Category Archives: Confession

Lies I told my students

imagesActually, I don’t believe either of these count as lie–more like things I didn’t tell my students because it was better that they not know.

Many years ago, when I was really young and taught Spanish at Hays High School in Western Kansas, I took 25 of my students to Mexico in a bus.  We stayed two weeks.  At one of the first restaurants we dined at in Mexico, I was talking to the manager about payments, etc.  I gotimagesto the dining room after most of the students has finished their soup.  I sat down, looked into my bowl and noticed that there were tiny worms in the soup, wiggling in and out of the chunks of chicken. I felt nothing would be gained if I shouted, “You all ate soup with worms in it.”  So I stopped eating and pretended this never happened.  Fortunately, no one got sick.

Before the celebration of el día de los muertos, we made crafts that Mexicans would have images
used for decorations.  A popular craft is to decorate sugar skulls.  I decided to use this with the 4th and 5th year Spanish students.  Because the skulls were sugar, I broke up a chipped skull–they were a little smaller than a fist–and passed the pieces out to the fifteen students to sample.  They tasted like sweet, thin cardboard.  After two days, we finsihed the decoration and painting.  As I was putting the material back, I read the side of the box that contained the skull.  There was a warning on the side:  These skulls are not meant for human consumption.

I never told them this either.  No one died.

Death and taxes

I’m in the middle of taxes and fear imprisonment more than death at this moment.

imagesI have spectacular number skills and love math.  My problem is not the math.  It’s the instructions.  Way back when I was getting A’s in algebra and thinking about majoring in math in college, I hit those, “One train leaves the station at noon going forty-miles-an-hour” problems.  I could never understand them.  As soon as I saw one, my brain shut down and every synapse dashed away in search of a simple x + y problem.   My friend who teach math tell me they are easy to do.  You just make a chart and plug in numbers.  I missed that somehow and, back when I was in high school, one did not go in for tutoring.

So I majored in Spanish.

George always did the taxes when we were married.  Before we were married and I was in grad school and living on $40/week, I didn’t pay taxes because I thought, “I make too little to pay taxes.”  This is NOT a good pihilosophy to adopt but I got away with it because the IRS must have decided I made too little as well.images

One story:  twenty-five years ago, George gave me a check to mail to the IRS.  Somehow it got lost in my desk drawer.  When I found it in August, I immediately called the IRS and explained what had happened, begged forgiveness and stated over and over how upset I was for my idiocy.  FInally I said, “Please don’t tell my husband.”  Must have worked because we weren’t fined and George never found out about this until I told her a few years ago.

After George died, I used an accountant because those two years of taxes were wonky.  Now I feel I should be able to do taxes myself.  As soon as I finish this, I’m going back to sorting things into piles and entering numbers and attempting to figure out the instructions.

I’m not a bit happy about it.

The sleeping sickness

frustrated-woman-clipartI tried to blog this week and last–although last week’s efforts were doomed by a non-functioning brain. I have pneumonia.

This week’s efforts have been doomed by sleep.  Every time I sit down–to watch television, to write, to eat–I fall  asleep.  I feel okay.  For example, I’m not coughing until parts of my respiratory system feel as if they’ve been attacked by sandpaper and I can breathe, always good.

But every ounce of creativity has fallen asleep as well.  In addition, my fingers can no longer find the correct home keys which means you’d need to be a cryptologist to read what I write..

Hope to be back next week.

 

Laughter is the best medicine

A friend asked me a while back what I did to ease depression.  I said, “I watch The Big Bangimages Theory.”  She thought I was being flippant.  I wasn’t.  During some of the recent hardest times of my life, I’ve taped and watched three or four a day, sometimes all at once.  Sometimes spread out over twelve hours.  I always feel better after a good laugh after Soft Kittie or Knock, knock, knock, Penny . . . “.  And yes, I know this is almost the same as my first paragraph last week, but I really love this show.

imagesFrom an article from the Mayo Clinic:  “A good sense of humor can’t cure all ailments, but data are mounting about the positive things laughter can do.”

For example:

1.  Laughter can induce physical changes.  In increased the intake of oxygen-rich air, stimulates heart and muscles, and increases the level of endorphins released by your brain.  It cools down your stress response, soothes tension and aids muscle relaxation.

2.  Over the long run, laughter may improve your immune system, relieve pain, make it easier for you to cope with tough times and improved you mood.

So today I decided to make some suggestions–as well as watching funny programs and movies–about how to feel better through the free and always available use of medicinal laughter.

1.  Listen to upbeat music.  I can’t listen to Pharrel Williams’ Happy without at least smiling and clapping.  Dancing would really get the blood flowing.

2.  I also watch a recording of the 2013 NCAA basketball championship won by my team, the University of Louisville.champs_0_standard-2-600x400

3.   Okay, this is really weird but it worked.  I bought a Tickle-me-Elmo because hearing him laugh makes me laugh.  Watching the cats trying to figure out where that sound is coming from is also amusing.DSCN0460

4.  I’ve learned not to watch depressing movies or read literature in which everyone dies at the end.  I know these will be depressing.  Instead, when I’m feeling greatly stressed, I read the wonderful books by James Herriot, gently and humorous or something by Kristin Higgins or Georgette Heyer or Katie Graykowski.

5.  Pet a cat, walk a dog, chat with a bird.

These thoughts are unique to me but I’ve learned they help me. I don’t dismiss the importance of counseling and medication, of faith and friendship nor do I think this will heal depression.  However, I truly believe laughter can help greatly.

What would you recommend to a friend whose feeling depressed?  Does laughter help you?

You can’t always be what you want–but that’s okay

To paraphrase a Stones’ favorite, you can’t always be what you want.  I’m sorry but the imagesidea that one can be anything one wants if one just tries hard enough is just no true or realistic.  Perhaps we need to rethink this.

I love figure skating.  I watched the nationals all last weekend.  One of the skaters said, “Everyone should figure skate,” and that reminded me why I don’t.  Why, no matter how hard I try, I’ll never, ever be a figure skaters.

imagesA friend and I took lessons when we were young, back when Kansas City still had an ice rink.  My friend did very well, being promoted week after week to higher level classes, learning to twirl and do elementary jumps.  Meanwhile, I didn’t.  I continued to slog around the ice and I couldn’t figure out why I was stuck in the beginners class.  I followed directions.  I did everything the instructor said.  I worked hard in the hope of being able to fly over the ice in a graceful position but never looked like the picture on the left.

Many years later, I discovered my problem, why I was doomed to remain forever in the beginners class:  I have terrible joints.  My ankles were so weak I couldn’t straighten them.  They bent inward which made me more of an on-your-ankles skater instead than a figure skater.  Actually, I skated both on my ankles and on the edges of the blades, lumbering along, trying so hard to do better and never succeeding.  No, never.

And this is why I know that, no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be a figure skater. Not even with the best coach in the world, I won’t.

There are people who tell children, “You can be whatever you want to be if you try hard enough.”  Well, no, they can’t and it’s mean to tell anyone such a completely ridiculous and untrue statement.  No mater how hard I try, I’ll never be a figure skater unless the federation puts in a new category to fit my style of skating.  And I’ll never represent my country in any sport in an international athletic  competition.  Those of you who know me recognize the truth in those words.

Some other realities: 1) No matter how hard she tried, a woman hasn’t been able to imagesbecome president. Shirley Chisholm can attest to that.

2) Until 2008, no matter how hard a black man tried, he couldn’t be elected president either.

3)  No matter how hard I try, I will never be abble to tell the difference between the word “shutter” and “shudder” without checking the dictionary.  Nor can I tell the difference b and a  d  when I’m spelling even though all my teachers told me if I tried hard, I could do that.  I am dyslexic.  Some things are mentally impossible for me.

My point is that people do not succeed in every effort and need to know that’s not the endimagesof the world. Kids, especially, need to understand this.  I awakened to this new truth many years ago after reading a magazine article.  The thesis of the article was that a spider could not make a lemon meringue pie no matter how hard that spider tried.

I am not espousing the opposite point of view that no matter how much you try, you’re going to fail. That’s really depressing.

Could we come to a middle point?  Perhaps “If you want something, work hard because you’re not going to get it if you don’t try but you many not succeed and that’s okay.”  Long and unwieldy, I know.  Maybe you could help me phrase this in a jazzier, more interesting way.

imagesAnd maybe we can stop filling children’s heads with the thought a thin boy’s going to be a heavy-weight boxer if he tries hard enough or a girl will play center for the Louisville Cardinal’s men’s basketball team.  There are other goals, good goals.  Any thoughts on this?  I’d love to hear them.

The medicine is worse than the disease

imagesIf you’ve read my Facebook posts, you know I’ve been sick for two weeks.  I thought it was allergies until I woke up with a cough that hurt my entire body and a voice like a dying  buffalo.  Another hint I’m really sick is that I wake up in the middle of the night hearing a very soft, “Meow, meow,” and realize the sound is coming not from a cat but my lungs.  Finally went to the doctor who gave me a strong antibiotic, a steroid pack, codeine-laced cough syrup and several inhalers.  I think she was worried about me.

And for two weeks, I suffered not only the breathing/coughing problems but also the side effects of the drugs.

I don’t take steroids because I experience ‘roid rage.   Terrible, terrible ‘roid rage.  I’ll be chatting with a friends and, suddenly and without warning, flames come out of my mouth.   This time, I’ve stayed home and talked to as few people as possible because I do like to keep my friends and I don’t want anyone to gossip about the vicious woman in apartment 514.

With the antibiotic, I discovered two side effects after I looked them up last week: imagesconfusion and extreme drowsiness.  Not a surprise.  I was so confused and sleepy, I was barely able to google the side effects.   Add to that the cough syrup with copious amounts of codeine and I might as well stay in bed so I wouldn’t hurt myself or others.   In my confusion, I forgot the time change and arrived at church an hour early Sunday–just in time for Sunday school.   About the drowsiness:  Saturday I sat down to a full day of college football and slept through entires halves.  Once I slept through most of a game and woke up to see teams in uniforms I didn’t recognize.

DSCN0445One of my favorite times of the day is after breakfast when I sit on the sofa, drink coffee and watch the news with one cat on my lap and the other next to me.  The three of us slept all morning.   I tried editing a book and kept falling asleep on the pages.    When a writer falls asleep while reading her own novel–well, not a good sign.

And the confusion!   I looked for an early voting place and never found it.  I called about an electric bill which I don’t owe and never understood the explanation.    I worried I’d entered the zone of elderly confusion but, having taken the lat of the antibiotic on Saturday, I discover the fog has cleared.

I’ve lost two weeks but am well.  Thank goodness.  Excuse me.  I think I’m going to take a little nap now.

Baseball and my lack of a moral compass

10610469_10152750714193373_7906439356951706763_nI loved baseball all my life–until the strike.

My father loved nearly all sports and started taking me to games when I was three or four.  My family spent cool autumn Saturdays in Lawrence, Kansas, attending University of Kansas games and drove from Kansas City to Lawrence once a week during basketball season to watch the Hawks.

In the summer, we went to Kansas City Blues games–minor league baseball–until the Athletics came.  I even interviewed the manager of the A’s for my high school newspaper.  When the A’s left for California, I became a Royals fan and, because we lived in Hays, Kansas, for five years, we went to several games every summer.  I was in the stands when George Brett was hitting .385.   During tornado warnings–which came weeklin in Western Kansas–we sat in the basement and listened to games.

George’s favorite story was when I was sitting next to two men who were keeping score and arguing about a play and if a player should get an RBI.  I leaned over and said, “The run scored on an error so it was an unearned run and no RBI.”

Then the strike hit in 1994 and  World Series was cancelled.  I was irate.  Furious.  I mean, really, really angry.   I vowed, “If you’re going to take away my World Series, I’m not going to another game.”   I kept that vow for  years.

For years, once a week George would look at the standings in the newspaper and say, “You don’t want me to tell you about the Royals.”   I didn’t ask.

Then, last year, the Royals started doing well and hooked me only to break my heart.  This year, I got interested after the All-Star break although I could only watch games with Texas teams.  Others were blacked out.

And I discovered something terrible about myself.   I had not stopped being a baseball fan due to a moral stand.   I no longer watched baseball because the Royals were a terrible team.  Yes, I have to confess this:  I am a fair-weather fan.  I also want to confess I’m having a lot of fun this post season!

My life by tote bags

toteIn an earlier blog, I mentioned my problems with organization, how I use baskets and notebooks and colors to keep track of all my stuff and what I should be doing.   In THE MATCHMAKERS OF BUTTERNUT CREEK, Gussie uses different totes for the various sections of her life.  Yes, I took that from my life.  I had one tote for school–a very large one–another for church, and many others for volunteer activities.

Today, I mostly use my totes for shopping and realize anyone looking at them would learn a great deal about my life.   One is from an anniversary of the founding of my college sorority at Kansas State.  Whenever I carry that, I make sure my hair looks good, my shirt is clean, and my shoes don’t look too ugly.  I do that because living here in Austin, I fear a young collegiate Theta will see me and think, “I didn’t think alums looked that bad.”

I have another with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) logo on it.  This is a communion chalice on a St. Andrews Cross.  That cross is on its side and looks like the letter X which causes people to ask me if I’m a member of the temperance league.

Another tote has this written on it:  “My  hero can kick your hero’s . . .”  Well, I’ll allow you to fill that in so I won’t insult any readers.   I have totes with Romance Writers of America conference themes and one with the symbol of one of my publishers, all of which might tip people off that I’m a writer.

Many years ago, my dear mother-in-law gave me a tote with “Cats and Books” on it.  That pretty well fills in my other interests:  pets and reading.

What’s your favorite tote?  What does it tell people about you?

Lessons I haven’t learned

About twenty years ago, I hurt my foot somehow.  When I went to the doctor’s office to have it checked, the receptionist who sat behind an open counter that was at least four feet high asked me, “Where’s the injury.”

To the amazement of the office staff,  I swung my foot up, rested it on the counter, pointed, and said, “My right foot.”

You know, that counter may have ben higher.  Maybe even five or six feet.

When I broke my toe a week ago, I discovered I can’t do that anymore.   Knowing I had to soak my foot, I put ice and water in the bathroom sink and attempted the same move at a much lower level.   I’m lucky I didn’t cause myself serious injury.   To the accompaniment of  many creaking joints and a fet grunts and screams, I was able to shove my foot into the water but worried the entire time I’d never be able to get it out again.

Lesson:   One cannot do everything one did twenty years ago.  However, I also know that one can do things that one couldn’t do twenty years ago such as publishing ten books.

This morning, I stubbed my broken toe.   Ouch!

Lesson:   people with broken toes should wear shoes.  However, I don’t like shoes and love to go barefoot which suggests more pain.

What lessons have you been taught that you refuse to accept?

Did aliens set my listening choices?

I don’t know why but I seem to attract weirdness, odd events, strange actions.

Last week, I took my Mazda to the dealer’s for its yearly check up.   When I got the car back, I drove off and turned the radio on, expecting my normal NPR programming.  Static.  I punched a button to change the station to my NPR music station.    More static.  I tried my country station and my oldies station.  I have only four stations saved because I’m old and I know what I like.  Yes, static on both of those.

So I hit some other buttons and discovered the only stations that had been saved were Christian music.   I have nothing against Christian music but it appeared after my tastes were set and it’s not the music of my choice.

My thought is that the mechanic working on my car noticed the stations I had saved and thought I must be a godless commie because I listen to NPR and decided to save my soul by adding five Christian stations to the dial.

Perhaps I’m paranoid.  I’ve been known to be.  However the change seems a little suspicious to me.   I deleted the stations someone set for me and found three of my favorite four.   Sadly, I can’t find the NPR music but, hey, I don’t drive that much anymore and I can always listen to Garrison Keeler CDs.

Next week, I’ll blog about the little girl I found standing completely alone in front of my apartment.  Another weird event.  And, sorry, no pictures.  My iMax won’t let me add any.