No ticket, no island

My father and my grandson have such a unique relationship. It is quite amusing to watch. This 69 year old man and three year old man-to-be, both with vivid imaginations, fighting, intensely, over an imaginary object.

My father has introduced my grandson to "Doughboy land." I have no idea why we dubbed this patch of hemlock "Doughboy land" it is long lost in the annals of family lore. Maybe #4 can chime in with where the name came from. No matter how hard it rains it used to be dry in Doughboy land, the trees grew so close together. Last December's storm took many trees out, rain now hits the needled floor, new shrubs are growing, but for the most part it is still a haven for play even during a rain storm.

Great grandson and great-grandfather take their daily walk through this grove as we watch through the drizzle from the safety of the gazeebo. They stop and consult. Grandson hands Grandfather something, pinching the fingers of his right hand together and cupping his left hand underneath. Grandfather receives the object in the same manner, taking the object by pinching the fingers of his right hand together and cupping his hands underneath. They both appear to have the object now. Grandson asks a question, Grandfather shakes his head no. Grandson nods his head, violently. Grandfather shakes his head no, violently. Grandson yanks on the object, hard. Grandfather yanks back. Grandson falls forward a little because Grandfather has yanked so hard. Grandson frowns and yanks harder. Grandfather lets go and grandson almost topples over. Grandson then throws the object on the ground. Grandfather reaches down and picks the object up and starts to put them on his feet, one by one. We cannot see the object. The object only exists in their imaginations!

They were "fighting" over a pair of lava boots! Grandson insisted that Grandfather didn't have any and had to agree to certain conditions before he could get his! Grandfather had refused the deal so Grandson threw the boots down in disgust. I asked my dad why he didn't just go to the fake store and buy himself a new pair of fake lava boots? He said the stor wasn't opened.

Yesterday they took another walk in the woods. It was a very short trip. Grandfather came back first, laughing. This time, he said, Grandson pushed past him and ran to the mound in the middle of the grove and then told Grandfather to wait.

Grandson, "You need a ticket to come here. No ticket, no island! "
Grandfather, searching through pockets and then producing an imaginary ticket, "Here you go!"
Grandson, taking imaginary ticket examines first one side, then flips it over and looks at the other side, "I'm sorry, this is not a ticket to this island."
Grandfather, "It isn't? What is it a ticket for, then?"
Grandson, handing imaginary ticket back to Grandfather, "I have no idea, I've never seen anything like it in my life!"
Grandfather, taking imaginary ticket, "It doesn't go to any of these islands?"
Grandson, "Nope, none of them. I've never seen a ticket like that one. Sorry, you just can't use it here. Bye!"

Grandfather put it in his pocket. He actually reached into his pocket to pull the ticket out so that he could tell me the story!

Sometimes, I worry about the two of them.

Helpful forms everyone should have

I do like organization, even though I do not always subscribe to it myself. I like the IDEA that there is a spot for everything and everything should be in its place. I like the idea that I should have a personal secretary and a maid, as well. What I do have is my mother. What my children have is me. We all have the same complaint. Our personal secretaries and maids are flippant, talk back, rarely do as asked and always change where we want our things to be. As a consequence we are super organized in the field.

The organizations we chose to work for and volunteer for have their files referenced and cross referenced. We have everything in notebooks, on file cards and in zip lock baggies. We can find anything and everything has been archived. We can tell you where the receipt for the pens bought for the convention in 1999 can be found or where the template for the signs for the marathon in 2003 is kept. Ask us when our middle child's birthday is? Our mind is blank. We really and actually do have a friend of the family who keeps all important dates for us. She knows all of our birthdays, has all of our addresses and phone numbers. We call her when we need to know something about our family. I think she is one of the top people we all pray for every day and probably the only birthday we all remember!

In keeping with organizing the world around us I feel it incumbent that I should remind everyone that they should be keeping a health notebook near their phone, or some other convenient location. If something should happen to a family member you should be able to grab this notebook on the fly and head to the ER room.

While these forms were made by Parkinson's Center of Oregon, they can be adapted for anyone. There are emergency contact forms, medication forms, event forms (any recent falls, etc.), health concern forms, as well as forms for medical releases, advanced directives, and medical power of attorney. These are things you don't want to be making a decision on in the midst of a medical crisis. No matter whether you are in a huge family surrounded by parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, or just you and a significant other, the more documentation you have completed ahead of time and the smoother the administrative side is , leaves you with more energy to deal with the real crisis.

The contact form is for the information of the individual. It also has a place for the primary doctor's name, any specialists that can/should be contacted, primary and secondary insurances (remember to photocopy your insurance card and put it in a sheet protector here with this page). Also on this form is room for contact information regarding who else should be contacted in cases of emergency: your medical power of attorney, a parent or guardian, a grandparent, lawyer, etc.

Please, fill this out for each member of your family! So many are in second marriages and children may have different primary and secondary insurances. It is nice, if in the midst of an emergency, you can just whip out that piece of paper with all of the correct info on it. Also, if your child has an ongoing childcare situation a copy of a waiver giving that person specific rights for medical emergencies should be located in this notebook.

The medical history form is a handy one to have extra copies of that you can just hand out when going to a new doctor. It is also a good form for the emergency room so that an ER doctor or nurse knows what condition the patient was in before the incident. When updated periodically it can give you an idea of how you are doing overall, especially if you are dealing with a chronic health concern.

A current medication list is very important on any trip to a medical facility or even the pharmacy. You want to make sure that everything being taken is working together, and especially that no toxic combinations are occurring. Many herbal, mineral and even vitamins should not be taken with one another and many can not be taken at the same time that certain synthetic drugs are taken. Doing so can either cause the drug to be ineffective or even have an adverse effect. A complete list of all meds and supplements is crucial to a doctor and a pharmacist.

Also, a prescription diary is important for chronic health concerns so that you can chart how the medication is making you feel. Whether it be a simple case of determining whether or not to use hormone therapy or use herbal supplements, going on anecdotal memories of how you felt two months ago when using synthetic drugs compared to how you feel now using an herbal/mineral combination is not really the best way to determine something as important as your health and emotional well-being. Much more so when you are comparing different types of synthetics or trying to determine the proper dosages.

This event diary is important as well. You may not be conscious of how often you or a loved one is having small, minor, events. Once you start recording them you may well see a pattern that will help you prevent a major accident from happening. You may see that small events center on a certain period of the day which could mean medication is wearing off and a shift in when meds are taken needs to take place. Or events happen in a certain area of the house and extra safety cautions need to be taken there. Extra lights need to be added, a handrail needs to be put in or rugs taken out. Suddenly, things become easier around the house.

This is an advanced directive. Read the whole document. You can chose which parts you want to sign. It also has a place to appoint a health care representative. You do not have to have an advanced directive, but if you have a chronic illness that may hospitalize you in the final stages you may wish to consider one. Also, a grim reality is that we never know when any of us will be in an accident that renders us in need of one of these. You should have a copy of this in your notebook, give one to your attorney and your hospital and primary doctor should also have a copy.

This medical power of attorney is similar to the form contained in the advanced directive for an appointment of a health care representative. You can be very specific on this form as to the power you are giving the person. If you do not understand it, or any document which has to do with your rights, take it to an attorney.

It is really too bad that in Oregon paralegals do not have a legal right to help us with simple things such as the above.

Many of the above forms can be found at the Parkinson's Center of Oregon's helpful forms page.


Dang! Stupid Ducks just lost to stupid Boise State Broncos. Great, guess the dinner conversation here!

Busy, busy, busy

SO much to do and little time to do it in!

Convention in three weeks. We have most of the details mapped out. In between doing convention work I have been helping to plan the wedding for our third youngest daughter with the same people who are helping to plan the convention. I truly hope we are not confusing any details!

On top of that I am planning something else. A truly awesome something else that is making my heart thump so fast I think I am having a heart attack and makes me think I am insane, but at the same time is thrilling.

And then there is actually doing some reporting, investigating, researching and coming upon some astonishing finds all the while ignoring the pressing interviews that I have been promising to get to when life will just slow down a little tiny bit so that I can get to them.

Each thing that I am doing is so utterly fascinating that I get a bit annoyed when another facet of my life encroaches in on it. I love convention. I love the time of year it is as it prepares us for the holiday season that for my family stretches from Oct 20th to May. Literally every month has a holiday in it, October on out. October starts with convention. When we don't host it, we can go and come back. This year, we run it. Then the rest of the month. October 20th the Birth of the Bab, a big celebration for us and then Halloween, minor but we already have a of decorations for it. Nov 12, Birth of Baha'u'llah, another big one. Then, Thanksgiving followed by the Day of the Covenant and the Ascension of 'Abdu'l-Baha, all in November. December, in our family we acknowledge the celebration of Christmas and decorate for Chanuka and Kwanza as well. We have Christmas Eve with friends and a potluck and a rousing game of "Alliance White Elephant" gift exchange.

In January we do New Years and with the sports fanatics here I have to admit they do "celebrate" Super Bowl Sunday. February sees the beginning of Ayyam-i-Ha and March brings in the Fast and ends it with Naw Ruz, our New Years. April has two Holy days, the First and Third days of Ridvan, and May has three, the Third day of Ridvan, the Declaration of the Bab and the Ascension of Baha'u'llah. And then, nothing until July.

Whenever I am sitting "still" I am knitting, for gifts, for the various holidays and holy days. Forget birthdays and anniversaries, at least I always do as my husband so kindly reminds me. Interspersed with all of this is the monthly Parkinson's support group meetings, the monthly Spiritual Assembly meetings, the quarterly Cluster Coordinator meetings, the weekly study circles, and I do believe that at sometime my husband and I instituted a mandatory "date night". I think we forgot to state that it must be with one another, alone, with no discussion of work, children or community affairs because I can't remember when we did just that.

In a few weeks hubby and I are to spend 10 glorious days in the "wild" of eastern Oregon. Not alone. In a one room cabin. With his sister and her hubby. And his brother and his son in an RV parked near by. But, we will have bikes and a canoe. And we will have the outdoors. And we will not have children. And I won't believe it until the fifth day we are there.

Coffee beans on conferences!

I am on the planning committee for our electoral unit convention. I love convention. I loved it when it was one statewide weekend long convention but now we have grown too large and are broken down into smaller units of approx 450-500 Baha'is per unit. Which means the Portland area has about three or four units and we, who used to be a part of Washington County North's unit 162, are now part of unit 159 which is comprised of Clatsop, Tillamook, Marion, Benton, Linn, Deschutes, Crook, Jefferson, and Polk counties. Sort of a large, wide "v" or inverted "j".


In looking for a central location for our convention the concern is fuel costs. Who is going to travel how far for this convention? In asking for prices for rentals on convention spaces one of the most galling things to me is how many require to you to use their catering service and the price that is charged for coffee! All we want are coffee and tea urns set up at the back of the conference room so people can fill their own cups as the meeting goes on. So far, thats a no-no! Each conference center wants to put carafes on the table and charge $8 per carafe that provides 6-8 servings! At a conference that will have probably 150 (maybe 200 at best) in attendance! After the initial charge of $1200 for the facility!

This is aggravating! I am talking about such venues as Chemeketa Community College, the State Fairgrounds, County fairgrounds, as well as hotels/motels! At least with the hotels/motels we can get a cut price on the rooms and people start off with a continental breakfast. Here is an ideal way for a community college to make extra money in rooms sitting empty on the weekend, yet they are locked in with a catering contract. And forget about a snack with that coffee! Eighty-five cents per COOKIE! Absolutely NO outside food allowed!

We are not running on panic mode, yet. Just aggravation mode. I am simply appalled at what should be nominal charges, or even a part of the package, that one can get dinged for. The state fairgrounds have excellent rental fees on the facilities. Then they charge $30 per outlet used, $1.25 per chair used and $10 per table used plus require a $200 set-up fee and you are not allowed to set-up yourself.

It is almost like opening up your phone bill. There's the nominal $14.99 fee for your phone line and then .... when they get done your bill is $35.00 and you don't have a single additional benefit. Forget the cable bill.

Sigh, back to internet conference shopping!

Tenuous Connections of humanity

According to an August 3, 2008, article in the UK Guardian the theory regarding six degrees of separation away from any other person on the planet has been proven true, almost. In actuality it is closer to seven, with the precise number being 6.6 after researchers at Microsoft studied records of 30 billion electronic conversations among 180 million people in various countries.

"Eric Horvitz and fellow researcher Jure Leskovec considered two people to be acquaintances if they had sent one another a message. They looked at the minimum chain lengths it would take to connect 180 billion different pairs of users in the database. They found that the average length was 6.6 hops, and that 78 per cent of the pairs could be connected in seven steps or fewer. But some were separated by as many as 29 steps."

So much for privacy, but that wasn't guaranteed by Microsoft's Messenger™ was it?

It makes me chuckle at last year's big headline in a local paper where they took five degrees to connect a local county commissioner (that the paper's owner/editor had taken a dislike against) to someone who contributed $4,000 to a campaign and the commissioner had said he didn't know the person. The contributor ended up being his second wife's daughter's second husband's oldest brother's (older by 17 years) either girl friend or tenant. The same paper later didn't print the fact that the same county commissioner's first wife had been the godmother of a person they supported for a seat on the commission, a mere one degree of separation but the paper couldn't seem to find that connection!

So how important are these connections? Don't businesses thrive on networking? Aren't employees encouraged to extend their networks, isn't a good portion of the spam we receive promising to help our home businesses grow by expanding our networks? What is Facebook™ all about? Without looking, can you name all the people in your address book? Would you be able to point them out in a line up? Do you know what is happening in their lives right this moment?

Why does it take a tragedy to make us realize how close we are? A plane crashes in Gearhart, and everyone reaches out to one another. Gearhart draws closer together, feuds, slights and hurt feelings forgotten as the realization that something can literally fall out of the sky and end anyone's tomorrow. The December storm, where each leader of each nook and cranny of the county not only stepped up to the plate but actually stepped back from the microphone and allowed one voice to speak for (and to) everyone, while they quietly went about doing their jobs. No horn tooting, no "look at me", no grandstanding by the locals. A few out of the areas politico s showed up later for their media shots but locally we stood by one another. That was amazing. We held hands.

All too soon it was over.

What leaves me perplexed is how can we allow war? Famine? Poverty? If everyone on the planet is just six steps away from us how can we turn our backs on one another? But we will and we do.

For me, when people ask "How can you believe in a God who allows such and such to happen" it is because of this. Even in celebration we rarely come together as we do when there is tragedy. Until we can learn how to come together in celebration as strongly as we come together in tragedy we will need the sadness of it. We are not, merely, a different species of animal that occasionally collides with one another. The orangutan in Central Kalimantan, Indonesia is never going to worry about the bonobos in the Democratic Republic of Congo. As wonderful as these unique creatures are, we are distinctly different. We are human, and that should mean something.

Two friends have brought me food for thought recently. Actually, four. I shared one the other day and today, the other three. We are all so very connected. Celebrating life should be done together as much as drawing on one another's strength in the time of tragedy. We should mourn for one another, but we should also remember one another in our moments of anger. It takes a strong person to remember that there is still a human being standing before them, in an argument, then painting devil horns on everyone who disagrees.

I look at the upcoming months with trepidation. Not for the outcome, but for what it will do to those determined to get their way no matter which connection is severed. I think that our community will be dramatically changed. I can but only hope, eventually, for the better. I fear not.

Random thoughts on 08-08-08

Eight-eight-oh eight, Beijing is celebrating, others are protesting. China chose this day on purpose, supposedly, because it is a lucky number. Having no superstition about numbers, merely a fondness for nine, I don't understand what the significance is behind eight. However, apparently , numerology has been around forever, and quite a few use it to plan their lives. Here are a few who do.

I do not fully understand gravitation and yet I do not pooh-pooh it, so I can not totally disdain numerology. I do think, however, that much like gravity, we do not understand it. We play at "interpreting" the numbers, but I always wonder at what point do, or did, the numbers start? Whose calendar are we using? It makes no sense to me to apply biblical prophecy to our calendar. Unless, just by doing so we are creating the climate in which the prophecy has no choice but to manifest itself.

If we are going to have self-fulfilling prophecies, why don't we create good ones? On 08-08-08 I am going to wake up and find that all is right in my world. I have paid all the bills on time, my vehicle is running well and full of fuel, my family members are all agreeing with one another and most importantly, of course, with me. My home will be clean, every person I speak to about an assignment I am on will answer me, fully and honestly. I will be thankful for the day.

That just reminded me of an email I received earlier today from someone whose friendship just snuck up on me. One of those where you put someone in one catagory and all of a sudden, in a delighted surprise, you notice they've slipped over to another and you don't even realize when it happened!

As I have written earlier, I am not overly fond of forwards or chains, however, those friends who do bother to send me one I don't grouse. I accept, read, sometimes delete. Sometimes I google and write back a warning that it is a complete hoax and don't bother becoming alarmed about snakes coming out of the toilet or spiders living in your ears. And sometimes, not so often, but sometimes, an email takes me off guard and can take my breath away.

While I had heard it before, quite awhile ago, it must have been time to hear it again. Once, for this one, isn't quite "enough." And I love it.

In a country of over consumption, in an age of let-me-have-it-now, when we all believe we deserve the most and the best as often as we desire it, I do believe we can considered ourselves blessed if we have "enough."

"I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much
bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough "Hello's" to get you through the final "Goodbye."

[Bob Perks, in Chicken Soup For the Grieving Soul]



I wish you one and all, family and friends who take the time to stop on by, enough.

My first real rant

You would think I would come back from vacation all rested and ready to work, but alas, not so. The sun out and who wants to be inside? I have discovered Nettle tablets worked so much better than any other hayfever drug out there, this time around, so no medicine head and I can be outdoors!

You would also think that being in the sunshine would not cause one to go on a rant, but I am ranting today. A real rant Guy & Auntie. Okay.

I am sick and tired of getting promotions in the mail that aren't intended for me. The ones from Charter Cable that say if you just start with them now you can have "the bundle" (phone, internet and cable) for $59.99 but all you losers who are already with us, you're paying $99, minimum. I wanted to add the phone to our existing cable and internet, I am on Vonnage now. I was told by customer service that it would be an additional $19.99 if I signed up now and that would be good for the next six months. Then it would go to the regular price of $35.99/month. I told the person Vonnage was $24.99 and was told Vonnage wasn't available in my area. I told them I was already on it. Dead silence.

An existing customer doesn't get any breaks.

I got a phone call from "unavailable" and answered it only because one or two state people call me and they always have "unavailable". It was a solicitor. And it irked me because they knew my name. It was on my cell phone. "I see that you are still using QWEST and wanted to let you know that ..." I interrupted, "Excuse me, I don't use QWEST, haven't for years." Dead silence. "We think we can offer you savings on your home phone."

My cell and home are listed on the registry of "Do not call" for solicitors. Sometimes when I am in a particularly ornery mood and my grandson is looking for new friends I put it on speaker phone and give it to him to talk to them. There's usually a short battle of, "Put your mother on, please, little boy," with him lisping, "Its not my mom, its my 'Bika" and the other end saying, "What, what?" and him repeating himself until one of them get bored and hanging up.

It boggles the mind how much junk mail comes with seven adults living in the same home, especially when we are also the mailing address for assorted relatives living out of the country, children who haven't changed their mailing addresses from home even after four or five years, friends of the family who live at sea and need a home base, etc. Most of my mail goes to my PO Box and even there Charter sends me invitations that don't apply to me.

"We finance anyone" no you don't. I know dozens of people you don't finance. WaMu's advertising, right after they screwed my father by losing his escrow account and two of his payments, "Move over to us, we care about our customers" this one not addressed to "occupant" but actually addressed to me. Jeeeez. Don't you at least have a computer program that says, "We screwed this family, maybe lay off sending them ads for a couple of months."

When I look at the postage on this junk mail it really drives me nuts. We will literally receive 7 advertisements from Citibank to our home and another three in the PO box in one day! How much money is going into that, how much waste! All of it goes into the trash, or the burn barrel. Waste!

Did I rant enough Auntie? Guy? My list could be longer, but it would be watered down. And of course, I have sat down for 15 minutes and suddenly everyone is surrounding me and talking to me. Why is it when men sit down for a few minutes no one bugs them. Women sit down and its like an open invitation for everyone to sit down and gripe, beg, bug, nudge, talk loudly, argue, fuss, whine, and poke you until you snap. Then its, "Gee whiz, what crawled up your ...? What's your problem? I haven't talked to you all day! Don't you have a even a minute for me?"

Whew! Will, what do you know, I did have one more rant in me. Now, I have to finish cleaning my bedroom. It has been so long since I have seen the bedroom floor I have forgotten what color the carpet is. Does it have a carpet? And there is black mold behind the dresser! Gross. Oh, yeah, let me tell you about living in the woods! Being in touch with nature is just so wonderful ...

Any woman's a lady who behaves that way

I saw this elegant, elderly, woman the other day. Beautifully flowing hair cut shoulder length, clipped back with gorgeous barrettes that matched her green eyes. I sighed. When will I grow up? When will I be a lady? With no scabs on my knees or elbows from hopping off counters because I can't reach the top shelf and bang a knee or elbow on the way down? No scrape marks on my razored shins from hastily shaved legs? No bright red cheeks from forgotten rouge not rubbed in? Eyebrow half plucked because it hurt too much? When does one "become" a lady?

Yesterday, I went to the Warrenton City Council meeting. It was long because they had to read an ordinance, complete with findings, as part of a process for LUBA. The rest of the reporters left, Jeff w/KAST having asked his questions during breaks but I wanted to ask a few questions of the city manager and a couple of the commissioners so I stuck around. The reading was already part of the packet so I got up to stretch my legs and went into the "ladies" room.

I washed my hands and fixed my hair and tossed the paper towel towards the trash can, which was lined with a black plastic bag billowing over the top, and missed by a hair. I went over to the trash can and hastily bent forward to snatch it up and "slam dunk" it but instead cracked my face on the steel can, splitting my lip open. Yeah, the plastic bag wasn't "billowing" over the top, it was right on the sharp, steel, edge.

I saw stars. Ran to the sink and blood was pooling. I pressed the toilet paper to my lip and sighed. Then started laughing until the tears ran, which of course turned my eyes black, which made me laugh all the harder. I fixed myself up as best I could and refused to look into the mirror again. Not that I am vain (although I am) nor think I am the center of attention, however at this point there are only three people in the audience. The city council would be blind not to notice that I was gone for fifteen minutes and came back with a fat lip and blackened eyes!

Okay, I am pretty sure I got the eyes under control, but the lip was puffing. I tried not to fidget with it. When the meeting was over and I talked to the city manager and the councilmen no one SEEMED to stare at my swelling lip. I honestly forgot about it as I was involved with the answers to my questions, leading to more questions and so forth. Then I got into "my" truck and took a quick peek into the mirror. WTF? What's the matter with my lip? An allergic reaction? I always have coughing and sneezing fits at council meetings but this is ridiculous! OOOH yeah! Crap! I hit my face.

I went home and stood in front of my husband. "Hi!" he casually glanced over, "Hi hon, home late?"
"Yeah" I just stare at him. He finally got the hint and looks at me. "What happened? Someone take a swing at you? Who did you interview, [so and so]?" I answer, "A garbage can."

'He hit you with a garbage can?" he asks in bemusement. No outrage, just curiosity. "You didn't tell him I was going to hit him back did you?" Okay, ONE TIME I told someone my husband was going to hit him, and it wasn't for me it was because the bully was picking on someone else AND my husband was standing nearby AND the bully was a biker wearing chains and sure wasn't taking me seriously. My husband had just come off work, was in his logging clothes and was standing with his logging buddies. I thought it was a smart threat. It obviously was because the biker quit picking on the person and bought my husband and his friends a round of drinks.


When I explained to my loving companion for life what had happened his lips twitched, eyes danced but mouth said, "I am so sorry! Man that must have hurt. I hardly noticed though, so probably no one else did." Yes, this is why I love him.


In January, 1907, the New York times ran an article with the headlines, "Any Woman's a Lady Who Behaves That Way". It went on to describe the problems that women dining alone had encountered in the nicer establishments of those times. The Waldorf said that it had always entertained "real" ladies. The Times reporter asked what criteria the Waldorf used to determine if a woman was a lady? Was it by dress, manner or accent? The management of Waldorf simply answered, "A lady, my good fellow, is a-um- a lady, hey?"

Delmonico's management said that one could tell a lady by the way she sat and the way she ordered. The manager of Knickerbocker said a lady, when she finds herself alone in a public establishment, immediately sits up and says to herself, "Hm! This is a place where I've got to behave myself!" Hehehehe! That one gets me. Like the women back then were running around crazy but suddenly pulled themselves together and "behaved" at proper moments and places only to go crazy again when the time or place afforded itself.

Sherry's said they received ladies who looked well and behaved well. Rectors said they allowed ladies but refused to define a lady. It is the Irish who came off the best. "Well, far be it from a man to discuss such a delicate matter. But when a lady comes in here, it is not for an Irishman to treat her otherwise."

Maybe I won't "become" a lady. Maybe, ladies are born and just "are." Maybe, some ladies have scabs on their knees or elbows. Maybe, some ladies are far sighted and should wear their pince-nez. Maybe, there are only ladies when there are gentlemen, and vice-versa, and that is as it should be.

Mulligan

I broked my car. The idiot light came on as I drove up dump rode. I registered that fact. I filed it under, "Things to do, TODAY, get oil." And then, I closed the file drawer! Before completing the task! I didn't just slide the drawer closed, I slammed it so that it jammed. No way was that message going to come out again for at least a week, when the engine started going, "tic tic tic" and then I went, "sht, sht, sht!" and the car went hisssssssssssss hisssssssssss hissssssssssssss and it was all over. It quit. Died.

TJ's auto said, "$5400, new engine installed includes a warranty." I choked back a sob, not very effectively. We just paid the car off. No more full coverage. One less payment bogging us down. Where was I headed in such a hurry that I couldn't put in a quart of oil? Which meeting? Which interview? Who knows? Double rassinfrassin friggin crappinchippers.

My pretty little, gas efficient chevy malibu. Dead. I want a mulligan. I want that trip back up dump rode. Who invented stuuuupid cars in ways? I want a horse and buggy. Maybe just a cart and billy goat. DAMNIT. Now I am driving the farm truck that I can barely leap up into. My husband's, filled with half empty oil cans, crunchy bags of dried bait, what the heck is that green stuff behind the seat and of course I am not smoking in your precious baby. No honey, I am not making fun of your truck.

Yes dear, I am grateful I have a vehicle to drive. No, I am not annoyed that it sucks down gasoline faster than I drink a vanilla latte. It is lovely that it now costs me $8 for a round trip to a Jewell school board meeting, divine that a trip to Warrenton is a $5 adventure. I know you are sacrificing for my stupidity by bike riding to work and I love you for it. Why am I gritting my teeth? Because its the third time you have told me that this hour, dear heart, and my head hurts from where I keep banging it against the wall.

I do so very badly want a mulligan.

Anyone out there hear my scream?

Sixth degree related to me?

With the chatter "again" about who is related to whom I must make a confession. I haven't the FOGGIEST idea who I am related to in Clatsop County, really, especially depending on how you count a relation. For that matter, even if you are only counting "blood" relations.

I remember in grade school coming home and telling my mother that a little girl named Anna Helmerson told me that we were cousins. My mother confirmed we were. On my father's side, through his first cousin's, my second cousin, marriage. Huh? How come I've never seen her before? Where's eight years' worth of Christmas and birthday gifts? Another kid told me we were cousins and his mom, who worked in the school cafeteria confirmed it! Who were these people? And where were all the missing gifts?

We had five kids in our family, I think we were one of the first families tossed off everyone's lists back in the sixties. My mother's sister, Dixie, had four kids (Owens) and those were the only cousins I really knew about. My dad's sister, Susan, had two kids that were six and eight years older than me (Orrs) and too old to play with so didn't quite count. The closest other cousins that lived in town (so I thought) were the Justin twins and they were older than the Orrs so they really didn't enter into my life until I was much older, and one other Bartoldus who was even older than them. Funny, I have older children than them all, and I have grandchildren first, too. Ummm. They got college educations first and had children in their thirties and I had children in my twenties and then completed my college education.

Anyhow, our other first cousins were out of towners (Stassens which were Seaside but moved to Hood River, Castles in Indiana, Woods lived in Dominican Republic came back to Astoria went back to DR but do now live back here, mostly) and second cousins by the scores. My mom's other siblings had children that we saw on occasion but they weren't locals so it wasn't like they started showing up out of the woodwork unexpectedly like those sneaky Bartoldus relatives. Plus, mom's family were Coasties. They moved here in the late forties/early fifties. They weren't locals.

Dad's family came in the 1860s, but they were Prussians. Not a drop of Scandinavian. Then I found out there were drops of Irish. And drops of English. And then drops of other a whole lot of other stuff!!! Cousins I had never heard of kept informing me, at school, that we were related! Grandma's had last names before they married grandpas, apparently, and no one had told me their stories! We were related to Faieres and Scruggs and Hardies and Helmersons and Heckards and Canarises but wait Mom's family were Coasties and not from around here! Oh, her mom's family were actually from Westport, and had moved over to Cathlamet and down to Long Beach and Ilwaco and over to Astoria and back up to Aberdeen and met up with the Woods.

And then in Astoria the Woods had met with the Owens who had met up with just about everyone in Astoria at one time or another and more than half of the time didn't marry them, and the Canarises weren't so keen on marraiges either, and that wasn't just recently but as early as the early 1900s!!! With the Owens came the Van Horns and a Bradley or two and so many more why start when you can't stop?

In high school one day my math lab partner and I were bored doing tic tac toe games, and we sure as heck didn't understand the algebra Mr. Scott had up on the board, so we were telling where our favorite places to camp were. I was telling about a spot which is now about fifty feet from where I presently live. I told him, "You go across the metal bridge and past the Bogh's house and then past the next house which is where," and just as I was going to say, "my grandma Mel lives," he says, "My uncle Cecil lives!" We both just looked at each other. "I am related to Larsons?" I questioned. "Mom never said we were related to Bartolduses" said Jim. I still have no idea how many came in on the Moberg deal.

So, who are you? Are you sure we aren't related? Where do you hail from? Are you a Satterwhite or a Rainey? Are you a Moberg, Reick or a Tenny? A Rummell or a LaFerrier, Tonnis, Haines, Detricks, or Miller? A Morrell, a Padgett, a Westerholme, or Ornellas? A Smith? A Jones? Forget about it, we are related. We told our children, do not date here. Do not think about a spouse if they have a relation here. Really, you should have a blood test done if they have a grandparent here or a great-aunt, we are related. Somehow, somewhere, sometime, some place, someone did it with someone else and we are related. Thank the good Lord the law only extends to first cousins or there would be a lot of people in big trouble in this county. And when you think about all the "free love" of the seventies (yeah, we were a decade behind around here) there probably is still a lot of people that could be in trouble!!!




Oh, calm down, fog bounders, I'm jist joshing you! Hardly any of us are related .... very much.

Restless Night Combatting Parkinson's

Last night was a looonnnggg night. My dad wouldn't go to sleep. He kept having hallucinations. We know it is his medication for his legs and for the last two weeks have been trying to find the right dose to take at the right time. As mentioned before, he has Parkinsons.

Last night he thought there were people in his bedroom that wouldn't leave, which was making him angry. I took turns with my mother assuring him that there was not anyone in his room. He lost his remote for his television, even though it was right next to him. He went into the bathroom and shouted for me and when I went in there he was holding the four sectioned mirror that is screwed into the wall. I asked what he was doing and he told me that it was falling off the wall and yelled for me to hold it with him as he was loosing his grip. I held it and told him to let go. He did and then I did. He let out a yelp and then said, "Oh, your lucky it didn't fall."

Each time an incident happened about ten minutes later he would come out and apologize and say he didn't know why he did that. He could hear what he was saying but somehow it was as if the dream had taken over and he was powerless to stop it from cycling through. He was so sad. And then fifteen minutes later noise in his bedroom and I would knock and go in and he would be crawling on the ground because he had lost something, or was chasing the cat that he wanted out of his room (which was already outside and not even in his room) .

It is so hard to watch this and dammit he is waaaay too young for this. He is only 68 years old. Grandpa Roy was still working at 67. Dad wanted to be traveling, he wanted to be doing so much. I cry watching him progress in this disease. Telling him he can stop the progression if he just does this, that or the other. I watch others that I know have the disease. Some come to our support group. Others choose to go the route alone, and others in denial about having it. It is such a debilitating disease, and it seems to be hitting people younger and younger.

I am now part of a 10 year study of people who have a parent with Parkinsons. There is interest since my dad's mother also had it. For whatever reason, I am not particularly afraid of "getting it" however, if I suddenly lose my sense of smell I think I would go into a total panic.

Today I had two major things to do and since I finally fell asleep at 5 am I now am in no shape to tackle anything that involves using a thought process. Hubby is home going over bills, too, joy of joys! He read the comments over on NCO where someone said I was "literally" in the pay of Richard Lee. He wants to see the dough, ASAP. So do I. He also thinks if I have the clout to hand pick the next commissioner I should be using my power for more things around the home front. Sigh. Don't I wish.

The Hoax of the Hoax

I find it quite amusing that the movie The Hoax was denounced by Clifford Irving as a hoax, "I had nothing to do with this movie," said Irving, "and it had very little to do with me." He goes on to say, "If I were that man[the movie Clifford], I'd shoot myself," and adds, "The movie is best thought of as a hoax."

There is one part of the movie that still rings "true," albeit Hughes probably never said it, certainly many politicians have used the ploy. In the movie version Clifford Irving makes tape recordings of his fictitious interviews with Hughes, supposedly to prove to his publishers that he is actually interviewing the eccentric recluse, and during one interview he attributes him as saying:

When your rival is powerful, find an opportunity, create a crisis for him. Instead of taking short term advantage, save the day for him! Nothing confuses a man more than a kind gesture from his enemy; nothing renders him more vulnerable.

I think, if people watch local happenings over the next few weeks, some will see this played out in more than one arena. This month should prove to be very interesting. I do wonder who will have the eyes to see and the ears to hear? And I also wonder how many of us will be bored to tears by the sheer drama ad nauseam of it before it is all said and done?

The sad fact is, and what many jackasses bank on, human nature can only take listening to one issue for so long before they just don't care anymore, no matter how many lives are being ruined or how many reputations are destroyed. Truth? Unless there is a pointed twist people turn off or disconnect, they just don't care unless, or until, it is their own lives that are being impacted and often by then it is too late.

Vegas and Justice, which one is more real?

We attended daughter number fours wedding last week and our son-in-law asked hubby and I to be witnesses on the license, which was very nice, sweet and touching moment. Son-in-law was very nervous and teary, which isn't his demeanor in the least. A hard working, hard playing, construction worker who wiped tears from his eyes when he saw his bride to be for the first time in her wedding gown coming towards him.

Hubby and I spent last week in Las Vegas with in-laws and daughters number one and four and two grandbabies. Since we are not gamblers it wasn't a terrible loss of time away from the casinos. We did sit in on one of the three hour Tahiti Village timeshare "opportunities of a life time." We got a lot of free gifts with it. Hubby won a very nice jacket, we got dinner tickets to someplace and it was a nice dinner, alone. We gave our tickets to the variety show away as we never had time to get to it. We did hit the casino a few times and played "Deal or No Deal" and "I Dream of Jeannie", both penny machines and won $80, lost half of it. But nice, didn't lose any of our own!

And it was HOT! We left PDX at 58 degrees and landed in 94 degrees. GASP! Ballagio, MGM, Paris, New York, New York, Excalibur. We went to the Tournament of the Kings at Excalibur which I thought was going to be a yawner but turned out to be quite entertaining, especially with everyone cheering and the actors were such hams and really enjoying themselves! The grandsons were chanting along with everyone else and thought it great fun to rip the pheasants up themselves and eat them with their hands.

And we walked, and walked, and walked and walked! In the heat! How I wish that equated weight loss! We ate one night at the Hard Rock Cafe, and another night I don't remember having dinner at all! I think that was the night of the wedding, it was an evening wedding taking place at 8 PM and I think there was a small buffet afterwards w/finger foods. It was so hot I really don't remember being hungry or eating that much. We did drink a lot of iced coffees.

Coming home threw us back into "life". While I do enjoy the "new" role of journalist some areas can be frustrating. It appears that whenever I put in a public information request to the Department of Justice they phone our local District Attorney for his "okay" to release information. It shakes ones confidence in the "justice" system to know it is nothing more than another form of "the good ole boy" network. You think there is something unique about the work of "justice" but there isn't. It is all just dirty politics. Rather disheartening to know that there is no such thing as justice, it is just who knows who and who owes whom what.

Back in March and again at the beginning of April I sent a Public Information Request to the Oregon DOJ. I received a letter back from the DOJ dated April 17 saying that their office did have the information that I was seeking regarding the disposition of the Lee inquiry and I should be getting the information in a "reasonable amount of time". Here it is May 5th and no packet of information so I call them and the person who answered the phone had to ask me my name a few times, have me spell it, have me provide the dates of the letters I wrote to the DOJ and the date of the letter they wrote back to me and then I waited forever and the guy finally gets back on the line to tell me all he can do is take my name and number and let "someone" know that I have inquired as to when I will be hearing back from the DOJ. I asked what a "reasonable amount of time" means. Lo and behold, he didn't know.

Now watch, tomorrow the District Attorney will make some grandiose press release to the Daily Astorian and KAST, snub us, and all because of my PIR!!! The DOJ just making sure that Marquis covers his before giving me the information that is the right of the public to know. It would be laughable if it wasn't so depressing. These are the people that can (and do) mess with other people's lives. I do wish I had a CIA/FBI connection, just so I could see what it is that two-bit local nothings can have such pull on state offices. Maybe all I would need is someone's ear at Microsoft who knows some excellent computer "skills"? I have a pretty good idea of what is locked away in a particular "someone's" laptop and having it cleaned for them would be a pleasure for me. Chuckle, I imagine that they have reciprocal thoughts.

Sometimes, I do wonder if it is worthwhile. I am not making any money on this endeavor and often when articles refuse to come together, or no one is calling back or I feel like everyone is lying I want to throw the laptop in the river and go back one year to when I was no one but 'Bika, wife and mom. Then, when there are days when everything is coming together, when a PIR comes through with gold or someone doesn't realize what they have just said, or the article just falls all into place and someone says, "WOW, I never saw it that way, thanks!" it makes it all worth while.

And no, I don't work for a blog, I write for a dot com. Big difference. But if you are thinking of suing, then on second thought, it is just a blog, laugh at it, poke fun at it and go on to another site. Read the user agreement. It says, "For entertainment purposes only". Is anything for real anymore?

Mary Gabriel

I've just found out that our dear friend, Mary Gabriel, passed away in a house fire last night in her home in Berea, Ky.

As far back as my memory of being aware that I am a Baha'i there is a memory of Mary. She has had at least two strokes that I know. Major strokes. The first one when she was in her forties, she woke up and couldn't move anything. Finally her daughter, Suzanne, came in to find out why her mom wasn't up and about yet to find her mother incapacitated. Mary struggled back after that. She was an instructor at Clatsop Community College for eons. I think she was in Phys Ed., but now that I think about it I don't know for sure. She was always in matching sweat outfits.

I can't imagine the pain that her children and grandchildren are going through, now. She flew out of Berea at least a dozen trips a year visiting them. She was ever practical, such a dry, dry sense of humor. Right now, the humor that I can remember I laugh but do not write, too personal and maybe something which grandchildren wouldn't so much want to know about grandmas!!!

So sorry to see you go, old friend, so sorry to see you go! You taught me a lot about courage, being tough, fighting hard, letting go, hanging on, giving it your all and protecting the children. You will be missed and although I know you are closer than my life vein, you are behind the veil that does not lift from this side. Look over us, remember us, love us and as we will for you.

Good-bye dear friend.

And thank-you, dear Sali, for your kindness in letting this family know of her passing. I won't forget how generous you were in keeping us in the loop.

Tagging Along

I am really not sure whether or not I have been tagged, however I haven't posted forever and my sister is probably tapping her fingers thinking I have been lazing about and abusing our mother so I will use the questions from MOT's tag for my post today.

Q. What were you doing 10 years ago?

A: We were raising 4 fifteen year old daughters (and hubby was growling at TH) and a 14 year old son, still homeschooling but they were taking a few classes at CCC by then. I was commuting to Roy Washington and working half the month as the manager of a multi-cultural family retreat, designing programs and helping kids w/homework via the computer and fax machine.

Q. Name 5 snacks you enjoy.

A. Pink Lady apples, cold and crisp; Saya Snow Pea Crisps; dried mangos; hard peanutbutter cookies; popcorn (any kind, but especially Orville Reddenbockers sweet corn popcorn).

Q. Things I would do if I were a billionaire

A. WOW! Pay off all debts. Pay hoquq! Buy house for each member of fam. Hire a lawyer. Okay, okay, of course, TH, yeah, you'd get yours and we'd take "them" on. Hire a lawyer. Did I mention that? Hire a lawyer. Then while TH and the lawyers were handling things hubby and I would travel and invest in people, but only after we had worked with them to see if what they were doing was sustainable and actually what "the people" wanted, where ever they were in the world.

Q. Five jobs that I have had

A: maid at RedLion, waitress at House of Chan, self-employed children's care giver, manager of multi-cultural retreat, member of board of directors for same

Q. Three bad habits

A: Ummm. procrastination, obsessively compulsive, addicted to ...

Q. Five places I have lived

A: Astoria, Olney, Svenson, Youngs River, Walluski (What? Shut yur face, I could have named five different blocks I lived on) note: i had to change the Alderbrook answer because hubby says technically where we lived was not Alderbrook, however I had forgotten the year out in Youngs River when the girls bedrooms burned down!

Q. Five people I want to know more about:

A:
1) Paula @ On a Rainy Night
2) LA @ The Art of Astorian Housewifery
3) Elizabeth @ Life in the Great Northwet
4) Jen @ Highliners and Homecomings
5) Aubrey @ Breeeish

Papa's Posse & Paparoni

I do not carry around photos of my children or my grandchildren. I never have. My husband is the sentimentalist with the pictures and the remembering of the anniversary (the 25th, 25th, 25th I think I'll remember it, someone order flowers for me, okay?) the birthdays, etc ... And his reward? One of them is this little guy who names his food after his papa.

And this other little guy who's best friend is his papa, no matter how infrequently we see him he has hugs and kisses for Papa but 'Bika? Sometimes he recalls who I am and other times he's not so sure.

The other little guy has adopted "papa" for his own and greets him with very deep chortles of delight (my gosh he has a deep voice for such a little tyke). And this is Papa's Posse. No matter how late he comes through the door if one of the posse are here he is ready to flop on the floor and play cars with them, or talk in funny voices with the assortment of stuffed animals or power rangers. Or watch Animal Planet with them and say, "Ooooo grooossss" at all the right moments.

With each of these kids one of their first words were "Papa"! And it is no wonder, since it was a word that brings the most rewards. It is Papa's lap they sit on when they are tired, and his shoulder they cry on when mean ole 'Bika has said "no," his hands that hold the treats and his face that makes the funniest looks, and his mouth that laughs the loudest.

For a man who was never "blessed" with a child of his "own blood" one would never know it to see him surrounded by these squealing children demanding their share of his "Paparoni" (that he buys almost daily under the name of pepperoni at the Tillamook Country Smoker), the name bestowed on this wonderous treat by the child in the top picture. Something so marvelous must carry the name of something else even more marvelous, obviously.

The other night we were treated to twenty minutes of dueling air guitars by the three year old and his papa. Back and forth they went trying to outdo one another, using youtube's Jack Black and the Chinese Dormitory boys for backup. The crowd went wild - we really did to, it was the funniest thing to see both the 3 year old's and the 47 year old's rendition of "the sprinkler" while hanging on to their air guitars.

Sentiment does appear to have its upside. I can't wait until he has the whole posse together for an air band jam session (then again, maybe I can).

Ornery is as ornery does

Our mother is probably one of the most orneriest people I have ever known. To say she is stubborn is a complete understatement. On her first day of school the bell rang for the children to line up and go inside. She was stunned when the children all ran and obeyed. She tried to convince them that there were more of them than there were teachers and they should all just stay outside and play, what could they do? But everyone else got into line and finally, when she couldn't convince anyone to stay and play, she did, too. But she didn't like it.

While I was growing up I thought I was entirely different than my mother. I would have been HORRIFIED to try to convince the children to rebel against the bell! And yet, my mother reminds me, she got a phone call from a mother who said I was no longer to talk to her son. Now, you are probably snickering. Was I boy crazy? Was I pestering the young lad? We were in second grade. I wasn't allowed to talk to him any longer because he was a Jehovah's Witness and he was supposed to go to the library while the rest of the class had their halloween party.

I was shocked that he had to leave while the rest of us had our party, and he was so sad! I convinced the poor child that it was no different than any other moment in a classroom of laughing children, because it was what you believed in your heart. If he didn't BELIEVE it was a religious holiday, if he just thought of it as having fun with his friends, it wasn't really "celebrating" a pagan holiday. So, he stayed. And, he brought home his halloween candy. Obviously, he didn't use my argument very effectively with his mother! My mother informed me that while I didn't do something wrong, I really didn't do something right. I should not come between a child and the parents' beliefs.

I do wonder what would have happened if my mother hadn't been the type to try to organize playground rebellions.

A few years later I had a teacher that still used the paddle to not only discipline but supposedly as a learning "encouragement" tool. If you didn't memorize a poem by the day set for reciting you were "hacked". There was one boy in class that was "hacked" every single day for not memorizing something, or for not using some social grace, or for being last to get in line. I began getting ulcers in the fifth grade. This man made me physically ill. Every single "class party" day he would make this boy go to the neighboring class room and miss it for some imagined slight.

Our Christmas party my mother was the "homeroom" mom. She brought the treats and helped disperse and clean up. I was the room monitor in coordination with my mom. My mother brought a store bought sheet cake from Home Bakery, just the very best thing! The teacher asked me to bring a piece of cake to each of the other fifth grade teachers with some punch. I delivered the cake slices with punch, one at a time and as I came into the classroom with the boy who had been banished from our class he looked up and said, "OH! Is that for me?" so hopefully, that to this day my heartaches. I replied, "No, but I'll be right back with yours" and brought the teacher up her piece.

I then went back into the classroom and up to my mother and told her what had happened. She cut the biggest piece and handed it to me on a plate. I picked up the cup of juice and started across the room and out the door when my teacher called to me. "Where are you going? Didn't you already take cake to all the fifth grade teachers?"

"I am bringing this to Jeff," I replied. "Oh, I don't know about that!" he said. I was trembling as he stomped towards me. And suddenly my mother was standing there. "But I do," she said quietly, "I told her it was the right thing to do, don't you agree?" The teacher stood there looking at my mother and she at him. "Of course I agree, I was just going to do it myself," he said and reached for the plate. My mom gave me a shove, "No, let her," and out I hustled.

The look on Jeff's face was pure joy! The next day winter break began. I hope life wasn't harder when we got back from break. I hope the teacher didn't bear grudges. I really don't remember. I know it didn't get better. I know my mom was startled years later when I told her how much a truly, truly, truly hated fifth grade. Although I do know Abou Ben Adam may his tribe increase ..., and Four Score and seven years ago our father brought forth on this continent a new nation ... it took me years later to enjoy and understand them.

It is odd, though, how that fifth grade class prepared me for things in my later life. I really hate confrontations, and I don't go out looking for them, but neither do I allow them to side step me from doing what is right. And, if I can't convince anyone to join me, I can always decide to get in line or leave the playground.

For #4

My littlest sister keeps checking back on my tired old blog and I keep disappointing her. She should know better, however. Our whole family has Chronic Focus Disorder - CFD (our kinder term for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a family that goes crazy together doesn't commit one another). Whatever task we have before us basically consumes us. I think that's how we made it across the ocean and then across the continent just to make it this far west "back in the day" before being in the far east once again . Like our forefathers (and mothers) we remain a very "focused" herd of people.

Our mother has been known to scrub out the bathtub tile, with a toothbrush, fifteen minutes before we were to leave for Christmas Eve dinner at our aunt's home. When we take on a new job the whole family usually takes a vote on it because if it is too "much" we will literally lose that person for a year or so. We vote to see if the job is worthy of the person they are getting and we are loosing. We are the dedicated worker who takes on all the tasks that everyone else has learned to say "No" to. We organize the place, pull it out of the red and put it into the black, negotiate and win over tough customers, all the while the household falls apart unless we've pulled in another family member to take over there (and change the perfect spot where the potholders go or else the universe will cease to exist as we know it).

Psychologically many have said it is because we are so egotistical we can't believe someone else will do as well as we will do (or secretly we are afraid they will). Others have said it is because we don't have control of any other area of our life so we micro-manage where we can. As someone with CFD I can state that while those things may be side effects what really drives me is a thirst to "know". I want to know if the plan of action I have set in motion will work. I want to know if my hypothesis is correct. But even more, I think the end result isn't half as important as the process in getting there and if I am not there to take part in the process I won't KNOW how it worked.

What we haven't learned is moderation. I think, of course, I am a little bit better than the generation before me (and a little bit better than my siblings, if truth be told). I would not, for instance, arrange a vacation cruise around my car's maintenance schedule. I'm just saying. However, just try serving my rice with a freaking silver serving spoon. I swear if one more of my kids does that I will bury that spoon where the sun does not shine (which around here is most any place). You work all day on a holiday meal and then they stick a silver serving spoon in the rice! Or use paper napkins with dinner! Now that's just plain disgusting and rude. Hahahaha!

When most of my siblings and cousins get together it is chaos. Fifteen micro-managers with their corresponding parent(s), fingers itching to "finish" the project at hand, with our own ideas of how it would make life so much easier for the world if done using "my" theories.

No wonder we no longer all live in one town! Not even Seattle could contain my cousins. My own siblings have had to spread out to different areas of the world, all of us on one continent is a little too much for those around us.

So, dear number four, as you may have guessed, I have started a new job and am "focused" and slightly neglectful. What's that? You have a new job, too? Oh! I do have a suggestion or two that will work perfect for you and if you don't use it, well, I think the world just might possibly end. Maybe.

Pupil of the Eye

Debunked

As you know by now if something says it has been researched I want to see the proof. When I saw this on a local forum and received it in my email I remembered back to when it first was making its rounds.

Olny sarmt ploepe can raed tihs

I cndolu't bvlieee taht I culod autclay uesdrantnd waht I was rndaieg. The poanhoemal pwoer of the hmaun mnid, aodcrincg to a rcehsecaerehr at an Elgsinh Utvinersiy, it dsone't mteatr in waht odrer the ltreets in a wrod are, the olny irpmoatnt tnhig is taht the fsirt and lsat lteter be in the rghit pcale The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sltil raed it woihtut a pelorbm. Tihs is bseucae the hmaun mnid deos not raed ervey lteetr by ilstef but the wrod as a wlhoe. Aznamig huh? Yaeh and I aylaws tughoht slinpleg was irmtapont! If you can raed tihs psas it on!

If, however, you were unable to read the scramble above and don't know what it is asking you to do, let's try it again below.

Olny srmat poelpe can raed tihs. I cdnuol't blveiee taht I cluod altaucly uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rcseareher at an Ensligh Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! if you can raed tihs psas it on !!









Most people are amused that they can read the paragraph in this rendering and readily agree as to why they can do so:

Only smart people can read this.

I couldn’t believe that I could actually understand what I was reading. The phenomenal power of the human mind, according to a researcher at an English University, it does not matter in what order the letters in a word are, the only important thing is that the first and the last letter be in the right place.The rest can be total mess and you can still read it without a problem. This is because the human mind does not read every letter by itself , but the word as a whole. Amazing huh! Yeah and I always thought spelling was important! If you can read it pass it on!!

When this first went around my homeschooled kids cheered. Hahaha mom, see, you really don't need spelling! My son, however, was a good speller and stared at it puzzled. Do you see what was done in the second rendering of the paragraph that, though slightly scrambled, makes it much more readable than the first? The letters are switched in a pattern (often mirrored) and your mind quickly picks up the pattern and automatically makes the adjustment in the rest of the words.







uesdnatnrd unsdeatrnd undseartnd undesratnd understand?

It is a fascinating ability of the mind to look for patterns and automatically assimilate them. However, that is not the conclusion that the paragraph is telling you to come to. The power of suggestion, eh? A trick within a trick. How often do we fall prey to them?