Gone but Not Forgotten

This morning I got up late and tried to throw myself together to make it to church.  However, by the time I got close to prepared the appropriate time had passed.  Go figure.  I was dressed up, though, and figured that I should go do something. 

I remembered years ago, spending some time Northwest of Springfield in a quiet place.  It was peaceful and reminded me of home.  The place:  Clear Creek Cemetery. 

Now, to some a cemetery might not seem the most ‘homey’ of places.  Growing up in a funeral home, though, makes it feel like an extension of my home.  So, onto the cemetery I traveled.

As I drove in between the stones to park on the back side, I passed the gazebo.  I loved sitting there.  It was built in the place of a large 100+ year old oak tree that fell softly among the stones over a decade ago. 

I parked the car and got out.  The wind above me was howling through the trees, but the breeze was fairly gentle at my level.  Just enough to tussle my hair around. 

As I walked to the gazebo I took in the expansive rows of stones.  People I had never known.  Those long since past, but at this moment, each of them having an impact on my life today.  Stepping into the gazebo I recalled why I loved this place.  The peace.  It was like returning someplace where you had been before, but once you came back it was if nothing had changed…like you had never gone in the first place. 

I sat down and paid my respects. 

Soon, I began to get a little chilly.  I figured it was best to walk around.  Be among the stones and remember the fragility of life.  I saw a stone in the distance which caught my eye.  It was taller than I, so I wanted to inspect it a little further.  It was from decades past, when the stones were made differently; more ornate.  The craftsmanship had been weathered, but you could tell the pride someone had taken in creating a long-lasting symbol of someone who had passed on from this world.  I could not quite make out the name, but it really didn’t matter.  They were important to someone.  They had made an impact in the world at one time. 

I moved on to a broken stone.  They always break my heart.  It was from the same era as the large memorial, but much simpler…unable to stand up to the test of time.  It had broken in two, as its top laid next to its small piece still standing.  I could not make out the name at all.  Time had worn the indentions away.  The moss had covered the stone as a blanket.  My guess, based on some of the others from that era in that condition, was that it was an infant or small child.  Some of these did not have names.  They were just named ‘infant.’  However, the impact of that child could have been just as great at the person who had the large stone erected in their memory.  Losing a child is so deep seeded in the psyche of the family.  It impacts them for their lifetime.  The large stone was someone who had lived a long life.  Most likely made ripples or waves in the figurative ‘lake’ of life.  However, the child was like a butterfly:  Ever so briefly touching the world with a kiss and a slight flutter of its wings and never knowing the impact that moment had on the world.  What a great thought.  Even a child born for a moment can have a lasting impact on our world.  If that one moment can bring about change, just imagine the difference a full lifetime can have!

I tarried on through the stones seeing last names of those familiar to me.  Most likely no relation, but still bringing to my memory people who had made an impact on my life; however so slight.

Becoming a little chilly, I meandered, ever so slowly, back to the car.  Before getting inside I gave the sign of the cross and gave thanks to the good Lord above for allowing me the opportunity to continue this life I live.  Looking out over the hundreds and hundreds of lives represented, I whispered a thank you and a reminder that each of those resting in peace may be gone, but far from forgotten.

Peace.

The Cashmere Jacket

So, I was at JQH Arena today and walking to the restroom.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw it.  Something that I actually desired and wanted.  There it was; soft, brown, and the perfect size.  You know I rarely see something I want...but if I do, I will set my mind to having it.  Period.  So, there was my desire for this chilly Sunday in January.  I was facing an attractive fellow with brown hair (I think)...and a tan colored cashmere jacket.  Oh my goodness.  How I wanted THAT jacket.

I bolted into the bathroom, wondering if the guy had seen me googling over his tan, perfectly tailored piece of outerwear.  I hoped not, cause seriously, could've cared less about the person...seriously folks?  I was at a basketball game!  I wanted that jacket!  So, as I stood in the bathroom I began to feverishly hatch a plan.  I was going to walk put of the bathroom and fall on the floor right next to the guy, but first I would have to dispose of my jacket.  I look around me (realizing the awkwardness of doing that while at the stall...but people...I had a mission).  I determine the best bet it to pull the liner out of the trash can, and place my jacket under the bag.  That way, if my plan did not work as intended I could get my current jacket back.

As inconspicuously as one can in a crowded bathroom, I took the trash can lid off the can and began to remove the liner.  Man, that thing was HEAVY.  As I lifted the bag over the edge of the can, the freakin bottom fell out.  Trash went rolling everywhere.  Towels, cups, and a couple half eaten containers of cheese fries went all over within a 10 foot circle around me.  I looked up in panic.  Oh my Lord.  I just managed to publicly humiliate myself.  Not wanting to be totally embarrassed, I remembered it was Boy Scout day at the game.  I drew myself to attention and quickly shouted, "The Boy Scouts who clean this mess up in the next 30 seconds will earn their Toilet Room Trash badge.  Go!!"  To my great satisfaction I had three scouts on the ground frantically picking up the trash and somehow managed to repair the damaged trash bag in the meantime.  I smiled at my brilliance, tossed my jacket in the bottom and patted the proud young men on the back.  I shared with them that they would just need to submit a request to the national office to receive their badge, and they went happily on their way.

Okay.  Finally.  I could continue my plan.  I was going to go out of the bathroom, fall on the floor, scream in pain and look at the cashmere jacket and tell the fellow that I was having horrific chills from my hereditary condition 'chilinistophy.'  I would, then, with tears and in very obvious pain, ask to borrow his coat until I was warm.

Once I had obtained the coat, I would realize that I had left my pills in my seat and would tell him that I needed to get those and ask if he could give me a moment to do that before I gave him back his jacket.  Once out of site I would run to the doors and out into the chilly January air with the most beautiful jacket I had ever seen.

With my plan in mind, I sauntered out of the bathroom looking as nonchalant as possible.  I glance to where the jacket had stood and could not locate it.  I took a deep breath and looked down the corridors both ways.  It was gone!  My jacket had disappeared.  My plan was useless.  I was so sad.

Defeated, I began to walk away and realized that MY jacket was still in the bathroom.  Slowly I returned to the place where such horrible drama had occurred moments before.  I reached in the trash can to find it with an empty bag and NO JACKET in the bottom.  I freaked out!  My jacket was gone.  Where could it have went!?

I ran out of the restroom and saw a guy, looking vaguely familiar with a jacket that looked like mine.  He also had another jacket over his arm.  Um...in fact, the jacket HE was wearing looked EXACTLY like mine and the one he had over his arm: cashmere.  He hurried turned toward the entrance, glanced over his shoulder and gave me a knowing wink.

Yes, Cashmere Jacket Guy, you have won this time.  But...next time I will be ready.  With a better plan and a less trendy jacket.  But for now, I had to figure out how to get a jacket to wear home.  Slowly, but surely, I walk back into the bathroom...

Peace

The ramblings on of a 33 year old guy...

If figure I should totally put my age in a blog title, so that someday, when I cannot remember well, I can say, "Oh, that was back when I was a young whippersnapper at age 33."

Anyway, so much has happened today and from it I have taken some interesting thoughts.

First of all.  Things are not always what they seem.  No matter what you THINK might be going on, or what someone else tells you, you should always investigate for yourself.  I am not one to take anything at face value.  Call me a Doubting Thomas, or what you may.  It is always worth it to investigate a little and determine, what, in fact, the truth is.  Context is always very important.  It is very easy to think rapid fire and react the same.  However, the patient man will be the wiser, as a man with less virtue will abandon a sinking ship without realizing it's just rain.  (yes, I made that up...go me, go me, its my birthday, wooty woot woot)

With the first thought in mind.  Don't judge on first impressions...not even second.  I am so guilty of this and must continuously remind myself to hold back my initial thoughts and wait to be sure.  It is so easy to let those first 10 seconds command our judgment of character, personality, and other things which can be detrimental to a fortuitous and worthwhile relationship.  Though 'they' say a first impression is made within such a short amount of time, it takes a lifetime to truly understand who we are as a person.  If we must give ourselves such longevity of judgment, don't we owe it to ourselves to give at least a little more time than a first impression to determine what we think about others?  My Pappaw always said, the man who comes in with the beat up truck, holes in his pants, and mud covered shoes can often times buy the homes of 100 men in designer suits and Mercedes Benz.'  (He may have said Cadillac, but you get the point).

Release the hard feelings and move on.  This does not necessarily mean you must immediately forgive and forget (which we should, but is not always the case).  It does, however, give us much greater peace in our hearts and our minds to let go of animosity toward others for things of the past.  Please do not misunderstand, as I am never saying you should befriend those who have hurt you or taken advantage of you.  However, holding on to harshness in our hearts can never allow us to proceed with ourselves wholly.  To forgive and forget is Christian, to forgive and remember is human, yet to let go and move on- is imperative.

Food is not always good when it is reheated.  Just figured I should point this out.  I tried to reheat beer-battered fish from Red Lobster last week...and it was G-R-O-S-S. Random, but true.  Trust me.

A true friend is one who tells you to call when you need an ear, and picks up the phone.  A true friend is not always one who will tell you what you want to hear.  Don't ever forget this.  Those who care about us tell us what they think and believe.  They look out for us even when they know it will make us mad.  Even if we KNOW they are wrong, it does not make their intent wrong.  Those who love us can hurt us the most.  Not because they intend to cause pain, but because they love in the way they know how.

Stop judging others.  There is no reason to pass along judgment to those around you.  Now, don't get me wrong, if you are Jesus, then go right ahead.  I will give you that.  However, if that is not who you are, then keep walking.  Keep your pointer finger in your pocket and say a prayer to yourself.  I promise you, you will not be sent to hell for keeping your mouth shut on occasion.  Now, if they ask your opinion...open that mouth.  If they do not...please remember the words that come out of you can be sharper than a two-edged sword.  Words can kill.  They can lead to such damage in a person.  In their heart, in their mind.  We tend to say things without ever thinking about the consequences.  Once it is out...it cannot be taken back.

I have been reading the facebook page and the blog of a new friend of mine.  He says things that many people do not agree with.  However, some of the responses he gets are so scathing and filled with hate; I cringe.  I never have had to deal with such feedback and hope never to do so.  It just pains me to know that hate and judgment can often times be whitewashed in the name of a religion.  I am not saying any one religion, as each one has it's fanatics, even those without.

My point is, be careful what you say.  It is said, and it is done.  The words of hate can lead to war, but words of peace between two people cannot.  Let us not be warmongers.  Let us be vessels of hope.  Entities encompassing peace.  Those who bring life and love to those in need.

I cannot say it enough, but make a difference.  Today, when you are finished reading this (all 3 of you), take a second and find a facebook post that you see someone hurting on, or someone being hurt.  Even if you don't really know them.  Just tell them you wanted them to know that they are important and someone special.  Lift up your brother and sister.  Raise our voices.  If we can sing this chorus in unison, Handel's Messiah will have nothing on us.

Peace.

Politics, the Bears, and volunteerism

Funny things go through my head at the most inconvenient times.  Tonight, for instance.  In the middle of a crazy basketball game I begin pondering if I am going to blog tonight, and if so...what about!?

I decided that I might give people choices of what I would blog on next, which I probably will in the future.  But this evening, when they were 'unveiling' the attendance at the Missouri State Men's game I began to ponder about the fans.  In addition, at half time I had heard a couple men saying that JQH Arena was a nice place, but there are not near enough fans to justify it.  Interesting.

Then, to make my thought process worse, I began to think about the New Hampshire primary and the 2012 election in general.  Add one more thing to that mix: work.  CASA, my organization that I hold very close and dear to my heart.

Put those all together and you get: Politics, the Bears, and volunteerism.  Trust me, it all comes together...I promise.

So, we have an arena built for over 11,000 screaming fans, but on a fairly normal evening in the middle of January, we can only bring in 6,009 people.  Seriously, many people say they are avid "Bear's fans" but where are those people?  Yes, it can cost to go to a game, and I am sure there were circumstances that people had to tend to, but you get the overall idea.

Then, we have a primary election held in a small state, New Hampshire, that held a vote tonight.  A vote which is only available to United States citizens through the hard work of men and women throughout the years.  George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Susan B. Anthony, Martin Luther King, Jr, and the list goes on.  These people gave of their time and effort to secure a place in our country for all of our voices to be heard.  Yet, when it comes time to raise our voice - cast our vote - where is our fellow countryman or countrywoman.  Was there really something more important?  Was the vote REALLY a done deal before the voting began.  I beg to differ.  In fact, I can only imagine the results if ALL people voted...but then again, it is a choice, not a mandatory obligation.  So, I only assume that the voice of the few or a plurality is acceptable to the whole.  Many people claim to have a 'horse in the race.'  Yet, when it comes time to do something about that horse, many let others make their decisions for them.  Case in point.  The Iowa Caucuses had a scant 8 votes between 1st and 2nd.  8 votes.  That means if less people than I can count on my two hands would have cast their vote for the 2nd place candidate, it would have ended out differently.  8 votes.  Oh, and I won't even get into Florida 2000.  Just imagine if everyone had cast their vote then...what a difference that could have made.

Now, take CASA for example.  We provide an organization that supports, in our most effective and efficient way we know how, volunteers who advocate on behalf of the hundreds and hundreds of abused and neglected children here in our own backyard.  We, as a community, are heartbroken and appalled by the statistics.  However, when it comes to taking the initiative and making that difference ourselves we 'can count on those special people' to do it.  I cannot for one second point the finger at someone else without saying I have done the same thing.  I have sat on my derrière and said how horrible things are and have said 'bless their hearts' to those who were making the difference.  I guess the difference is that I became employed in the non-profit world and saw the difference those 'bless their heart' people were making.  Why did it take me becoming a paid staff in this world to become aware of my hypocrisy?  I don't really know the answer to that.  I tithed at church, I gave to the mailers that asked for money, but volunteering?   I really didn't have time.

Now, working my 40+ hours a week, I find myself spending more time volunteering for other organizations and working harder to promote my own.  Even an hour a week, away from my desk and away from my home makes a difference in the lives of others.

I guess my point is...Whether it be a 'would-be' fan at a ball game, a 'registered voter' or a 'good intentioned' person, we all find ourselves sitting on our hands sometimes.

What a difference would be made if we all made it out to support our team, put a check in the box, or make some time for some kids!

I am so thankful for those fans who show up faithfully to the games...the boys and girls appreciate it more than they could ever say (or probably ever realize)...the candidates will say what a difference those who cast their votes made that day, even when they lose...and because of a volunteer, a donor, or an advocate, a child or person in need knows that they matter.

It makes a difference.  The momentum in a game, the laws that are passed, and the lives that are saved and changed cannot be discounted.  Those results are because someone cared enough to get off their hands, stand up for their beliefs and, as a result, MADE A DIFFERENCE!

Thank you to each of you who make a difference.  Not a thank you from me, but a thank you from everyone who's lives are affected by the fact you did something.

Have a wonderful evening everyone.

Peace,

Blog Number One

Okay. So, seriously. I have been reading friend's blogs and figured, why can't I do this? I am creative and everyone and their mother would benefit from reading what I have to say, right!?

Well, that sounds really great, but in reality I might have one or two followers (including myself), but wouldn't it be awesome if I were the next Julie from Julie and Julia (which I forgot to put on my favorite movies...ugh)?!

In any case, I like to ramble on about pretty much anything, so it would be most befitting of me to just ramble on endlessly about something for my first blog. Since I think it would be befitting, I shall do just that. Here goes...

When I was only a child, a random lady came up to me and said (with a scary witch-like finger and accompanying shake) "little boy...someday you are going to make a blue hog which will be seen by many people all over the world. This blue hog will share some of your most intimate thoughts and you shall be known by your words. This, I know to be true." She then sauntered off into the night sky, only to be hit by a station wagon with one headlight. She was dead.

Yes, that foggy Halloween night (didn't I mention that is what made it freaky), stands out in my mind as the first time I ever saw a one-headlight vehicle. Well, that and a weird looking lady getting hit by a car.

Over time, the picture of the woman flying through the air like a witch on a broom has faded from my psyche. However, the words she spoke to me never have. In fact, it was not until I was a freshman at Drury College - now Drury University (go Panthers) that I realized that maybe I, in fact, needed to purchase a hog and paint it blue.

There in lies the reason that I did not stay at Drury. I moved home to work at the funeral home (my family's business) and sat out on a quest to create a hog of a different color. Simple solutions, like reading Green Eggs and Ham were not practical. Seriously, I needed to have a BLUE hog, not a green one!! Duh.

I was actually helping my sister get ready for Miss Merrie Christmas her junior year in High School when it came to me. This, while I was painting her shoes a different color of red with nail polish (yes, that is actually a very true story). I realized that I could paint the pig blue with nail polish. But, in the small town of Houston, MO, where was it that I would find blue nail polish.

For weeks, I looked for the elusive blue nail polish. I searched the back corners of the drug store, and rummaged through high school lockers to no avail. Seriously, how can no one in my home town have blue nail polish.

Then, like an angels voice I realized that, oh, it was the doorbell (my point is that it was a pretty sound). In any case, I went to the door and this little feeble woman looked at me, familiarly, and said, "Avon calling." I opened the door and she touched my hand. Her smell, that of the Avon bubble bath ( the orange transparent bottle, not the pink one) was bringing back a memory. But, of what?! I couldn't tell. I thanked her for the booklet and watched her as she walked down the sidewalk, and then out of sight (seriously, you thought she was going to be hit by a car didn't you).

I paused to let Penelope (the hog I had purchased for a temporary subject, I mean pet) in the door and sat down on the couch. Hearing a loud bang, I ran to the door, and you guessed it, that woman was in the middle of the street, sprawled out in front of a Uhaul truck.

I ran to her side as she looked at me with her sunken eyes and pursed lips. She reached to pull my head closer as if she had some last message for the world. She whispered in my ear, so softly, "get rid of the hog, you moron." Then she passed out.

I am not sure, but I am pretty sure that she didn't die, you would think we would have known about something like that. In fact, I am not sure who was driving that big Uhaul. Random how things like that just fade away with time.

As you can imagine, Penelope had to go. Actually, not before I gave her wings and set her to flight. Ok, maybe I am getting things a little mixed up there. I digress, sorry.

Fast forward to today. I laid down on the couch to catch up on some facebook stalking, I mean checking my facebook, and took a gander at a friend's blog. Then, like a freight train...it hit me. Olive needed to go potty. That is why she was doing the potty dance (Olive is the dog, btw). I went outside with her and looked up at the sky and saw what appeared to be a blood moon. Eerie, those are. I swear I heard a voice in the distance cackling "Blue Hog....bbblllluuueee hhhooooggg" right before the squeal of tires. Then sirens. But it was cold, so I went back inside.

Coming back to the computer, and getting online, I decided that I would do this. Share my random thoughts with whoever feels like reading. Frankly, I am kind of bored and should be doing a lot of other stuff right now. But then, you would have never found me by reading my blog. Get it?! Blue hog, blog. Wow. I am just a dork.

Have a wonderful night everyone!

Peace.

And...again, I ramble

You MUST read the kmart story first...really.

Well, another month has past us by and of course that means I get to write about something new! Joy. I, once again, had many different choices to write about: coffee stains, flash pants and mermaids were top of the list but the topic which made the cut is ‘gas station bathrooms.’ I actually try to refrain from using these if at all possible, but on long road trips you just do not have a choice. So, during a long car ride my body decided it was time to make a visit to the dreaded portal of passerby waste...
I got out of my car and waddled into a remarkably clean convenience store. The smell of ‘ocean rain’ Clorox filled the space and I had great hope for my short trek into the back corner. I reach for the door and, of course, it is locked. I wait patiently for the current toilet transient to come out of the door and when he does I quickly move into the dark void. Turning on the light I realize that I have warped into a different place, a place completely different than that I just occupied. The dirt and grime screamed germotropolis and the rust stains in the sink suggested that it may have seen duty in the Revolutionary War, only to end up as a fixture in this gloomy space.
As I walked toward the stall I notice graffiti stating all sorts of interesting and obviously enlightening information. ‘Doug loves Susie’ and ‘Margie is not a nice person’ (hmmm...think she works at Kmart). I see there are phone numbers for all types of people...it is kind of like a swap meet; I guess. I glance at a few more and think to myself what a neat coffee table book this would make. I have to write that idea down. “Rattle, rattle, rattle.” Someone is needing in the door. I turn around and head toward the sink. I turn it on, not knowing what to expect to come out of the dingy faucet. To my horror the faucet clanks and water spews everywhere. I have managed to break the sink! With my hand on the geyser I begin to panic. I am soaked head to toe. As I reach for the door to unlock and scream for help the water stops. In total shock I slowly walk away from the sink, open the door and avoid the questioning eye contact of the next victim and the grinning clerk (probably Margie’s friend).
As I squeak through the store and get into my car I pause and realize I had forgotten my initial purpose. I glance at the door and hear my mom’s voice in my head, “you’re just gonna have to wait.” Yep, mom was right. I put it in gear and head up the road...

Kmart and Martha

Here is one of my first stories...

Well, it has been two months since I have rattled on and I am sure at least somebody missed it...okay, maybe not, but let’s pretend!
This month I thought that I would take on something a little heartier than donut holes. So, I have decided to discuss the deep subject of tablecloths. I know. Much more important that donut holes - and useful too!
I happened to be in Kmart the other day and walked down an aisle of tablecloths. Now, our kitchen table is more of a bistro table (i.e. super small) so, of course, I would assume; the smaller the cheaper. Well...I looked at the inexpensive tablecloths and found oblong, rectangle, long oblong, long rectangle, super duper long oblong...you get the point: NO circles. Now, that is not to say they do not make circles, as they show them available on the package (well, they probably just put the picture on the bag to spite me) but there were just none there. So...I moved on to Martha Stewart. You know if anyone will have circle table cloths Martha will. Right!? WRONG!! I took each and every tablecloth off the hook and threw all of the non-circles in the floor. After a six-foot section of tablecloth searching I see a rogue package in the back. I grab it and realize it is...you guessed it...oblong. UGH!!
I hobble out of my mess amid stares from passersby and walk with what dignity I have left up to the service desk, where I tell the lady, Margaret, who apparently hates the world, they do not have circle tablecloths. She cackles at me and snips “maybe you should get a different table.”
Irritated, I smile back, say “Thank you” and walk toward the door. Just before I leave, I turn around and in my best jovial voice I say, “Maybe I will try Target. Oh, and Margie...clean up, aisle 2.”
(Just in case you are wondering, this story was fiction...at least the last part.)

Short story number 3

Okay...so you KNOW I LOVE Miss USA!! (Not really relevant, but felt like sharing)

A funny thing happened on the way to the break room.
Many months ago I was on my way to the break room and I was met in the hall by this bright shimmering glow. I thought for a moment I had tripped, killed myself and I was going toward the light. Instead I realized I was being summoned to the floor by a sequin. Yep. A sequin in the middle of the floor of the hallway at OACAC. I wondered where that sequin came from. Was there an OACAC beauty pageant being held in the conference room? Did everyone wear a prom gown to work today? Maybe a little fairy dropped it while on its way to make someone’s day brighter. I am not sure where it came from but I felt compelled to leave it there. Maybe it had a purpose at OACAC. Maybe it would bring joy to someone else’s life in the way only a sequin can. So, I continued to walk.
On my way back from the break room I saw a small crowd gathering in the hall. They too had seen the light. Crowded around the sequin, my co-workers began to question where the sequin had come from. Was it on a quest from above? Was it a sign? What do you do with such a very special sequin? Well, upon great debate, we all determined it best to take the sequin to the front desk and place it in the lost and found. That fairy may need it later and, if so, would know where to find it.
Weeks went by and people forgot about the sequin. It laid in the lost and found with a key, a shoe lace and four pennies. I wondered why no one would want the sequin so I asked what our policy was on lost and found. Apparently, when it comes to lost sequins we do not have a policy; so I decided that I would “find” it a home. With great delight, I put the sequin neatly in my pocket and walked to my desk. A sequin for me...my very own. How special a day that was! I marveled at my sequin and treated it as my own. When I got home, I made it a place in the living room so it would not feel lost anymore.
That evening I bid the day farewell and tucked myself into bed. I heard a thud and awoke out of bed. “My sequin!” I thought. I ran to the room and to my horror watched as the cat took the sequins life.
The moral of this story? Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck. Find a sequin, pick it up, all day long you will still have a sequin.

Short story number 2

Okay...second attempt at humor.

Due to my column’s underwhelming success and non-existent feedback, I have decided to continue it. Yes! I will overcome adversity and continue to share with you about those deep thoughts on life that no one else dares to discuss.
Like this month’s topic: Donut holes (this beat out the other nominees: tapioca pudding, gas station burritos and the ever popular jelly beans).
Uh-huh! Donut holes (picture one in your hands). Actually, looking at the bigger picture, I guess I am going to write about oxymoron's. Oxymoron is actually one of my favorite words in the English dictionary. Defined by Webster’s, it means: a combination of contradictory or incongruous words. (basically two opposite words used together.) I mean who came up with these things? Bittersweet, Pretty Ugly, Soft Rock, Act naturally, Plastic glasses, Working vacation, tight slacks, Microsoft Works, I could go on and on...and I will. It is almost like Mr. Webster thought to himself, “how do I assist in making English the hardest language on Earth?” Then he had an epiphany and asked himself aloud, “why not encourage the use of words that mean the exact opposite together!?”
What a stroke of brilliance!
Then, at that moment, the oxymoron was born (well, the word was anyway). Now, as English speaking people we feel compelled to confuse the children of the world by using exact opposites to describe things. So, how, Pray tell, do you explain to a child what the round, doughy piece of food is that you are holding in your hand ? Do you answer “a donut hole” and go on??
I suggest next time, look at them, throw it in your mouth and say... “what food?”

Short story number one

Here is my first short story written in Feb of last year (2009)...love to my Mammaw!! Rest in peace!

My Mammaw used to email me every once in a while and would use the heading “this n that.” She told me about the goin’ons around town and anything else on her mind.
As most know, I like to ramble on about most anything. I actually realize that for some, coming to my office may mean being held captive for a while listening to my theories on just about anything...politics, entertainment, pizza...you name it, I like to talk about it (well, except for mechanical stuff...pretty unfamiliar with that!).
In any case, I hope that you do not mind if I indulge myself a little bit and rattle on about this ’n’ that.
This month, I have decided that I would discuss origami. Origami: the art of driving myself crazy by attempting to turn a piece of paper into a beautiful swan. Yep. I know that some people can almost instantaneously turn their typo-laden piece of paper into a work of art. If you are one of those...I am happy for you...really. If you are not, you must understand the frustration I feel for this seemingly simple act of folding. I mean, we can fold our towels and our bed linens just fine. Granted, I do not make a 300 thread count bird or a terry cloth 983 point star: but I CAN fold. This origami, though, makes me feel so inept, so inadequate and helpless.
As I type I have attempted to once again create a beautiful swan-like creature out of 25 pieces of paper from my recycle bin. Instead of 25 beautiful swans I have created a little minion of mutant, partially-winged paper balls with no recognizable resemblance to swans.
Maybe, someday I will try again. Most likely though I will continue to fold my towels and linens and let my paper become cat litter…that I can do. :)