Epilogue

Anti-climactic, I know: it's on.

DH called and got the magic ticket.

Meanwhile, the alleged supervisor called me and dealt with higher-ups on her end.

We don't know which tactic actually did the job, but it's done. We "got phone. "

Super-Woman-ism

In the 80's I was so into the 'women are equal' thing that I truly cheated myself out of a lot. It contributed to the failure of my second marriage. It definitely made my life much more difficult. I wouldn't let men carry anything for me, or open doors, or treat me as the softer sex. I really regret it now.

I finally, after almost four hours of frustration, anger, scheming, begging, threatening on the telephone, called my Dear Sweet Strong Husband and spilled the beans. Sobbed. Told him how powerless I feel. How frustrated I am. Apologized for calling him @ work and crying on him.

Now. DH can sometimes be a bit insensitive to my feelings. Heck, we are all guilty of that sometimes.

Today he rose to the occasion. Put his hands on his hips, puffed out his chest (metaphorically) and said, "I'll save you."

It reminded me of why I fell in love with him in the beginning.

HE asked for the phone numbers. Told me to let it go. Said you have to laugh.

Easy to laugh when you haven't been lobbed over the net for four hours.

But I am blithely, gladly, happily, LETTING GO.

smirk, smirk. Interested to see how it turns out. I can't lose. There are two outcomes possible:

1. He gets nowhere and totally understands why I broke down.
2. He gets it settled and the whole episode is over.

Ah. I'm a free woman. Now, what should with my day -- the half hour remaining before I go pick up LO?

RANT (crying)

OK. I broke down. CRIED on the phone with the AT&T lady who was telling me to call TW BACK!!!!!

I posited the 3-way call again. Apparently the FCC won't let carriers call each other.

I asked what she would do in my position. She would call TW and ask them to reengage my number.

Duh.

As if.

As if I had not thought of that.

I am calling TW. I am going to ask them if they plan to send me a bill at the end of the month. I am going to ask how they can bill me for a number I don't have access to.

Sorry, but there is more to come.

RANT continued

OK I posted a little over an hour ago and here is what has transpired since. In the ABSENCE of a callback from the manager, I caved in and did call Time Warner Cable with the prescribed message from AT&T. I got a sympathetic CSR and was momentarily optimistic. She made the appropriate shushing sounds and soothed my soul -- for about 4 minutes. At that point she transferred me to the XX department where I hung on hold for THIRTY EIGHT FRIKKING MINUTES.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

On the thirty-ninth minute, I hung up. Redialed. Re, re, re, RE-explained my plight to the CSR of the moment. (Not the same one who had psyche! "calmed" me earlier. She put me on hold to check. Came back and apologized for the hold time. That department is busy. Shall I put you on hold again or take your number for a callback?

(NO!! I fell for the callback trick earlier today!!)

"I'll hold, thank you."

I held 22 more minutes. She returned.

"Mrs. Blackwell, it seems your number has been released to AT&T and there is nothing further we can do for you here."

"Can you suggest to me what step I take next? This is my ninth call of the day. I have been on the phone almost 3 hours trying to resolve this matter. I want my phone number back, and I am very tired."

"Call AT&T and tell them the number has been sent to them."

Sigh. "OK. Thank you."

She brightens at my momentary courtesy. "Is there anything else I can help with today?"

I didn't mean to. I really didn't. I was completely, totally, honest.

"Well, to be utterly frank, you have not been a bit of help at all, and it took you a half an hour to do it. There will be nothing further."

Pause.

"Yes, ma'am. Have a good day."

RANT

We all have heard the occasional news of the random guy who goes into some office building and fires shots at innocent people. It's horrifying.

In light of my experience today, I am very surprised that it doesn't happen more often.

Eleven days ago, I decided to call AT&T for pricing on our DSL, TV, and home phone. I had heard good things about them from a gf who regularly reads this blog.

Their pricing was better. Not a bunch, but some. We would receive a refund. Not as much as they extolled, after startup fees were considered, but in excess of $100. I got lots of the startup fees waived, but the cost of the modem seems to be non-negotiable.

I signed up.

When DH got home, he was against the move. He didn't want our email address to change again. (It just changed 20 months ago after 9 years of having had the same address.) He didn't like the way the cable from Directv hung from the satellite dish to the point of entry to the house. He didn't think the savings was enough to justify a change. Sigh.

So I immediately called and emailed the sales rep from AT&T to cancel the order. The following day, I got a voice message to call 2 additional 866 numbers to cancel all the components of the order. Did it -- right away.

On Friday the DirecTV guy came to install. Told him it was cancelled.

On Monday the AT&T guy came to install phone. Told him it was cancelled. Asked if my phone number would go into Neverland? He pulled it up and said it was fine.

Yesterday I got the new modem in the mail to connect new DSL.

Today my phone is not working. Anyone who calls gets, "Sorry this number is no longer in service."

I have been on the phone for 1 hour, 45 minutes, total of 7 phone calls. This does not include the transfers to different departments. It does include the cheesy, shrill hold music, the 'press 1 if you speak English, the 'please hold while I look up your number.'

They CAN'T look up the number because neither company owns it at the moment.

Oh, and the time taken with entering my phone number, press 2 for customer support, and on and on. Ironically enough, I managed the second installation of one of these systems in the nation, back in the 80's-- they are called VRU's, and I used to travel to conferences and give speeches on how to install them and what to think of for the sake of the customer. Irony always bites me in the butt.

AT&T says Time Warner still has our number. Time Warner says they have let it go. AT&T says Time Warner doesn't know anything; call them back and tell them to look in the national number database.

I finally said I am ready to stop the madness. "No," I said. "I will not call Time Warner back. I can't call anyone anymore. YOUR company did not cancel the order. I want YOU to 3-way Time Warner into this call so we can all communicate at once."

Silence.

(soft voice) "When you call them, Mrs. Blackwell, tell them..."

(voice cracking with attempted control) "I don't think you understood me. I will not call anyone back. I want to speak to someone who will hold a 3-way call so this can be settled."

"Mrs. Blackwell, I cannot do that."

"I would like to speak to your manager."

pause.

"You want to speak to my manager?"

"Yes. I have made 7 phone calls to settle this. I can't make another one. I want to speak to a manager."

Puts me on hold. Politely. Returns.

"I am so sorry both of my managers are on break."

(fuming)

"May I have my manager call you back?"

"Yes."

"Is this the correct number for her to call: xxx.xxx.xxxx?"

Sigh.

"No. That number is in Neverland at the moment. If she calls that number she will get a message that sounds like we did not pay our bill. Please have her call my cell number."

It has been 20 minutes and the manager, needless to say, has not called me back.

Good Writer

My neighbor and editor wrote her column today about a pretty unique experience.

A friend from college had presented her with a bundle of letters she had written back in college days. She enjoyed reliving the experiences but was struck with the thought of talking to her younger self.

What would she say?

It was hard to confront the girl who wrote those letters, to admit how
superficial, shallow and pretentious she was.
But of course she is me. Or
rather, my younger self. Once in a while, there is a spark, the hint of a mature
voice, which is why I didn't toss the whole mess of them.
If only my older
self could put my arm around this girl who is now a stranger, this skinnier,
baby-faced version of me, and say, "The things you're obsessing about? Not
important."
Would I tell her what is in store for her? "You'll be married to
a man you love, who loves you, for at least 22 years. You will forge a
meaningful career you never expected."
Would I dare tell her the other
things? "Your stomach will lurch as you offer your child toxic chemicals in an
effort to save her life. Your pulse will pound as drills open up her skull. Your
heart will break to see her horizons limited."
This younger me might swallow
hard and say, "Maybe I won't have kids."
Then I would say, "Having daughters
will be like opening the door to a room you didn't know existed and finding it
filled with a light so bright you think it could blind you, except what it will
really do is make you see everything clearly."
And of course those words
would convince her that the years to come would not only be bearable, they would
be full of joy and suffused with beauty.

I was dumbstruck by the beauty of her writing and did my best to read the column to LO, there in the kitchen, where we were at the island. After I finally succeeded in reading it to her, I remarked, "Pretty good writing," and fled the kitchen in search of a tissue.

"Pretty good, huh?" She said to my back. She inspected her cuticles. "You're bawling."

The Substance of HOPE

Yesterday morning NPR featured a number of Texans who remarked on the Democratic debate held in Houston the night before. I particularly listened to one fellow who accused Barack Obama of repeating the same platitudes hypnosis-style and having no substance to any of his plans for leading the country.
It occurred to me that if I am FOR Obama, I need to be certain there is substance to his plans. While I have followed the broad strokes of his plans, I have not compared them to the competitors line-for-line. In just under an hour of survey this morning, I have found plenty of info out there online that does compare them in just this manner.
Another woman criticized his followers, citing her middle-school lesson plans on the 'bandwagon' type of propoganda.
BTW, it occurs to me that this is one pitfall of being a charismatic candidate. You get accused of enchanting the masses with your charisma, so that the plans for leadership you have painstakingly laid out, are totally ignored.
So in mentioning two people who were critical of Obama, I may have painted a picture of criticism of him. There were others who were critical of Hillary as well -- she is not, however, the topic of this post.
I am proud to say I was FOR OBAMA early on, when I read his book, The Audacity of Hope, in January of last year. (The book was my birthday present.) I had downloaded his keynote speech to the 04 Democratic convention over a year ago, and I listen to it on my iPod sometimes to learn more about effective public speaking. This speech is available for free on iTunes. I clearly remember the evening DH and I were watching that convention. BO (wish he had better initials) took the stand, said 2 sentences, and I turned to DH in amazement. "Who IS this guy?" I asked.
Little One stands proudly for Obama. One of her key communication devices, Instant Messaging on AOL, wears the slogan, Obama for Prez. This is where most 12 and 13 year olds have song titles or slang phrases. One of her conservative classmates challenged her: Why are you for Obama? She replied in typical 12 year old maturity: "I am igging you."
Today we are going to explore Obama's platform. We BOTH need to be sure of who we are supporting, so that when we are challenged, we don't "ig" anyone. We can share the HOPE of this country's future.

The Pink Violin

DGD4 plays her pink violin. Her parents sent off for a cello, a blue violin for the boys, and a pink one for Prissy here. She played, "Mary had a Little Lamb" for me. DGS3 played a rockin' rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" for me; I wish I had figured out how to take the picture before he finished.

We talk across the states using our webcams and Skype, a very cool and totally free program owned by the folks who own EBay. While watching your loved ones, you can click on "capture photo of video" to get a shot. Priceless now; uber-priceless in a coupla months when they are in Japan.

Theme from Mozart's Ein Klein Nachtmusik

The Induction Ceremony for Little One's Band Honor Society was last night. Three students played solos during the program: LO, LO's gf, and an 8th grader. Here is LO playing a bit of Mozart. The ribbon around her neck signifies her membership in the Honor Society. Apologies on the quality: DH isn't sure why it's grainy.

Exploring my Brain

Many of you know that I love, love, love a good puzzle. I time myself on the daily crossword in our local paper. My average is 5 minutes, 28 seconds. I also complete the paper's Sudoku, with varying degrees of success and speed. I regularly visit http://www.websudoku.com/, where my average time is down to 5 minutes, 8 seconds. I am proud to report that I have performed a not-so-scientific experiment in which I have tracked my improvement since taking gingko-biloba. My average time was 5 minutes, 28 seconds in October, when I began taking it. I had achieved that time and stalled at it for 4 months. Now I am down to 5 minutes, 8 seconds. I have pretty consistently dropped a second a week since taking gingko biloba.

I mention that love of puzzles in an effort to justify my detached fascination with my own migraine headaches.

I began having the headaches in the spring of 1997, when I was commuting 90 minutes each way to work. I only had one or two during that job, near the end of its tenure, and they increased somewhat in frequency, in severity, and in dramatic symptoms, between 1998 and 2000. At this time I was commuting 55 minutes each way.

In the beginning I experienced only a mild “aura,” or warning sign that a headache was coming on. The effect was as if a Venetian blind were fluttering in the wind, in the corner of my right eye. The flutter was in the lower right edge of my vision, and was an entirely chiaroscuro effect.

I continued to have this mild warning sign for about 18 months. I distinctly remember where I was standing the day the effect went Technicolor. My entire field of vision was illuminated with a carnival of lights, not unlike the midway at the State Fair of my youth. The lights spin and move about, yet they are translucent so that I can see the actual items beyond them in my field of vision.

It was pretty difficult to drive home with the light show going on. Yet I knew if I did not get home, and get home fast, the headache that was soon to follow would make it even more difficult still.

They say an aura is a perfectly normal predecessor to the headache, as if the headache itself were a normal phenomenon. Some people smell a particular scent. Some people hear ringing, for example, or a whistle. Some people just get the headache. Little One gets tunnel-vision. And others, like me, see things.

Nowadays the aura appears like little gray translucent bubbles in my forward vision. After a few moments, colored prisms appear in my peripheral vision. The bubbles float to the top and replenish from the bottom, much like the bubbles in a glass of Co-Cola (I am from Alabama, don't forget.). Meanwhile, the prisms rotate and spin in my periphery.

Today I had all this going on as I drove home from Party City, where I had gone to pick up the paper goods for tonight’s reception for Band Honor Society inductees at the middle school.

This is when I decided to blog about my headaches. So, using my phone, I took a picture of the view, and I have superimposed my aura on it so you can see what it looks like. I only wish I could automate it for you so you could see the movement of the aura. This still picture is the best I can do.


In the beginning I had no clue as to what was happening. In 1998 I saw the doctor and subsequently went to a neurologist. I was given a prescription for migraine medication. The medication was not in the form of a pill or shot, but an inhalant. The packages were little rocket-shaped plastic things. I stuck one end in my nose and depressed the little plunger at the other end, while inhaling. The benefit of an inhalant was that it didn’t have to dissolve – it immediately went into my bloodstream.

The medication was satisfactory for about a year, until I began to have hangovers from the medication. I would have the aura, take the medication, and perform at work almost normally, but would have a vacant ache in the back of my head for 3 or 4 days. These hangovers became stronger and stronger until finally, I began to evaluate the headache when I would have an aura. Is it strong? Are the colors bright? If not, I would skip the medication and endure the headache, which usually lasted about 24 hours.

I cannot write about the headache without telling what one is really like. Sometimes, especially in the early days, it feels like a heavy, 2-penny nail is piercing my head. There is one point of entry and one point in the center of my brain where the “tip of the nail” is causing particular pain. At other times, the best way to describe it is as if it were a sharp ripping pain in my brain. Remember that burning, tearing feeling when you fell off your bike and your skin ripped on the pavement? That’s what it feels like, sort of, except in my brain.

When I have a migraine, I have a propensity to chew or rip my nails below the quick. I don’t know why. On a couple of occasions I have actually pulled my hair out. (Not much.) One time, I was screaming, pleading with my husband to take me to the ER. (I never did know why he didn’t.) He called my doctor’s group’s after-hours number, waited for the callback, and got permission to give me a second dose of medication.

I had a hysterectomy in 2003 and the regularity of the headaches has decreased. While I used to have one or two a month, at about the same interval, now I just seem to have them whenever. I have identified some things that trigger them. Aspartame is the biggest contributor for me. I have given it up entirely. It’s tricky – it is often included in things I would not think would have it. I truly wish manufacturers would be required to put “Contains aspartame” clearly on the front of a bottle. Until then, I will continue to screen the fine print. Traveling on an empty stomach can sometimes give me a migraine. A strobe effect is a major trigger for me. It can be an electronic strobe – or it can be sunshine behind trees flashing between the trunks as I zoom down the interstate. I have begun carrying an eyeshade on vacations so that I can block it out. NOTE: I only wear it if someone else is driving.

Here is where I get to the strangest phenomenon of all. Superstores give me a migraine.

I did not notice this until about 2 months ago we took an excursion to the nearest larger town to visit Super Target. I love Target and anticipate a trip as if it were really a big thing. As we crossed the parking lot, Little One chided me: “Now Nana, please don’t get a migraine.” “Do I usually get a migraine here?” I asked. She looked at me as if I were an idiot. (I get a lot of these looks from her lately.) “You ALWAYS get a migraine here.”

DH and I went to Ikea in November. As I entered the front door, kaboom. Circles in my eyes. Party City today. Boom.

This fascinates me. Is it the store size? My neighborhood grocery is a little larger than Party City, a little smaller than Target. Yet I don’t get a headache there. (Thank goodness!) Is it the driving? We drove to DC 2 weekends ago, 6.5 hours each way, without a headache.

At this point, I have decided there is something about the air pressure in a big box store that gives me a migraine. I relate this to the commonly-held theory that changes in barometric pressure triggers migraines. And, in fact, I and my migraine-suffering gf’s typically get one when a storm front is coming in.

It’s at this point that I have to talk about the detached observation of my own headaches. While they hurt, while they inconvenience me in terms of pursuing my schedule, they fascinate.

Take the aura, for example. Isn’t it wild that we experience different auras? It’s amazing to me! I have my own! Yes, I know we are all individuals – but stay with me here – (if you’ve made it this far, you must be in to the end, I guess) – as women we all seem to feel the same sensation when we have contractions! All of us seem to have the same sensation when we hit our thumbs with the hammer! Bump into the corner of the table. Break a leg. Get my drift? Yet, you can line up 5 friends who get migraines and we all have unique, and different, auras.

And the colored prisms? The day I went from b&w to Technicolor: what an amazing day! While one part of me was writhing in pain, the other was sitting back and observing: “Wow! Isn’t this fascinating?”

Not much is understood about migraines in general, although research people seem to be as fascinated by them as I am. I can only hope that one day they unlock the mystery.

You Spin Me

While we were at the restaurant in Ch.town, my ingenious son put his videocam on the lazy susan in the middle of our table and then rotated the susan. Here is the outcome. Cool!

More Pics from China Town

The Pencil

It's funny how something as mundane as a simple pencil became so important to me.







I bought the pencil when we first moved to Small Town, USA, 17 years ago. DS2 was 14 and DD was only 12. The first few months we drove back to our former town most weekends, as we knew people there, and did not know anyone here.







Soon the novelty of driving 6 hours a weekend grew old and we began to stick around town. This tiny town, however, held no excitement for us, so we often went to Nearby Larger City to shop and look around. It held museums, minor league baseball games, and actual malls with non-discount store venues.







There was a favorite store we often haunted that sold art supplies. The store is still in the city but has changed location. One day I spotted this pencil and it was love at first sight. The knurled grip, the boxy construction, and the .5 leading all led to a desire for an intimate relationship.







I was an IS director at that time, and precise pencils are de rigueur in that field. I integrated the new pencil into my life and enjoyed using it. From the first moment I used it, it felt right, it had a look I liked (I really like white) and it immediately became My Pencil.







I have used My Pencil every day since. Until. On Wednesday, January 9, I lost it.







I had been using it near the computer that morning. When my friend stopped by to meet with me for Middle School Band stuff, I went to grab My Pencil from the computer area, and it was --- GONE. At the time, I just picked up a Black Warrior, my favorite wooden pencil, but no comparison, really, to the real thing. After she left, however, I turned the room upside down searching for it.







DH understood the magnitude of the loss and helped me look. We expanded the search to the kitchen, and eventually to the whole house. In the ensuing days, we would catch each other lifting chair cushions, digging around the furniture crevices, opening drawers and frowning. We both knew -- we were searching for it.







Within a week or two, I could not last. I began an online search for a replacement. Koh-i-Noor Rapidomatic 0.5. By definition, it is white. The 0.7 is green, and the 1.0 is red.







It's been discontinued. They still make the larger formats but have stopped producing the .5. I even called a vendor who called the manufacturer -- no pencils. I called a 2nd vendor in case the first one was lying. No pencil.







So I compared all the prices and ordered a .7. I received it within a day or two and have been using it since.







Using the .7 has not been as satisfactory as I had thought it would be. Sure, it has the knurled grip, the hexagonal body, the responsive click. But it's a .7. And it just reminds me of the pencil I still sorely missed. The. Pencil. It was sort of like losing your husband and marrying his brother. It just wasn't the same.







Today I had a busy morning. Dog to groomer. Zoom to elementary school for photo shoot. Came home to get a few things done before lunch at City Hall.







DH asked me if I had a few minutes. Sure, I said. He took me into the LR and began going through some of our antique books. I was polite but impatient. "Where is all this going?" I wondered.







Finally, he said, "Let's go to your appointment book and check out our schedule."







"Ah," I thought. "He's going to ask me for a date." (That wasn't it. Am I on drugs to think such a thing?)







We walked to my book and I picked up my pencil from its customary place in the book at Today. I looked at him expectantly.







He burst into gales of laughter. Pointed. I looked down. There. In my hand. Was.



.



.



.



.



My. Pencil.



.



.



I laughed.



.



.



I cried.



.



.



.



I hugged him with such ferocity.



.



.



My pencil.



My pencil!!!



MY PENCIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

...And While I'm At It...

If I'm posting the artwork of the children, I need to include the ingenious flash cards my DS2 made for his neice, my GD4.

GD4 lives in NYC with her mom and her dad, my DS1, who has been patiently teaching her the periodic chart of elements since, well, since her birth. Even before she could say, "May I have an apple, please?" she could recite the first 11 elements.

So DS2 made her flashcards of key items, one for each letter of the alphabet. Here are the first 4.

Cool Veg Info

I was cruising one of my old favorite websites, http://www.organizedhome.com/, this morning. Wow, it has changed quite a bit since I have been there. It now has a section on Green Living, and of course I scooted right over there. It included the following info, which I already knew, but you may not. Here it is:

Go meatless once a week. If you're not already practicing a vegetarian
diet, consider cutting back on the amount of meat in you consume. As Frances
Moore Lappé pointed out in her bestselling book, Diet for a Small Planet, livestock production absorbs sixteen pounds of grain and soy feed for every pound of meat that actually gets to the plate. Each calorie of animal protein requires 78 calories of fossil fuels to produce, and irrigation directly associated with livestock production (including feeds) amounts to about half of all the consumed water in the United States.
Give meatless substitutes like Boca Burgers a try, or scan vegetarian recipes
for healthy and earth-friendly meal ideas.

Kids' Take on Chinese New Year

My DIL is just the best mom around. When we returned from the trip into DC, she encouraged the little ones to draw a pic of their experience. Here are the best efforts from my two awesome grandsons.



















This is actually a portion of the next drawing. The paper was legal-sized and the scanner was letter-sized. This depicts GS1 at the vendor booth on the street, selecting his Ninja Sword for purchase.

This is the remainder of his picture, showing the people holding the dragon for the parade. I love how he captured the antennae. The dragons actually did have antennae, although it is not necessarily something I would have imagined. All the pictures were drawn from memory, without any photos around to help them remember.

This is GS2's drawing. One of the more magnificent dragons was, in fact, yellow. The people who supported it had only their legs visible -- their heads were hidden in the costume. I love the way he picked up on this. Also, this particular dragon was led by a costumed man waving a shiny ball, sort of like a pet toy for dragons. He noticed this, too. In case you are reading-impaired, the caption says, "The Yellow Dragon Attack."

Happy New Year

Before heading out to Chinatown today, we were wise enough to check the weather forecast. It predicted winds at 20 to 40mph and bitter cold temperatures.
We looked outside. It was a balmy 51 degrees, sun shining, birds singing.
We did not believe the forecast.
At the last minute, DH talked me into taking my coat. I did not take the lining nor my gloves.
We froze our ***** off.

We arrived about 2 hours before the parade began. We stopped into a small Chinese restaurant right on the route and ate. Four kids, four adults. It was a tiny, narrow alley of a restaurant, 2 steps down from the sidewalk. Several tables were occupied by Chinese -- a very good sign! We ordered a simple lunch -- egg rolls, soup and shrimp fried rice for all. Immediate hot tea.

We ate til we were full -- all eight of us -- and split the $40 tab down the middle. Cheap, good, filling meal. We proceeded outside to stake our tiny piece of real estate at the yellow tape, right at the street.

As we waited, we saw and heard people as they excitedly awaited the parade. Many languages. Color and smells and loud firecrackers assaulted our senses. And, of course, the bitter cold.

DS2 has sewn a fleece bag for DGD's stroller. It snaps into the seat back of the stroller and hangs down for her legs and feet to keep them warm. Ingenious. He even built in buttonholes for her seat belt to come through. She had on a dress, pants, a heavy coat, a hat, her hood, gloves, the leg sack, and a blanket, and cried because of the cold.

The dragons bob and weave and dance to drums beat by cold and smiling people.

I really like this NY celebration much, much better than our traditional NY celebrations. For one thing, children are included. It's held in the middle of the day. It's wholesome. It's not centered around alcohol. No one dressed up. That is, no one, bought expensive outfits. No champagne. It was a family-centered and wholesome event.

I remarked that I was glad it was so cold -- we will always remember it. I was lying!

Memories

My dear sweet MIL emailed this to us today with this message:

Don't want to diminish Little One's outstanding accomplishment, just want to
document the importance of environment.

Well. The signature on the certificate is Miss Lois Smith, and DH began a journey down Memory Lane.

Miss Lois wore me out in the 8th grade. I sat on the front row, facing the chalkboard and Jan Bigham had a triangle cloth on her head. (I asked DH if it was a bubushka, and he said, "Yeah, probably.")

I put it on my head with that triangle pointing straight up. Like a cone. Miss Lois looked at me and said, "That's it." She gimme a paddling right there in front of the class. I remember her paddle -- it was smooth. I bent over and pow-pow-pow I counted them out as she gave them. Fifteen whacks. When she was done I just sat down and we had class.

And I remember one day we were in lunch line. Jack Collins was cutting up bad. Jack always was a cutup. Well, he was cutting up really bad and Miss Lois pulled him out of line and paddled him right then and there. What she didn't know was he had some Fire Chiefs in his back pocket. Well, his butt started smoking bad and Jack was hopping around, trying to get those Fire Chiefs out of his pocket. Miss Lois stood there with Miss Billie Grizzle, laughing.

ICE Could Save Your Life

This article came with our car insurance bill, and I had never seen it before. I am sharing it here for those I love to read and follow.

ICE could save your life.

In an emergency, every second counts, right? But if you're unconscious, how can you tell emergency personnel imporant information that could save your life?

Just put ICE on your cellphone. ICE is an acronym for In Case of Emergency. By using ICE, along with the phone number of your emergency contact, you have provided an important tool to assist emergency personnel if you are incapacitated.

You personal emergency contact's job is to provide the following information to identified emergency personnel:

• Full name
• Address
• Birth date
• Primary physician
• Blood type and allergies
• Relevant medical history

If you do not own or keep a cellphone with you on a regular basis, carry a card that lists all of your important information.

The Department of Homeland Security has a form you can download at http://www.ready.gov/america/_downloads/family_communications_plan.pdf

WOW!

I have just wasted about an hour of my life scrolling back through old blog entries. It's all there -- the stove, the accident, the park, the neighborhood, Halloween, Christmases, birthdays, LO, her school, her sports, her activities, random societal observations, and of course, riding the trash truck.
I just can't believe I have been blogging for three years. I started at the New Year of 2005. Last year was my lightest blog year with an average of 5 posts per month.
I will try to do better this year. Which is better: to write only when there is something to write about, or to write more frequently?
Maybe I should aspire to be busier, so that I will have interesting blog fodder more often, so that I can write more frequently.

Irony of all Ironies

My DS1 called yesterday and we had a delightful chat. I love to hear about his life in NYC, his babies, and his beautiful wife. He was remarking on the cost of living in NYC and mentioned costs at WalMart are even higher there than in other geographic areas.
I replied that I have finally, finally QUIT going to Wally world after years of being torn between my ethical responsibility and my allegiance to the family budget. I googled "The High Cost of Low Prices" in the fall and watched the movie online.
I had read the reviews of the book 3 years ago or so, and was horrified to learn about the fecal matter in the dense salmon "farms" where they get their fish. I already had an idea of the closure of small family-owned businesses due to the Monster.
Yet watching the film made me determined NOT to support this monster. It was compelling to see how many hard-working, undereducated people have to rely on Medicaid for their health insurance because WM pays them so little and charges so much for the health benefits. In effect, we, the taxpayers, are paying WalMart's employees' health insurance. Not just a few folks -- it's in the thousands in each state.
It was compelling to see and hear the fellow who was hired to ensure that safe and healthy employment practices are being honored in the 3rd world factories where WM buys all its textile products. When he reported non-compliance, his reports were ignored. Naively thinking there was a lapse in communication, he persisted until he was ultimately fired.
It was compelling to see the Machine at work when hourly employees attempt to unionize.
It was compelling to hear the story of the enterprising young black woman who applied for a promotion and was overlooked in favor of a lesser-qualified white male. When she asked her supervisor if she had been denied the promotion because she was female, or because she was black, he replied, "Well 2 out of 2 ain't bad."
So I have not been back. Yes, they are cheap. But I despise them, their exploitation of the poor who have few alternatives but to work there, and their disregard for What is Right.

Here is the irony. Little One came home victorious from school yesterday. She got an actual, physical, prize for having won 2nd place in the Science Fair.

A $10 gift card to WalMart.

Science Fair Project

Little One has aspired to participate in the Science Fair for years. She has had ideas, but never the initiative to follow through, despite her dear Nana's careful prodding.



This year a project was required.



We have books on Science Fair projects, refer to Dear Nana above, and she looked through for inspiration. One project appealed to her: showing movie clips to subjects and record how often they blink according to various emotions indicated in the movies.



She intended to perform this very project until the grading matrix came home and indicated "originality" counted as a large portion of the project.



She adapted the experiement to a similar one: have subjects listen to clips of different genres of music, and rate their liking of the various clips. Record their blink rates as they listen and see if they blink more or less for music they like or dislike.



Her hypothesis was that they would blink less for songs they liked. The results showed that they blinked less for songs they rated as medium -- neither liked nor disliked. We found out later you get extra points if your hypothesis is wrong.





We found out last night she placed 2nd. Her gf got first. CONGRATULATIONS LITTLE ONE!