I WOULDN'T SAY I'M DUMB--
BUT I BOUGHT A BOX OF ROCKS
Actually, it was THREE boxes. At a garage sale, where else. Each box is divided into 70 little sections with a rock in each one, nestled inside a scrap of paper that tells what it is. I got all three for $7, and if that isn't a bargain, I don't know what is. The only thing is, I don't know what you do with a box of rocks. I will probably wind up giving them to Ruth and/or Mary. Okay, girls, let's hear it--"ME!" "ME!" "NO, ME!"
How I am going to choose? Should I give them to the Pagan Daughter, who understands their mystical powers? Or to the Science Teacher Daughter, who can show them to the Earth Sciences class she is student-teaching? Or should I divide them up? "Here's a pretty one for you, an ugly one for her . . ."
The possibilities are tremendous. I feel rich. I've got a box of rocks, and everyone wants them.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Thursday, August 25, 2005
A Quick Two Cents
I thought since Mom and Mary have made a couple of entries while I was on hiatus, I should comment on a couple of things. First, the Olympics were postponed until Mom and Dad could be here. Hopefully the weather will cooperate. It isn't as convection oven hot here right now, but who knows what it will be like later on.
I'm going to have to watch for that book on alien abductions. I agree, some 'abductions' are probably nothing more than sleep paralysis, but that doesn't explain all of them. What about the people who report being abducted while driving down the highway, like Betty and Barney Hill? What about the missing time a lot of people report, or suddenly finding out your clothes are on backwards or inside out? In one book I read, the morning after a man had an abduction experience his little boy commented about the 'little doctors' being in the house that night. There's just too much going on to explain it all as sleep paralysis. I read a real interesting book about a conference about alien abduction held at MIT I think it was, but now I can't find it in the library's catalog. The Men In Black probably took the book and erased any evidence of it ever being here. Those bastards. The conference concluded that nobody really knows what is going on. Maybe hundreds of thousands of people have all gone insane, but even if that is the answer why have they suddenly gone insane? Even if this is all in their minds, someone should be studying it instead of just acting like nothing is happening.
My mom's dog isn't the only one that has a rain phobia. My big dog, Buddy, hates going out in the rain. Of course, he has a good reason. He was just a puppy when we got flooded in 93, and he spent about 2 months living in the state park getting rained on every day. He loved it when we moved up from a tent to a camper because we let him in the camper. No way was my husband going to let the dogs in the tent.
I sympathize with Mary about the clothes shopping. I can't stand shopping at the mall, and don't really like Wal-mart all that much better. Resale stores are much better, but after I search through racks of clothes and finally find something that isn't repulsive I am lucky if it is anywhere near my size. My husband is even worse because he won't actually try anything on in the store. He just looks at it and either takes it or leaves it, then when we get home either he'll wear it, or stuff it in the back of the closet until he either gains weight, looses weight, gets taller, or shrinks. Or until I bag it up and donate to probably the same resale store it came from in the first place.
I thought since Mom and Mary have made a couple of entries while I was on hiatus, I should comment on a couple of things. First, the Olympics were postponed until Mom and Dad could be here. Hopefully the weather will cooperate. It isn't as convection oven hot here right now, but who knows what it will be like later on.
I'm going to have to watch for that book on alien abductions. I agree, some 'abductions' are probably nothing more than sleep paralysis, but that doesn't explain all of them. What about the people who report being abducted while driving down the highway, like Betty and Barney Hill? What about the missing time a lot of people report, or suddenly finding out your clothes are on backwards or inside out? In one book I read, the morning after a man had an abduction experience his little boy commented about the 'little doctors' being in the house that night. There's just too much going on to explain it all as sleep paralysis. I read a real interesting book about a conference about alien abduction held at MIT I think it was, but now I can't find it in the library's catalog. The Men In Black probably took the book and erased any evidence of it ever being here. Those bastards. The conference concluded that nobody really knows what is going on. Maybe hundreds of thousands of people have all gone insane, but even if that is the answer why have they suddenly gone insane? Even if this is all in their minds, someone should be studying it instead of just acting like nothing is happening.
My mom's dog isn't the only one that has a rain phobia. My big dog, Buddy, hates going out in the rain. Of course, he has a good reason. He was just a puppy when we got flooded in 93, and he spent about 2 months living in the state park getting rained on every day. He loved it when we moved up from a tent to a camper because we let him in the camper. No way was my husband going to let the dogs in the tent.
I sympathize with Mary about the clothes shopping. I can't stand shopping at the mall, and don't really like Wal-mart all that much better. Resale stores are much better, but after I search through racks of clothes and finally find something that isn't repulsive I am lucky if it is anywhere near my size. My husband is even worse because he won't actually try anything on in the store. He just looks at it and either takes it or leaves it, then when we get home either he'll wear it, or stuff it in the back of the closet until he either gains weight, looses weight, gets taller, or shrinks. Or until I bag it up and donate to probably the same resale store it came from in the first place.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
WASPS ARE BIG BUSINESS
Mary mentioned in an earlier posting that she had met a biology teacher who used to have a job raising wasps. She wondered, whatever for?
I got curious, so I Googled "breeding wasps." Turns out, there is a thriving business in raising the little boogers. It is part of something called "biocontrol." According to a webpage by the Lethridge Research Center (http://res2.agr.ca/lethbridge/scitech/kdf/bioagent_e.htm), they are used to control house flies and stable flies, largely due to concerns about use of chemical sprays.
These flies lay their eggs in rotting silage, manure, and bedding, and the wasps hunt them out and lay their own eggs inside them. "Many species of parasitic wasps lay their eggs in the pupae of house fly and of stable fly," according to Lethridge. "Eggs hatch and the wasp larvae eat the developing fly. Upon becoming adults, wasps emerge from the fly pupae to locate and parasitize other fly pupae. These wasps are very small (1-2 mm long), feed only on a select group of flies and are not harmful to people, plants, or animals."
Lethridge goes on: "Some of these species can be obtained from commercial suppliers. Typically, the wasps are shipped as parasitized fly pupae. Upon receipt, these fly pupae are scattered in areas where pest flies are breeding. Wasps emerging from the parasitized pupae then move out to nearby areas to attack the native fly population. Suppliers recommend regular releases of wasps every few weeks."
Wow! I think I'll order a dozen. We have had several flies getting into the house, and when I grab the fly swatter, our little dog Mickey runs and cowers under the table. He started this a couple of years ago when Mary's son Danny was visiting. Do you suppose there could be a connection--say, Danny--fly swatter--dog? Maybe the solution is to turn a bunch of wasps loose in the house, stand back, and POW!!!
Mary mentioned in an earlier posting that she had met a biology teacher who used to have a job raising wasps. She wondered, whatever for?
I got curious, so I Googled "breeding wasps." Turns out, there is a thriving business in raising the little boogers. It is part of something called "biocontrol." According to a webpage by the Lethridge Research Center (http://res2.agr.ca/lethbridge/scitech/kdf/bioagent_e.htm), they are used to control house flies and stable flies, largely due to concerns about use of chemical sprays.
These flies lay their eggs in rotting silage, manure, and bedding, and the wasps hunt them out and lay their own eggs inside them. "Many species of parasitic wasps lay their eggs in the pupae of house fly and of stable fly," according to Lethridge. "Eggs hatch and the wasp larvae eat the developing fly. Upon becoming adults, wasps emerge from the fly pupae to locate and parasitize other fly pupae. These wasps are very small (1-2 mm long), feed only on a select group of flies and are not harmful to people, plants, or animals."
Lethridge goes on: "Some of these species can be obtained from commercial suppliers. Typically, the wasps are shipped as parasitized fly pupae. Upon receipt, these fly pupae are scattered in areas where pest flies are breeding. Wasps emerging from the parasitized pupae then move out to nearby areas to attack the native fly population. Suppliers recommend regular releases of wasps every few weeks."
Wow! I think I'll order a dozen. We have had several flies getting into the house, and when I grab the fly swatter, our little dog Mickey runs and cowers under the table. He started this a couple of years ago when Mary's son Danny was visiting. Do you suppose there could be a connection--say, Danny--fly swatter--dog? Maybe the solution is to turn a bunch of wasps loose in the house, stand back, and POW!!!
Chaos
There has been a big change in the Cud household. First, The Girl's mother, who told her she was never going to be able to get any of her things, apparently decided she wanted to do something with her room. So last month every week our neighbor (my husband and I were invited not to come) took The Girl to her old house and brought home pickup after pickup full of clothes, mementos, CDs, furniture, and whatever trash (empty cigarette packs, soda bottles, things like that) was sitting around her room. Some of the stuff was pretty neat, like a chair shaped like a giant high heel shoe covered in velvet leopard print, and a roll-top desk. Some of it is pretty useless, like the broken stereo. But I guess it was the thought that counts.
Then the mother of a friend of ours was moving and selling all her furniture, and we bought just about everything. So now I have a new kitchen table and chair, new couch and coffee table, and a new bedroom set. We had a waterbed, but decided to move the bedroom around and bought a regular mattress instead of refilling the waterbed mattress. So now I have a bed just like the astronauts. I even have a real nice little wooden rocking chair, but somehow my husband has taken the rocking chair over. Not fair.
While we were moving everything around I came across a box of quilt matterial my mother gave me from my grandmother's estate, so now I have a bad case of Quilt-itis. I was looking through a fancy quilt book that was in the box and saw a really morbid quilt that I can't imagine anybody making. It was a regular quilt, but the center was a 'cemetary', an empty square with a little path leading up to it. Along the edge of the quilt there were little cloth coffins with people's names sewed on them. I think they were all related. Whenever somebody in the family died, you unstitched their coffin and put it in the cemetary. I can't imagine sleeping under a quilt like that. Talk about nightmares.
There has been a big change in the Cud household. First, The Girl's mother, who told her she was never going to be able to get any of her things, apparently decided she wanted to do something with her room. So last month every week our neighbor (my husband and I were invited not to come) took The Girl to her old house and brought home pickup after pickup full of clothes, mementos, CDs, furniture, and whatever trash (empty cigarette packs, soda bottles, things like that) was sitting around her room. Some of the stuff was pretty neat, like a chair shaped like a giant high heel shoe covered in velvet leopard print, and a roll-top desk. Some of it is pretty useless, like the broken stereo. But I guess it was the thought that counts.
Then the mother of a friend of ours was moving and selling all her furniture, and we bought just about everything. So now I have a new kitchen table and chair, new couch and coffee table, and a new bedroom set. We had a waterbed, but decided to move the bedroom around and bought a regular mattress instead of refilling the waterbed mattress. So now I have a bed just like the astronauts. I even have a real nice little wooden rocking chair, but somehow my husband has taken the rocking chair over. Not fair.
While we were moving everything around I came across a box of quilt matterial my mother gave me from my grandmother's estate, so now I have a bad case of Quilt-itis. I was looking through a fancy quilt book that was in the box and saw a really morbid quilt that I can't imagine anybody making. It was a regular quilt, but the center was a 'cemetary', an empty square with a little path leading up to it. Along the edge of the quilt there were little cloth coffins with people's names sewed on them. I think they were all related. Whenever somebody in the family died, you unstitched their coffin and put it in the cemetary. I can't imagine sleeping under a quilt like that. Talk about nightmares.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Lunch is at 10:22
Well, my first day of student teaching was a success. Actually, it was more like a big bore. The hardest thing I had to do was figure out how to get the copy machine to staple the copies. Since it was the first day, all my teacher did was go over the syllabus and the lab rules, then she made the kids fill out a sheet over what they thought about science. Do they like science or not? Who is their favorite scientist? What jobs use science? Then we went over it and wrote their answers on the board. It was a super-easy day. The bad part is that this school has the block schedule, so tomorrow we get to do the same exact thing four more times for new classes of kids! And oh yeah, they have five lunch periods, and we have the first one. It is from 10:22 to 10:44. By 3:00 I was starving.
Well, my first day of student teaching was a success. Actually, it was more like a big bore. The hardest thing I had to do was figure out how to get the copy machine to staple the copies. Since it was the first day, all my teacher did was go over the syllabus and the lab rules, then she made the kids fill out a sheet over what they thought about science. Do they like science or not? Who is their favorite scientist? What jobs use science? Then we went over it and wrote their answers on the board. It was a super-easy day. The bad part is that this school has the block schedule, so tomorrow we get to do the same exact thing four more times for new classes of kids! And oh yeah, they have five lunch periods, and we have the first one. It is from 10:22 to 10:44. By 3:00 I was starving.
Back From The Dead
No, I really wasn't dead, just taking a hiatus. I am back though, and ready to write. I thought I would start out with a Medical Monday, even if it is Tuesday. Did you ever look at the SPF numbers on sunscreen? That stands for Sun Protection Factor, in case you didn't know. The higher the number, the more protection. Supposedly. You would think that meant if you had a high enough number, no sunlight would penetrate to your delicate skin. That's not exactly right. In reality, when you put on a lotion with a number like 75 it gives you the same amount of protection as a 15 SPF lotion. The real difference is the length of time the protection lasts. A 75 SPF lotion just puts on more of the same stuff, so it wears off slower but doesn't actually protect you any more than a lower number. A 15 SPF lotion might last for a couple of hours, but the higher number will last for three or four times as long.
Now you know.
No, I really wasn't dead, just taking a hiatus. I am back though, and ready to write. I thought I would start out with a Medical Monday, even if it is Tuesday. Did you ever look at the SPF numbers on sunscreen? That stands for Sun Protection Factor, in case you didn't know. The higher the number, the more protection. Supposedly. You would think that meant if you had a high enough number, no sunlight would penetrate to your delicate skin. That's not exactly right. In reality, when you put on a lotion with a number like 75 it gives you the same amount of protection as a 15 SPF lotion. The real difference is the length of time the protection lasts. A 75 SPF lotion just puts on more of the same stuff, so it wears off slower but doesn't actually protect you any more than a lower number. A 15 SPF lotion might last for a couple of hours, but the higher number will last for three or four times as long.
Now you know.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Harder than raising wasps…
Today I went up to the school to get my parking sticker and badge. The teacher I am going to be with wasn’t there, but I saw the room I will be in. It is on the second floor, and one whole wall is made up of windows that overlook the football field and track. The football field is so nice you would think it belonged to a college or something, so needless to say it is a pretty impressive view from the room. I was feeling nosey so I went into the room next door and talked to the teacher there. She is a science teacher about my age, and she said she has been a teacher for seven years. She told me that she has had a lot of hard jobs in the past, but teaching has been by far the hardest. I wish I could remember all the jobs she told me she has had, but I can only remember two of them, one was an exterminator, and one was raising wasps. ( I don’t think she had these two jobs at the same time, or at least I hope not.) All, she said, were a piece of cake compared to teaching. That made me wonder, is teaching really that hard? And now I am so curious, how do you make money raising wasps?
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Oh to be a Teacher…
Tuesday I start “Student Teaching”. Student teaching is a one of the last steps you do to get a Missouri teaching certificate. It is basically an internship in someone else’s classroom, where you have graduated duties, so that you start off doing nothing and end up doing everything. The first week you just watch the real teacher, the second week you take attendance, the third week you teach one class, the second week you take over two classes, etc. At least that is how it is supposed to work. The teacher you are with can make you do whatever he or she wants to, so I really have no idea what’s going to happen. I only met with my teacher one time briefly and we basically just said hi and that was it.
The big problem with student teaching is you don’t get paid. Plus you have to pay the university for twelve credit hours. It is really designed for a young person that is in college. Student teaching would be their last semester and the culmination of their studies before they go out into the real world. That may work out great for college kids, but for big dummies like me who decide to try teaching when they are 38 years old and have been working in the real world for YEARS, it can be quite a hardship. I decided to try this teaching thing about three years ago when I realized I didn’t want to work in a laboratory the rest of my life. So while I took one or two night classes every semester, whenever I got any “extra” money, such as overtime or a tax refund, I socked it away in a savings account because I knew I had this student teaching thing coming up. And now it’s here.
Believe it or not, what I am worried about most is what I am going to wear. Working in a lab for all these years, all I ever wore was blue jeans and semi-nice shirts. I had one dress that I wore if I ever had to go to a wedding or funeral. That was it. So the last couple of weeks I have been on a clothes-buying spree. Now, my idea of a clothes-buying spree is probably not the same as your idea of a clothes-buying spree. I went to the mall but all they had was weird, bizarre stuff a clown might like. So I went to Wal-Mart and spent about $100, went to K-Mart and spent about the same, then I went to some garage sales and a resale shop where I spent a total of twelve dollars-- and now I’m all set. I have slacks and skirts and dresses out the wazoo. Now if I only knew how to iron!
Tuesday I start “Student Teaching”. Student teaching is a one of the last steps you do to get a Missouri teaching certificate. It is basically an internship in someone else’s classroom, where you have graduated duties, so that you start off doing nothing and end up doing everything. The first week you just watch the real teacher, the second week you take attendance, the third week you teach one class, the second week you take over two classes, etc. At least that is how it is supposed to work. The teacher you are with can make you do whatever he or she wants to, so I really have no idea what’s going to happen. I only met with my teacher one time briefly and we basically just said hi and that was it.
The big problem with student teaching is you don’t get paid. Plus you have to pay the university for twelve credit hours. It is really designed for a young person that is in college. Student teaching would be their last semester and the culmination of their studies before they go out into the real world. That may work out great for college kids, but for big dummies like me who decide to try teaching when they are 38 years old and have been working in the real world for YEARS, it can be quite a hardship. I decided to try this teaching thing about three years ago when I realized I didn’t want to work in a laboratory the rest of my life. So while I took one or two night classes every semester, whenever I got any “extra” money, such as overtime or a tax refund, I socked it away in a savings account because I knew I had this student teaching thing coming up. And now it’s here.
Believe it or not, what I am worried about most is what I am going to wear. Working in a lab for all these years, all I ever wore was blue jeans and semi-nice shirts. I had one dress that I wore if I ever had to go to a wedding or funeral. That was it. So the last couple of weeks I have been on a clothes-buying spree. Now, my idea of a clothes-buying spree is probably not the same as your idea of a clothes-buying spree. I went to the mall but all they had was weird, bizarre stuff a clown might like. So I went to Wal-Mart and spent about $100, went to K-Mart and spent about the same, then I went to some garage sales and a resale shop where I spent a total of twelve dollars-- and now I’m all set. I have slacks and skirts and dresses out the wazoo. Now if I only knew how to iron!
Sunday, August 14, 2005
A TEXAS PANHANDLE DOG
Here in the beautiful Texas Panhandle, where the sun shines and the wind whines, we don't have an awful lot of rain. In fact, I couldn't tell you when it last rained, but yesterday the skies opened up and we got over 2 inches of rain and it's still drizzling today. Ugh, clouds. But we do need the rain, for our beautiful grass and mesquite trees.
The only thing is, our pets forget what rain is and don't know how to behave in it. Yesterday I tried to get our little dog Mickey to go out in the side yard and do his little doggy business, but he skidded to a stop at the edge of the porch. What IS this wet stuff? He refused to go out in it, so I had to let him back in. But he still had to go, so he stood there inside the house, pondering. Aha! He ran through the house to the front door, and stood there expectantly. Let's try THIS door.
Smart dog, huh? If it's raining on one side of the house, go to another one.
Big disappointment when I nudged him out that door. Damn! This one's no better. But he found shelter under a bush and took care of business and stomped back in, disguested with humans who can't run the world any better than this.
I wouldn't say it practically never rains here, but today a girl walked by under an umbrella and Mickey went into a blind panic. He had never seen one before--or if he had, it was so long ago he couldn't remember it. We were out on the porch when he went into this hysterical yapping and dancing around, and the poor girl splashed across the street, certain that a rabid animal was about to attack her. I didn't get a chance to explain to her that Mickey thought he had seen a monster.
Oh, well. Better days will return. Sunny ones, the way they're supposed to be.
Here in the beautiful Texas Panhandle, where the sun shines and the wind whines, we don't have an awful lot of rain. In fact, I couldn't tell you when it last rained, but yesterday the skies opened up and we got over 2 inches of rain and it's still drizzling today. Ugh, clouds. But we do need the rain, for our beautiful grass and mesquite trees.
The only thing is, our pets forget what rain is and don't know how to behave in it. Yesterday I tried to get our little dog Mickey to go out in the side yard and do his little doggy business, but he skidded to a stop at the edge of the porch. What IS this wet stuff? He refused to go out in it, so I had to let him back in. But he still had to go, so he stood there inside the house, pondering. Aha! He ran through the house to the front door, and stood there expectantly. Let's try THIS door.
Smart dog, huh? If it's raining on one side of the house, go to another one.
Big disappointment when I nudged him out that door. Damn! This one's no better. But he found shelter under a bush and took care of business and stomped back in, disguested with humans who can't run the world any better than this.
I wouldn't say it practically never rains here, but today a girl walked by under an umbrella and Mickey went into a blind panic. He had never seen one before--or if he had, it was so long ago he couldn't remember it. We were out on the porch when he went into this hysterical yapping and dancing around, and the poor girl splashed across the street, certain that a rabid animal was about to attack her. I didn't get a chance to explain to her that Mickey thought he had seen a monster.
Oh, well. Better days will return. Sunny ones, the way they're supposed to be.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
GIRL CRUSH!
How would I ever know this stuff if I didn't read the New York Times? The latest thing among sophisticated young Manhattan-type women is (are you ready?) THE GIRL CRUSH! You can read about this in an article by Stephanie Rosenbloom, "She's So Cool, So Smart, So Beautiful: Must Be a Girl Crush." If this sounds like something out of a supermarket tabloid--well, that's today's Times for you.
Ms. Rosenbloom begins by describing the fluttery feelings 26-year-old Susan Bruice felt watching as another woman's "long black hair whipped across her pale face as she danced to punk rock at the bar." She was smitten by her layered gold necklaces, oversize sunglasses (in a BAR?), her Christian Dior perfume.
"I'm immediately nervous around her," Ms Buice said. "I stammer around her, and it's definitely because I think she's supercool."
No, we're not talking about a couple of lezzies here. The article hastens to inform us that Ms. Bruice is in a live-in relationship with a boyfriend. (Hmm. Wonder what he thinks about this?) What she is going through is a common romantic (but not sexual) infatuation "that one heterosexual woman develops for another woman who may seem impossibly sophisticated, gifted, beautiful or accomplished." It's a thrill that triggers "feelings of excitement, nervousness, a sense of novelty"--much like falling in love, but--understand--NOT SEXUAL. The article goes on to tell about all these other super-sophisticated professional gals who are going through the same thing, and loving it.
I know exactly what they're talking about, I just didn't know I had ever had one. When I was 13 I was smitten with my 8th grade English teacher. What was her name? Miss Susie Something-or-Other. Miss Susie was way cool, although we didn't use that word yet. She was young, dressed sort of early-hippie (we didn't know what they were yet, that was about 1954), dug rhythm and blues before any of us had heard of it, and was definitely not Miss Grundy. She let us know she was dating an Army captain who drove a convertible, and somehow she left the impression they were doing lots more than holding hands. I wouldn't say I would have died for her, but I remember writing and re-writing my little themes so I would have the exquisite thrill of having Miss Susie read them aloud to the class. Oh, God! Died and went to heaven!
Miss Susie lasted exactly one year. I don't know what happened. Maybe the principal fired her for flipping him off, or maybe she just followed her captain to the next army post. My next English teacher was back in the prune-face mold. All the fun went out of writing themes. I wouldn't have cared if she sent them in to the Pulitizer Prize committee.
I haven't thought of Miss Susie for years. She and her captain are probably doddering great-grandparents. I am an old grandma myself who has one tit and talks babytalk to the dog. But I know one thing. She would still set my heart a-flutter. That's the way these girls crushes are.
How would I ever know this stuff if I didn't read the New York Times? The latest thing among sophisticated young Manhattan-type women is (are you ready?) THE GIRL CRUSH! You can read about this in an article by Stephanie Rosenbloom, "She's So Cool, So Smart, So Beautiful: Must Be a Girl Crush." If this sounds like something out of a supermarket tabloid--well, that's today's Times for you.
Ms. Rosenbloom begins by describing the fluttery feelings 26-year-old Susan Bruice felt watching as another woman's "long black hair whipped across her pale face as she danced to punk rock at the bar." She was smitten by her layered gold necklaces, oversize sunglasses (in a BAR?), her Christian Dior perfume.
"I'm immediately nervous around her," Ms Buice said. "I stammer around her, and it's definitely because I think she's supercool."
No, we're not talking about a couple of lezzies here. The article hastens to inform us that Ms. Bruice is in a live-in relationship with a boyfriend. (Hmm. Wonder what he thinks about this?) What she is going through is a common romantic (but not sexual) infatuation "that one heterosexual woman develops for another woman who may seem impossibly sophisticated, gifted, beautiful or accomplished." It's a thrill that triggers "feelings of excitement, nervousness, a sense of novelty"--much like falling in love, but--understand--NOT SEXUAL. The article goes on to tell about all these other super-sophisticated professional gals who are going through the same thing, and loving it.
I know exactly what they're talking about, I just didn't know I had ever had one. When I was 13 I was smitten with my 8th grade English teacher. What was her name? Miss Susie Something-or-Other. Miss Susie was way cool, although we didn't use that word yet. She was young, dressed sort of early-hippie (we didn't know what they were yet, that was about 1954), dug rhythm and blues before any of us had heard of it, and was definitely not Miss Grundy. She let us know she was dating an Army captain who drove a convertible, and somehow she left the impression they were doing lots more than holding hands. I wouldn't say I would have died for her, but I remember writing and re-writing my little themes so I would have the exquisite thrill of having Miss Susie read them aloud to the class. Oh, God! Died and went to heaven!
Miss Susie lasted exactly one year. I don't know what happened. Maybe the principal fired her for flipping him off, or maybe she just followed her captain to the next army post. My next English teacher was back in the prune-face mold. All the fun went out of writing themes. I wouldn't have cared if she sent them in to the Pulitizer Prize committee.
I haven't thought of Miss Susie for years. She and her captain are probably doddering great-grandparents. I am an old grandma myself who has one tit and talks babytalk to the dog. But I know one thing. She would still set my heart a-flutter. That's the way these girls crushes are.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
MOMMA'S GOT NEW SHOES
I finally found The Perfect Shoes--a $55 pair of brown leather Skechers called "Reminiscence." It's an apt name because they remind me of the old Buster Browns I used to wear as a kid. I had to do something because I had worn out my beloved Soft Walks with all the dog walking I do, and they looked so disreputable I was ashamed to wear them in public. NEVER buy any suede shoes in a light tan--they get all stained and spotted and look like somebody has been peeing on them. (The dog, maybe?) These Skechers are wonderful shoes, designed as sneakers but made in a sturdy, stain-free leather. I love to wear sneakers but they are always either white or some dopey pastel and impossible to keep looking presentable. I don't know why these Skechers are the only sneakers I have ever found that are in leather.
The only thing I don't like about them is that the manufacturer had to get cute and call the color "toffee." They are NOT toffee. They are a plain old Hershey-chocolate brown, and they ought to be called brown.
You would probably like these shoes. If you get a pair, try them on because I think they run a little small. I had to bump myself up a half-size to an 8 1/2.
And forget high fashion. So they look like a couple of grain barges--who cares? They feel great!
I just remembered the Buster Brown jingle:
I'm Buster Brown, I live in a shoe.
This is my dog Tige--he lives there, too!
Arf! Arf! Woo! Woo!
I finally found The Perfect Shoes--a $55 pair of brown leather Skechers called "Reminiscence." It's an apt name because they remind me of the old Buster Browns I used to wear as a kid. I had to do something because I had worn out my beloved Soft Walks with all the dog walking I do, and they looked so disreputable I was ashamed to wear them in public. NEVER buy any suede shoes in a light tan--they get all stained and spotted and look like somebody has been peeing on them. (The dog, maybe?) These Skechers are wonderful shoes, designed as sneakers but made in a sturdy, stain-free leather. I love to wear sneakers but they are always either white or some dopey pastel and impossible to keep looking presentable. I don't know why these Skechers are the only sneakers I have ever found that are in leather.
The only thing I don't like about them is that the manufacturer had to get cute and call the color "toffee." They are NOT toffee. They are a plain old Hershey-chocolate brown, and they ought to be called brown.
You would probably like these shoes. If you get a pair, try them on because I think they run a little small. I had to bump myself up a half-size to an 8 1/2.
And forget high fashion. So they look like a couple of grain barges--who cares? They feel great!
I just remembered the Buster Brown jingle:
I'm Buster Brown, I live in a shoe.
This is my dog Tige--he lives there, too!
Arf! Arf! Woo! Woo!
Monday, August 08, 2005
THESE LITTLE GREEN MEN TIED ME UP, AND THEN . . .
Somebody is finally taking seriously all these people who claim they have been abducted by aliens and experimented on and God-knows-what-else. A Harvard psychologist (who else?) named Susan Clancy has a book coming out in October that tries to explain this phenomenon--"Abducted: How People Come to Believe They Were Abducted by Aliens."
According to a preview in the New York Times, Dr. Clancy has interviewed dozens of abductees as part of her studies in the nature of memory. She says they are not crazy and their experiences should be taken "as seriously as any strongly held exotic beliefs." Such as, for example, religious visions.
Dr. Clancy relates these abduction memories to a more familiar occurence called sleep paralysis. You may have had this sort of experience at some time yourself. "While in light dream-rich REM sleep, people will in rare cases wake up for a few moments and find themselves unable to move," she tells the Times. "Psychologists estimate that about a fifth of people will have that experience at least once, during which some 5 percent will be bathed in terrifying sensations like buzzing, full-body electrical quivers, a feeling of levitation, at times accompanied by hallucinations of intruders."
This short review in the Times doesn't make it clear how she goes from sleep paralysis to the elaborate scenarios described by many of these abductees. Apparently they have a sleep-paralysis episode along with a weird dream, and their minds draw on all the familiar details of sci-fi movies--especially those well-known creatures with spindly bodies, big heads, and bug eyes. The whole thing is so vivid upon awakening that they become convinced it really happened. It helps that these people are generally interested in the paranormal, susceptible to hypnotism, and highly emotional.
At a basic level, she concludes, these abduction stories have an almost religious element to those who believe them. The stories give their lives a meaning, a way to understand the odd and dispiriting things in their lives, a comforting sense that, as so many abductees come to believe, "we are not alone in this world."
What about you?
Makes sense to me. I have had at least one episode of sleep paralysis that I can remember, and it was really a weird experience. If I had thought to put it together with a dream about little green men--well, I'd be a True Believer, too.
Somebody is finally taking seriously all these people who claim they have been abducted by aliens and experimented on and God-knows-what-else. A Harvard psychologist (who else?) named Susan Clancy has a book coming out in October that tries to explain this phenomenon--"Abducted: How People Come to Believe They Were Abducted by Aliens."
According to a preview in the New York Times, Dr. Clancy has interviewed dozens of abductees as part of her studies in the nature of memory. She says they are not crazy and their experiences should be taken "as seriously as any strongly held exotic beliefs." Such as, for example, religious visions.
Dr. Clancy relates these abduction memories to a more familiar occurence called sleep paralysis. You may have had this sort of experience at some time yourself. "While in light dream-rich REM sleep, people will in rare cases wake up for a few moments and find themselves unable to move," she tells the Times. "Psychologists estimate that about a fifth of people will have that experience at least once, during which some 5 percent will be bathed in terrifying sensations like buzzing, full-body electrical quivers, a feeling of levitation, at times accompanied by hallucinations of intruders."
This short review in the Times doesn't make it clear how she goes from sleep paralysis to the elaborate scenarios described by many of these abductees. Apparently they have a sleep-paralysis episode along with a weird dream, and their minds draw on all the familiar details of sci-fi movies--especially those well-known creatures with spindly bodies, big heads, and bug eyes. The whole thing is so vivid upon awakening that they become convinced it really happened. It helps that these people are generally interested in the paranormal, susceptible to hypnotism, and highly emotional.
At a basic level, she concludes, these abduction stories have an almost religious element to those who believe them. The stories give their lives a meaning, a way to understand the odd and dispiriting things in their lives, a comforting sense that, as so many abductees come to believe, "we are not alone in this world."
What about you?
Makes sense to me. I have had at least one episode of sleep paralysis that I can remember, and it was really a weird experience. If I had thought to put it together with a dream about little green men--well, I'd be a True Believer, too.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Monday, August 01, 2005
Road Trip
Guess what? A friend (Sandra) and I are going on a road trip. We are going to Nauvoo, Illinois and Keokuk and Fort Madison, Iowa, and maybe some other neat places. We are going to see a bunch of Morman history in Nauvoo, then hit some wineries and a casino, staying in cheap motels all the way. We are going to a place where you hunt for geodes and you can take all of them you want for $15 for a five-gallon bucket full. We are going horseback riding. We are going to see a museum in an old steamboat. We are going on a ghost tour in Macoumb, Illinois. We are going this Wednesday-Sunday. That is WEDNESDAY through SUNDAY. Uh-oh, that means if the olympics aren't postponed we are going to miss them. Me and my friend hope a certain person won't get really mad at us....
Guess what? A friend (Sandra) and I are going on a road trip. We are going to Nauvoo, Illinois and Keokuk and Fort Madison, Iowa, and maybe some other neat places. We are going to see a bunch of Morman history in Nauvoo, then hit some wineries and a casino, staying in cheap motels all the way. We are going to a place where you hunt for geodes and you can take all of them you want for $15 for a five-gallon bucket full. We are going horseback riding. We are going to see a museum in an old steamboat. We are going on a ghost tour in Macoumb, Illinois. We are going this Wednesday-Sunday. That is WEDNESDAY through SUNDAY. Uh-oh, that means if the olympics aren't postponed we are going to miss them. Me and my friend hope a certain person won't get really mad at us....
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