fondly recalled his Brother fax machine and, in extolling its virtues, claimed, “Why that machine would receive a fax from a hillbilly hermit with nothing but a…a harmonica to send his tones!!”

The conversation eventually turned to Kris’s current problem with her e-mail program and its refusal to perform properly. Martin asked her if she had uninstalled and then reinstalled the program. “Now why would you do that?!?” Mom said, “There’s no point in uninstalling something just so you can reinstall it.”

“Well, you do that in hopes that the good Lord will smile down on you and fix your problem,” Martin explained to her. It cracked Kris and me up, but for anyone that has ever had a software problem, isn’t that the truth?!?

A Bad Combination

2006-09-05T19:10:00.000-07:00

Reasons NOT to do Accounting Homework at a Laundromat:

People in Laundromats love to tell other Laundromat-goers about their considerable health problems.
People chatting about their health problems and making obvious attempts at cleverizing conversations with family members because others can hear make it hard to concentrate on homework.
The inability to concentrate can lead to difficulties in reading problems correctly.
Reading problems incorrectly could lead to doing the problem a third time, with the third time being long after the first two attempts at the Laundromat when it was thought to be correct.

A stint at the Laundromat to wash a comforter yesterday led to the aforementioned observations. Am I ever thankful that I don’t have to go to the Laundromat on a weekly basis to wash my clothes!!

Ugly Shoes

2006-09-02T21:24:00.000-07:00

I remember the first time I saw them. They were royal blue and came strolling into Algebra class on the feet of my friend Elizabeth. “My goodness,” I thought, “Those certainly are some horrible-looking shoes. They look like they were taken straight off the space shuttle and put on her feet. They look like astronaut shoes. I’d hate to be caught wearing shoes like that.”

As time passed, I saw more and more of those Ugly Shoes—first on campus, then more frequently I began to see them on the feet of people that were not schlepping college students. They came in all sorts of colors: red, blue, green, pink, black, and many colors in between. I became a bit intrigued by them. If someone that looked otherwise respectable was willing to be seen in public with shoes that ugly on their feet, there must be a reason other than fashion to wear them.

Several weeks ago, we were visiting Sara in Chattanooga. During our shopping marathon, she found those awful shoes on clearance sale at Target. The rest of us grossed out at their ugliness, but Sara bought a pair anyway. When we arrived back at Sara’s place, we all tried the shoes on, and I discovered what I had been suspicious of all along—they are comfortable. Later that afternoon we went back to Target and three more of us got our own pair of schlepping shoes.

My feet love ‘em. I declare that if my feet had voice boxes, they would sing me a lovely Celtic song each time I wear my Ugly Shoes. My right heel has this tendency to be an unhappy right heel, but in my Ugly Shoes, my heel is almost happy. I can definitely stay on my feet longer without my foot becoming contrary quite so soon.

For the most part, I have restricted my Ugly Shoes to home wear. After all, I do want to preserve my public persona, but the other night at the eleventh hour (literally) I needed to make a quick jaunt to Wal-mart for some NoDoz (lest I repeat my Tuesday dozing performance in class the next morning). My Ugly Shoes were very handy and, given the hour of night, I decided to take a chance at slipping in and out of Wal-mart unseen by any acquaintances. I beat the odds and made my trek through Wal-mart without recognizing a soul. Can you believe it?!?! I wore Ugly Shoes to Wal-mart!

I’ve been wanting to wear them other places now that I’ve taken that first step. It’s like the corners of my Ugly Shoe conscience have been rounded. I feel like I might need to join Ugly Shoes Anonymous.

“My name is Sharon, and I wore Ugly Shoes to Wal-mart.”

Another First Week Gone

2006-09-01T20:35:00.000-07:00

It’s always good to have the first week of classes out of the way. People have had a chance to ogle you at least once, so you’re not quite as strange going in the next time. You’ve (hopefully) established your seat in the class—except that the people in my accounting classes evidently didn’t realize that I had Established. No matter…I didn’t like where I sat in either one of them the first day.

I’ve made some contacts in my accounting classes, which is always a good thing, and I recognize some people and other people (probably lots of people) recognize me. I sat down next to a girl in my accounting class today that to my knowledge I’d never seen before. She turned to me and said, “Are you Sharon?” I confirmed that I was and asked her how she knew me. She said that she took the same accounting class and teacher this summer that I did but took it in the hour following my class. Dr. L had a discussion board where people could get help from him and other classmates during the course of the day if they were working on homework. Evidently (I had forgotten all about it), I answered a good portion of her questions for her over the summer. She said she’d go to class and say, “I don’t know who she is, but Sharon saved me again last night.” It was heartwarming to receive the positive feedback.

My Mondays will consist of me leaving work around 12:15 for my financial accounting class in the afternoon, followed by a two hour and twenty minute break. I will then take my only night class—a management class about the Legal Environment of Business. (In that class, our teacher had us go around and give some information on ourselves. It was really weird to be surrounded by Juniors and Seniors. It doesn’t seem real that I’m one of them.) Wednesdays will be identical, except my night class won’t meet.

Tuesdays and Thursdays I will have classes starting at 8:00. The first class is a statistics class that has me intimidated all to bits. I still don’t have a clue exactly what we’ll be doing in that class. It’s that old Fear of the Unknown.

After statistics, I’ll take another management class about organization and management. (The instructor in that class is a total hoot. Today in class he mentioned a song sung by Michael Jackson, which led him off into a side spiel about Michael J’s moonwalk and how he always wanted to be able to do the moonwalk. He proceeded to do a horrible imitation of the moonwalk. “When Michael does it, it looks cool; when I do it, it looks like a fat man walking weird,” he said. He’ll be a lot of fun.)

After the management class, I’ll go to the top floor for my managerial accounting class, which will last until 12:30. On Tuesdays, I’ll rush back to the office to try to squeeze a few hours of work in; on Thursdays, I’ll take the remainder of the day off to try to get homework done so I can work all day on Friday.

I can already tell that it’s going to be a challenging semester! Accounting homework will be very intense. The legal management class shouldn’t be too bad homework-wise, but the organization management class will involve some projects and some public speaking that are bound to make me uncomfortable. And as I said before, I’m still clueless about statistics.

My work hours are now at a new all-time low. I don’t think that I’ve worked this few hours since shortly after I graduated from the eighth grade. My tiny side business as payroll processor and accounting consultant is far more significant in the scheme of things than I ever hoped that it would be—and not because I’m earning more at it either!! The knowledge that I can’t out-earn my expenses right now lurks in the shadows, but I keep telling myself that this too shall pass.

Mutual Admiration

2006-08-23T22:14:00.000-07:00

This past weekend we went to Virginia to meet the lovely Selena. What a sweet babe!

We had the first meeting of The Mutual Admiration Society. If you look closely at Selena’s face, I believe you would agree that it was very successful. We hope to have many more such meetings to accomplish the goals of The Society. A major obstacle threatens the frequency of these meetings--namely, the many miles that separate the members. A Feasibility Committee may need to be put in place to look for potential solutions to the problem.

Meet-And-Greet

2006-08-11T21:45:00.000-07:00

Note to self: Leave earlier next time.

I left in what I thought was plenty of time this afternoon to head to Owensboro for my first meet-and-greet with accounting firms, but I got caught in school-just-let-out traffic, which set me back in my time schedule. As I headed up the parkway to Owensboro, I began to realize that I had scheduled too closely, and I would probably end up being late. I stepped things up a notch, and mercifully, the five cops that I met over the next hour or so were either on their way home to a chicken dinner or had blinders on. Either way, I was grateful they weren’t sitting in the median waiting on some speedster to come along.

As I arrived in Owensboro, I gauged that I would probably end up being only five minutes late—if traffic cooperated. Well, traffic wasn’t the problem—my map was. I’ll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that had a helicopter been following me from the air, they may well have gotten quite dizzy while attempting to follow the car below through its turnabouts.

I finally found the right street and arrived at the accounting firm only fifteen minutes late. I was pleased to find a parking space right near the front door. I grabbed my resume from the passenger seat and walked inside. The entrance was one of those that you enter and two businesses have their entrances going off the small entryway. I was rather puzzled by the fact that neither business represented the accounting firm that I was looking for.

I picked a door and walked inside to the receptionist’s desk and inquired upon the location of the accounting firm. She was pretty sure that it was located next door, and someone else confirmed that the place I needed to go was, in fact, one door down. (No wonder I got a parking place near the front door—it was the wrong one!) I exited the building, found the correct entrance, and entered.

I was greeted by their receptionist and gave her my name. She gave me an information packet and nametag, and I gave her my resume. I was then greeted by an older gentleman, and he asked if he could take my picture. “Uh, sure!” I smiled for the large camera he was wielding and waited for him to snap the picture. As he fiddled around with it, I could feel my smile wilting. By the time he actually got the picture taken, I’m sure it was nothing more than a sick little smile, since a genuine smile can only last for so long!

After the picture, another guy stepped forward to shake my hand and escorted me down the hall to a group of four college students being shown around by two of their associates. They told us about what they do (tax work) and then fielded questions from us. Another girl joined us (and later another), and she appeared to nearly be in tears because she had also gotten lost. I was gratified to find out later on that, out of the seven of us in my group, at least five us had gotten lost on the way there.

We were escorted from office to office where different people told us about different aspects of public accounting. After talking with several of their associates, we went to their conference room for refreshments—the part I had been dreading.

We stood around conversating for a period of time. I chatted with two girls from WKU that will be in at least one of my accounting classes this fall. It had begun storming soon after I arrived at the firm and after about fifteen minutes of chatting, one of the partners made an announcement that since there was a lull in the storm, it would probably be a good time to wrap things up. We did so. Happily.

I made up for my trek to Owensboro by returning at a far more sedate pace. And I met exactly zero cops. Go figure.

On another, more delightful note, I stopped at the university on my way back through to take my final at the library—less distracting than doing it at home. I’ll just have to say that it was a good thing that the course was an open-book course. I’d have had to work way too hard on it otherwise—not cool to work hard on school during the summer! I worked as hard and as fast as I could on that final and I still ran out of time. I had to submit it without even attempting the last twelve problems. Oh well, I still got 127 when I only needed 40 to make my grade.

So now I’m free!!!! For two whole weeks and three days. Short break, huh?

Bloomin' Weeds

2006-08-03T21:21:00.000-07:00

It certainly is a sad day when you have to take a weed eater and Roundup to your flowerbeds, but that is precisely what I did this evening.

I’ve had my hands full just trying to keep the lawns mowed. Now that I have just a teeny bit more time to do Stuff, I decided to try and do something about the Shag look we’ve got going on around here. So I mixed two gallons of Roundup, untangled the weed eater cord, and went to work. I didn’t get very far, but hopefully in the next few weeks, I can douse a good majority of my problems with roundup.

On the upside of weeds, some of them do end up blooming. This one stands at the edge of the drive. I didn't have the heart to chop it down, so it still stands. If it hadn't chosen to bloom in the past few days, it would have been a goner!

All By Myself

2006-08-02T21:43:00.000-07:00

As I enter my third year of college, I will be branching out on my own in a number of ways. Heretofore, Kris’s major has required many of the same classes that mine does. Since she started school one semester ahead of me, she has gone through many of the requirements one semester ahead of me. I have been a willing sponge—using her notes when I needed a supplement, using her study guides, etc. Her methods of organization are great, and I have enjoyed being a sponge.

In the fall, I will only have one class that Kris has gone through. In the other four classes, I’m on my own. In a chat that I had with Dr. L, my accounting professor (one that Kris had taken in the spring), he told me in no uncertain terms that I am to tell Kris that she needs to change her major to accounting. “You are going to need a buddy,” he said. “From here on out things can be very difficult, and you need a buddy. You could go through the accounting program together and be very successful.”

He went on to tell me that they would be willing to customize Kris’s program to gear it toward the health care field, but he wants her in the accounting field! (I didn’t tell him that the English, Math, History, and Foreign Languages (did I miss any?) departments also want Kris. They love a successful student.) Alas, it is a bit late for Kris to change her major so she can go through the accounting program with me. I’m pretty much on my own from here on out.

And then about a month ago, I got a letter from an accounting firm in a town an hour and a half from here. The letter was an invitation to a reception for junior and senior accounting students. I thought it might be a little early in my college career to start with the Courting The Students game, so I asked several people for their advice. Kris thinks I should go; Sara thinks I should go; Dr. L thinks I should go. Everyone seems to think I should go—except me. I really don’t want to go by myself!! It could be very, very awkward for me.

I suppose it’s time for me to just take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and be a Big Girl. The word in the accounting department is that a lot of this type of reception/recruitment goes on, so I’d better get used to it. How better to break myself in than to go to a town that I’ll probably never see the people again?

I’ve sent my reply in, and I’ll go to the reception…all by myself.

Gaining Ground

2006-08-01T18:54:00.000-07:00

Even though it feels like I’m cheating myself out of a summer break, I am very pleased with the fruits of my labors. I will be starting my junior year of college as a junior. I didn’t think that I’d be able to do it. I’m very pleased!

To achieve junior status, one must have 60 credit hours to their name. If I had only taken my standard four classes per semester for the past two years and left it at that, I would only have ended up with 49 hours, but last summer (was it just a year ago?) I took a single summer class and this summer I’m taking four classes. Once I finish my current class, I will end up with 64 hours, which will shove me to the rank that I should possess after two years of college. I really am very pleased.

Having said that, I now have to admit that I’m kinda nervous about my fall semester—for several reasons. First of all, I’m taking five classes instead of my normal four. In reviewing the number of classes I have left, I decided that I’m going to have to step up the pace if I want to finish in any sort of timely fashion. It feels like I’ll be in school ‘til I’m 40. Can’t have that.

In addition to entering the new world of more hours, I also will be taking Accounting 300—the “weed out” accounting course—next semester. The content is supposed to be similar to my spring accounting class (financial accounting), except supercharged. It separates the “gonna-make-its” from the “not-gonna-make-its.” I keep hearing the horror stories about the class. It’s time consuming and just plain hard. Recently, Kris talked to a survivor of the class that said she has actually worked in the accounting industry and considers herself to be an A student, but in this particular class she said she had to take what she could get grades-wise. Yup, sounds frightening to me.

Not only am I taking Weed-Out 101, I seem to be taking Weed-Out 102 at the same time in the form of Accounting 310. It’s supposed to be like the accounting class that I just finished this summer (managerial accounting), except supercharged. From what I hear, the instructor isn’t greatest (in fact, they say he’s awful), and from what I know of the course content, it will prove to be very challenging. Add to the accounting classes two management classes and an economics (in the form of statistics) class and I can see my free time disappearing very rapidly this fall.

I was talking to my accounting instructor this summer, and I asked him how feasible it will be to carry the workload of five classes, as well as work 20 to 25 hours a week. His response? “Oh, Sharon, don’t do it. You need to drop something.” Help!

One comfort I have is that each class is only two days a week, except one of my management classes is a night class that will meet once a week. Also, since the fifth class doesn’t cost me any extra, if I see that I can’t handle the pressure of the fifth class I can just drop the class and no harm done (except for having already purchased the book). Another comfort is that I now have a reliable assistant at work. I may have to rely more heavily on her to pick up the slack if school becomes overwhelming.

So while the fall looms large, I shall savor the fruits of the summer and deal with the fall when it arrives (in less than 4 weeks).

An Extra Layer

2006-07-31T21:13:00.000-07:00

A little while ago I went into the bathroom and right in front of the toilet was a package of Angel Soft toilet paper. As I moved it, something caught my eye on the back of the package. I looked a little closer and it said “with an EXTRA LAYER* to get the job done.”

“Hmmm,” I thought to myself, “Angel Soft now has three layers? They are really stepping things up.” Then I looked a little closer and the * part said “*versus one-ply products.”

Well, no kidding. If I’m not mistaken, they’ve always had two-ply toilet paper—at least as long as I’ve known them. Like, I make it a practice to not buy one-ply. And they just now thought to promote the extra layer?

I always find it interesting to note when a product suddenly has one of the splashy promotional type stars on their label that says something like “Now with 3.4 oz.” and you look at the old product sitting right next to it on the shelf that hasn’t all sold yet and, sure enough, it too has 3.4 oz. I’m sure that it increases sales though or companies wouldn’t periodically do it.

She's Here

2006-07-29T21:57:00.000-07:00

A little over two years ago, our family tree grew a twig when Alvin got married. Now that twig has gained a precious little bud in the form of Selena Hope.

Yesterday was a trying day filled with “WHY HASN’T HE CALLED YET?!?” and “I wonder if everything is okay…” I nervously ate half a bag of sour gummy worms as the afternoon wore on. I sent text messages to my sisters to inquire if anyone had forgotten to call me with the news. Kris figured she must have been forgotten too.

Sometime around 4:00, I jumped as my cell phone suddenly started ringing. I snatched it up, anticipating seeing Alvin’s name or at least a foreign number like a hospital number on the caller ID. I was somewhat disgusted to see the name of one of my accounting clients on the small screen—not that I was disgusted by him calling me but I would rather have been discussing baby names than how to account for the sale of a piece of equipment.

Several hours after I arrived home from work, I finally received the call that I’d been longing for all day. I’ve thought about it, and I think that I’ll make a fantabulous aunt. I can’t wait to get my hands on her!

Nearing Temporary Freedom

2006-07-27T21:53:00.000-07:00

On Monday night, I finished and submitted the last of my eleven Excel cases for this semester—two weeks ahead of schedule. I’m very happy about it.

On the other end of the spectrum, I have a PowerPoint presentation due by 11 PM tomorrow night. I really don’t have much to say about Accounting Information Systems. I’d really rather say nothing about AIS. I am very grateful that I don’t have to do the actual presentation, only the PowerPoint for a presentation. This post would be a direct result of procrastination related to my PowerPoint project.

If I can just eke this presentation out, I’ll be basically home free for the rest of the summer. I will have four more quizzes—a 20-question, open book, 20-minute time limit quiz due twice a week for the next two weeks and a 150-question, open book, 2-hour time limit final due at the end of those two weeks. The rest of the project deadlines in the class have been met. Su-weet!!

My favorite part of the class has been the Excel cases. I love Excel. One of the last cases taught us how to create a macro and then create a button to perform the macro. Macros have always intimidated me. Obviously I didn’t even know what a macro is. I do now, and it makes me feel so smart to know how to use such a simple thing. It was rather silly that I never figured it out before. I’ve been brainstorming how I could use it in some of my Excel files at work.

I really have learned a lot about Excel in the past two years, both in and out of school. I know that I still don’t have the ability to use it to its full potential. Nowhere near even. Maybe someday I can take a class that focuses only on Excel.

The Reset Button

2006-07-15T18:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was…well, not so swell.

I dragged myself out of bed yesterday morning with grand intentions of working on schoolwork for a few hours before going to work. I was a bit dismayed to find that my Internet connection was out of commission. I went through all of the usual routines of unplugging and then replugging key components of the system in hopes of resetting the offending obstruction. All attempts of reestablishing a connection were sadly unfruitful.

In a normal class, I would be disgusted at the lack of Internet while doing homework, but in my current class, the Internet is essential, for it is a web-based class. I had to attend a two-hour orientation but should not have to show up for class for the rest of this semester, unless I choose to go to a workshop for extra help. So any hopes of working on any of my class projects were dashed to bits by my error-messaging browser window.

I attended to a few chores around the house, thankful that I had completed my quiz Thursday night just before midnight. It was due at 4 pm on Friday and if I couldn’t get the Internet back up and running before I left for work, I would be sunk. After running an errand in town, I headed off to work.

Fast forward through a less than stellar day at work in which I: was kept 30 minutes past quitting time by indecisive customers; searched my trashcan, desk drawers, and surrounding area several times for $150 in cash that I misplaced and found only when I gave up to go home and try again Monday; went the long way around to reenter the office to retrieve my forgotten phone and PDA only to discover that I never locked the front door in the first place; hit the gas instead of the brake to put my car in gear, which resulted in just sitting instead of going forward as I wanted to. I was grateful to be headed home.

I finally made it home, safe and sound. I checked with Kris, and she said that we still didn’t have Internet. Unacceptable. I pulled plugs once more in hopes of resetting with dismal results. The wireless receiver had one of the necessary indicator lights out. With all other options exhausted, I turned the receiver around and used a pen to hit the reset button. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was a bad mistake.

I finally called Martin. Imagine my joy at finding out that he is in Louisville and won’t be home until Saturday night. He gave me a few suggestions and hung up. I called mom to see how things were running at her end, and she confirmed that she was in the same situation. After some investigation, she discovered that the breaker with the communicating router must have flipped, but even after remedying that situation and getting her up and running with Internet, we still didn’t have any.

I called Martin again and after some discussion, I told him that I had hit the reset button earlier—that was when I learned of my big mistake. By hitting the reset button, I had set it back to factory default settings, and it was no longer communicating with the network. He couldn’t remember what the default settings are and said that I could try getting his receiver and seeing if it would work.

We decided to see if we could stumble upon a solution first. Kris dug some papers out from when Martin had originally set things up that were printed to help us out in just this situation, but because we couldn’t figure out what the default setting was, it was of no help. Martin’s receiver wouldn’t work either. I finally went over to Mom’s to see if I could do some research there to find out what the default settings were.

After some search, I finally found the default setting. I called Kris with the information, and she tried it. It wouldn’t work. Aargh!! I searched some more and finally printed some stuff out and came back home. Kris’s room was dark. She had apparently given up and gone to bed. I decided to try the default setting once more and include “http://” with my attempt. Imagine my surprise when I actually got some results.

I tried to copy the settings from the papers we had dug out earlier. After some trial and error, I finally got everything to match up with the papers. Still no Internet. I went back to the kitchen to check out the receiver and the missing LAN light from earlier in the evening was working. YES!! That meant there was communication going on; I just had to figure out how to get it to benefit me!

I went back through the unplugging sequence and returned to my computer. I raised my arms in silent victory (so as not to wake the Sleeping Beauties in the next room and on the floor above) as I watched the beautiful Yahoo face in my status bar go from an ashen gray to a yellow smiling face.

It may have been 1:00 in the morning, but I’d at least partially redeemed myself. No, I’m not taking calls to start building networks. I still don’t know how all the router/receiver/bridge stuff works, but I’ve got Internet folks! Just make note—don’t hit the reset button unless you are certain of the consequences.

A Time of Joy

2006-06-24T15:35:00.000-07:00

[cue Hallelujah Chorus]

I have a tendency to be rather cautious about being too exuberant about things. I think it has something to do about that “pride goeth before destruction” thing. I sort of fear there is a sister verse that they forgot to include that says something like “joy goeth before sadness, and exuberance before a mighty plunge,” but right now, I’m feeling pretty exuberant. My search for a car has finally ended!! After hours and hours and hours of browsing the Internet, Wheels & Deals, and used car lots, I'm finally done--hopefully for another 7ish years.

Back when I purchased my basics-only Stratus, I promised myself that if I put up with the basics for a period of time, I would save money and my next car purchase would be a nice one with all sorts of luxuries. I reminded myself of that promise over and over during the ensuing 7+ years as I hand cranked my windows, leaned over to lock/unlock passenger side doors, and got out of my car to talk to people because I couldn't roll my passenger side windows down from the drivers seat. I endured the quirks and inconveniences of the car, reminding myself that good things come to those who wait.

Then I got the crazy idea to go to school. I felt like I pretty much blew that promise all to bits...or at the very least delayed it. As I wrote out my tuition checks, I saw a sunroof disappear here and a CD player disappear there. The small luxuries that my heart so longed for were disappearing, piece-by-piece.

And then the day arrived that I committed myself to buying a new car by taking my car down to Sara. During the following weeks, I dragged poor Martin here and there looking at cars, only to walk away disappointed because they always wanted more than we felt the car was worth or more than I could justify spending on a car with impending tuition bills. I gave my number out to more men than I ever have in my entire life. I always got the same old "that kind of car is going to be really hard to find; everyone is looking for that kind of car" or "I'll keep an eye out for something" but never got any satisfactory calls back.

I got really discouraged each time I filled my loaner SUV up with gas and checked the mileage. I discovered that I must be laying a trail of gas everywhere I went. 16 miles per gallon just doesn't cut it on a part-time-working-tuition-paying budget!

I figured that I would have to either up my budget or lower my standards--probably a combination of both. My dreams of owning a Honda Accord would simply have to be boxed up for a few years. After all, good things come to those who wait, right? Sounded pretty hollow to me, but maybe it would help with the packing process. One piece of that promise I would NOT be packing up was the part that included power door locks and windows. One simply must experience some joy in their life.

So I began to consider cars other than Japanese cars. I backed off of my insistence that the car would have Better-Than-Average-Reliability from Consumer Reports, but I was hopeful. I compiled a list of Sharon-Approved-Not-Totally-Humiliating models that I would consider acceptable and continued my search. I was pretty sure that I'd probably end up with a Ford Taurus or something similar. The Taurus does drive nicely and the Ford dealer is not too far from home and they usually make repairs in a timely fashion, so maybe I could accept it. My luck was still not so great.

And then last Wednesday my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number but when I answered it was the owner of a company that I had been in contact with that will give quotes on cars and if you accept the quote, they go search for the car at auctions until they find it for you. The problem was that they usually only deal with 4-year-old or newer cars, which soundly put me out of the running. The owner now said that he had gotten a small SUV in that he had traded for simply because he knows it to be a good vehicle. I was somewhat hesitant because of the notorious bad gas mileage that SUVs get. We made arrangements for him to email me a video he had taken of it, and I would call him the following day.

I had been telling myself that I may not have an SUV, as much as I like them, because it would be ridiculous to have one in this day of high gas prices and low income. But I was just desperate enough to consider it. And then, less than an hour later, the office phone rang. It was the local Honda dealer. How could it be that I almost never got a phone call from the many people I'd left my number with, and then in one day I got two within an hour of each other?

He told me about an Accord that he had there and said that I was welcome to come and try it out. Dare I hope? My dilemma was that I had class that evening until 9:15 and would be leaving for it in less than an hour and wouldn't have time to go see the car. Then I had class the next morning, so the soonest I could go see it was mid-morning on Thursday. I prayed that God would save the car for me if he wanted me to have it and went to class.

I stopped in at home on my way and sent the video of the small SUV to Martin and gave him the specs of both vehicles and asked him for his advice. He said that he thought the Honda would be a better value. I tried to stuff my hopes back down into their box. It was entirely possible that they could sell the car before I could get there so there was no point in getting them all worked up.

After I left class the following day, I called the dealership to see if they still had the car. They did. The salesman that had called me was not there, and I felt like an unwanted child as the other salesmen did a subtle "you take her; no, you take her" routine. The responsibility landed on probably the youngest salesman on the lot, and we went in search of the car. Just as he was about to go back in to find out where the car was, my salesman arrived, back from his errand. The young guy seemed quite relieved to hand me over.

We found the car, and the salesman let me take it out for a spin--by myself!! At some of the other sales lots I'd been to, the salesmen want to go with you. Who can try a car out and explore it with a beady-eyed salesman watching them?? I stopped in a parking lot and explored the car. I liked it.

I went back to the lot and told him that I was interested in the car. We did the whole "he said/she said" bit, and I wrote a check for it. I ended up paying a couple hundred dollars more than I had hoped I could talk him down to, but (don't tell him) I think I would have taken the car even if they hadn't budged on the price. I figure I would have ended up laying that money in a gas trail on the road anyway if I hadn't taken the car...and I wanted that car!

I left Martin’s vehicle there to be picked up later in the day and drove my car to work. I was about halfway there when it suddenly occurred to me that I could put all of my windows down at the very same time—while driving! I decided to ignore the heat outside and rolled my windows down, just because I could. (I rolled the back passenger side window down first.)

I have really been enjoying the car. It doesn't have a sunroof (maybe next time) and it's green (I was wishing for champaign or white or any color that doesn't show the dirt as well). But it's got power door locks, mirrors and windows, a cassette AND CD player that plays beautifully, a console in the middle, an odometer that works, reading lights, and more. Some of you may say that stuff is nothing, but for me, that is luxury!! I feel like a rich woman. I also sort of feel like a 16 year-old again. I volunteer to drive places, wonder if that Honda driver I just met noticed that I have a Honda too, and look forward to going somewhere just because I’ve got a nice little ride to do it in.

Upon refilling my car for the first time, I was very thrilled that a check of my gas mileage revealed a sweet 27.2 miles per gallon. Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about! I was somewhat dismayed as I watched the tripometer with the second tank of gas. I was nearing the half tank mark and it only had 100 miles on it, when the previous tank had used only about a quarter tank for 100 miles. I was about to call my salesman to find out what kind of WonderFuel they had put in it, when realized that it was on Trip B, not Trip A. (Yup, it has two.) The second time I got 28.4…I’m really liking this.

And so the other night I threw away the miscellaneous classified ads, Wheels & Deals, and Sharon-Approved lists that cluttered my desk and floor. Autotrader.com, BuySell.com, Edmunds.com, KBB.com, and various other websites will really miss me, and I’ll have a lot more time on my hands. I drive by no less than five car lots on my way to school—more, depending on my route—and I have not yet been able to break the habit of peering at the lots to see if anything new has come in. It will take some time.

Oh, did I mention that she has hail damage? No? Yeah, she does. No worries. It’s the only reason that I could afford to buy the car. Without the hail damage, the car would have sold for $2,000-3,500 more. If I keep the car dusty, as I am wont to do, most people probably won’t even notice. So she has a few flaws…so do I. We’ll make a great pair.

[Hallelujah Chorus fadeout]

Germany Journal

2006-06-24T15:22:00.000-07:00

If you are interested in reading about our Germany study abroad experience and haven't already gotten the link, it can be viewed at My Life of Travel.

It really was a great experience.

Winding Down

2006-05-04T18:51:00.000-07:00

Classes for this semester are all done. Now all that is left is one final exam per class next week. I’m not really worried about the Accounting exam. The German exam doesn’t bother me too badly either. The Economics exam has me rather worried, but the Anthropology exam—it has me terrified. Have I mentioned recently that I hate that class?

Jutta and Greta

2006-05-01T18:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Kris & I performed the skit that we had to write for our German class. Quite frankly, we were scared and contemplated taking the penalty for not performing--a 5% hit. But not having taken our final exams and knowing the outcome of those found us sucking it up and practicing our skit on Sunday afternoon.

We went over and performed it for Mom and Jolene. It was a disaster. Fits of laughing combined with a bit of embarrassment at our sorry acting skills just aren't conducive to feeling confident about giving a performance in front of your classmates. I so prefer to maintain my dignity.

Once in class, two other skits were performed before ours but we pretty much didn't "get" them because we couldn't even understand them. Our turn came and we performed. For about three or four minutes Kris became Jutta and I became Greta. We each had one brain hiccup in which one had to prompt the other but overall it went quite smoothly considering the amount of time we invested in practicing.

We ended our skit with a surprise "schputt" of our teacher. It brought the house down, including our teacher. As we walked back to our seats, one of my favorites in the class, a Bosnian girl, told Mr. S to "give them an A." Turning to us she said, "You deserve an A just for that."

After class, Mr. S asked me where I got my Irish accent. I asked him what he meant. He said that he was quite surprised to hear me speak German...with an Irish accent. I was quite dumbfounded. He even said that a German guy in our class turned to him and asked him if we were from Europe somewhere cause he thought that I sounded Irish. Kris & I are still puzzled about it because we think we pretty much speak the same and yet Kris sounded
"flat" and I sounded Irish. Strange.

Kris is convinced that it's a certain genetic quality coming out in my voice due to nervousness. I'm choosing to believe that's hogwash. I think I'll blame it on the red hair instead.

Mein Deutsches Hausaufgaben

2006-04-30T20:59:00.000-07:00

Das deutsche Hausaufgabe macht mich müde. Ich bin jetzt fertig mit meinem deutschen Hausaufgabe für dieses Semester. Ich muss ein Schauspiel am Morgen zu machen und ich habe ein mehr Prüfung in einer Woche.

A Punch of Love

2006-04-28T19:33:00.000-07:00

“Oooh—it make’s me want to punch him in the face. Out of love, of course.”

This was the gem that came out of the mouth of one of my German classmates today as we sat doing an in-class exercise together. She is a Christian and doesn’t mind being vocal about her Christianity, but one of our other classmates simply pushes the line with his smart mouth and it is almost more than she can take.

Her small disclaimer after the initial statement was enough to send Kris & I into fits of laughter, for our sentiments are not that far removed from hers.

Frustrated, Disappointed, and Annoyed

2006-04-27T18:20:00.000-07:00

Lending one’s car long-term to their sister will certainly increase the need to purchase another car. Since Martin has 6 or 7 times as many vehicles as I do, he became the poor soul that I hit up for a lender vehicle until I actually purchase another car.

My search thus far has certainly been frustrating. I’ve made phone calls, surfed the Internet, stopped in at a few places, and left my name and number with sales people—all with no luck. I certainly have my ideas about what I’m looking for (power locks and windows are not optional this time) and, seemingly, that particular car (in my price range) does not exist.

Martin is my in-resident (well, almost in-resident) consultant for buying a car, so if a car not Martin-approved then it’s just not approved. His philosophy is that if it (any car) isn’t a good deal, there’s no point in buying it. I agree. His track record in getting deals has been pretty good so far so I am relying heavily on him to work a good deal for me as well.

On Tuesday of this week Martin went with me to look at a car. The car is what I’ve been looking for: 2001 Honda Accord with all of the amenities—pretty much every option that I want except that the car is black. Black is not a good color for someone who does not take the time to wash their car every week or so, but I figured that I could live with the color if everything else worked out. The only thing that made the car an affordable option was that it weathered a hailstorm recently. While I’d love to have a perfect car, right now I’m more concerned about the comforts inside and the reliability under the hood than I am about a few dents. After all, it’s what’s inside that counts, right? The Perfect Car will just have to wait until After College.

Martin was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be willing to give the $6200 they were asking for the car. In my heart, I was already brumming down the road in the car. He asked me if I was going to be willing to walk away from the car if they wouldn’t budge on the price. I steeled myself and told him that I would walk away with him if he decided that it wasn’t a good deal.

The dealer had e-mailed some pictures to me and told me that an insurance adjustor told them that it would take approximately $3700 to fix the car. If added to the $6200 they were asking for the car, that would essentially mean that I would pay $9900 for the car. (Not that I was planning to fix the dents, but still, these things must be considered.) If I ever chose to sell the car, the resale value would be forever ruined because of the hail damage and it didn’t seem as though they were allowing anything for that factor.

When we arrived, a grouchy-looking old codger came to meet us. He brought the keys to us so Martin could start the car up. Martin asked if we could take the car for a test-drive, and he said we could. He silently climbed into the back seat, like he was afraid we might run off in the car even though gas gauge was on E. Martin tried occasionally to make small talk with him but all he got was one or two word answers.

We took the car back to the sales lot. The car really appeared to have been heavily used by previous owners—a side airbag light came on, the rearview mirror fell off when Martin tried to adjust it, there were multiple scratches and chips in the paint, the back taillight was holding about a half inch of water, etc. Martin pushed, poked, and prodded with the old guy standing and watching like a hawk the whole time. He finally made him an offer. By this time, after seeing the condition of the car, I wasn’t even sure that I was willing to give what Martin offered. “Nope,” the guy said, “We won’t take any less.”

“Well, we’re not interested in it at that price,” Martin said. We both turned and walked away without a backward glance. And I didn’t even care. Oh, I was disappointed that the trip had been in vain and that I was still car-less, but it hadn’t taken long to detach myself emotionally from the car, given the attitude of the owner and the condition of the car.

After leaving the car lot, we stopped to get a drink and I drowned my sorrows in beer…root beer, that is. (It ended up backfiring on me a few hours later when I desperately wanted a restroom.) We stopped at a number of car lots on our way back home but everyone just wants too much for their cars.

Our last stop was at a lot where we’ve purchased at least 4 vehicles over the last 15 years. They didn’t have anything that fit the criteria either. Martin told him that I’m “looking for an import with around 100,000 miles for under $6k.” I left my name and number with a guy there and he assured me that he’d find something for me by the weekend.

Fast forward to this afternoon…my cell phone rang and I answered it. It was Keith from the car lot and he wasn’t sure that what he had fit exactly what I was looking for but he thought that he’d at least run it by me. He has a ’97 Ford Escort Wagon there. He had taken it for a test drive himself and was pretty sure that it’s a good little car. He thought that they could get it to me for what I’ve got, “maybe a little less.” He couldn’t tell me what the exact mileage was, what model it was, or any other specifics. I told him that I didn’t think I’d be happy with the car but to keep looking.

Just out of curiosity, I looked the value of the car up on the Internet after I got off the phone with him. In the best-case scenario, the retail value (that I’m not willing to pay) is $2600. “Maybe a little less”? Give me a break!! Now I know that I’m not exactly the world’s most knowledgeable person when it comes to cars, but I’m NOT a complete idiot either. He should have said that he should be able to get me into the car for “a little bit of nothing.”

The more I think about his little trick, the more disgusted I get. My trust for that man has flown straight out the window! He has destroyed his credibility with me. That’s the thing that annoys me so much about car salesmen—they can be so patronizing! They seem to think that because (most, including me) women don’t know much about cars they can just rip them off. What he needs about right now is a news flash—“Docile-Looking Mennonite Woman Discovered to Have Brain Activity Under Bonnet.”

And so the search continues.

Study Abroad

2006-04-22T18:03:00.000-07:00

Aaah. At this moment, life is good!

When a very dear friend was killed in an accident last fall, we looked at the example of her life and could easily believe that she probably wouldn’t have had many regrets. The beauty of how she lived life led us to the conclusion that more opportunities need to be seized, more chances need to be taken, and life must be enjoyed!

When Kris & I received an invitation from her former German professor to participate in a study abroad program in Germany this summer, it seemed only like a wishful-thinking kind of prospect. We debated, discussed, and dreamed about going. We weighed the pros and cons. We talked about the if-onlys and what-ifs. I was probably more cautious about going than Kris was. If viewed from a purely financial standpoint, it would be sensible to forget about going.

I thought about the quote from Mark Twain: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do.” I knew it was true. This study abroad opportunity seemed to be tailor-made for us. Most programs are at least 6 weeks long—this one would only be two weeks. It would focus on history and culture. We would learn the ropes of travel in and around the city of Berlin.

After much debate, Kris & I decided that this simply was one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities that needed to be seized. After all, sometimes being sensible isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. We would probably regret it for the rest of our lives if we turned it down.

We filled out necessary paperwork and enrolled in the study abroad program. We also applied for the study abroad scholarship. A lady that was in the office when we picked the applications up said that her son had applied for it and got $250-300. And she didn’t even think that his letter was very well written. Could we hope that maybe…? She thought that we might qualify for $250-500. It was worth a try. We filled the applications out and sent them in with our best pleas for a scholarship of any size.

Since then we have ordered and received international student IDs. We went to the AAA office after class one day and got free passport photos for our IDs. (AAA memberships do come in handy every once in a while. I’d really rather not use the membership for the more unpleasant aspects anyhow.) I had Mom get my passport out of the lockbox at the bank.

And then Thursday arrived. I arrived home from work shortly before 6. As I approached the door, I saw an envelope at the front of the stack of mail in the mail slot. It had the university’s emblem in the return address area. I knew that there was a possibility it could be news about the scholarships. I grabbed the mail and as I headed down the stairs I asked God to please make it good news.

There were two envelopes in the stack of mail. One was addressed to me and the other was addressed to Kris. I dumped all of my stuff on the bed and grabbed the envelope with my name on it. I opened it and there, in black and white, was a beautiful letter congratulating me and telling me that I had been approved for a $600 scholarship for the study abroad program.

I couldn’t believe it. I had only expected to possibly get $300, if that. A double blessing!! I had actually given up on getting anything at all—had planned to pay for the whole semester myself. It was like being handed $600 extra spending money for the trip.

I grabbed the phone to call Kris and tell her my wonderful news. Her phone was busy. I tried several more times and finally left a message for her to call me. A short time later the phone rang and it was Kris. After a bit of torture, I gave her the news.

She wanted me to open her letter to see if she also had qualified for a scholarship. As I was opening it, I told her that it would really stink if she got more than I did. She made some sarcastic remark just as I laid eyes on her letter. Her letter was identical to mine, except where mine said $600 her letter said $1000. Wow!

As much as I wish my scholarship were as big as hers is, I’m not even bitter about it. I’m so grateful for $600. I haven’t gotten an abundance of scholarships during my college stint so it feels like a gift. A wonderfully generous gift.

Now, I’m rarin’ to go.

Cruising

2006-04-05T21:15:00.000-07:00

Tonight was the opening night of mowing season. I have ignored it for a good while, but when Kris’s dog began to nearly disappear into the grass I figured that maybe it was time.

There is something almost therapeutic in getting on the mower with some music and just mowing. Forget that I can’t seem to get “relativpronomen” in German and that Gender & Sexuality (yup, that’s the current topic) will give way to reading about a voodoo priestess in Anthropology (quite frankly, I think I’d rather stick with the Gender & Sexuality)—I’ve got a lawn that needs cruising, some music that needs my accompaniment, and a neighbor to entertain. (He’s an old fella that occasionally stands in his back yard across the road and tries to discretely watch me mow. Except he’s not as discrete as he may think he is. I can see past my sunglasses. So I discretely keep an eye on him to see just what he’ll find to do next so he can keep on watching. It amuses me.)

I told the lady upstairs that the flowerbeds probably won’t get touched much by me this summer. The spring semester will end on May 12th. On May 16th I will be leaving for Germany and will return on May 29th. My summer semester will start on June 5th and last until July 7th. I had wanted to go to the FB College Retreat the first of July but things aren’t looking so good in that realm. And then in August I’m going to have to take a jaunt out to Virginia to have my pictures taken. :)

As much as I enjoy cruising with my music, I think it’s going to get in my way this summer. Maybe tall grass will be in vogue this summer.

Four Out of Five

2006-03-29T19:45:00.000-08:00

German class today wasn’t so great. I had to recite a German poem. It was a five line poem. I knew the poem. I recited it many times—correctly, I might add.

Today in class, I missed one line. That’s right. Five lines to remember and I only said four of them. Why does getting up in front of people have to do that to me? {sigh}

Grass & Daffodils...Could It Be Spring?

2006-03-28T21:17:00.000-08:00

Yesterday on my journey between school and work I caught my first whiff of mowed grass. It makes me anxious to go mow, except I really don’t have the time to spare.

Today I happened to remember that I planted some daffodil bulbs last fall and checked them out. I was thrilled to see that they have actually come up, and some of them even have flowers. Amazing really—when I consider that I just plunked them into the ground hoping they wouldn’t follow the same fate as some of my other (free) bulbs and plants that didn’t get planted on time or at all. I can’t wait to see more of the blooms. They are supposed to turn pink.

I’m in the mood for spring. Maybe it’ll improve my disposition.

A Mid-Term Review

2006-03-23T20:33:00.000-08:00

Mid-term exams in all four of my classes last week, as well as a deadline for a German skit dialogue, could probably have crowned me queen of the Stressed-Out El Groucho Society of Southern Kentucky. I was fortunate enough to have it all spaced out with the German test on Monday, the Economics test on Tuesday, the German skit dialogue on Wednesday, the Accounting test on Thursday, and the Anthropology test on Friday.

I spent three nights at the library the first part of the week and Thursday evening was spent at the office to keep the distractions of home at bay. Having the campus library stay open until at least midnight is a wonderful thing. By the end of the week, I was beginning to wonder if Spring Break would ever arrive. Acing the first three tests was somewhat of a balm to my soul, but that Anthropology exam…well, it has the potential to send me into a blue funk. I won’t know what my grade on that exam is until after Spring Break.

You see, at the beginning of the semester I thought that the Anthropology class would be an interesting class. The lectures themselves are sorta okay, but I have a hard time taking notes and the exams ask about these mundane details that I would never have thought to jot down in the first place. I’m hearing far more than I ever wanted to about certain primitive societies, including their interpretation of the game of cricket. This is all complicated by the fact that note-taking is not my strong point. I’ve had classes before, Western Civ in particular, that were rather disjointed, but I still managed to take notes to a certain degree, but this class seems to be an absolute impossibility for me.

I’m sure that the fact that this is the professor’s second year of teaching doesn’t help matters a bit. Either I don’t take to his teaching style or he has not yet perfected art of dumbing-down his material for entry-level minds. It’s probably a combination of the two.

I am comforted by the fact that a senior in the class has told me that this is the worst class that she has ever taken. She has been my saving grace. The exams are a series of short-answer questions that we receive ahead of time. Out of the fifteen he gives to us, there are seven on the test and we have to answer five. She goes through and answers them and then sends her information to me. It’s a good thing because I am incredibly handicapped in that class.

I’m not sure if this ends up being my worst class to date or if my literature class was the worst. At least in the literature class, most things are open to your own interpretation of stuff whereas this prof is looking for a particular grasping of concepts. He limits answer lengths and papers to a certain size and then docks points if you don’t mention something that he wanted to see in an answer, not taking in to account that there isn’t room for it.

My accounting class has really spoiled me. So far most of the material has been the basics—stuff that I learned 10ish years ago. My prof does not require any homework. Our grade comes from a series of quizzes and four tests. The fact that homework isn’t required is a great thing for me because I don’t necessarily need it to pad my grade, but some of the people in my class are not quite as fortunate. For them, the homework would probably be very helpful not only for the additional points on their grade, but the practice would probably help them immensely. The class is beginning to get a tad more difficult and dealing with stuff that I haven’t dealt with at work; therefore, I’m not as familiar with it. I guess Easy Street has to end at some point.

Microeconomics—now there is a kind of love/hate relationship. I really enjoy going to class and listening to the lectures. The prof is a jewel in his own way. The concepts are fascinating, but they are just elusive enough that if I happen to move my head at just the wrong time, I’m likely to lose the comprehension that I just had.

While I really enjoy the lectures, I dislike the tests equally. The only grades in that class are the exams, so a person lives and dies by the exams. The tests are all multiple choice, which is a good thing. I’m not so hot at applying the concepts, but he likes to make “all of the above” and “none of the above” options for answers. (It is my personal opinion—a good one, I might add—that options like that should be illegal. Trick questions should also be illegal.) The prof also likes to stick words like “necessarily” or “effective” in the questions that make a person wonder if he means something entirely different.

I liken that class to one of those 3D pictures that you have to relax your eyes to see the picture. Some people can look at the picture and see it immediately; other people never will see it; others will eventually see it if they look at it long enough. The girl that sits next to me is one of the latter. I feel so helpless when it comes to helping her. I have studied with her for both exams, and I think she flunked both of them. The girl on the other side of her flunked the first exam. She detected that I had passed it, so she wanted to study together for the second exam.

The three of us studied together and even went for a private session with the prof. The girl next to me performed badly again; the girl on the other side of her did much better. I really wish I could do more to help the first girl. I have a feeling that she is one of those that may never be able to get it.

A guy that sits in front of us is one of those maddening students that don’t come to class all of the time—neither does he study—and still makes A’s on his exams. Completely maddening.

My German class has become far more difficult that I anticipated that it might. When it comes to dealing with Comparatives, Superlatives, Nominatives, Accusatives, Datives, Genitives, etc., I begin to glaze over. I haven’t had a grammar class since grade school. Prepositions, adverbs, adjectives, nouns, verbs, direct objects, indirect objects, and so forth are so far in my past I’d probably need hypnosis to dredge them out of my subconscious mind. Oh, I still know what a noun and a verb is, but past that there is a distinct fogginess that hinders my recollection processes.

Since Kris is also in the class, I have to rely on her to refresh my memory. Thank goodness she taught that stuff to her kids in school (and enjoyed it even). We had a sentence diagramming session to try to help jog my memory. The stuff is still very vague, but it did bring back memories of us playing school years and years ago.

Kris and I are rather disgruntled that we have to first write a skit and then perform it in a month or so. I declare that the prof simply delights in the discomfort of his students. We also have to memorize and recite a poem in class…and I thought that I was done with poetry when I finished my literature class. At least my poem is only five lines long.

In my mind, I am completely done with this semester. Unfortunately, my syllabi indicate that I still have another six or so weeks to go. I am so looking forward to the end of the semester.

I’m a survivor. I will survive. (I think.)

Deep Conversation

2006-03-03T20:26:00.000-08:00

The depth of the conversation around here is almost frightening at times. Here are some examples:

Context: Kris & I doing homework. Conversation over the course of the evening could possibly have been classified as a Whine-Fest.

Me: "I feel like I’m constantly behind."

Kris: "I don’t understand why. You don’t even spend that much time doing homework."

Me: "That would be why."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Context: Kris & I riding home from Bowling Green talking about life after college. Kris expostulating on wanting the entire job market open to her, not just health care administration.

Kris: "Do you understand what I mean?"

Me: "I do."

Kris: "I do too!" (then looking at me somewhat startled after realizing what she just said)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Context: Kris & I riding home from Bowling Green discussing how our outlooks on life have changed recently.

Kris: "That was an epitome for me."

Me: "Epitome?" (going hysterical)

Kris: "Epiphany! Would you accept epiphany, Sharon?" (reaching over and grabbing my hand and shaking it)

Me: "I would." (barely able to see to drive)

Kris: "I'm trying to philosophize here! I’m not used to philosophizing."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah, you don't want to stick around too long. You might get lost in the depths.

Dad's Plumber

2006-02-25T20:25:00.000-08:00

Growing up in a house with four girls led to the occasional (all too frequent for Dad, I’m sure) clogged bathroom sink drain. More Saturday mornings than I care to remember were spent helping Dad unclog that bathroom drain. He usually required one of us girls be his “go-fer” for the occasion. During the process, we would inevitably hear the benefits that would surely be ours if only one of us would become a plumber. So many people cannot take care of their own plumbing problems and, if it was an occupation that one of us would take up, we could be compensated quite handsomely for our efforts. We never took the bait.

Fast forward to 7 AM this morning:

I was awakened from a very sound sleep by “Sharon, come look at this; there’s something wrong with the sump pump.” Given my history with the sump pumps, I was instantly awake and out of bed. It seems that Kris had awakened early to take her dog out for a bathroom break, heard the indoor pump kick on, and detected that something was not quite right. She looked back in the closet that houses the water heater, the sump pump, and sewage pump. It appeared that the floor was damp around it. She wasn’t sure if Dad was up yet (turns out he left for Tennessee at 4 AM-ish), so she went back to bed until about 7.

When she checked on things at 7, the problem had obviously gotten worse with water beginning to stand on the floor. She called to see if Dad was around to come see what the problem was but found out that he was in Tennessee and wouldn’t be back until late this evening. That was when she woke me up.

As I entered the closet to survey the problem, the pump kicked on, and water began to spray everywhere. It was quite disturbing. It seemed to me that the water was coming from a particular joint in the pipe that had a rubber fitting over it with a clamp on each end of it. Since I was on my knees in the back end of the closet by this time (a set of stairs comes down overhead making the space in the back end quite low), I asked Kris to get me a towel to kneel on and, after yanking the cord per Dad’s instructions (and not wanting an early shower), I crawled back in next to the pipe.

By this time Dad had called and was talking to Kris to find out what the exact problem was. He said that he would call a local repairman to come and see if he could fix it, since he wouldn’t be back until late. I decided to see if I could figure out more exactly what the problem was and fix it myself. After all, who wants to get dressed for a repairman early on a Saturday morning? Certainly not me!

After looking at the clamps to see what kind of tool I might need, I called (probably somewhat like Dad so many years ago) for my tool of choice—a screwdriver with a flat head. Kris brought it to me and I loosened the top clamp and—oh, joy!—the pipe came down a good inch and a half into the rubber fitting. I tightened the screw back up.

I asked for more towels to drape over the pipe with towels before plugging the pump back in, lest I receive that unwanted shower. As I waited, I shifted in place, and my head brushed the floor right above me. I glanced up to see a row of nails just waiting to impale my head. Someone completely missed the floor joist that time! I made a mental note to keep my head down. The note evidently got lost, because I managed to whack my head on a floor joist just a few minutes later.

After receiving the towels and draping them over the pipe, I sent a desperate plea heavenward and plugged the pump back in. It was beautiful. The pump kicked into action and did its job; the pipe did its job. And Harmony reigned once again.

Kris called Dad to tell him that we needed no extra help. He told me to get a socket to tighten the screw up because he didn’t think it would be tight enough when done by hand with a screwdriver. I searched for a socket amongst our conglomeration of tools and even tried a few things, but I guess that sockets will remain Dad’s department. I tightened it as much as I could by hand and deemed it tight enough for now. I used the towels to clean up the surrounding area and slowly extracted myself from the cubbyhole under the stairs.

Boy, was I ever glad that I made an attempt at fixing the problem. It would have been very embarrassing to drag a man all the way across town just to fix a loose screw. I would have been indignant if I’d had to pay the going rate for a simple little job like that. And I was quite pleased that all Dad had to invest in the matter was a couple of phone calls. Maybe all of those Saturdays of helping unclog the drain were not all for naught. Yeah, I know that loosening a screw and retightening it isn’t much, or all that hard, but at least plumbing wasn’t a 100% foreign concept to me.

I still don’t want to be a plumber.

Twisted Pudding

2006-02-19T18:07:00.000-08:00

Today was my day to stay with Mom’s patient and cook Sunday lunch. I always feel like the family is taking a chance when they count on me for Sunday lunch.

Pork chops, mashed potatoes, and corn were on the menu. I’d heard about a recipe last week that I thought was interesting, so I found the recipe for Cappuccino Twist on the Internet. It was basically a chocolate pudding with instant coffee in it to give it the cappuccino twist. Pudding? No problem. I can do pudding.

I doubled the recipe because it was only supposed to be enough for four servings and there would be six of us for lunch. I mixed everything together and then tasted it to see if it would be worthy of consumption. Oh, yuck and yuck!! There was no cappuccino twist to it! This was nothing more than solidified coffee.

Now I could have served it to my unsuspecting family, not known for its coffee drinking, but I couldn’t even bring myself to be that cruel. It is not in my nature to take stuff and start pitching it together for eating. I like a recipe, and I like to follow it. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I started tossing possibilities around as to how I could possibly save the pudding. I decided that I would put more chocolate pudding in to help dilute the coffee.

Alas, there was no more chocolate pudding, so I just grabbed a box of vanilla and added it. It helped a tiny bit, but not near enough. I drove over to my house and grabbed some cream cheese and cool whip. I decided to get our hand mixer while I was there because the cream cheese would have to be beaten into submission.

As I was getting the mixer, I spotted the English Toffee Cappuccino in the cupboard and grabbed it too, hoping I could add some of that to cover the bitterness of the pudding. Back at Mom’s house, I added the cream cheese and the pudding and about four tablespoons of the English Toffee Cappuccino.

It was finally beginning to resemble something edible but was still just a tad bitter. I’d had to move the pudding to a larger bowl and was running out of room in the bowl and stuff to add to mask the taste. I already had about half a time as much pudding as I had started out to make. I decided to leave it be and if it was deemed unfit, well, then it would just have to be unfit.

We consumed some of the pudding but it could only be eaten in small quantities. I told Mom that if she wants to save the pudding, it will definitely need some doctoring. Only I could have huge conflicts with an innocent-looking pudding recipe.

Will I Ever Learn?

2006-02-09T21:04:00.000-08:00

One of my greatest frustrations in life would have to be car problems. I don’t know anything about cars; I don’t know how fix them; I don’t know how to diagnose them; I don’t know when I’m being ripped off, etc., etc.

Last Wednesday, I was on my trek between school and work when I noticed my “Check Engine” light was gleaming brightly at me. I groaned as dollar signs began to scroll in front of my eyes, not unlike that of a gambling machine. The car wasn’t behaving any differently normal, and I needed to make it to a chiropractor appointment so I decided to keep going and deal with it after I was done at the chiropractor.

After leaving the chiropractor’s office, I dug my cell phone out of my backpack and put a call to Dad. His recommendation was simply to check all fluids and belts and see if there were any visible problems. Because I needed gas anyway, I drove up the road to the gas station and filled my car while I checked all fluids that I knew to check. Oil seemed to be okay; transmission fluid seemed to be okay; wiper fluid seemed to be okay (alright, I know it’s not paramount to car operation but it was okay anyway); the coolant reservoir seemed to be quite dry.

I walked next door to the auto parts store and bought a gallon of coolant. Of course, I didn’t think to get a funnel while there, which posed quite a problem. I took aim and started pouring. I would have been okay except that the wind was blowing and about the time that I’d hit the hole, a gust of wind would come along and move the stream of coolant over about two inches. (I’m sure all the men there filling their own vehicles were rolling their eyes at this ignorant female.)

Once I figured I had enough coolant in that I wouldn’t overheat on my way home (if that was the problem), I closed things up and headed for home. Once there, I pulled into the garage where I was free from wind, found a funnel, and filled the reservoir the rest of the way up. I got into the car and started it up. “Check Engine” was still gleaming brightly.

“I’ve checked the engine!” I said sarcastically to my lemon, “Now go off!!” It didn’t work. I called the repair shop to see if they could take a look at it, but they said they wouldn’t be able to get to it until Friday. The head mechanic told me that it was probably a pollution sensor and that it wouldn’t hurt to keep driving it. So I did.

I took the car to the shop on Friday after I got back from class and, once again, borrowed Mom’s van to go to work. They called me later that afternoon to tell me it was the ERG valve and that it would likely cost $240 to fix it. What do I know about ERG valves?? Absolutely nothing! Do I know if $240 is a rip-off for fixing it? Absolutely not! Did I have any other options? Other than running the car off a cliff, probably not many.

I, inwardly grouchy, told the mechanic to go ahead and fix it. He said they didn’t have the part in stock and it would be Monday or Tuesday until they could fix it. I expect that once he got off the phone, he and his mechanic cronies probably had a good howling laugh…a “she fell for it” kind of laugh, just like we laugh at those people that fall for the “they make them drink latex paint thinner” line.

Since the weekend was upon me, it wasn’t as big a deal to do without my car for several days. I knew that Martin wouldn’t be using his vehicle on Monday and would probably be able to beg it off of him for a day or two.

At 4:45, I suddenly remembered my parking permit. If they kept the car inside the repair shop or in a fenced in lot, I would have no access to the permit to put in Martin’s vehicle because I would leave for school before they open on Monday. I quickly called the repair shop, hoping they hadn’t left early because it was Friday. I was in luck and arranged for them to park my car out where I could get my parking permit and other miscellaneous items from the car.

I had Mom stop and get the permit on Saturday morning when she passed by the lot. I tucked it into my purse, mentally giving myself a short lecture that the permit WOULD go on Martin’s rearview mirror before I left it in the parking lot at school. And not only would it be in Martin’s vehicle, I WOULD then transfer it back to my car before leaving Martin’s vehicle when I got my car back. I was quite pleased with myself as I remembered to put the permit in Martin’s in Monday morning first thing.

I was able to pick my car up yesterday after getting out of class. I parked Martin’s vehicle at the repair shop and left it there to be picked up after I got off work. Dad took me to pick it up later that evening. I parked it at Martin’s place and carefully cleaned all of my stuff out of it, trying to make sure that I took all of my trash with me.

This morning as I was entering the Bowling Green city limits, I looked in my rearview mirror at the vehicle behind me. I saw that the truck had a parking permit just like mine…THAT WAS CURRENTLY HANGING ON MARTIN’S REARVIEW MIRROR BACK IN FRANKLIN. Oh misery!! Oh despair! Oh sheer wretchedness!!

Kris was right in front of me so I grabbed my phone to call her and tell her that she’d have to pick me up and transport me to campus if I could figure out where to park. Just as I picked up my phone, it started to ring. Kris was calling to tell me to take one route to campus while she took another route to see which way was fastest. I quickly nixed that idea with my tale of woe.

I did remember that there is some curb parking right near my usual Monday/Wednesday/Friday parking lot. I had noticed it just the other day. I decided that I’d try to park there as opposed to parking across 5 lanes of traffic from the commuter/shuttle lot that was my initial option.

I was in luck. I was able to pull right up to the curb with no parallel parking. (I really dislike parallel parking.) I normally park in the parking structure on the other end of campus on Tuesdays and Thursdays because it’s closer to my classes for those days. As I watched people pull into my parking lot, I gazed longingly at their lovely yellow parking permits, my ticket to campus parking. I woefully bundled up for the longer walk across campus.

I stopped by Martin’s house on my way to work, determined that I would not go another day without that permit. I’m just grateful that I noticed it before parking and leaving my car to the ticket vultures. In the letter that I received excusing me from my first offense, I was told that they would only excuse me once for that offense. And I’ve got at least three more years of parking there. Will I ever learn?

A Good Beginning

2006-01-28T17:54:00.000-08:00

Getting through the first week of a new semester always feels like such an accomplishment to me. I have slain my giants, and I’m ready for week two.

My first class of the week, meeting three times a week, is Introduction to Cultural Anthropology. Definitely trying to fill a Gen Ed requirement there. My impression of the class is that it will be interesting in content, but it has a lot of abstracts involved and I don’t much care for abstracts. If all I had to do were sit and listen, it would be a very interesting class, but I find it hard to take notes on the lectures. There are only about ten gradable aspects of this class. It puts a lot of pressure on doing well on everything because you only have to blow one thing and you’re sunk in the good-grade department.

The class has around 45 people in it—a little big for my taste. The reading assignments have potential of being overwhelming, especially the second half of the semester. I’m not too pleased with the second book that we have to read. It’s a 400-page book about a voodoo priestess. Ugh!

I think this is only the second teaching semester for the prof so I hope his ideals aren’t too high. I was amused when, on the second day of class, he informed us that even though he has his doctorate, it gives him the willies to be called Dr. M. We are to call him by his first name.

Right after Anthropology, I have German II. It will fulfill my one-year of a foreign language requirement. For the first time since we started college, Kris and I have a class together. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not. It’s nice in the sense that we can do the homework together, but I can feel the pressure of the competition already. Whoever does better than the other on something will have to deal with the bitterness of the other. Sometimes competition can be a good thing; sometimes it’s a bad thing. I haven’t decided which one it is yet.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have my first accounting class. I’ve only been to it twice but I think it’ll be a good class. I always like to establish my place in a classroom before the majority of the students arrive so they have to choose to sit next to me, not vice versa.

I arrived on the first morning and sat at the end of one of the tables. I’m always amused to watch people fill in the ends of tables before filling in the middle. The room began to fill up, when in walked Brandon. I first encountered Brandon in my Speech class and drew his name for introductions that night. Much to my mortification, I managed to butcher his last name that night. He didn’t seem to hold it against me.

Brandon showed up next in my Computer class last semester and sat next to me in that class. Now, he showed up in my Accounting class. He smiled and asked me if I’m trying to show up in all of his classes. “I seem to do well when I sit next to you, so I think I’ll sit here,” he said and sat down next to me. I was glad to have at least one familiar face in class.

There is actually a guy from my German class last semester in my Accounting class, but for some reason he has never given me the time of day. I could meet him on the sidewalk anywhere, anytime and he would always look straight past me or through me as if I was as transparent as a sheet of glass. I guess it’s just a difference in people. Maybe he’s embarrassed to be associated with me?

After Accounting, I’m taking the first of three required Economics classes—Microeconomics. I’m taking the same professor that Kris had for that class. I’ve got a friendly face in that class as well—Monique from Algebra. She is quite gleeful that we are in the same class. I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed.

The prof for Economics is quite unique. For instance, he will talk about a concept, give an example, and then pick someone out of the class and ask them if they got it. If they say yes, then he has them explain it back to him. If they say no, he’ll ask someone next to them and if they say yes then he tells them to explain it to their classmate that doesn’t get it.

While people are explaining stuff to each other, he’ll have these little undertone conversation with students. He’ll catch someone’s eye and start talking to them in a low tone. This, of course, distracts me because he’s talking just quiet enough that I have to look up in order to combine hearing and lip-reading to catch the conversation.

On the second day of class, he had one such conversation with me. He looked at me and said, “I’d have known your name even if you hadn’t told me.” “You would?” I said. “Yes, how much of an age difference is between you two?” he asked. I told him there is a difference of two and a half years. “You really could pass for twins,” he said, just standing there gazing at me. “So I hear,” I said.

Kris found him highly amusing, so I expecting great things from him. I fully expect to struggle with the concepts, but at least I’ll be amused while I struggle.

My original plan for the semester was to have all of my classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I could work full days Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. That plan was shot all to bits when I discovered that my German class was only held on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I rearranged my classes.

Once I was done with my schedule, I discovered that my MWF classes are both in the same building and my TR classes are held in the same building. Even though it was unintentional, I felt pretty clever. No rushing through the teeming masses trying to get to class before it starts. It’s just a walk down the hall in one building and down one flight of stairs in the other building.
From this end of things, it looks like it’ll be a good semester.

Heading for the Hills

2006-01-24T21:29:00.000-08:00

On August 17, 2004 I wrote “sometimes it would be so handy to see a glimpse of the future…” and I still think that it would be handy know how things will be in the future. Back in November when I was selecting classes for this semester I got a glimpse of some of what my future will hold if I remain on my current path, and it was enough to make me want to run for the hills.

After this semester I will only have two more general education classes left to complete my general education. I will probably leave those to fill in slots of extra time that come up in future semesters. Well, I was trying to figure out what classes I should take in which semester so I made a comprehensive list of the classes required for my major. Classes like “Business Law for the Accounting Professional”, “Advanced Tax Accounting”, “Auditing and Assurance Services”, “Quantitative Methods”, and “Strategy and Policy” sound so…so out of my league!

I hear the Smoky Mountains are nice this time of year…

More Than Anxiety

2006-01-22T20:34:00.000-08:00

The house has been cleaned. Carpets have been shampooed. Fan blades have been dusted (we got serious, people). Furniture has been rearranged. There are still projects that we didn’t get to but I’m pleased with what we did accomplish.

I can see the top of my desk for the first time since I purchased it just before last semester. I can see it now, just in time to cover it back up for the upcoming semester.

Finances have been updated (a sad situation, to be sure). All accounts have been reconciled. All statements have been filed. Well, except for the one that I couldn’t find. The fact that they are all reconciled and up to date at the same time is huge!

My backpack has been packed. All textbooks have been purchased. I haven’t figured out my method for notes for the different classes i.e. notebook or binder, but I’ve got the supplies for either way.

My car still has the ability to have “wash me” written on any surface, inside or out, but I’m hoping to take care of that tomorrow night. I had told myself that I couldn’t go to bed on Saturday night until it was clean but circumstances kept me from it.

So I should be ready, right? Except I’m not.

Over the past week or so, I’ve felt the pre-semester anxieties setting in—a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach; a band slowly tightening around my heart. By Saturday night, I realized that it had gone a bit further than just anxiety.

Kris and I had gone to BG to do some last minute shopping. I told Kris that my lower extremities seemed to have a weird numb sensation. By the time we got home I was feeling somewhat sick to my stomach but not totally. The weird numb sensation spread to my entire body. My eyes were burning and itchy.

My face felt like it was burning up, but I was cold. I longed to do as I did when I was a child—take a blanket, find a register expelling warm air, lie down next to it, use the blanket to seal myself and the register in, and get toasty warm. Alas, the air in my house comes from the ceiling, making it impossible to accomplish such a feat.

I took a hot shower. It felt weird because my skin had become ultra-sensitive to all sensations. I turned up my electric blanket and went to bed. My fever must have broken around 4 in the morning because I woke up hot as a biscuit and sweating like it was summertime.

Fortunately, it was my turn to stay home with Mom’s patient so I didn’t have the dilemma of deciding if I was well enough to go to church or not, especially because I wasn’t. Another fortunate thing for me was that Mom & Dad were going away for lunch so I didn’t have to fix a huge lunch.

So here I am, a mere nine and a half hours from class-time, wondering if puking would make me feel better, and running to the bathroom as if it’s the newest fad. Aaargh!!

Seeing Double

2006-01-22T19:25:00.000-08:00

In December I was honored at an awards ceremony for my performance in German. At reception afterwards, Kris & I were speaking with Kris’s former German prof and my current German prof. In the course of conversation, my prof admitted that, after having me in his class for a week, he went to the master roster to see just how many people with my last name were enrolled at the school. He had subbed one day for Kris’s prof during the previous semester, and when I showed up in his class he was pretty sure that I was Kris and in the wrong class. After seeing that there were two of us, he realized that I was in the right class after all. He never said a word about it to me until that night. Kris & I were amused.

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

Several days a week, Kris & I would walk to our first class at the same time. Kris would often cut through my building and continue on to hers and in the process meet people coming to class from the dorms. One day a girl came into the room and inquired if I happened to have a sister on campus. I confirmed that I did. She had met Kris on her way into the building. At first she couldn’t understand why I would be going away from the math building when I obviously had class in it. When she arrived in the classroom, I was sitting there so she came to the conclusion that it couldn’t have been me that she just met.

During the course of the semester, several more people asked me similar questions and still others became reporters of “I saw your sister.” One morning, Elizabeth proceeded to tell me that the previous day she and Brittany, another girl in our class, were sitting at the library looking out over the plaza in front of the library. “Look,” Brittany said, “There goes Sharon.” Elizabeth looked and told her that it was not me. “Yes, it IS Sharon,” she insisted. “No, it’s NOT her,” Elizabeth said. “Sharon was wearing tan socks with maroon flowers this morning. That girl is wearing white socks, so it can’t be her.”

I laughed. “Elizabeth,” I said, “My socks? You remember my SOCKS??”

“Well, I thought your socks were cute and that I need to start wearing cute socks,” she said.

The things that people notice…

Memories From Algebra

2006-01-22T18:22:00.000-08:00

I want to record a few memories of my previous semester before the new semester takes over and I forget them all.

Over the last semester, Algebra was my favorite class. I saw my classmates in that class nearly every weekday for sixteen weeks, and I became rather fond of them—some more than others.

On the first day of class, as people trickled in one by one, most of the girls sat on the left side of the room and most of the guys sat on the right side of the room; therefore, girls surrounded me except for the TA that sat to my immediate left. It didn’t take long for some of the girls to catch on that I was capable of comprehending the concepts that Mrs. P put forth. One girl in particular was Elizabeth.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth sat in the row to my right and one seat up. By several weeks into the semester, I often would arrive in class to find Elizabeth there to greet me with a “Good Morning, Sharon!” “Good Morning, Elizabeth,” I’d say. “Sharon, I need some help!” she’d say and pull her notebook out. I would settle into my seat and she would begin to ask questions. Much to my amusement, small “ask Sharon”s would be scrawled throughout the previous night’s homework. I would explain stuff to her, and she would see the error of her ways and correct them. “Sharon,” she’d say, “You are a genius!” “Well, thanks,” I’d say. How can you not like someone that thinks you’re a genius?

Some mornings, Elizabeth would greet me with a “Sharon—I don’t have any questions this morning because I am a genius.” “Well good for you!” I’d say. Other mornings when Elizabeth would greet me with a question, I’d have to say something like, “I really wish I could help you but that one flew straight over my head, too.” So then we would write our questions up on the board for Mrs. P to deal with when she got to class.

When it came time to get test scores back, I was intending to keep my score to myself but not with these girls! Scores in this class were not a private matter. Shortly after the first test, the girls began talking about having a study session before the final and, according to them, I was going to be the leader—no ifs, ands, or buts about it. After each test, they would again reiterate what my role would be before the final. I had my doubts that such a session would take place, so I just played along with them.

Yes, I Can Read

Mrs. P had to go to the state capital one day to deal with high school related testing. She told us that the TA would be in charge that morning and we should, as usual, put our questions on the board so he could answer them before we took a quiz.

We were dealing with solving systems of equations that day and several questions were put on the board for the TA to demonstrate. He dealt with the first few questions okay, but came to one that left him with an answer of 0 = 0. Now this answer was a completely unacceptable solution for this particular problem, so he tried to solve it another way.

I was feeling sorry for him by then. I had faltered on this particular problem myself the previous evening and had to find an example in the book that explained how to come up with the correct solution. After his second attempt came up with 0 = 0 again, I helpfully told him that on page 343 was an explanation on how to solve it.

A black girl that sat at the front of the room in the row to the left of mine twisted around in her seat and just looked at me wryly for a second or two. “Man! She know how to read the book too,” she said, in a delightfully black southern accent. I couldn’t help but laugh. I guess if some people haven’t been told in class how to exactly perform a certain problem, it never occurs to them to look for something similar in the book. It was definitely a ticklish moment for me.

Studying for the Final

On our last day of regular class before the final, I was packing up my books to head to my computer class to take the final in that class when Elizabeth came rushing up to me. “Sharon, will you come study with us for the final?” she asked. After inquiring about the time and location, I told her that as long as I didn’t have anything else come up for that evening, I would try to be there.

The study day arrived and I drove the 30-minute trek to campus, hoping that I could find Elizabeth’s dorm. I’m not familiar with the dorms since I’ve never had an occasion to visit the dorms. Elizabeth told me that the girls would be meeting in the lobby to study in the “Bubble”, and she would arrive 30 minutes early so she would be sure to be there when I arrived.

I arrived to find that indeed we were meeting in a “Bubble.” We were next to the lobby in an entirely glass room with the main door on the other side of the glass from me. I’ll just say that I got my share of looks that night.

I studied with Elizabeth and Monique for nearly five and a half hours that night. Somehow, none of the other girls made it. But studying wasn’t all we did. In the midst of it, someone that Elizabeth was doing a project for called her to give her a hard time about it. She disappeared for a bit and when she came back, we talked about it for a while. As we hit the books again, she thanked me for listening to her problems. I really enjoyed my interaction with Elizabeth.

I think I’ll miss that class at least a teeny little bit.

Over-Exhumed

2006-01-19T15:41:00.000-08:00

A customer called me today to explain why he was late making his payment this month.

"We over-exhumed ourselves during Christmas," he said.

I'm still trying to figure out how you do that.

More Better

2006-01-11T21:52:00.000-08:00

I had a Hallelujah!! moment today just before I left work.

I always kinda dread January paperwork-wise. There is a seeming mountain of year-end forms to file; W-2s are due; 1099s are due; inventory must be counted and organized into process-able formats. Once-a-year stuff is always harder to deal with because of just that—you only do it once a year and don’t always remember how you did it last year.

This year I have received information about electronic filing of the W-2 forms via the Internet, not just once but several times. I have perceived that they really would like for me to use that medium to file W-2s. Since I don’t have a good Internet connection at work, I thought I’d take the information home with me and attempt to do it from there.

So this afternoon I was going over the information and correcting some of the city tax amounts since the accounting software was compiling the base wage information incorrectly. I finally had all the information corrected and decided to print a copy of the information for each W-2 to take home with me.

I selected the Print function and it gave me an option to print it on a form or on blank paper. On autopilot, I selected the blank paper option because I haven’t received the actual forms yet. After the information printed, I pulled the papers off the printer and glanced at them to make sure they had printed correctly. I was expecting to see only the information that would go in the boxes once I receive the W-2 forms. I was not prepared for what I saw—a fully printed W-2, complete with all boxes and fine print.

Hallelujah!! No more trying to get the information to line up with the form only to have the top form line up perfectly and the bottom form out of line. No more possibly running out of forms because of all the ruined forms. No more dealing with thin crinkly paper. No more, no more, no more!!!

I’m always a bit disgruntled when the software company pulls their stunt of “you must upgrade by [whatever date] because Version [3 years old] will no longer supported nor will payroll updates be available.” But I guess that ultimately I’m glad ‘cause if they hadn’t forced me to upgrade I’d still be using Version 1999 that didn’t print W-2s (not to mention all of the other improvements that I use much more frequently than once a year), and I’d be as grumpy as an old bear.

I love it when things get ‘more better!’

Burnt Popcorn

2006-01-07T20:32:00.000-08:00

Twenty seconds too long in the microwave will burn popcorn.

Burnt popcorn stinks.

A Narrow Miss

2005-12-14T13:01:00.000-08:00

The long awaited e-mail finally arrived in my inbox on December 2.

“Dear Sharon:
Your appeal of citation 060501099 has been reviewed and the citation has been reduced to a warning. The fine associated with this citation has been waived. This will be the only warning granted for this violation…”

Yes!! Someone in the Transportation Department has a heart after all! That e-mail was proof that God still answers prayers. I hope that is the only time I ever see a parking citation or any other type of citation, for that matter, with my name on it.

I just couldn’t bear it if I’d had to pay another $50 for parking this year. $75 for the permit is outrageous enough without adding a Stupidity Fee to it.

Only One More

2005-12-12T21:45:00.000-08:00

Three down, one to go.

I took my first final last Thursday in my computer class. It was such a relief to get it out of the way. The grade I got on it wasn’t so hot, but I got the average in the class that I was shooting for so I guess it didn’t matter that much.

This morning I had two finals back to back. I’ve never had back to back finals before. I left the second final feeling somewhat traumatized. I spent so much time preparing for the Algebra final (another story altogether) that I took my Meteorology final on a little bit of cramming and a prayer.

Other than my Prof in Meteorology, the only person that I really even developed a speaking relationship with in that class was a quiet guy that sat to my right. We had compared quiz answers occasionally and worked together on a couple of them. We once had a discussion on majors and he told me that after he gets his degree he plans to spend a year or two using his degree in a voluntary service capacity with a Baptist organization.

Upon arriving to class this morning, he asked me if I’m ready for the final. I told him that I wasn’t really and he said, “Above all, pray!” Amen to that!

So now I’m down to a German final on Friday. I am so looking forward to the winter break. I was done with this semester long before it was done with me. So, if you feel a strong breeze bearing down upon you on Friday, grab on to something that is firmly anchored and hang on tight because it’s probably me breathing a huge sigh of relief.

Bobisms

2005-12-12T21:05:00.000-08:00

Over the last several months, Bob has been very faithful in coming to the office to check on the status of my “major in boys” every week or two. I always assure him that my major is going just fine, although I’m referring to a slightly different major than he is. He has been very full of advice. About a month and a half ago, he informed me that before things “get too serious,” he wants to meet and inspect my “major.” He wanted to be sure that any prospects are Bob-approved before things progress too far. I always end up laughing at his preposterous imagination, and he gets a huge kick out of the whole thing. Quite truthfully, so do I.

Last Tuesday, I had to smile as I saw Bob pulling up. A few minutes later, he opened the door and stepped into the office. He spied me sitting at my desk and a huge grin crossed his face. “How’s the maja’ comin’?” he said in his Southern drawl. We went thru our usual routine. “So,” he said, leaning up against my desk, “You gettin’ a ring for Christmas?” Where did he come up with this stuff??

About two month ago, after a particularly delightful visit, I decided to keep a file on what I’ve come to think of as “Bobisms.” He comes up with the most hilarious sayings, and I wanted to be able to remember them. I wrote two of them down to stick into my file. I wish I had thought of it a long time ago and been more diligent in writing them down since then.

Bob died of a major heart attack late last Thursday afternoon. I heard the sirens that afternoon as they arrived, and it didn’t take us long to perceive that something was wrong at Bob’s place. They were never able to revive him.

I went to his viewing this evening. I’m going to miss the old chap—his righteous indignation at the loss of old fashioned values, his tidbits of news, and, most of all, his random visits that always left me with a smile on my face.

My Bobisms:

“Love is like a lump of gold, Hard to get and hard to hold.”

“The only reason a man gets married is so he can have a boss.”

Hot Chocolate and Cookies

2005-11-20T20:36:00.000-08:00

Spontaneity for the day: Went to an open house with mom, sister, and friends for free hot chocolate and cookies instead of going home for a nap and homework. We browsed, sat and talked, and took pictures.

Now I’m paying for it, but that’s okay. I’ve got a presentation on Ulm, Germany in the morning, and I just finished it. I thought I was done with the public speaking thing when I finished my speech class. No, since then I’ve done a presentation on my research paper, and tomorrow is the German presentation. While doing research, I decided that I’d like to live and work in Germany for about a year. I’m not sure if that comes before or after my six months to a year in New York City.

Now I can do my algebra homework that I should have done at various other times this weekend.

By the way, do Kris and I look like twins?

A Celebration

2005-11-12T18:02:00.000-08:00

Today we celebrated the life of Shaleen Johnson.

We woke up to a beautiful, sunshiny day—a day perfectly suited to celebrate the life of one who lived her life to the fullest and was a ray of sunshine to those she came into contact with. As we arrived at the church, we could not help but smile, for we knew we were at the right place. There were balloons everywhere: attached to the sign, the plants, the chairs, and various other places. A special spot was marked off in the parking lot for the motorcycles that would lead the way to the cemetery.

Upon entering the church, we received a memorial that had a picture of Shaleen on the front and John 14:1-4 beneath the picture. The picture had that beautiful smile and those sparkling eyes that were the true essence of Shaleen. Inside the memorial was a familiar yellow card—a card that was given to many by Shaleen during her life and would now be given to everyone that came to celebrate it. On the outside of the card: “I have something to tell you”; on the inside was a drawing of Jesus and “I Love You!!!”; on the back was a Salvation prayer. A note on the back of the memorial said that Shaleen herself had planned details of this celebration, right down to the balloons.

The group that gathered to celebrate Shaleen’s life was a very diverse group of people. It transcended the bounds of religion, race, wealth, prestige, and age. In the words of the pastor, everyone was there “from the Pentecostals to the Mennonites…from the Presbyterians to the Methodists.” It was clear that Shaleen was no respecter of persons. She loved everyone.

The service began with praise and worship songs, after which a message was given. The Message of Hope gave directions to Shaleen’s new Home; she wants everyone to plan to come, not to just visit, but to stay. An opportunity was given for anyone that desired to invite Jesus into his or her heart to do so.

After the prayer, a picture celebration of Shaleen was shown. It was an honor to have a group picture of Kris’s farewell party when she went to Kansas included in the lineup, an acknowledgment that we too were a part of her life. I’m sure that we were not alone in feeling honored by being included. Mom considered Shaleen one of her best friends, and I’d venture to say that there were a great number of people there today that would have said the very same thing.

Shaleen’s body was escorted from the building to the sounds of “Shout to the Lord,” an activity I’m sure she has been very involved in during the past week. Once outside, balloons were loaded into or attached to vehicles and motorcycles. We got into our vehicles, and the motorcycles, there must have been at least 100 of them, led the way out of the parking lot, including a police escort. It was so neat to pass by the intersections and see one or two of the motorcycles stopped to hold traffic.

We arrived in Franklin at what Shaleen called “God’s Acres” for her final “planting.” Balloons were handed out, and after a few final words, we released them. As we stood and watched the balloons ascend into the heavens, tears filled my eyes. Once a balloon was released, it was impossible to get it back, no matter how badly a person desired to have it back. Similarly, no matter how badly we, for selfish reasons, would like to have Shaleen back in our lives, it is impossible to have her back in this life, but knowing that she is with the One that she spent so much time praising makes it bearable. Not easy, but bearable.

There were so many things that we could all learn from Shaleen.

::Love:: Love unconditionally. Life can only be better when love is involved. Let people know that you care. Engage in Random Acts of Kindness.

::Live:: Live large. Be extraordinary. Pursue your dreams. When making choices, consider the “if only’s” and then choose accordingly.

::Rejoice:: There is a reason to rejoice…every day! Focus on the blessings that you have been given. Be optimistic. Always remember, “This is the day that the Lord has made” and then Rejoice and be glad in it.

::Pictures:: Take more pictures—lots of them. Forget the flaws and get in the picture. You never know when a picture and a memory is all you have left of someone.

We will all miss Shaleen. A balloon, a motorcycle, a yard sale, a saying, or any number of things that we each personally associated with her will trigger the memories. There are undoubtedly mementos floating around—in a drawer or in a pile of papers or maybe in a stack of pictures—which we’ll come across someday, and we will think of Shaleen. In those bittersweet moments, we will be thankful that we had the privilege of knowing her, and we’ll be inspired to do better, to encourage others more, and to share God’s love with everyone that we meet.

"What's a Degree?"

2005-11-08T17:03:00.000-08:00

The shop at work is getting a new roof. My boss’s brother is a roofer, so naturally he got the job. His two sons have been catching a ride to the office after school, instead of going home.

This afternoon I was sitting at my desk working when Wesley, probably 9 years old, came into the office for a drink. After getting a drink, he climbed up on a stool near the water fountain and said, “I’ve got a question for you. I heard—from one of Wayne’s girls, I think—that you’re going to college. Are you? And why?”

The way he asked the question amused me, and I thought it sounded like it could be an interesting discussion. I was a bit unsure of how I should respond. There are several answers to that question. I decided to go with the simplest answer and see where it would take us. “So I can get a degree to do accounting,” I said.

“What’s a degree?” was his next question. Oh, help! How in the world do you explain a degree to a 9 year old? My answer sounded extremely lame to me—“It’s a piece of paper that says I know how to do accounting.” I explained to him that a doctor has to have a degree and that a nurse has to have a degree. I could think of other degrees but wasn’t too sure if he would get the concept of an architect or a social worker, so I stuck with professions that he could relate to.

About that time, one of the guys from the shop came in to give me a message and when he left the office, Wesley followed him out, our discussion forgotten. I had to wonder—why would a couple of 6 to 12 year olds be talking about me going to college? I would have enjoyed eavesdropping on that conversation. I wish the conversation could have continued. I think it would have been interesting.

It was a bit of a weird moment for me. I can graph a parabola or a hyperbola, but I didn’t know how to explain a degree to a 9 year old. He needs to ask me again, because I think I could handle it a bit better the next time—now that I’ve had time to think about it.

Getting Rattled

2005-10-19T21:19:00.000-07:00

I’ll admit to getting a jolly out of taking awful looking algebra problems and getting an answer like “x = 2.” For the most part, I’d have to say that algebra is probably my favorite class this semester…until it comes to taking tests. Mrs. P is kind enough to schedule the tests on a Tuesday or a Thursday because the class period is 25 minutes longer than the other three days of the week.

We had our second test yesterday, and when I got it back today, I was, quite frankly, disappointed with myself. Oh, it wasn’t like I flunked it or even came close to it. The TA sits next to me and heard me groan about my grade and said, “You got an A, and you’re disappointed with it?”

All right, so I got an A, but it was a low A. I really was capable of doing better than I did, but I got rattled halfway thru the test and proceeded to do pure brain-hiccup kind of stuff. The thing that rattled me was a fractional equation. I had multiplied everything by the LCD to get rid of the fraction and had solved the whole problem when I discovered that I had missed seeing a measly “–1” on the end of the problem, which completely ruined the whole thing. It was a rather large problem that had to be erased entirely and started over.

At that point, I began to get mildly panicky because I had so far to go on the test and redoing that problem would really set me back. I reworked the problem and it ended up not factoring, forcing me to use the quadratic formula to get a solution. I was not satisfied with how it turned out, but rather than waste more time on the problem, I went on with the test and planned to look back over it if I had more time.

I finished the test with 15 minutes to spare and started checking it over from the beginning. About halfway down the first page, I discovered I had missed a problem completely. I completed it, but it left me wondering just what all I had missed that my blind eyes couldn’t see.

I went back to the original Rattler and began looking it over. Sure enough, I had subtracted an “X” where I should have added it. I erased major portions of the problem for a second time and reworked it for a third time. This time it factored nicely and I was much happier with it. Just before I handed the test in, I noticed that my answer included one of the restrictions. I wildly scanned the problem again to make sure I hadn’t done anything wrong before erasing half of my answer, which left me with a negative fraction as my answer. That wasn’t much comfort either.

While I did end up getting the Rattler correct, I didn’t have enough time to check over many of the other problems, so I didn’t catch all of the negative signs that I let mess with my head nor did I catch all the times I forgot to use the distributive property, etc. I won’t be able to get a real good look at it until tomorrow because one student had to take it today and so we only got to glance at the tests today.

I’m very thankful that I managed to scrape by with an A. Had the test been extremely difficult, maybe (but kinda doubtful) I wouldn’t be so hard on myself. I guess it all comes down to keeping your cool.

Own a Parking Permit? USE IT!

2005-10-07T20:54:00.000-07:00

*Sigh*

It’s official! I’m Super-Annoyed. I only thought I was annoyed before, now I know I am.

Okay, I know I’ve alluded to the Parking Issues at WKU. I don’t know of any other topic on campus that everyone has a strong opinion on as much as parking. If a professor is tired of their students sitting there in silence, all they need to do is mention parking and the students begin to buzz like an angry swarm of bees. There is the cost of parking permits ($75), the lack of parking spaces, the injustice of taking a commuter parking lot and making it half faculty parking, the injustice of being shut out (or run out) of parking structures prior to games, etc., etc.

Last Thursday evening, I took my car to the repair shop after hours and left it there, hoping that they would have an opportunity fix it the next day. I had forgotten to call earlier in the day to make sure they could get to it but decided to take my chances since I had an opportunity to use Jolene’s car on Friday. Though Jolene had a parking permit, I took my permit from the car, just in case they couldn’t get to it and I’d have to leave it until Monday. If that happened, I’d have to borrow Mom’s van and would need the permit.

My car was, indeed, repaired, and I was able to pick it up on Friday evening after work. I transferred all of my stuff from Jolene’s car to mine but failed to pull the parking permit out of my basket of stuff and hang it up. On Saturday, as Kris and I were headed to Bowling Green, she mentioned my parking permit, but it was in the back seat where I couldn’t reach it at the time. I told her that she must NOT let me forget to put it back up before Monday morning. (I think we can all see where this is heading. In hindsight, I should have screeched to a halt in the middle of the road and marched around to the back seat and dug the permit back out.)

Fast forward to Monday morning: I had attended my classes and left my Meteorology class in a very good mood, having just received my first test back with a nice perfect score. I made my way to the car, dodging around the cars cruising the parking lot like vultures. As I reached my car, someone spotted me. They pulled up to wait on me to back out so they could claim my spot. I got into the car and backed out of my spot, keeping an eye on the car waiting. It was inching closer to make sure no one else came out of the blue and took it out from under their very nose.

As I put my car in gear and looked out the windshield, I saw the Offending Paper. My heart plummeted to the very tip of my second toe on my left foot. I knew, without looking, that I had indeed forgotten to hang my parking permit back up. I put my car in park, got out, and snatched the Awful Paper from under my windshield wiper. I glanced at The Citation, expecting to see $35.00 on it—just like the other tickets I’d seen on commuter vehicles parked in faculty parking. My eyes bugged out as they beheld, not $35.00, but $50.00. That’s right—$50.00!!!

I couldn’t just sit and stare in dismay—there were other people coming up behind me. I left the parking lot and pulled into a carwash to read The Citation and accompanying envelope. It gave a number to call if I had questions. Boy, did I ever have a question! “Can you waive it, please?”

I figured there was no time like the present to deal with the issue at hand. I dialed the number and a young lady answered. I pleasantly explained my situation and asked her if they ever work with people on these things. She said that I could go through the appeal process and see if they would approve it. She gave me directions to the Transportation building, and we hung up.

I drove the five minutes over to the Transportation Office and took my Citation and parking permit inside. I was given an Appeal Form to fill out, and they took my permit and made a copy of it. In the appeal spot, I explained my circumstances and requested that they void the citation or, at the very least, reduce the amount of the fine. The Citation was stapled to the Appeal, and the young lady told me that they should have an answer for me in “two to four months.”

Two to four months?? Do they realize how long that is? If it only takes two months that will take us up to December 3rd, which is only two weeks before the semester ends. If it takes longer than that, it will take us past the end of the semester, and I’ve heard that they will not release final grades until all tickets have been paid. That just won’t do! And what if they won’t let me register for classes?? That absolutely won’t do!!

My ride back to Franklin wasn’t a very pleasant one. The conversation with myself was a rather stern one. “It’s time to sit up and Pay Attention!” “But I didn’t mean to do it…” “That was an entirely avoidable situation!” “I just forgo-o-ot…”

I’m noticing a pattern here: I forgot to call the repair shop; I forgot to hang the permit. Just when did I lose it?? I generally try to be cool and collected. I try to keep it all together. I mean, this really would be a perfect Kris Story, wouldn’t it? It would go so well with “A Fit of Dullness," "Parking Blues," and “Joy in the Journey,” wouldn’t it? Is being called Kris messing with my psyche?

So now I wait…and hope…and pray.

*Sigh*

I Lost a Freckle

2005-10-01T20:29:00.000-07:00

One single piece of information can make the biggest difference on how a day/week turns out.

While I was at a doctor’s office several weeks ago, I asked the doctor to take a look at a Certain Freckle on my leg that I’d been noticing now for several years. The color of The Freckle was just a tad different than the other million or so that I have, as well as being slightly raised. It looked fairly normal but Fair Skin + Sun = Not So Good Combination, and I’m not overly religious in the Sunscreen Department.

So I asked Dr. N to check it out, just for safety’s sake. He put on his magnifying glasses and peered closely at it. “Hmm,” he said, “it’s not really jumping out at me as being very unusual. We could take it off relatively painlessly, but it doesn’t really look like something to be overly concerned about.” I asked him whether I needed to keep an eye on it or was it just a slightly different looking Freckle to just ignore. “Well,” he said, “I tell you what. Why don’t you lie back on the table for a minute? Sometimes these things look a little different in a different light or position.”

I obligingly turned myself ninety degrees and reclined on the table. He once more bent over my leg, peering at The Freckle. “Nah, it doesn’t really look like…you know, I think that we’ll just go ahead and take it off just in case,” he said reaching for the syringe of anesthetic that, for some mysterious reason, the nurse was already handing to him. He took it and was nearly injecting it in my leg when he said, “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Um, I guess?” I said, somewhat in a state of shock. My mind was reeling. It was shouting, “Wait! I haven’t had time to prepare for this. You know that I pass out easily! Does this mean I might have cancer? You’re doing WHAT??” All of these thoughts ran through my mind in a split second. I felt the prick of the needle and a few seconds later the doctor pulled his gloves off. I figured he would probably go do something else while waiting for the site to get numb.

He told the nurse to put something on the site and said that he’d see me back in the office in a month or so. It was then that I realized that he had already removed The Freckle and was off to see other patients. “But wait!” I thought, “I haven’t had time to finish freaking out. And he’s done? He doesn’t even know that I pass out easily.” I pulled myself into a sitting position and looked at my leg. Sure enough, what had been a Freckle moments before was now a shallow crater about as big around as a pea. The only thing that I had felt was the prick of the needle.

I personally think that his “not jumping out at me/I’ll take it off after all” routine was nothing more than a ploy. His nurse was all too ready with the supplies; I was all too relaxed. If it was a ploy, it worked. If I had gone there knowing that he was planning to remove The Freckle, I’d have worked myself into a freaked-out, nail-biting frenzy that wouldn’t have been a pretty thing to behold. Anticipation is the worst part of something like that.

The nurse put on some ointment and a Band-Aid, then handed me a paper with “What to Do After Surgery” on the top of it. She told me to call back in about a week to get the results of my biopsy. She gathered up a bunch of free samples for me and told me that she’d bring my chart to the front desk in a moment.

As I gathered my things, I wondered if I’d make it to the front desk only to keel over while waiting to pay and make a wonderfully huge scene in the process. The only one of my usual warning signs that I detected was the occasional heart thump that is usually a series of heart thumps. “Maybe I can do this,” I thought. I made my way to the front, lecturing myself the whole way on how “this isn’t a big deal and there’s no need to make a big scene—other people don’t.” I figured surely I could make it to the car, and then if I wanted to have an Episode, I could at least do it in the privacy of the parking lot.

I did, indeed, make it to the car. There was a continual pep talk running through my head. As I was leaving the parking lot, my leg began to protest mildly. I turned up my music, thought of other things, and tried to keep my mind occupied. I went to Office Depot to ship something, then wandered around the store trying to distract myself. I mean, there’s nothing like office supplies to take a person’s mind off their troubles, right? My heart was still doing the occasional thump but I was pretty sure I’d made it through the Danger Zone.

I called the Doctor’s office a week later, but no lab results were in. I called the next day and the next day, but no results. On the third day, they told me to wait to call until the following Monday since the lab was behind. I wasn’t too thrilled at being put off. I didn’t really think that it could be cancerous because “it won’t happen to me.” On the other hand, all those people that you hear about that have cancer are also “me”s, so obviously it’s happening to someone.

I called this past Monday and “the lab results are normal.” It was just a mole. Praise the Lord!

Now all I’m left with is a scab that I’m tempted to pick off (even though it is still firmly attached), an itchy spot on my leg as it continues to heal, and a very relieved heart.

Yeah, this could have been a bad week.

I wonder if the freckle will return when it heals…

Tracking Rita

2005-09-23T21:54:00.000-07:00

My meteorology prof has us doing the coolest thing. He had us print out a Hurricane Tracking Chart, then go to the National Hurricane Center website. Every couple of hours they post another Public Advisory about the Hurricane Rita. At the end of that report is a summary that gives the wind speeds, direction of travel, and pressure level, as well as the latitude and longitude coordinates of the storm that I plug into my map.

I’ve been watching this thing since it was still a tropical storm near the Bahamas. Mr. B also asked us all to send him our prediction of the location of landfall by noon today for extra credit. The closer we are, the more credit we’ll get. I chose Sabine Pass, TX, which is basically right on the Texas/Louisiana border.

According to the 10 PM update, my location will still be a little bit west of the actual landfall of the eye of the storm. I should have known! They always seem to turn east just a little more than people expect them to just before landfall. Sigh!

The end result of my map will be pretty cool.

Just Like a Newborn

2005-09-22T21:34:00.000-07:00

A friend of ours just had a baby the other week. She came over to Mom’s this evening with the little guy in tow. I had just finished mowing so stopped in to see the baby and chat a bit. Two of Mom’s babysittee mothers came to pick up children while I was there.

They were oohing and aahing over the baby as he sleepily blinked his eyes slowly at them. They were talking about how newborns seem to struggle to stay awake and how they blink their eyes so slowly in the process. Mom, probably not really thinking about what she was saying, said, “That’s exactly how I am at church in the evenings.” We all cracked up. (Our church is having revival meetings this week.)

Mom is probably well justified being sleepy when she sits down for any length of time. She often gets up around 4:30 in the morning, sometimes earlier but not often much later than 5:00. She babysits all day, so she has reason to be exhausted. She has a lot of mothers that depend on her. For a short period of time today, she had nine children at one time, including four babies ranging in age from 10 to 18 months. Fortunately, most of the children are school age and are only there before and after school for a couple of hours.

I love my Mom…

Unusual Breezes

2005-09-19T21:25:00.000-07:00

As I was walking from Algebra to German today, I spotted, several people ahead of me, a true nightmare.

There was a girl walking in the same direction I was going, to the same building in fact, and she was wearing a nice full, white skirt. When she had donned her backpack, she had evidently pulled it up from a rather low point and had managed to catch her skirt with her backpack. There were several things in her favor: it was a full skirt so the extra fabric kind of drooped around the tucked portion of the skirt and it was a long skirt and while it had been caught fairly low and pulled fairly high, it still left her with about a miniskirt length at the highest point.

My own hand snuck around to the back of my skirt in a discreet smoothing kind of fashion, just to make sure that I hadn’t done the same thing in some horrible twist of fate. Things seemed to be as they should have been.

My heart went out to the poor girl. As people dwindled down to only one person between us on the sidewalk, I determined that if I could catch her as we walked into the building, I would try to discreetly tell her of the problem rather than holler ahead to her on the sidewalk and possibly embarrass her further.

She entered the building just ahead of me, with the one remaining person continuing on down the walk. As we entered the building, there was a kind lady from the cleaning staff standing there and spotted the problem before I could stop the girl. “Excuse me, excuse me,” she said, “You’ve got a problem.” Rather than stick around and embarrass the girl further, I turned to head down the hall in a different direction. As I continued on my way, I heard the lady say, “All them folk walkin’ behin’ ya and couldn’ none of ‘em tell ya’.” I felt a twinge of guilt for not having been able to catch her first, for I was “one of them folk.” Oh well, my intentions were good, for as much as that counts.

A Lesson Learned: BE AWARE of any unusual breezes. It could be more than a change in the weather patterns.

The Highs and The Lows

2005-09-18T21:49:00.000-07:00

Several evenings a week, Jolene stops in to get/return the German book we share; therefore, we often have Story Time with Jolene.

It has been interesting to watch her hit the highs and the lows in the three weeks since school started. She went from “I’ll never be able to do this” and “My English teacher scares me to death” in Week One to “I love, love, love my English teacher” and “I really look forward to school” in Week Two. Then she hit Week Three in which her teachers began to assign homework and set deadlines. Story Time on Thursday evening had a decidedly negative, grumpy tone to it.

I can identify with the emotions she is experiencing and am currently in a very low Low. By the time I got home from work on Friday evening, I felt like I’d have to look up to see the belly of an ant.

I’ve got so much homework that if feels like I’m barely keeping my head above the water. None of it is particularly hard at this point, but it’s all busy work and so time consuming, a commodity I don’t have an abundance of.

I’ve got a German test on Monday morning, which has great potential for being a disaster due to indefinite articles and gender. I’ve pretty well been skating along in that class and not been giving it the attention that I need to because it wasn’t as demanding as some other classes. Now it’s catching up with me.

My car has a new quirk that is getting worse. It does a lurch-y kind of thing. This would be in addition to the occasional transmission-going-on-vacation problem that the mechanic tells me isn’t a transmission problem, as well as other small quirks that thus far haven’t really affected the car getting me places. I really don’t have time to fix it, but then again, I don’t have time not to fix it.

The grass won’t quit growing, and I don’t have time to mow it now.

For once, I’m having somewhat of a hard time keeping up with stuff at work.

I’m not getting any more sleep than I was during my previous semesters. As a matter of fact, I think I’m getting less. Every once in a while we don’t have algebra class on Friday mornings, but if I want to park anywhere in the vicinity of the university, I have to arrive at the normal time. I was so exhausted on Friday morning that I just put my seat back and slept for an hour and a half in the parking lot before going to German class.

And to top it all off, I’ve come down with a throat-hurtin’, fever-inducin’, nose-stuffin’, eye-waterin’, body-wrackin’ cough/cold. When I got home on Friday evening, I was so cold that I put on a sweatshirt, turned on the electric blanket, and climbed into bed with my German book and papers and tried to study, in spite of my desire to sleep. An hour or so later, I got so hot that the sweatshirt had to go and I couldn’t take the electric blanket anymore. I woke up this morning hot and sweaty with a headache that felt like I’d burst a blood vessel if I coughed one more time.

Yeah, I’ve been feeling very blue and gripe-y. But surely there’s something positive in all this. You know, Pollyanna, silver linings, and all. This is what I’ve come up with:

Too much homework: At least I’ve got homework. I could not be enrolled in school, working two/three/four jobs at once, and bored with life in general (been there, done that, tired of it).

German test on Monday: I’ve done some studying over the weekend. I’m feeling *a little* better about it. Praying for Jesus to help my memory come test time.

Quirky car: I could be Amish and not have a car. So far it hasn’t failed me on my way to class.

Growing grass: The grass isn’t so tall that the City Ordinance Officer will fine me for not cutting it this week.

Difficulty keeping up at work: I can put in some extra time after business hours and get more time in than if I went home right at 5:00.

Getting less sleep: Hmmm, tough one. Oh, I haven’t overslept more than ten minutes…yet.

Cold/Cough: Really tough one. Well, I can still breathe, albeit through my mouth part of the time.

There you have it. Just call me Pollyanna. Or Ann-with-an-E.

Needed: Encouragement

2005-09-15T18:56:00.000-07:00

I had an appointment in Bowling Green on Tuesday afternoon so I didn’t bother going to work. I only had one class that day: algebra. After class was over, I figured it would be a good time to go to the Meteorology lab and try to get my first lab done, but I was about ten minutes too early to get into the lab.

As students disappeared into buildings, I sat down on a low wall outside the building and got my algebra homework out to finish up the few problems I had left to do. I was deeply ensconced in radicals, exponents, and “to the power of's” when I heard someone say, “Hey, Sharon, what are you up to?”

I looked up and there stood my Meteorology instructor. He had just finished chaining his bike to the bike rack, his official protest to the $75 parking permit. I explained to him that I was passing a bit of time before heading up to try a dreaded lab. We chatted for a bit, and then suddenly he asked me if I thought his lectures are disjointed. I had been sensing that he has been frustrated in class. I told him that I thought his frustrations come from the fact that he knows so much more that he’s supposed to tell us right now and he’s having a hard time separating introductory stuff from how this stuff applies. He agreed.

I talked with him for quite a while. He voiced his frustration at the lack of caring on the part of many of his students. He wanted to know if some of his policies are unreasonable. I told him that I thought he has gone above and beyond the call of duty when trying to work with students and help them get good grades. I think that the students are taking advantage of him and exploiting his policies.

After we were done venting about all the spoiled students that have everything handed to them, I packed up my books to go to the lab. He went with me just to see if everything was working okay, since there had been major problems with people getting into the system. We walked up two flights of stairs to the lab. The lab assistant saw Mr. B and told him that his students have not been able to get into the system yet. I made an attempt but it didn’t work.

We then went our separate ways.

The next day, he basically opened the class up for questions over the material that we had already covered. I was one of the last to leave after class and considered sticking around to give him a bit of encouragement but he had asked to see one student after class and there were several others waiting to talk to him, so I just left.

I walked down the stairs and was about ten feet from the door when I heard someone say my name. I glanced around the lobby, pretty sure it was Mr. B’s voice I had just heard but didn’t think that he could have beat me down to the lobby. I didn’t see him there, but remembered that the landings of the stairs also serve as balconies. I looked straight up and Mr. B was standing there smiling at me. “What did you think of class today?” he asked. I gave him a thumbs up, and he shot me a big grin and walked away.

It kind of spoofs me that he would even seek my opinion, but I’m sure that it all stems from the fact that he was a classmate of Kris’s and so he feels a bit of familiarity there (since I look so much like her and all).

I guess it just proves that we all need encouragement…even professors.

Hannah

2005-09-04T15:55:00.000-07:00

Fact: an adult that is accustomed to sleeping alone will probably not sleep as well with a 5-year-old in their bed.

Hannah is a 5-year-old that mom has cared for since she was 3 months old. She has been at Mom’s house nearly every weekday since she started coming and sometimes on weekends and overnight. She is more than a babysitting charge. She is the grandchild Mom doesn’t have; she is the niece that Mom’s children don’t have. She has gone on vacation with us; she has gone to church with us; she has gone with Martin and Dad while running errands for work. In short, she is family.

Hannah started school in early August. Because of school and the fact that her parents are splitting up, Hannah no longer comes to Mom’s very often. It’s pretty hard to go cold turkey on Hannah. I didn’t get to see her very much anyway, but for years, I’ve stopped in at Mom’s house between jobs, after work, on my way to school, etc. to get my small dose (sometimes only five minutes) of Hannah. I got a thrill every time I stopped in and she would come racing to meet me and jump into my arms.

For the past month when I’ve stopped in at Mom’s and asked if Hannah was there, all I got was a “no.” So when Hannah’s mom called yesterday to see if she could come stay while she went to the grocery store, Mom was glad to say she could come. She called Kris and I to tell us that Hannah would be there for a while and that we could come see her. We were doing homework and wondered if she couldn’t come over to our house instead. Mom said that Hannah wanted to be there. (I think that Mom wanted Hannah there.) So Kris and I went over for a while. Hannah gleefully told me that she could stay until she called her Mom to come and get her. Hannah was going to help Mom clean the playroom so Kris & I told her that we would go do more homework and then call her later and we would do something.

Mom called several hours later to say that Hannah had just gotten up from a very long nap and wondered what we wanted to do with her. I asked her if she had any suggestions. She said that Hannah thought that maybe we could have a Sleepover for her at our house. I told her that would be fine. Since Dad and Martin are on a trip this weekend, Mom decided to order pizza for supper and we could eat over there. Hannah and I went to get the pizza and then after supper she came home with Kris & I to spend the night.

I had a few misgivings about her spending the night. I thought back to the last time she spent the night with me. She may have been eighteen months old at the time. Everything had started out all right. I had fixed a spot on the floor for her and put her to sleep just fine. Around 2 or 3 in the morning, she started to cry. I did all that I knew how to do to get her to stop and she wouldn’t stop. She repeated something over and over, which I finally figured out was an attempt to say Mom’s name. I finally gave up and started up the stairs into the garage to take her to Mom’s, not looking forward to waking her up at that early hour. Around the third step from the top, Hannah finally stopped crying. I stopped where I was and stayed there for a good five minutes waiting for her to go to sleep. I descended the stairs and sat down with her for a few minutes to get her good and sleeping before I put her back on her blanket.

So I feared her backing out on me at the last minute last night. Her mom had said that if she changed her mind at the last minute to just call her and she’d come get her. We entertained her for a while then I fixed her a big bubble bath and music in the bathroom and let her play in there for a while. When she finished her bath, Kris lay on my bed for a while and let Hannah rub her back. Hannah then declared that she was ready for bed. Kris tucked her into my bed and left the room. I was at my computer and fully expected her to get back up, but she never did. When I finally went to bed, I had to move her legs out of the way to get in.

At one point during the night, Hannah was lying in a position perpendicular to me with her legs on top of me and I think her head nearly off the bed. I turned her ninety degrees and went back to sleep. She poked me several other times with her legs and kicked the covers off several times. It wasn’t the most restful night of sleep I’ve ever had but I’d didn’t mind. This morning she shyly thanked me for letting her spend the night. I told her that we’ll have to do it again.

I love Hannah.

One Week Gone

2005-09-03T21:47:00.000-07:00

It’s such a good feeling to have made it through Week 1 without any major mishaps.

I managed to get up early every morning, only oversleeping by ten minutes on one of those mornings. I have since implemented the two-alarm system. I do crazy things to my bedside alarm at that time of the morning. Alarm number two sits on the other side of the room.

I’m enjoying algebra, for now, but it’s taking a bit to get my algebra legs back under me. It’s been nine and a half months since I’ve thought of exponents, factoring, FOIL, etc. Mrs. P, the professor, likes to ask questions of her students and get immediate (and correct) responses from them. For the most part, I’m not one that is able to give those quick responses. I’m usually still processing the problem she just whipped out on the board. We’re already into factoring, one of my favorite things in algebra thus far. I’m just worried about the time when we quit reviewing and start on the new stuff.

German isn’t too bad so far. My prof, Mr. S, is an interesting character. He is willing to do all sorts of contortions in order to get his point across. He did an amazing job of learning nearly everyone’s name in the first thirty minutes of class. My Dutch is serving me well, but coming back to haunt me at other times. Oh, and remember the vegetarian that came for Sunday lunch? I think one of their sons is in my class. I’m still horrified at the whole episode.

Meteorology should be an okay class. I think Mr. B will be a student’s teacher. He still has his experiences as a student fresh on his mind so he knows about the things that make a prof a terrible teacher. He will give us plenty of opportunities for extra credit. He plans to use our top ten quizzes and homework assignments for that portion of the grade. He even gave us a choice between a five-problem quiz worth twenty points each or a ten-problem quiz worth ten points each. We chose ten problems.

Basic Computer Literacy is my Tuesday, Thursday class. It turns out that I only have to show up on Thursdays. Maybe I’ll learn some useful stuff about spam, viruses, and spyware. Almost everything except for the tests can be done at my own pace, on campus or at home. The only former classmate of mine that I’ve seen in any of my classes is a guy from Speech that is in my BCL class.

I met another of Kris’s classmates on Friday. Fortunately, it was only a “Hey” moment because we met on the stairs, surrounded by other students and I was late for German. The meeting was so brief that I couldn’t even describe him. The only thing that I really noticed was that his glasses had photo gray tint on them.

Several thoughts from the week:

If I’m not careful when it’s raining, Hydroplane is one adventure ride I’ll be taking.

New shoes have to be broken in. They can inflict pain until such breaking in has taken place.

Compliments are always nice, even when given grudgingly by a person that rarely distributes compliments.

I'm Not Trouble. Serious.

2005-09-01T21:45:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday morning, I was rushing along the sidewalk on my way from my German class to my Meteorology class. I decided to take a little different route than I had taken on Monday morning and try my hand at jaywalking straight over to my building as opposed to going up to the crosswalk and then backtracking down the sidewalk. I had nearly reached my jaywalk point when a man walking toward me made eye contact with me. His face lit up like a light bulb and he said, “Look, here comes Trouble!”

Now, I knew that I did not know this man, and almost no one, I don’t care who they are, has the nerve to call your average Amish woman “Trouble” without knowing them personally. Using this deductive reasoning, I knew that I was about to meet one of Kris’s former classmates. I smiled at him in a friendly sort of manner and said, “You must know my sister Kris.” He sort of chuckled a little bit and wanted to know how I’d been. I told him I’d been fine and that he must have had a class with Kris. “Yes,” he said, “Algebra.” I asked him what his name was. He chuckled and said it was Bill. He started to say something else and suddenly stopped, looked at me with a deadpan expression on his face and said, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the poor guy and told him I was very serious. Up to that very moment He thought that I was pulling his leg when I said I was not Kris but Kris’s sister. I asked for his name again and told him that I’d tell Kris I saw him. I had to get to class and he seemed quite eager to go on his way, or I would have attempted to make a bit more of a conversation out of the whole thing so he wouldn’t feel too bad.

Last semester, Kris had stopped at Java City, the coffee shop at the library, and had gotten a white chocolate mocha something or other. I was on my way to meet her and we talked on the phone as I was leaving my car. She told me how delicious it was and that I needed to stop and get one. I walked up to the counter and ordered the drink. The guy behind the counter said, “Another one?” I explained to him that there are two of us and I hadn’t had one yet. I should have pretended to get all huffy and asked him “So are you calling me a pig or something?” I never think of good comebacks until it’s way too late.

From time to time, I meet people on campus, at Wal-mart, in office supply stores, and various other places that smile at me in a friendlier-than-just-being-polite way, and each time I have to choose how to handle the situation. I know they think I’m Kris, and I know that it will be awkward for both of us if I have to tell them that I am not Kris. Those that throw out a smile and a “how are you” in passing I generally handle with a smile and a “just fine” as we each continue on our way. Then there are the people that want to chit-chat a little that get the “you must know Kris” bit. I used to leave it at that but more recently I’ve started taking names because inevitably Kris wants to know who it was.

Kris is much more visible than I am. She deals with a lot more of the general public in her job; she has taken more classes with the general population at Western; she is in Bowling Green nearly everyday; therefore, I get to be Kris much more often than she gets to be Sharon. So while I’m always tuned into and have clear reception to the “Sharon” frequency, I also have staticy reception to the “Kris” frequency.

I simply judge each situation as it comes along and try to deal with it in the least sticky way possible, but some days, there is no help for it but to jump right into the glue.

Majoring in Boys

2005-08-27T09:41:00.000-07:00

Bob came to the office yesterday for no apparent reason other than to see who was around and visit a little.

The place that I work is located in the middle of farming country and Bob is one of the neighbors. Bob is one of those delightful old codgers that you wish there were more of. He is the one that takes care of things if you go on a trip. He is the one that calls to let you know who the newest deaths, births, and injuries are. He always has a joke in his pocket and loves to kid around with people. Granted, you hear some of the same jokes and same stories over and over, but with Bob, you don’t really mind it.

Bob calls occasionally and every time his opening greeting is “Is this the sec’atary?” I always have to smile at his drawl. He comes by the office occasionally and every time we have to talk about how times have changed. He doesn’t like Wal-Mart. “Everything is cheap!” he says, “They don’t carry Stetsons; they don’t have [unknown brand] shoes; they don’t have suits of clothes. It’s all cheap! I remember when you’d go up around the square and go to one store to get your shoes, to another store to get your hat, and to another store to get your clothes. And if you didn’t like what one store had, you’d go to the next’n.”

Bob is very disgruntled that no one has manners anymore. “Why, if you hold the door open for a woman, she’s liable to smack ya,” he says, “The children are disrespectful; no more ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’, they’ve taken over the schools. Why I remember when…” and on he goes. He was telling me yesterday that he’s got pictures at home of when “they hung three black boys on the cedar tree in town.” I think he’d still support hanging people because then people would behave themselves. He might be right.

So yesterday after we’d discussed how the world is in shambles, we went on to other topics. I told him that starting next week I won’t be in the office in the mornings anymore because I’ll be in school. He wanted to know where I’m going and what I’m majoring in. I told him I’m going to WKU, and I’m majoring in accounting. “Oh,” he said seriously, “I thought maybe you’d be majoring in Boys.” I wasn’t expecting a comeback like that at all and it yanked a laugh right out of me. He, of course, got a big kick out of it. So then he proceeded to go off on some tangent about how when you first start a relationship it’s like a broom. At first, it’s all nice and new and you do a good job, but after a while the broom gets worn down and you don’t do such a good job. His conclusion on the matter was “Well, you’ll do fine. You’ll get a good’n.” I just shook my head.

Preview of Coming Distractions

2005-08-25T21:39:00.000-07:00

So, school starts on Monday. I’m not ready, but it’s starting anyway.

My first class of each and every day will be College Algebra at 8 a.m. *gasp* Yeah, that will mean getting out of bed earlier than I have consistently gotten up since…I don’t know, probably since I worked with Dad when I was 17. I haven’t been honest with myself about what time I’ll actually have to get up. I just can’t bear to think about it yet. If parking weren’t such an issue at WKU then I wouldn’t have to make sure I get there so early. I may have to get up even earlier than I did when working with Dad. *sob*

I got into this particular algebra class compliments of Kris. She had the same teacher last semester and was convinced that I needed to take her class. I got up at 5 a.m. on the morning that I was eligible to sign up for classes to try to squeak into the classes I wanted. Alas, due to my lowly Freshman status, her class was already full of students with more seniority, so Kris went to class that morning and asked her if she would admit me into her class even if it was full. The teacher graciously gave permission. Now, Kris lobs an occasional “Sharon, don’t you dare ruin my reputation!” at me. So now I have to try to measure up grade-wise and I can’t even get into my first accounting class without passing this one. How comforting!

I have mixed feelings about algebra. I (secretly) enjoyed my Intermediate Algebra class, even though I fussed a great deal about the class. It was quite satisfying to look at a jumble of letters, numbers, exponents, etc. and be able to solve that problem. But I felt like I had learned all the algebra there is to learn when I finished that class. I have a feeling I’ll fuss a great deal about this class. I just hope that I can enjoy this class too, at least secretly. If only I could keep my head together and make those pesky little negative signs behave themselves, my life would be a lot more error-free.

My second class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays will be German I. It’s a kind of copout class. I think the class will be easier for me because I can understand Dutch. If I didn’t have to work as much as possible, I would maybe try Spanish, which would be much more useful, but right now I’m just in survival mode. Oh well, maybe I’ll go live abroad for a season and be a Swiss or German accountant. I liked Switzerland better when I was there. Then I could have one of those famous Swiss bank accounts. : - )

My German teacher has good evaluations and subbed in Kris’s German class once. She thought he was a good teacher. One of the trickiest things will be juggling the textbook back and forth with Jolene. She will be taking German at South Campus on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so it’ll be a trick to make sure that neither one of us ends up without it when we need it. Once we’re done with this class, Kris, Jolene, and I will be able to speak the same foreign language. Coolness!

My third class on Mondays and Wednesdays will be Meteorology. That’s right, Meteorology. I’m not sure either what I’m doing in a class like that. But it fits my science with a lab requirement and seems somewhat more tolerable than say Biology or Chemistry or Physics. Physics would be a requirement if I decided to go out on a limb and go for something like Pre-Dentistry. Does not appeal. (Dentistry appeals but not Physics.) Never mind that I don’t have a clue what Physics actually is (or are?), I just know it has to be bad. Therefore, as a process of elimination, I narrowed it down to Astronomy and Meteorology; I chose Meteorology.

Several weeks after I had registered in this particular Meteorology class, Kris ran into a former classmate of hers that told her that he was planning on teaching a Meteorology class, the one right before mine in particular. Kris told me that I need to enroll in his class because he is so nice and had some negative things to say about my teacher. Considering that I already had my class schedule in place, I chose to leave things as they were even while wishing that I could be in his class. Kris issued dire predictions that I’ll be sorry! Then just the other evening, I got an e-mail from a man that I didn’t recognize as being one of my professors. I looked up my schedule online and, lo and behold, this very man is teaching my class. {gleeful chortle} I’m so thankful I didn’t mess with the schedule. I’d be pretty disgruntled right now if I had.

From the tone of his e-mails, he’ll be a pretty cool teacher. He even has his cell number on the syllabus with “text messages welcome” next to it. How cool is that? I think we are his first real class, so just call us the Guinea Pigs.

My fourth class is on Tuesdays and Thursdays after algebra. I’m rather disgusted about this one: Basic Computer Literacy. Do you think they have a CLEP test for this one? Noooo…more tuition dollars. Unnecessary tuition dollars in my opinion! According to the syllabus, topics will include “computing concepts, operating systems, Word, Excel, and PowerPoint.” I use these applications daily at work. Why should I have to pay over $500 to prove that I can use them?? I’m predicting that I won’t get much out of this class. Fortunately, most of the stuff is done out of class and we only meet on test days.

The teacher is a bit of an unknown for me. His reviews were a conglomeration of people that disliked him intensely and other that liked him, so I guess I’ll just have to find out.

Mondays and Wednesdays will be awful backpack-wise. I’ll have to carry at least 4 textbooks as well as tablets, folders, and other supplies. My back wants to spasm just thinking about it. I’m very doubtful that I’ll even be able to get all of the books into my backpack. I may have to carry an additional handbag.

So these are the things that are churning around in my mind. I’m anxious to get on with classes and make some progress. At the same time, I’m dragging my feet and wanting at least another month of freedom. But ready or not, here it comes.

Routine

2005-08-25T18:29:00.000-07:00

I am a creature of habit. I am comfortable with routine. New situations, new jobs, new people usually make me a bit uneasy. Oh, okay, sometimes a lot uneasy. If I can make it past the initial breaking-in period, I find a kind of new comfort zone that I can live with, although it always takes a longer period of time before it truly becomes a comfort zone.

The decision to go to college was a momentous decision for me. For many years, I thought that I might like to go, but having only an eighth grade education served as a huge doubting point for me. So I took the route of getting my GED, going to the technical school, and getting a diploma as an accounting assistant. I finished the course at the end of 1997 but didn’t officially graduate until the spring of 1998. I thought I was done with education.

The next six years led to a range of jobs held simultaneously that left me exhausted and tired of that pace of life. This exhaustion coupled with boredom at work led to my enrollment in college.

My Old Routine

My first two semesters were all late afternoon and evening classes. I liked the schedule simply because I could pretty routinely get 35 to 37 hours of work in, down from 45 hours a week. My income didn’t suffer as much as I feared it might when I made the decision to go to school. It was an extremely hectic year. My weekends were a marathon of homework, housework, yard work, laundry, and grocery shopping. I survived on probably an average of five and a half to six hours of sleep.

I took a summer class through the month of June. It only met two nights a week, but because of cramming a 16-week English course into five weeks, the reading, writing, and research involved kept me just as busy as I had been. But in it all, I found a certain comfort zone and survived.

My Current Routine

My high levels of exhaustion finally caught up with me. The first week or two after my summer class, I think my body went through a period of crashing. By 8 or 9 in the evening, I was completely shot and just wanted to go to bed. I often wouldn’t allow myself to go that early because I felt like I would just end up wasting all of my precious free time.

My days at work seem so incredibly long. I don’t have to leave early for classes so my 9-hour days absolutely drag. I have so much more time to do the things that I was doing in shorter periods of time, leaving blocks of time in which I just sit and think or twiddle my thumbs. I wonder how I ever lived with the boredom for the last two years before homework became the focus of all my down time at work.

To a certain degree, I welcome the chance to just sit and dwell on things or bring small projects to work on or read, but I also sit and think of all the things at home that I need to do and it bugs me to be idle.

Something that I’ve noticed is that during school I think of things that I want to write about and it becomes almost a necessity to sit down and just type it out. It becomes therapeutic. Now that I have more free time, I still think of things that I would like to write about, but maybe because my stress level is not as high, I don’t feel the need to get it out like I do during school. Hmmm.

So my current routine is to twiddle my way through my work days and then pick up the pace after work desperately trying to get some deep cleaning done, dresses made, yard work done, and other neglected projects completed. I’m back to my short nights because of projects I get involved in.

My Future Routine

This fall I will start taking morning classes five days a week. It’s going to shoot my routine all to pieces, but I think that I’ll like taking classes in the morning. I won’t have to fight the end-of-the-day letdown that would try to put me to sleep in some of my evening classes. I had to carry No Doz in my backpack to fight it.

I will be able to do homework in the early evenings or even at work if I have some down time. Then if I can discipline the night owl within me, I may even be able to get a little more sleep this fall. The downside of morning classes is, of course, the reduced income, but there is something within me that really doesn’t care right now. Recently, I’ve wanted nothing more than to just quit work and go to school. I’m sure once I suffer through the inevitable case of Severely Reduced Income Shock, I’ll care.

It will be an interesting change of pace even if it makes me uneasy. I think that in the long run I’ll like this schedule better.

Customer Service

2005-08-25T18:07:00.000-07:00

When Kris, Martin, Jolene, and I were in Catlett, VA a couple of weeks ago, one thing I wanted to do while there was go to the IKEA store. I’d never been there, but I’d looked through their online catalog. They have some really nifty stuff.

Martin had driven out so he could pick up some fuel tanks in Maryland that he purchased off ebay, so I knew that if I wanted anything from IKEA this would be my chance to have it hauled back. Kris and I found some small cheap computer carts that we could use in our sewing room instead of the big tables that have been annoying us recently. We purchased them along with some drawers to go with them. We put them in the back of Martin’s truck for transport on Monday, and Kris & I flew home.

We had wrapped the boxes in black garbage bags to try to keep them dry, but to our dismay, when the boxes were unloaded in Kentucky one of the boxes had soaked up a lot of water and two of the pieces on one desk had soaked up the water like a sponge. I knew that if they got wet the particleboard that the items were made of would swell and they sure did. The lamination on the outside came loose as well.

I considered trying to assemble the cart using the swelled pieces, but it was cheap enough that I figured if we couldn’t purchase replacement parts, it wouldn’t be that expensive to just have them ship a new one. I placed a call to the store we had been to and explained my situation. At first the customer service rep was rather snotty. She wanted to clarify in vivid detail that I had purchased it from them as it should have been and that it was because of our transportation that the item was defective. I calmly acknowledged that it was indeed how it happened and that I was merely looking into seeing what replacement parts would cost versus getting an entirely new item. She took my information and said that someone would call me within 48 hours. By the time the conversation was over, she had changed her attitude considerably.

Two days later, I received a call from IKEA and the lady confirmed the information that I had given in the original call. She confirmed which pieces I needed and said that they would ship them out. I inquired about the cost, and she informed me that as long as they were shippable parts there would be no cost. I was almost speechless. I couldn’t manage much more than a thank-you before she hung up.

Five days later, I arrived at home to find a large package propped against the door; inside the package were my free parts. I am still amazed. Now that, my friends, is Customer Service.

Blurbs

2005-08-22T22:16:00.000-07:00

A few blurbs from today:

~We may have a solution for my uncovered absences from work in the mornings for this next semester. Long term or not? Unknown.

~I paid $33.10 to fill my car up this afternoon. Did you catch that?? $33.10!! I remember a time when I could fill it up with $10-$12. I’ve only owned the car for 6.75 years. Gas prices just shouldn’t triple in seven short years. I just can’t stand it! The number of miles I drive will at least triple when I start school. And my hours will be cut in half. I don’t think the math works out in that equation.

~I took off work two hours early to get to the bookstore on campus before it closed. I picked Jolene up at home and Kris met us at the bookstore. I spent $245.55 on books, and that doesn’t take into account the German textbook and dictionary that I’m getting from Kris at half of what she paid. It’s like a shock of ice cold water every time! I know there are others that have it worse than that, and I’m sure that it’s not the most I’ll ever spend in a semester. The name of the bookstore should be The Great Rip-Off.

~We went to O’Charley’s to eat. Kris had finished her salad and, after picking through and pulling out all the goodies (cheese and chicken), pushed the dregs to the edge of the table for the waiter to pick up the next time he came by. As we were sitting there talking, Jolene spotted one remaining goody in the salad and stabbed it with her fork gleefully. She put it in her mouth and bit down. She immediately started spitting what she had thought was chicken but turned out to be a fresh mushroom into her hand. She grabbed her cloth napkin and started scrubbing at her tongue. It made for a delightful little scene.

~Shopping for shoes when you need them is no fun. It’s way more fun to buy shoes when you don’t need them.

~Kris and I had a “twin” moment today. We were outside waiting to be seated at the restaurant. We were both fiddling with our keys and at the exact same moment dropped them to the pavement. Jolene, sitting across from us, looked at us oddly as we sat there laughing and said, “Well, why’d you do that?” The unexplainable.

~I love stores that have a no-questions-asked return policy. “Buyer’s remorse” and “The charisma just wasn’t there” don’t really sound good when returning stuff. Kudos to JC Penny and Bath & Body Works.

Sunday School AND Children's Class

2005-08-21T21:41:00.000-07:00

This just wasn’t my day.

Oh, it started out okay. I woke up on time. I made it to church on time. I was seated well in advance of the first song. But that is where things began to go awry.

Rosita came into the sanctuary and sat next to me. We had been sitting there for a few minutes when the Sunday School Superintendent stepped into the pew behind us and said he needed a favor. Not a good sign. “I need some teachers for the Preschool class. Would you mind?”

My natural reaction was to scan through list of excuses, but none fit the occasion. I eyed Rosita wondering what she would say. Her attitude was the one that I should have been sporting. A nonchalant “Sure” from her sealed the deal. It never even occurred to me to go get the book to see what was in store for us, but she went after the book.

So the time for Sunday School arrived and we made our way to the nook that the Preschool table sits in. We had approximately thirteen students of which only two were girls. So imagine, eleven little boys around one table. As we were trying to make enough room for everyone, one Helpful Little Boy was determined that we should set up another table, but we squeezed and put people on corners and managed to get everyone seated.

I don’t deal with little kids enough that I can ever get used to their unpredictability in a short period of time; therefore, when I am in a teacher situation, I usually avoid asking questions that everyone has an answer to. (I don’t mind it as much if there isn’t another adult around to watch me make a fool out of myself if I don’t quite know how to deal with a child.) But Rosita…she is much better at this kind of thing.

The lesson was on the man at the pool of Bethesda so Rosita asked if any of them had ever been sick. Of course, they all had a story of when they had been sick or even in the hospital. The danger in asking those kinds of questions is that everyone wants to tell their story, and they want to tell it first. So when do you decide it’s time to cut them off? I think it would be a hoot to be able to take the kids and just let them tell stories sometime (see what you could get out of them), but when all of those parents are expecting you to teach their kids something Valuable, you feel kind of pressured to have Sunday School.

Anyway, Rosita asked if they had offering and many of them did, BUT they weren’t used to taking the offering first thing. They always wait until the end. So we got the books passed out, then she started reading the story while I stood on the other side of the table behind a particularly Unruly Boy that couldn’t keep his hands to himself and was sitting next to a Visiting Little Girl that wasn’t aggressive enough to tell him to bug off. There were too many dollar bills being batted around so Rosita just gathered them up, even though we didn’t have a clue where the offering container was. Helpful Little Boy offered to go to the kitchen to help Rosita find where the money container was, but she declined.

Halfway through the story, Helpful Little Boy interrupted her to tell her that his Little Brother and his Cousin were talking. She frowned a little and told the two little boys they need to be quiet and listen. “Oh, it’s okay,” Little Brother said, “We were just talking quiet so we could still hear.” I wanted to crack up! She reiterated the need for silence and went on. See, that’s what I have a hard time handling.

So we finished the lesson, colored, stopped Unruly Little Boy from coloring on Visiting Little Girl’s book, gathered Smarties wrappers from Unruly Little Boy, told them bathroom and drink breaks could wait a few more minutes, distributed verses and stickers, dismissed the children, and cleaned up. We returned to our seats in the sanctuary with me being somewhat dazed at the whole experience.

The sermon started when suddenly the man sitting in front of me reached back with a note. I took it from him and it said, “Will you two have children’s class tonight?”

I wanted to return it with and emphatic “No! I have just been traumatized by the little munchkins!” I showed it to Rosita hoping she would come up with a reason that we, in fact, could not have children’s class. Where is my servant’s attitude when I need it most?? Rosita looked at it, thought a bit, and said, “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

Okay, it’s one thing to handle the unpredictability of children in Sunday School where their parents can’t see how unqualified you are, but in front of the whole church?? I’ve watched grown men (and women, for that matter), who have had children of their own, falter at the response of children in public. And they think that I want to do this?

I sent the note back with a commitment but not before letting him know that I’d just been traumatized. After church, Rosita and I made arrangements for me to stop by her place this afternoon and went on our separate ways to partake of our noontime meals.

I moaned about my dilemma at lunch, and Kris, ever the teacher at heart, deemed it time to use an Arch book. Arch books are Bible stories that are written in poem form. After we got back to our place, Kris sat down and read The Braggy King of Babylon to me. I would have been satisfied with reading the story and being done with it, but NOOOO, that wasn’t good enough for Kris. She thought it needed to be acted out. “Children LOVE stuff like that! They remember those kinds of things.”

I reminded her of our motto of “All for one and one for all” and begged her into helping me. We went to Rosita’s place and gave our pitch. She liked the idea although the idea to get her sisters to help bombed because they were scheduled to sing after Children’s Class. We agreed to meet at the church at 5:30 and raced back home to gather props and coerce more actors.

Our first stop was at Mom’s house to get Jolene. She was in bed and wasn’t too keen on being dragged out of bed to help prepare for Children’s Class. She crawled out of bed issuing threats and making declarations the whole way, but at least she got out of bed. Then on to Martin’s house to find ourselves a King.

We decided to maximize on Mom’s Persuasive Powers and took her with us to recruit Martin. We crossed the road and descended upon his front door, only to find it had rudely been locked by Colton. After gaining an entrance, we pulled out all stops to get Martin on board. He never really agreed to it, but accompanied us to rehearsal, kicking and screaming the whole way. (We love Martin! He makes such a wonderful actor if he just allows himself to let go.)

Rosita had the opening comments and read the verse “Pride goeth before destruction and an haughty spirit before a fall.” She had barely read the verse when Shane piped up and said, “That’s a long verse!” See what I mean about the unpredictability?

Kris read the story. I doubled as a “tall, dark man” and a servant, and Jolene and Rosita were servants as well. Things went pretty well. Martin forgot only two of his four lines, Jolene stood on one end of the tablecloth she was supposed to dramatically snap over top of our banquet (communion) table, and Kris said “he trembled in his head” instead of “he trembled in his bed”, but I doubt that many people noticed anything except that Martin had to fish in his pocket for his lines.

So I shall publicly acknowledge that I am ever so grateful for the help from my siblings. If it hadn’t been for Kris, who knows what Rosita and I would have come up with? If it hadn’t been for Martin, who would have been our king? If it hadn’t been for Jolene, who would have helped Rosita and I gasp at our beastly king, snapped (or not) our tablecloth for us, and given us that general “strength in numbers” comfort? Just imagine how much better things could have been if Sara and Alvin had been here too.

Yes, I love my siblings. Life without them would be dull, lonely, and boring.

Note to self: Do not sit behind the Sunday Evening committee during church

Memorable Storms

2005-08-18T21:18:00.000-07:00

My last post got me to thinking about some of my most memorable storms, some that were spectacular, some that gave me a bit of fear, and some that had bad endings.

On a Trip

One of the first storms that I remember was a storm that occurred during a trip to Michigan to visit Grandpas. I don’t remember my exact age but it must have been between 6 and 9. We had a Suburban (long before SUVs were all the rage), and Kris & I were in our usual spot—the third seat. We had fallen asleep; Kris was on the seat and I was on the floor.

I think the thing that woke me up was Kris’s attempt to put a pair of sunglasses on my face. I’m not sure if she was trying to keep the lightning from waking me up or to keep me from being blinded from it if I did wake up, but nonetheless, I woke up with a pair of sunglasses on. It was a fierce storm, and it was raining so hard Mom could almost not see to drive. I remember feeling a small bit of fear in my heart. The vehicle was rocking from the wind, the lightning was so constant it was almost as if it was broad daylight when I think it was really evening or even night. But Mom drove on unflappably and I knew that as long as Mom was driving, we would probably be okay.

Tornados

The year I was in the fifth grade, we had a series of tornados that ripped thru the area. We go thru tornado-watch weather every year, but I think that year was a particularly bad one for tornados actually doing their thing. I don’t remember that much about the actual storms themselves, but I remember the aftermath. My teacher borrowed her parents van, and we all got into the van and went to town to view the storm damage. There was a lot of it, but the thing that has always stuck out in my mind was the 2x4 that had impaled a brick wall. I think I could almost take you to the very house that had been impaled.

The Plains of Texas

When I was 17, Dad, Martin, Alvin, and I drove out to California to go to the church furniture factory that Dad was working for. Alvin and I were his helpers at the time; I was the main driver (Alvin was too young to drive) and Alvin was his pew installation helper, which would explain why I got to go on that particular trip. We took I-40 all the way out. We had stopped for food or fuel somewhere in Texas. It was probably around 8 or 9 at night, and we were driving straight thru the night. As we were preparing to get back on the highway, a huge wind hit bringing lots of dust with it. We got back on the road and it seemed that the storm just grew in strength. We were driving a loaded dual-wheeled truck with a crew cab, but I remember the truck rocking from the force of the wind. I know there was incredible lightning to go with the wind but I don’t remember if it ever rained. The lightning seemed so stark because we were going thru a very deserted stretch of highway with little oncoming traffic and no streetlights in sight. It would go from being able to only see in the sphere of the headlights to complete daylight and being able to see for a very long distance. It was a magnificent storm.

That night also stands out in my mind because it was later that night that I had one of those defining moments in life. It was the wee hours of the morning and I was driving. Dad, Martin, and Alvin were all sleeping. We were still traveling thru the plains of Texas and the exits were few and far between. I was driving along when I noticed that my fuel gauge was hovering around the quarter tank mark. I made a mental note that it was time for fuel and switched tanks. I was horrified to see that Dad or Martin had run that tank down to less than an eighth of a tank. I switched back to the quarter tank and hoped for an exit quickly. I watched that tank dwindle down with no exit in sight. I switched tanks again, hoping that I had been mistaken about the amount of fuel left in that tank. I hadn’t been.

I finally saw an exit coming up and saw that it had one lonely gas station. I pulled off at the exit and into the gas station only to find that it was closed. (Oh, I forgot to mention that some sort of brake pump had gone out at some point during the night and it was all that I could do to get that truck stopped. I would literally stand on the brake with all my might to get small results. I learned to approach things slowly.) As I had gotten off the exit, the truck was beginning to sputter and had been doing some chugs even before I saw the exit. My nerves were shot!! I couldn’t handle the pressure of no fuel and bad brakes any longer. I had awakened Dad earlier as things were beginning to take a turn for the worse and he had told me to just make sure that we got off at the first exit and had gone back to sleep. Well, I’d had enough and woke Dad back up and told him that I was done—couldn’t take it anymore! We swapped places and he got back on the interstate to see if we could make it to the next exit.

I was envisioning sitting in the middle of a Texas desert until morning, which was several hours away. I desperately tried to sleep to take my mind off the situation. Nothing doing. He switched tanks back and forth trying to keep it on the tank with the most fumes. Somehow (I think God carried us there) we made it to the next exit. We got there and pulled up to the pump, only to find that it was only equipped with the big semi nozzles that wouldn’t fit into our small tank opening. We had to have fuel, so Dad put the nozzle up to the hole and tried to get as much in as he could. It ended up making a royal mess on the ground but there was nothing else that we could do. I made up my mind that night that I would never come that close to running out of gas if I could help it. The fuel light in my car rarely gets to show its colors, and on the rare occasion that it does come on, it doesn’t shine for long.

The Salt Flats of Utah

On the way back from California, we crossed the Salt Flats in Utah. The wind was blowing so badly that there were numerous tractor-trailers and RVs on their sides. We stopped at a rest area part way thru and walking against the wind was a real challenge. I rather enjoyed the feel of the wind. That same day, we saw a rainbow somewhere east of Utah.

The Hail Storm of 1998

The storm that has had the biggest impact on me personally was the hailstorm that occurred on April 16, 1998.

At that time, I was working for the Postal Service as a Data Conversion Operator (I typed for a living, as did Sara and Kris) in Bowling Green. It was the day after taxes had been filed, which made for a busier than usual day. I remember walking into work that day. The sky was fairly clear and the sun was shining. I don’t remember what time I was clocking in at the time, but it was probably sometime between 1:00 and 3:00. I clocked in and went to my desk, got my walkman out and put on an audio book or music, and started typing.

I don’t remember all of the times or exactly how everything transpired, but within an hour one of our supervisors made an announcement that there was a tornado-watch in effect and that we were all going to have to gather in the hall. There were probably 250 to 300 people working at the time. People got out of their seats, and everyone headed for the hall. There was, of course, a bottleneck at the double doors leading into the hall, which made things very slow.

Suddenly, our most unflappable supervisor came running from the break room at the other end of the hall thru the crowd hollering for everyone to move faster. He ran to the supervisor’s station and got on the microphone and started saying more of the same. Now, if he was in a state of near panic, everyone knew that it must be serious. It turns out that he had been in the break room watching the live coverage from the local TV station. They had a camera crew that was outside covering the storm live when suddenly the camera crew realized that the tornado was headed their way. I think they lost the camera feed but still had audio feed as the crew dove for cover (I’m sketchy on exactly what happened). When he saw the clouds they had been filming and their subsequent dive for cover, he knew it was more than just an idle warning, which put him into action.

We all crowded into the hall, bathrooms, and some people had to go into other doorways just off the hall. We were all just sitting there when suddenly here came Mr. Unflappable again and said, “Everyone, DOWN!” We were already almost all on the floor but the few standing people got down and we all just huddled there for a bit and then it hit. There was such a beating on the building (it was a metal building) that even though there were some hysterical women, we really couldn’t hear them because the hail on the building was so loud. At the time we didn’t have a clue what it was and I remember thinking that it sure wasn’t what I expected a tornado to sound like.

The awful racket continued for several minutes before it finally dissipated. After the supervisor’s were certain that the danger was past, they sent us back to our seats to sit in the dark. We had lost our power and only had emergency lighting. They wouldn’t let anyone out of the building for the time being. We sat there for at least an hour or so before they finally said we could go outside. We walked out into the drizzle and sadly beheld our cars. Almost every car on the lot looked like it could make itself at home in a junkyard. Windshields looked like they had been hit with baseball bats; side and back windows were busted out. The cars looked like someone had gone crazy with bats on them.

Kris, Sara, and I walked out together to survey our cars. My car still had its side windows but the windshield was smashed and the back window was holding on by tint only. There was glass everywhere and the rain left water standing in the car. Kris’s back window and driver’s side window were nothing but mere shards and her windshield was smashed. She found a piece of hail in her car that after an hour or so was still the size of a golf ball. According to reports, the hail had been the size of a baseball in that part of town. You could tell what part of town people had been in according to the size of the dents in their car; our side of town had the biggest hail. Sara’s back window was gone as well and the windshield was smashed but I think all of her side windows were still intact. All three car bodies had been pummeled.

Martin brought his big flatbed truck and a trailer with his Explorer on it and loaded all three cars up and took them home. We drove his Explorer home. For once, Bowling Green didn’t look like much more than a ghost town.

We had to take our cars to get them assessed at a large tobacco warehouse that had been set up with claims adjustors. The scene inside was unbelievable. Brand new vehicles from car lots were lined up inside this warehouse waiting for car haulers to come get them and haul them away to be crushed. They didn’t salvage anything! Not electronics, engines, tires, seats…nothing!! It made me so sick. I would have been willing to take one of those badly beaten vehicles and replace the glass and drive it. Brand new, I tell you!

Sara’s car had enough value that it was worth fixing completely, but Kris’s and mine ended up being totaled. We went to junkyards and got the parts necessary to make them drivable. Kris still drives that car. The Taurus that I was driving at the time (Mom and Dad’s) went to my brother when I purchased my own car. For several years, hail damaged cars were the norm. I still occasionally see a hail car (besides Kris’s), but not very often.

That storm left me feeling a little bit betrayed. I’d never really been affected by a storm before. At least I didn’t feel as if I’d been singled out by the storm because it affected thousands of people and many of them worse than me. I was glad that I didn’t live in Bowling Green. People had to wait for a long time to get their roofs fixed; at least it was only my car and nothing else. According to this article, the damage was estimated at $500 million.

Lightning Struck

Then there was the storm in 2002 that gave me a new respect for lightning.

Kris, Sara, and I were at some social function at one of the local churches. The evening was winding down, and we could see that a storm was approaching because of increasing wind and lightning. We decided to head for home and try to make it before the storm actually hit.

The wind and lightning really picked up on our drive home. I don’t remember much of the storm itself or even if it did rain or just blow over. I actually think it might have blown over. That is why we were so surprised to find out the following day that our house had been hit by lightning.

Our computers all had surge protectors on them, but what we didn’t think about protecting was the router on the network. It came in through the router and branched out. All three of our computers were hit in some way but they weren’t total losses. We had to replace parts here and there. The lightning fried Sara’s fax machine, my sewing machine, garage door openers, and the air conditioner. It seems like there may have been several other things but I’ve forgotten.

I still enjoy lightning, but I now prefer to enjoy it from a distance. I’m a true believer in surge protectors, but still don’t manage to always keep everything protected. I hope it never comes back to haunt me.

The Heavens Declare the Glory of God

2005-08-13T21:25:00.000-07:00

Meteor Showers

I was reading some stuff on the Internet last night and came across some information saying that there were supposed to be meteor showers on the night of August 12. It said the best time to see the display was around 2 a.m. I wasn’t real sure if that meant 2 a.m. at the beginning of August 12 or the beginning of August 13.

It was my usual late hour so I went outside to stare up at the sky to see if I could see anything. Nothing. As I turned to go inside, I saw Mom & Dad leave to head to Michigan for a reunion. I went in and called Mom to tell her of the possible meteor showers.

I had never seen a falling star until I was in my very late teens, maybe even my early twenties. I think the first one I saw was late one night after getting off work at a convenience store that I worked at. I’ve always been thrilled at the sight of a falling star, the few times I’ve seen them. The first opportunity I had to see a meteor shower was probably in 2001 or 2002. I almost always hear about them (and Northern Lights) after the fact, so I was excited that for once I heard about it before the occurrence. It was a spectacular show. I’ve always wanted to see another one.

I went on to bed but set my nap alarm to get up around 2:30. Surprisingly enough, I woke up immediately after the alarm went off. I went outside and stood there for about five minutes peering up at the sky. Nothing. I figured that I had heard about it one night too late (again) and was just turning to go back inside when I saw a streak go across the sky. I was thrilled. So I just plopped down in the grass and lay there on my back gazing at the sky temporarily wishing that I lived out in the country with no streetlights around.

The meteors were so few and far between that I gave up after awhile. I have a feeling that the shower was actually supposed to occur the night before because I only saw about six of them in the thirty minutes that I was out. I was delighted to have seen the few that I did but disappointed to have missed the bigger show.

Lightning

I decided that today was the dreaded day for weeding the flowerbeds. My back is shot and my hands are sore and a slight shade of brown despite repeated washings, but the flowerbeds are looking much better.

The day started out very hot, sunny, dusty, and just plain yucky. I can’t even put into words exactly how badly I didn’t want to be out there, but grass was becoming more prominent than the plants so it had to be done. I normally don’t mind (too much) working outside in the yard but the weather we’ve been having recently has just gotten me down.

I had been working for about forty-five minutes when I noticed that there were some stormy-looking clouds in the west. “Bring it on!” I thought without much hope. The clouds slowly came closer and closer and soon I began to hear thunder. Music to my ears! The wind began to pick up, and I soon perceived that, indeed, the storm was going to grace us with its presence. I worked until the big drops began to fall, and then gathered all of my things into the garage to watch the storm.

I’ve always enjoyed storms. The combination of the lightning, the thunder, and the wind always gives me a thrill. It’s one of the things I’ve missed since moving into the basement. Unless the storm is right overhead, I can’t hear the thunder, and obviously I can’t see the lightning. On the rare occasions that a storm occurs just as I’m going to bed, I’ll open my blinds just to watch the flashes of light while I fall asleep.

I stood in the garage watching today’s storm until the wind changed directions and started blowing the rain right into the garage. I closed it up and went downstairs to find something to do while the storm did its thing. It didn’t last more than thirty minutes (I didn’t find out when it quit because I couldn’t hear it). I waited long enough for some of the water to soak into the ground before I went back to my weeds.

The storm brought with it a blessed cooling and a cloud cover that kept the sun from baking me. I worked in the yard until dark, and as I was going inside, I noticed more lightning to the south. I went in and washed up. Then I took my supper outside and sat and watched the lightning show while I ate.

Laying in the grass at 2:30 in the morning hoping for a fleeting glimpse of a falling star, sitting in the dark watching lightning dance across the sky—these are some of the things that draw my thoughts to God; for indeed, the heavens do declare the glory of God.

Pain Tolerance

2005-08-12T21:12:00.000-07:00

The other morning as I was getting ready for work, I heard a news story that claims that redheads have a higher pain tolerance. According to the story, we are missing the hormone that would make our hair brown. That same hormone in other people makes them feel pain more intensely.

So I was looking for this information on the Internet and found another source that claims that on average, redheads require about 20% more anesthesia than other people to obtain satisfactory sedation. I found claims that support both theories.

From personal experience, I believe that I would fall on the “Give me more!” side of things. I know that I require more anesthesia than the average patient when reclining in the dentist chair. There were many times in the midst of drilling that my dentist would have to stop and shoot me up again. He has finally learned to give the extra dose on the front end of things.

If the theory of redheads having more pain tolerance is true, then Kris can be thankful for her red hair right now. She just had her wisdom teeth pulled and pain is a very Real Force in her life at the moment. She is disputing that theory. She thinks that she is feeling her pain very acutely right now.

I found a message board on which redheads were discussing some of the theories they’ve heard about redheads. It would seem that soft tooth enamel is common, several were born with only three wisdom teeth, and some have heard that they have more acid in their saliva, which contributes to the bad teeth. There are a lot of theories out there…kinda funny.

Bribery

2005-08-11T18:47:00.000-07:00

Today my boss tried his hand at bribery.

He found out that his prospect for my stand-in this fall has turned down the opportunity. He offered me a $2 an hour pay raise (not an insignificant amount) if I would quit school. I just smiled.

Paper

2005-08-10T21:30:00.000-07:00

Paper seems to have an overwhelming presence in my life. It’s a wonder that I don’t have nightmares filled with Paper Monsters: Catalogs chasing me for hour upon endless hour through the Forest of Receipts I Haven’t Dealt With, Credit Card Offers attempting to inflict paper cuts, and Charitable Contribution Pleas trying to push me off a cliff into the Sea of Statements Waiting to be Reconciled.

I deal with an abundance of paper at work, but it’s not the paper at work that overwhelms. There is usually a place for that paper. No, it is the paper at home that piles up at an alarming rate. Junk mail, catalogs, legitimate mail, receipts, school papers…they accumulate at a rate that leaves me wondering where it all came from.

With all of the demands on my time, paper does not rank very high on my list of priorities. I live in a vicious cycle of stacking these papers to be sorted through Some Day. These stacks get shoved into boxes in an effort to gain some semblance of order for the purpose of being able to use my desk or to give the appearance of having everything under control, should some unfortunate soul happen to stop in.

Some Day arrived several days last week. I sorted, pitched, and restacked. I actually found receipts from 2003 that didn’t quite make it to my previous Some Days. I think that if I improved my filing system it would help immensely. If I created a logical place to put all of my papers, then I wouldn’t have any excuses, would I? Maybe, but probably not. Lack of time is always a good one, right?

Another Partner in Crime

2005-07-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

Now that Jolene is officially enrolled in college, Kris and I will have another Partner in Crime—another person to join us when we attend university functions; someone new to drag to class-required activities. I was a reluctant Art Museum attendee with Kris for her Art Appreciation class; she grudgingly went to an orchestra performance with me for my Music Appreciation class.

Neither one of us really appreciated the other’s class requirement. She refused to attend my other musical requirement after that. (Hah! She’s taking Music Appreciation this fall, now she’ll have no choice.)

Maybe Jolene can hang out at the library doing homework with us now. It’s so hard to stay there and do homework by yourself, although we probably distract each other more than not. And now, Jolene can get into the same free stuff that Kris and I can get into with our Student IDs.

If Sara were here, we could be the Quad Squad on campus. Maybe we’ll have to be something like the Tranquil Triad instead.

It’ll be great!!

Picking Professors

2005-07-26T21:30:00.000-07:00

My method of picking classes has been to look up the classes that I need to take, find classes that fit my desired schedule, and then research the professors on www.profeval.com. I have used this method from the very beginning and have had fairly satisfactory results in finding good professors. If given the choice of taking my professors again or not, I would probably take all of them again except for two. I took a risk once and picked a TBA professor for speech. God blessed me with a great professor.

So, this evening found Jolene and Kris lounging on my bed. Bright and early tomorrow morning (6:15, if Kris has her way), Jolene will be headed up to Western Kentucky University to attend her Orientation, take her Math Placement Exam, and sign up for classes to start attending the University in the fall. She came over this evening to discuss these very imminent events.

Jolene was supposed to help Kris study for her Medical Terminology test while I looked up potential classes and professors for Jolene. I looked up various classes then opened another browser to start up Profeval. I clicked on the shortcut to the website and…nothing. I clicked it again. More nothing. I refreshed. Same result. I began to feel Great Despair.

Kris helpfully suggested that I restart my computer. Once before (mere days before signing up for classes) we had problems with the website not working. We moaned about it for days. I’m not sure if someone suggested that I reboot or if I just happened to and the website came back up immediately. So rather than wait days, I went ahead and rebooted. I started things back up and clicked on my Profeval link and…Nothing!

How could I possibly do effective research without Profeval? I started up browsers with www.RateMyProfessors.com and www.PickAProf.com to see if I could find any information there. Almost nothing. I messed around with potential classes, copying and pasting them into Excel to organize and manipulate them more effectively. Every few minutes, I would stab at the Profeval link to see if anything had changed since a few minutes before. Nothing changed.

I asked Kris to go reboot her computer to see if that would have any effect on my stabs. She said she would go do it but “You have to pray while I do it,” she said. I agreed. And I prayed. I begged and pleaded. I prayed out loud. I prayed silently. I prayed reverently. I prayed conversationally. While she was gone, I decided to try to meet God half way and reboot my computer again, hoping that the combined reboot would have a better result.

Two reboots later, I started up my browser and, again, stabbed at the link. Nothing. I tried all the tricks again with the same results. Despair. I woefully looked at Kris and Jolene lounging on my bed and reported to them that God had evidently said “No.” I abandoned that browser and went back to looking at classes.

Sometime later, I was clicking around and happened to click on the Profeval-not-responding browser. I stabbed at the link once more, just for old times sake. TADA!! It worked just as slick as you please. I managed to alarm Kris and Jolene with my jubilance. I guess God didn’t say “No”, he just said, “In a few minutes.”

I started researching professors and discovered that the process just doesn’t have the same appeal that it does when it’s your own schedule that you’re researching. The available classes are so limited by now because all the existing students have already enrolled. We just came to the conclusion we’ll leave it up to the advisors and if Jolene gets cruddy classes, then so be it. She’ll have more clout next semester. It’ll be interesting to see what they come up with.

Here They Are

2005-07-21T21:15:00.000-07:00

Today I received the official College Retreat photo via e-mail. It prompted Kris to download her pictures from the Retreat, and lo and behold, her picture was better than the official photo.

There were a number of people that wanted to have a picture taken with their camera, so we had to hold our places for a while. After smiling for the first six or so cameras, there was no longer anything to smile about, so several of the guys tried their hand at telling jokes. I think that someone may have just said the punch line because there was obviously something to smile at.

It was a wonderful bunch of people to hang out with for a weekend. I think it would have been great if it had been one day longer, but if it had been even one day longer, it would have kept a bunch of people from being there due to schedule conflicts.

There were a variety of majors present including: Nursing (a bunch of ‘em), Doctors, Dairy Science, Finance, Accounting, Chemistry, Veterinarian, Geography, Statistics Research, English, Music, Education, Health Care Administration, Occupational Therapy, and possibly a few that I missed. There was a lot of potential in that group. I am pleased to have met them.

Red

2005-07-18T21:17:00.000-07:00

I was at a family gathering last night. During the course of a conversation, one of my aunts mentioned that her redheaded daughter was teased about her hair a lot as a child. Three of us redheads were sitting at the table and nearly got whiplash from nodding our heads knowingly.

I’ve had to wonder, what’s up with that?? Why is it that redheads get teased about the color of their hair? If I happened to get upset about something, there was the ever-reliable “Watch out for that redheaded temper” stigma. I’ll admit, I’ve got a temper, but so do people with blonde, brunette, black, or you-name-it colored hair. It’s not like other people don’t get mad or upset but somehow it’s really noticed if you have red hair.

I hated the color of my hair as a child. People always wanted to know where I got my red hair. How does a little child answer a question like that? I would dream of having hair of a different color. If Anne of Green Gables hadn’t failed miserably in her attempt at changing her hair color, maybe I would have tried it. (I remember the first time I heard of Anne of Green Gables. There was an old bookstore in a mall that had basically been closed down except for this bookstore. We loved to go there and buy comic books. One day the proprietor, who looked suspiciously much like the Quaker Oatmeal guy, looked at me and told me that I remind him of Anne of Green Gables. I’d never heard of her before and didn’t have a clue why I would remind him of a character in a book. He proceeded to give me the book. I don’t think that I ever read that particular book because it was a very unattractive, uninteresting-looking paperback with browned pages. It wasn’t until years later that I actually read the book.) Then there was the fun of being called “Red” occasionally.

Oh, and let’s not forget about the freckles. There’s the “You were standing in front of the horse eating bran flakes when he sneezed” variety and the much better “Angel kisses” or “A nose without freckles is like a night without stars” variety. While the second variety was always the best thing to use if you had to talk about them, it still highlighted the fact that, indeed, you had spots all over your face, arms, legs, and any other place the sun could scorch on a regular basis. It’s a tan that puddles, kinda like oil and water.

I have come to terms with the color of my hair as an adult. I’ve developed the “water off a duck’s back” mentality. The freckles on my face have either faded to a certain degree or blended the majority of themselves in to a large freckle with a slight variation in shades, but I’ve come to a sort of acceptance of them as well. They are the facts of my life.

Yes, I’ve come to terms with the color of my hair…just in time to watch it change colors. For anyone that knows about the blending of colors to create other colors, I think it normally takes red and yellow to create orange, but in the hair realm of things, Red + White = Orange. That is the unfortunate destiny for the redhead. It’s very subtle at this point and many people can’t tell because of the variations and highlights the sun puts in my hair, but when I comb my hair, it’s there. I’m too young for this.

Of all colors, I think orange is my least favorite. Dad always had an aversion to the word “hate”; therefore, I strongly dislike orange—with a passion.

I'm Sure

2005-07-16T21:38:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of things that I don't know and many things that I'm not sure of, but some things I do know for sure:

Roller coasters are not my thing.

I can handle circular motion better than vertical motion.

I think Kris might concur.

It Takes A Man

2005-07-15T19:35:00.000-07:00

I try so hard to be self-sufficient…but sometimes it just takes a man to get the job done!

So, we’ve had this air-conditioning problem of the cooling part just quitting. The first time it happened, I called the guy that installed it and left a message for him. He called me the following morning and said that he was too busy to get there but he would send an acquaintance of his to look at it. James arrived the same day and when he turned it on, it began to cool just fine. So he told me that it’s working and to let them know if it quits again.

Things worked just like they should have for about five days and the A/C quit working again on a Friday evening, just in time for the weekend. I called and left a message for the installer again and he called me back that same evening. It seems he is a firefighter and works a 24-hour shift every-so-often and this was his every-so-often. He said that he would try to get ahold of James again to see if he could come. James could not come since he was in an entirely different state for the weekend. So the installer gave me a number for a local guy that might be able to help me. And thus began a pattern of me calling and leaving messages, one for the local guy and several the installer for the next week or so. It was as if my messages were ending up in the same space that lost socks go.

I didn’t get too aggressive because we had figured out that by leaving the A/C off for a period of an hour or two, we could turn it back on and get cool air again. But I did want to be put in line for a repair. I’m an understanding kind of gal, and I knew that this is their busy time of year. But I wanted my turn!!

I finally called James myself. The only reason I had his number was that I copied it from Caller ID the one time that he had called me at work. James was very kind and said he’d be happy to come check things out but managed to schedule his visit during a time that the A/C was working. Evidently his diagnostic skills aren’t too great if it’s not currently malfunctioning. He told the renters upstairs to take their filters out and see if that would make a difference and call if they have any more problems. Sounded like a bad experiment to me, and a few days later, no A/C. I called James again and he said he’d come look at it but never showed up. Are all A/C personnel like that?

When I arrived home last weekend to find a message on my machine from the poor renters upstairs, who bear the brunt of this malfunction, stating that the A/C had shut down every day for the past week, I’d simply had it! I talked to Dad the next time I saw him and asked him if he could please go to bat for me on this one, as I was having no luck. He was righteously indignant at the treatment I’d received and was willing to go hunt the installer down and demand justice. I encouraged him to start with a phone call, as I was suspicious that a phone call from him was all it would take.

Dad called the installer the following morning, and once again, he was working his 24-hour shift. He said that he’d be happy to show up the very next day. While he didn’t exactly follow through on that promise, he did show up Wednesday morning. He called me at work to explain what troublesome part had been causing the problem and apologized for not taking care of it sooner. I hate apologies, both giving and receiving them, especially when they have long explanations. A simple “I’m sorry” would have done the job nicely and we could both have moved on with our lives, but it had a lengthy explanation attached. Do you think that I could stick to my guns and make him squirm? Nope, I was very understanding.

It just shouldn’t have required a call from a man to get some service. I would have thought that a damsel in distress would be reason enough to come calling but obviously it wasn’t. I guess that there are times in life when it simply takes a man.

One Year Down, ?? To Go

2005-07-11T20:25:00.000-07:00

My Junior English class was a success. Now I am, Glory Hallelujah! and Praise God!, done with my English requirements. Other than learning the MLA format and documentation style, I still don’t really feel like I know how to write papers.

I was recently talking with someone that said they cannot write a paper without having an outline. Someone else said they write their paper and pull the outline from the written paper. I’m not sure if I can even do a proper outline. Luckily, I didn’t have to submit an outline with my research paper. My paper-writing process is much more disjointed than I’m sure it should be, having just completed my English requirements.

My research paper was written over the course of five days. I spent a lot of time prior to writing it researching gambling and looking for better sources. I started writing the paper on Sunday evening. I wrote on Monday evening, Tuesday evening, Wednesday from around 2:00 to midnight, and was still tweaking it periodically on Thursday at work before turning it in on Thursday evening. When I write a paper, I have to write for a while and then just walk away from it to clear my head before having another go at it. After writing my rough draft, I started a new document and cut and pasted from the old document, rearranging and editing and tweaking all the while to come up with a hopefully passable paper. I would estimate that I had between 18-22 hours in that paper.

My presentation was, well, kind of off the cuff. I never thought that I’d pretty much wing it for a presentation but that’s exactly what I did. I had made some note cards with some points I wanted to be sure and make but I just got up and started talking. Oh, and the overhead that I used? About ten minutes before I left for class, I composed a list of the bad things that come from gambling, both winning and losing, and printed it about 5 minutes before I left for class. I sure was hoping the ink was dry when I packed it up.

We all had to write a little blurb critiquing our classmates’ presentations. The young kid sitting to my left side left his tablet open on his desk when we had a break and I could read his comments about my presentation. “Seemed kinda tense, but was still interesting,” he wrote. Uh, yeah! “Kinda tense” would be putting it kindly. I could feel that my face was, oh, probably cherry colored, but how in the world can a person control that?? And the tremor in my voice?? Public speaking is not my love language at all. In spite of my deficiencies in public speaking, I managed to get a perfect score on my presentation (shows how easy she was on us). Everyone seemed interested in the subject, particularly in the examples that I gave, and we had a nice little discussion after I was finished with my presentation. Overall, I was satisfied with it. Oh, if you ever want to read up on gambling or need a source, I would recommend Gambling in America by Earl L. Grinols.

At the break, some of us were discussing how we go about writing our papers. A lot of them waited until the day/night before it was due to write their papers. I would consider myself to be a procrastinating perfectionist. The guy sitting just to my right said that he too is a procrastinating perfectionist. In fact, he started writing his paper at 10 PM on Wednesday night and wrote until 7 AM. He had to be at work at 8 AM and worked until it was time to come to class. He admitted to falling asleep several times during his 30-minute drive to class. The poor guy thought that the paper had to be 10-15 pages long instead of 7-10, so he ended up writing a much longer paper than he needed to write. Maybe I'm not as much of a procrastinator as I thought. I just hope that I never have to pull an all-nighter because I don’t think I could do it.

And so ends my first year of college.

Got Sausage?

2005-07-10T20:19:00.000-07:00

Today was my day to stay at home with Mom’s old lady and cook Sunday lunch. Mom had kept a recipe for a breakfast casserole from the newspaper that she wanted me to try. She also wanted me to make a cake to go along with it.

As I read over the recipe after the others had left for church, I noticed that it said that the casserole could be prepared up to twelve hours ahead of time and refrigerated. That suited me just fine. I decided to go ahead and prepare the casserole and stick it in the fridge. Then maybe I could actually sit down and relax for a bit before the after-church stampede arrived. I was blissfully ignorant of things to come.

I put the casserole together and stuck it into the fridge and was in the process of mixing up the cake when the phone rang. I never enjoy it when the phone rings on a Sunday morning while people should be in church. It’s almost never good. I glanced at caller ID and saw that it was Dad’s cell phone. The thought that instantly flashed through my mind was that something disastrous had happened. I mean, you just don’t normally get a call from Dad when the sermon should be in progress, unless something bad has happened.

I answered and he told me that a couple we had met many years ago while I was installing church pews with Dad had arrived at church and that he would probably be bringing them home for lunch. He was hoping to prepare me just in case I didn’t think I would have enough food.

I didn’t have a clue! The lunch that was perfectly fine for family suddenly was inappropriate for company. I looked through the freezer for something additional to make but nothing really struck me. I decided I would wait until Mom got out of church and then call and consult her. I finished up my cake, cleared off the table, and cleaned up my mess from my morning cooking. I did a few other miscellaneous chores around the house as well. I was trying to set the table, make tea, and find biscuits to make when Kris and Jolene arrived at home.

I still was unable to reach Mom, but suggested making something like green beans or corn to go along with the casserole. Kris was horrified and was quite adamant that “You don’t serve corn with breakfast casserole!” She decided that some sausage gravy to go along with the biscuits would be in order. She and I went scrounging around in the freezers in the garage, and in her pursuit of ground sausage, she found some smoked sausage links as well. She latched onto those and decided that we would make some of them too.

While I was out in the garage, Jolene had discovered the tea that I was brewing when they arrived. I had forgotten to set the timer, so she took for granted that the tea had been brewing too long and finished making it. She didn’t realize that I had just started brewing it when they arrived, which resulted in some rather anemic tea.

We finally finished making lunch and sat down to eat our Sausage Breakfast Casserole, Sausage Gravy and Biscuits, and Smoked Sausage Links. Notice a pattern here?? Dad asked the blessing on the meal, and we started passing the food. I was sitting on the same side of the table as the couple, and Kris, Jolene, Martin, and Mom sat opposite them with Dad at the head of the table.

The first item to reach me was the sausage links and I noticed that the lady just passed them on without taking one. She took a biscuit, but passed the sausage casserole along as well. I began to get just a bit suspicious when Dad made some sort of comment about the breakfast casserole and hoping it wouldn’t upset their metabolism to eat breakfast at lunch. I think she made a comment about it being fine “except that I’m a vegetarian.”

Oops! Let’s review…Sausage casserole, Sausage links, Sausage gravy. Hmmm…not a vegetarian meal. So much for not serving corn with breakfast casserole! Mom tried to convince her that she could “cheat just once, on a Sunday.” I wanted to go hysterical. Who ever heard of trying to convince a vegetarian to “cheat”? So the poor lady ate biscuits with strawberry jam for lunch and assured us that she would be just fine.

We had tried so hard! I knew better than to make much eye contact with Kris or Jolene. I could see the desire to laugh uncontrollably in their eyes and twitching mouths. Kris seemed to do a pretty good job, but Jolene wasn’t quite as good at it. My own napkin hovered around my mouth for a portion of the meal, lest Jolene should catch sight of my own twitching mouth and lose control.

Fortunately, we had desert, so the lady had a nice-sized portion of cake and ice cream to sustain her until she could make it back to the safety of her parents’ church where “Oh, yes, they definitely know I’m a vegetarian.”

The College Retreat

2005-07-08T21:32:00.000-07:00

Wow! I’m not sure that I can really convey my thoughts and feelings about my weekend at the Faith Builders Mennonite College Retreat. It was a really good experience.

It all started with Sara renting a car in Chattanooga, since we’re all car poor. We’d have had a better chance of spending the weekend beside the interstate than at the retreat if we’d taken any of our cars. She rented a Pontiac Vibe and drove up on Thursday evening and spent the night at our house. We got up around 4:15-4:30 on Friday morning and left for Franklin, PA.

Once upon a time, I would have considered buying a Pontiac Vibe, in all its cute ugliness. Or ugly cuteness, not sure which. But no more! It had the oomph of a hippopotamus when going up hills. After driving it for four hours, I had a backache. Of course, that could happen in any car. The back seat was not comfortable for lying down. There were some other quirks that sealed the dislike of the vehicle; I just can’t remember what they were. Anyway…

Our first stop of the day was the Bowling Green Airport. Since Kris and I had not been with Sara when she rented the car, we had to stop at the Hertz place in Bowling Green to show our drivers licenses and be put on the approved driver list. When we arrived at the airport, there seemed to be no one around, not surprising considering the size of the airport. We looked around for a bit and finally a guy came in from outside and asked if he could help us. We told him what we were there for, and he said we’d come to the right place. He’d never completed the procedure that we were there for so he had to call someone to find out what he needed to do. It took a little bit but we finally accomplished our mission, and after getting some breakfast, we hit the road.

Our trip was fairly uneventful, except for the fact that we had bad luck in choosing exits with decent looking places to use the bathroom. We rejected several exits before finding a bathroom worthy of use.

The whole prospect of meeting new people had been gnawing at me for several days. It seemed that the closer we got to The Castle where the retreat was to take place, the funnier my stomach felt. As we entered the town of Franklin, Kris suggested that we just abandon the whole project and go back home. Rather than succumb to the chicken feelings within, we forged our way up the mountain to The Castle. I was imagining coming to the retreat to find a bunch of Brainiacs discussing Theories of Who-Knows-What or expounding on the Hypothesis of Never-Heard-Of-It. There may have been some of that going on, but for the most part, the people were surprisingly normal.

The Castle is a nifty place located on a mountain above the town of Franklin. It is a huge place. There were bedrooms everywhere! I think that most of the guys slept in the same dorm room since there were significantly fewer guys than girls. The girls also had a dorm room as well as bedrooms off a hall that went back into what they referred to as the servant’s quarters. I think the guys only had one bathroom and the girls had three bathrooms. One thing that helped keep the girls from jamming up in the bathrooms was the fact that most, if not all, bedrooms had a sink in it. And there was no curfew, so people went to bed as they pleased instead of stampeding to the bathrooms all at once. The bathroom situation actually went smoother than I thought it would.

When we arrived around 4:30 EST, we were fortunate to be greeted by cousins that had been on the planning committee. We registered and took our bags up to our rooms. We then went out back to wait for supper, which was to be served at 5:00. After supper, we all gathered in the living room, which had been set up as our auditorium.

Introductions were strikingly like those of a normal college setting. In this case, everyone had filled out a slip of paper when they registered with their major, place of residence, and one interesting fact on it. They passed the papers out, and everyone had to go looking for the person whose paper they had. I was lucky enough to have a person who was from Virginia…seemingly half of the people there were from Virginia. After everyone had a name to go with their paper, we sat back down and had to introduce the person whose slip we had. It was an effective way of mixing people up and breaking the ice.

They had a guest speaker to speak to us on Friday evening and again on Saturday morning. On Friday evening, he spoke on knowing who we are and where we are going, and on Saturday morning, he gave another presentation. It did my heart a lot of good. My nugget for the morning was “All life is ministry.” I can try to impact the place that I’m involved in, even if it’s only an office environment. Another quote he used during both presentations was

“We believe that an individual’s talents are God-given;

therefore, no one should be praised if he is an easy learner

nor condemned if he is a slow learner. These differences

in talent are God’s will, and there is a place for each person

God created.” ~J.A. Hostetler.

I guess to sum it up, it’s okay to be yourself. God has a purpose in mind for everyone. My head heard it, now if I can just get my heart to believe it.

The coordinators split us into pre-assigned small groups with designated group leaders. I think that all of the group leaders have either attended college or are college graduates. The small groups met four times over the course of the weekend, with the first meeting being more of a get acquainted kind of meeting. They assigned a location to each group.

My group got lucky with the location we were assigned. We were sent to the Prayer Tower, a room in a tower on the fourth floor. The room had windows on three sides and had an excellent view. The Castle does not have air conditioning so the open windows were helpful in at least allowing a breeze through.

The purpose of the small group meetings was to allow each person to have twenty to thirty minutes to talk about whatever they wanted to talk about. Our group leader introduced himself as a professional counselor. I was thinking to myself, “Oh boy! He’ll have a field day with me.” And he did.

The prospect of having a window of time in which to talk about whatever, along with the general nervousness of meeting new people, wreaked havoc on me. I really hated it, but the entire weekend I was afflicted with Dry Mouth Syndrome, although it abated itself somewhat after my sharing time was over. I never was able to complete an entire meal. By Sunday afternoon, I was beginning to relax, but then it was time to leave. Go figure!

I managed to make it through my session of sharing, but not without losing my composure, much to my mortification. Our group leader was very good at what he does. The prayer that he prayed would have had me in tears if I hadn’t already been there. It was a good experience for me, even if it wasn’t easy.

My mind has been working furiously ever since the weekend. I’ve been replaying conversations in my mind. I’ve been second-guessing myself. It’s a little freaky that there are people that know some of my inner workings.

The thing that was so unique about the retreat was that it was okay to voice your uncertainties, doubts, worries, and concerns because a lot of them had experienced or were experiencing the same feelings. People understood the feelings, the busyness, the loneliness of a college student. I’m lucky that I have sisters going to college and that we can hash out the things that happen during the school year. A lot of people don’t have someone that really understands. There was plenty of encouragement and affirmation doled out to those who needed it. People were encouraged to dream. It made me wonder if accounting is actually my dream or should I go into the dental field? Lots of food for thought.

It was really a great weekend. Kris thinks that I got my Love Tank filled.

I think…maybe she’s right.

Research Paper

2005-06-28T21:47:00.000-07:00

I’m in need of some inspiration. I am down to the wire on my research paper and feel as dry as a desert in a drought. Seemingly, I can only write for a certain length of time before I begin to go stir-crazy. And I’m out of time.

The paper is due on Thursday night along with an oral presentation. The topic of the research paper was supposed to relate to our major…“unless you happen to be getting a degree in accounting or something like that,” Ms. C said. Another guy and I both raised our hands, indicating that we both are aiming for a boring accounting degree. So she gave us free reign to choose whatever topic we wanted. And thus I got myself into a Legalized Gambling research paper.

The paper is supposed to be seven to ten pages long plus a Works Cited page. I’m betting my will be in the seven page range. I currently have five pages and five lines…of the rough draft, that is.

Now I have to try to be creative with my presentation, which is supposed to be 10-15 minutes in length. 10 or 15 minutes?!? Does she think I’m a chatterbox or something?

So how can I be creative?

And so I labor on...

Our Day (mostly not) on the Lake

2005-06-19T21:14:00.000-07:00

On Friday afternoon, Jolene called me at work and said, “Sharon—you, me, Martin, and Kris are going boating tomorrow morning.”

“We are?” I said.

“Yes. I’m cleaning the boat up today and we’re going to Nashville tonight to get a tube and lifejackets, and then we’re going boating tomorrow. You’ll love tubing. I promise!” she said. Jolene has a newfound love for tubing, which she is sure that everyone will share if only they have a chance to try it. I was somewhat doubtful, but who am I to rock the boat? So that evening we went to Nashville and purchased the ingredients required to make a fantastic day at the lake.

Martin decided that we would have to leave early so we could get to the lake before everyone and his dog arrived. But before we could leave, he would have to fix the boat since it wouldn’t start. (I figured you would make sure it starts before planning a trip to the lake, but I guess not.) His diagnosis was that it was a bad solenoid, and he would have to go to Advance Auto Parts when they open in the morning and get the part.

So Martin got up early and started working on the boat. He took the solenoid apart, did something to it, and put it back together. Still wouldn’t start. So he figured out which solenoid was supposed to fire the starter and purchased a new one. He put it in, and it still wouldn’t start. So he decided to forget the starter and use a screwdriver instead and was successful in starting it.

Kris & I were rather reluctant to get an early start so we had instructed Martin to call us 45 minutes before he was ready to leave—that way we wouldn’t have to get up any earlier than necessary. Jolene woke us up to ask if we wanted breakfast around 8, so we dragged ourselves out of bed and started getting ready. I made an emergency run to Wal-Mart to get some spray sunscreen so we wouldn’t have to smear all that nasty lotion all over; spray just works better.

When I arrived back home, Kris said that Martin had called to say he had finally fixed the boat, and we could leave. I finished getting ready, and we met Martin and Jolene out at Pilot where he was filling the boat with Premium Unleaded to “burn all the junk out.”

We drove the 30-45 minutes to Barren River and, when Martin was unable to find Sawyers Landing where he could launch for free, we went to the Baileys Point and paid the $3 to launch the boat. I parked my car in the parking lot among all the trucks with boat trailers, and we hopped onto the back of Martin’s truck to ride down to the ramp.

Kris and I got off and sat on a rock to the side, since we both hate the launching activities. I always have a horrid feeling that someone will forget to put on an emergency brake or forget they are in reverse instead of drive when they go to pull out, and we’ll watch a perfectly good vehicle disappear into the depths of the water. Of course, steep hills and clutches give me nightmares in the first place but when there’s water to roll back into—horrors!

We watched with pity in our eyes as a man backed his boat down to the water and then made his wife get into the driver’s seat to finish backing it down while he held onto a rope attached to the boat so he wouldn’t have to get his feet wet. So she backed down and the trailer started to go at the wrong angle; her husband told her to pull back up and go again. So she pulled up and backed down again…again at the wrong angle. (I was having dark thoughts at her husband. Hello!?! The average woman is not supposed to back a trailer. That is only for the woman that decides she has something to prove or for the woman that wants to be good at something like that. You don’t have to make her prove that she can’t back a trailer at the boat ramp where others are waiting in line to do the same thing and there are lots of Eyes to make her feel dumb. How hard is it to hold a rope?? Not very! Let her hold the rope!) Pull up and back again and this time while it wasn’t really straight, it was an angle he could live with; so he pushed the boat off and stood there holding the boat while she parked the truck.

In the meantime, Martin had backed down into the water and (thank goodness he can do this stuff with minimal help from another person: Jolene) got into the boat and let the propeller down. He tried to start the engine, but the battery was too dead to start the engine. After several tries, he figured out he would have to have a new battery, but by this time the battery was too dead to lift the propeller back up.

After Kris & I had sat upon our rock for ten or fifteen minutes, we knew something was wrong; so we moseyed over to see if we could help with the decision-making process in our own feeble little way. Martin started suggesting taking the battery out of my car, but I nipped that idea in the bud because in order to take my battery out, you have to take the wheel off. (Advance Auto wouldn’t install my battery for free because of it. Wouldn’t install my battery at all. I had to pay to have it done at the dealership.) Martin asked a guy who was loading up if he could borrow his battery long enough to lift the propeller but the guy was very unhelpful.

After being rejected by the man, Martin told me to go get my car, and he would pull up as far as he could; he would then use the jumper cables to get enough juice to it to lift the propeller. So I climbed the long, steep stairs (nearly heart attacked at the top) and drove my car down to the boat ramp. Kris and Jolene kept telling me to come closer and closer and, even when it looked to me that I would surely get sucked in by the water, closer. I finally refused to go any further because I knew we couldn’t possibly get close enough to jump it with a normal pair of jumper cables anyway. I asked Martin if it wouldn’t work to connect two pair of jumper cables together, and he said it would. So we got the pair out of my trunk and, with Jolene standing in the water holding the connecting parts, connected to my car. Martin did the necessary operations in the boat to make it possible to pull up onto dry land. (Yeah, I was having visions of Jolene getting zapped, but Martin says 12 volts won’t do anything to you.)

Martin pulled up into the parking lot, and I followed him up. He disconnected the battery and put it into the trunk. We all loaded up to go to an Advance Auto in either Scottsville or Glasgow. It had to be Advance because the battery was only a year old and should have warranty on it. Martin was pretty sure Scottsville didn’t have an Advance Auto since they are in the process of building one. He used his GPS to determine that we were ten miles from Scottsville and twenty miles from Glasgow but figured we should go to Glasgow because he was sure they would have an Advance Auto. “This doesn’t do anything for my disposition!” he said, “Let’s hurry and get this battery and get back here so we can get some Pleasure in our systems!”

The man that made his wife back down into the water had a bad battery as well. He sent her up to get their truck to reload the boat. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw that the poor women had backed down to the water and had jack-knifed the trailer and it was up on one wheel, nearly on it’s side. Just before it disappeared from sight, she pulled forward and it bounced to the pavement. I really felt sorry for her.

We arrived at Advance and Martin took the old battery in to get some justice. After waiting in the car for at least twenty minutes, Kris and I sent Jolene in to investigate and make sure that something was actually happening in there. Jolene came back out to report that Advance was claiming that the battery was still good and was charging it up. Martin was buying a new battery for just in case.

Martin loaded up the two batteries, and we headed back to the lake after stopping at Wendy’s for some lunch to eat on the way back. Martin installed the old battery after stealing a wing nut from the new one to replace one that had been lost in the process. He had me park in his spot (they were somewhat sparse at that time of the day) while he took the boat down and launched it, and then I let him park in it while I found another one a little further down.

We trekked down the steps to where Kris and Jolene were trying to hold the boat at the small dock, no small task according to Kris. We got into the boat and headed out onto the water to get some Pleasure. It was after 2:00. So much for an early start!

We retreated to a place that was not highly populated to get started with this wonderful sport of tubing. While we had been on our delightful little trek into Glasgow, the sun had chosen to retreat behind the clouds, making the day seem slightly less warm. As we left the dock, Kris declared that it was too cold to get into the water and so she would not be trying tubing today. Jolene was extremely offended at this and told me that I would have to.

So Martin put the tube into the water and Jolene put on Kris’s lifejacket and got into the tube. Now this tube is a two-person tube. It has a hole into which a person’s rear is to descend and their torso and legs are to keep them from disappearing into the hole. They then demanded that I finish out the required duo on the tube.

Rather than destroy Jolene’s life forever by refusing (even though I wanted to), I reluctantly put on a lifejacket and attempted to get onto the tube. It was a disaster from the very beginning. I got one foot into the hole (there is no graceful way to get onto this thing) and of course with my added weight, it wanted to move and I wasn’t strong enough hold myself up. So I began to descend. I desperately held onto the boat and tried to get onto the tube and tried to grab onto Martin and tried to get into the tube. It wasn’t working.

(I was having visions of an incident of a number of years ago when Martin had a jet ski. I was going have Martin give me a ride. It was precarious, but with some maneuvering I managed to get onto the jet ski. I just got seated and we wobbled left, then right, and then left…into the water. (Let me just insert here that I was raised by parents that can’t swim, and so water was not a big part of my upbringing. I never learned to swim until I was at least 18ish. I’m still not a good swimmer, so if you ever need help in the water, you’re on your own. As a result of not being able to swim, my mother was always paranoid around water, which has to some extent transferred to me. It's not that I don't want to get rid of my fear; I just can't seem to shake it. I don’t like water on my face, in my eyes, nose, or ears. If it’s going to be there, I at least like to be intentional about it and know about it at least 15 seconds in advance so I can get a proper breathing routine going, as in NOT breathing. I've discovered that, as much as I'd like to, I just can't breathe under water.) If it hadn’t been for the fact that I had just learned to swim in the previous few years, I would have inhaled half the lake at the jet ski routine, but I was able to hold back and inhale only about a pint or so.)

So here I was, half on the tube, half in the water and trying to find a firm foundation—any one would do. I REALLY didn’t want to go fully into the water, which was surprisingly warmer than I thought it would be, but still, I wasn’t mentally prepared to be fully immersed. Martin finally grabbed the tube and got it under control, and I got up on it. I should have just abandoned ship right there and gotten back into the boat, but Jolene was so determined that I would love it that I decided to at least try it.

Martin hooked us up and I instructed him in no uncertain terms that he should go slowly, and if I wanted to quit, there would be an immediate termination of forward motion and a rescue operation should ensue. Jolene instructed me to lean forward and hold onto the handles as Martin slowly eased the boat into motion. I was immediately unimpressed with the results. We seemed to be plowing water, and I had visions of disappearing into the depths like the aforementioned vehicle. Martin eventually got up enough speed to lift us up above the water, and I still was not impressed.

Now Jolene had told us how sore her rear had been from her prior joy rides, but it did not prepare me for the beating that I was now privy to. Water that had mere seconds earlier been pliable was now as hard as a concrete surface scraping along my rear. After 15 to 20 seconds of that brutality, I decided that something had to happen. I stiffened my body to attempt to raise my rear a few inches, which resulted in my foot going down into a wave, which in turn resulted in a face full of water for me. Remember that I don’t like water in my face and eyes? I was suddenly blind, receiving a beating, and wanting OUT!!!

“Jolene, get me OUT of here!” I demanded. “NOW! Tell him to stop!” Jolene was laughing but recognized the desperation in my voice. She thought that I might be crying. I wasn’t…yet. (But you know what (most) children do when they are spanked, or as in this case, beat with a 2x4? They cry.) If it was going to last much longer, I probably could have, because it was painful! She managed to convey to Martin to stop, and with the decrease in momentum, it felt like we were going to somersault backward into the water. I mentally tried to prepare myself for the dunking…but it never came.

Martin circled around, and when I could finally peer through the water in my eyes, I could see that Kris was giggling hysterically. I wanted to pitch her into the water headfirst. She couldn’t contain her delight in my unfortunate experience, for it had (evidently) been a hilarious sight. I still wasn’t amused. Martin pulled the boat around where I could climb into the back. I grabbed a towel and retreated to the front of the boat where I dried off.

Kris still refused to get in, so Jolene decided to have a go at it alone. We dragged her around for a while. Kris sat in her seat occasionally glancing at me and going into gales of laughter. After a while she said, “My smile muscles are so tired! This is the funniest thing I’ve seen in a while.” Smile muscles, my foot!

Jolene tried putting a pillow under her that had been brought along just for the occasion but it still didn’t totally solve the bruised butt syndrome. I think she actually has a raw spot.

My rear still hurts. Let me describe the feeling for you. Picture this: You are just learning to ice skate. You’ve never been ice-skating before and you get up on your skates for the first time and BAM! You fall flat on your rear, no preparation; just BAM! You get up and BAM! You go down again. You repeat this process, say, 3 or 4 times before you give up because of the pain. That is how your butt would feel. Church wasn’t exactly a comfortable place to sit this morning.

After Jolene had her fill of tubing, we rode around the lake for a while. Martin offered to let her learn to ski, but she wasn’t in to trying it at this point. He knew better than to offer it to me. I had enough water plowing for a good long time. We had less than two hours of boating for all of our troubles. Martin had to get back home to go to a meeting.

So ended my career of tubing. I tried to like it, I really did. Both Kris and Martin think that the problem is that I’m not committed to the journey when I get into the water. I agree. I knew I wasn’t committed to the journey when they forced me out of the boat, but I was trying to be a good sister and help a little sister have a good time. And all I get in return is the hysterics of those that saw it/hear about it. But give me a little credit; at least I tried.

I think I might have convinced Jolene to take this tube back and get more of a raft style that would have air between you and the water. Maybe I’ll try that one time if she does. Maybe, but Kris is going first.

The Case of the Traveling Shorts

2005-06-16T21:02:00.000-07:00

Some recent events have had me digging through old e-mails to find a particular e-mail so I wouldn’t have to rewrite the story. This particular e-mail was written to family and friends about a year ago. Kris and I are, at times, easily entertained and it makes for cheap entertainment.

June 6, 2004:

A few weeks ago, Kris was telling me about a pair of shorts that she used to have that had simply worn out because she liked them and wore them so much. Well, it turns out that I had several pairs of shorts like that and I no longer wear them. I dug them out and gave them to her. She tried them all on but only liked one pair.

Now, I have this philosophy that when given something, you don’t give it back just because you don’t like it. But, yes indeed, these two rejected pairs of shorts landed on my bed a short time later. In the course of cleaning up, I returned The Shorts to her by hanging them on a hook behind her door. She saw them not too long after that and they ended up hanging on a hook on my closet door. I bided my time and when I had a chance, I took them back to her bathroom and hung them back on the hooks, but this time under a jacket hanging there. I thought that this would surely give a little bit of respite to the Traveling Shorts beings that this is not jacket weather.

I saw nothing of them for several days but, as it would happen, this was a New Jacket and when Jolene came over several nights ago, Kris insisted that Jolene try on the Jacket. I suppose that is when she found them.

On Friday night, I decided to get a jump-start on my washing and was digging my dresses out of the hamper and “What’s this?” You’ve guessed it!! The Shorts were stuffed down in the bottom of my hamper. I chuckled to myself and pulled them out and finished loading my washer. Kris hadn’t come home from work yet so I went in search of a place for The Shorts. I looked behind the door and on the same set of hooks was her school backpack. “Aha!” I thought. “She won’t need that thing until August so they can rest comfortably for a few months at least.” The backpack was open so I just stuffed them inside, not wanting to disturb the thing and alert her.

Then yesterday, of all things, while we were sewing, Kris was redrawing a pattern. Much to her frustration, nothing would seem to write on the pattern fabric. “I need a No. 2 pencil!” she said. “Do you have a No. 2 pencil?” I couldn’t remember having seen a No. 2 pencil recently and told her so. “I think I have one in my backpack,” she said, much to my dismay. “Please let the pencils be in the front pocket,” I thought, hoping that she wouldn’t look inside the backpack. I sat there giggling to myself, pretty sure that she would find the shorts. It wasn’t long until I heard a high-pitched hysterical giggle coming from the direction of her bathroom. I lost any composure that I had hopes of maintaining, had she not found them. She came heehawing into the sewing room with admonitions of what should and should not be done with shorts.

She has now done some unknown thing with The Shorts. I’m keeping my eyes open for them without sending an all-out full-scale search party for them. No telling where or when they will appear. And the ironic thing? The No. 2 pencil wouldn’t write on the fabric either!!

End of e-mail.

I’m not sure exactly what all transpired with The Shorts for a while but I found them earlier this year under my bed. I left them where I found them for a period of time, mostly because I kept forgetting to do something with them when Kris was out of the house. One day I told Jolene to go look under my bed, so she was aware that I had found them. We had a quiet giggle together and tried to scheme about where to hide them next.

I finally remembered them one day when I arrived home from work earlier than Kris. I decided that it was time to split them up and hide them in two separate places. I folded them neatly and placed one pair under a trunk at then end of her bed and the other pair was placed under the cushion on the chair in her room.

Fast forward to Monday, May 30, 2005:

Monday was Memorial Day and I tackled the big project of cleaning out my closet. Kris had decided that it was time to take her ancient bed with the broken end and exchange the frame for another one that we had in the attic. In the course of moving things around, she had to move the trunk at the end of the bed and, of course, found The Shorts. I was entirely occupied in my room when suddenly I found myself being flogged from behind with none other than The Shorts. She admonished me soundly, pitched them on my bed, and returned to her room.

I was hoping she had forgotten that there were two pair because I didn’t want her searching for the other pair. The rest of the week was quite peaceful until the following Saturday. I had purchased a cabinet to house our towels in the bathroom and spent a good portion of the afternoon assembling it. (I could tell them a thing or two about writing assembly direction!)

At one point I needed the hammer but it was nowhere to be found. So I made do and pounded away with a screwdriver for a while. Then Jolene happened to be coming over for something so I told her to bring one of Mom’s hammers. I was almost completely done with the cabinet when, once again, I found myself being flogged from behind with… Pair Number Two.

Sigh! She just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Here I no longer needed the hammer (which is still lost) but she just had to keep searching and lifted the cushion on her chair and beheld The Other Location.

Maybe I’ll stick them into the bag I have destined for Goodwill. Maybe I won’t. : )

Insomnia?

2005-06-07T21:57:00.000-07:00

Have insomnia?

Try reading a copy of "The Communist Manifesto" by Karl Marx...or "Civil Disobedience" by Henry David Thoreau. You'll be snoring in no time!!

Nearly every time that I sit down to read the "great" philosophical essays that have been assigned, my eyelids become exceedingly heavy. Morning, noon, or night...it makes no difference. I've had to resort to taking No Doz.