Rating System

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At least you’ll have been warned…

My Honda CRV — “Big Red”– reaches a milestone

If you’ve ever bought a new car, you’ve probably heard the warning to never buy a model in the first year it’s made. It’s better to wait a couple years for the manufacturer to work the kinks out. Never one to follow the advice of others, I ignored the naysayers.

In 1997, Honda came out with the CRV in response to Toyota’s RAV4, in the “mini-SUV” category. I had test-driven the RAV4 but when I saw a little paper model of the CRV, I knew it was the car for me. I didn’t care that it had just come out. I HAD TO HAVE THAT CAR!!!

Apparently, so did a bunch of other people. The waiting list put us out about 6 months if we wanted the green one we liked. But the dealer called a few weeks later and said, “We have a red one coming in. Do you want it?” Screw the waiting list — we jumped on it.

Honda’s idea for this car was to keep it simple. Unlike the RAV, the CRV was more of a car than a truck. Built on an Accord chassis with a Civic engine, the first year model had only one customization option: you could get either a CD-player or a tape-player. Remember, this was 1997. We went with the tape player since we had more tapes than CDs at the time. The interior was cloth and the transmission could only be automatic, powering the Real-Time All-Wheel Drive. Creating a simple model kept the cost down to appeal to the compact SUV consumers. 

The CRV weighs little more than a standard compact car, allowing for decent gas mileage (about 25 mpg/hwy), but the drawback to the lack of weight is less reliable handling in the rain especially. But it climbed like a cat in snowshoes over the wintry New England roads. That car could go anywhere. 

In 2003, after a year of vagabonding around New England, I packed up everything I owned, including a kayak, 2 bikes, many plastic totes full of my life’s treasures, and Murphy, my black lab, and drove from Maine to Florida to begin a new life. Big Red was mine, free and clear, all my bills were paid off, and my car was the closest thing I could call a home. Florida promised Red a garage over her head and relatively easy driving free of road salt in hopes of retarding the spread of rust on her underbelly. Under these conditions, I figured I could add a few more miles to her 116,000-mile odometer.  

I had hoped to snap this picture at exactly 222,222....

Indeed. Now, 6 years and only a few replacement parts later (I learned why you don’t buy the first year model when I went to replace the CV-joint last year — Honda changed the part the second year and didn’t authorize any after-market manufacturers to make the original part so I had to get a “new” one from a salvage yard), Big Red is still running like a charm. Regular oil changes and tire rotations have her humming along like new. Heck, I’ve only had to replace one tail light bulb! She just passed 222,000 miles and I recently read about a Honda “Million Mile Club”. Apparently, it’s not unusual for Hondas to be able to reach that milestone.

Hmmm…. What do you think, Big Red? You up for it?

Julian Beever, I need your advice…

Don’t take this rating the wrong way. This is an expression of awe, not disgust.

Surely, by now, everyone has seen at least some of the chalk artwork created by Julian Beever. He has mastered the art of creating a 3-D image on a flat surface/sidewalk. 

So of course he has inspired me to at least explore the idea. I haven’t quite figured this out yet and am gripped by crippling pain in my hamstrings each time I try, but my level of fascination is greater than my disdain for the discomfort.

The Declaration of Independence and the tools to sign it

We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness

An ink bottle--about as 3-D as I've figured out yet!

 

Without further ado, let me show you how the master himself does it because I’m still baffled myself…

Farrah, Michael, & Ed walk into a bar….

That’s Johnny Carson taking advantage of the strange circumstance that has the world shaking its collective head in baffled wonder this morning. You never would have seen this punchline coming…

Yesterday, Farrah Fawcett finally gave up in her long battle with anal cancer. She documented her journey on video and shared it with the world so we could be a part of what she went through as she tried all sorts of experimental  therapies that ultimately only bought her more time to try other therapies. She was 62.

As was typical of his bigger than life persona, Michael Jackson upstaged Farrah by collapsing from a heart attack yesterday afternoon, just after the news about Farrah had been released. Theories abound about why he died, but in the end, his chaotic life finally got the best of him. He was 50.

And then there was Ed McMahon last week. Johnny Carson’s sidekick for 30 years on the tonight show, they called him “the king of second bananas”. Famous for his laugh and his willingness to be “that other guy”, Ed was a man of great character and humility. Bone cancer and finally pneumonia silenced his booming voice at 86.

So you have to wonder about the scene up there at the Pearly Gates. Each icon held a different stature in our entertainment culture, providing some weird sense of connection to a bigger world. They stood before us, willing to bare all. Tremendous personal sacrifices for a public starving for a taste of greatness.

I have a vision of Ed sitting in a chair with Farrah on one knee and Michael on the other. This is just the sort of sense of humor I imagine God to have. Or maybe Michael is teaching Ed to moonwalk, with Farrah cheering as she swings her lusty mane around. Ed is guffawing, Michael is doing that little high-pitched “Ooooo!”, and Farrah is bouncing, every square inch of her. Well, maybe not square inch….

I feel no connection to these people other than that they were a part of my awareness growing up. I never idolized any of them, never had any undue fascination, and today am not even aware of their absence no matter how the media tries to make me otherwise.

They are simply people who lived, who tried and succeeded, tried and failed, and pretty much lived their existence like anyone else. They were no more nor less human than any of the rest of us, so I will simply acknowledge their passing and appreciate their contributions.

Rest in peace, gang. It’s gotta be a lot more relaxing wherever you are now….

Pinched Nerve

A Facebook friend of mine is a chiropractor and the other day she announced that she can “bring a man to his knees” by squeezing a certain spot on his neck, just like Mr. Spock of Star Trek fame. I’ve always wanted to be able to do that but never knew where the spot was. Oh, the things I could do with that ability!

The problem with a cyber-chiropractor is that it’s a little impractical. Where’s Dr. Squeeze when I need her? I have a pinched nerve in my neck again that keeps me from turning my head much. I carry a little hand mirror with me when I drive so I can check for side-coming traffic at intersections. Time will take care of this but I wish I had my own little back-cracker to snap me out of my misery sooner.

Speaking of nerves, do you know how many definitions there are for the word “nerve”? I lost count when I looked it up. The one that’s bugging me right now is the physical kind. But more often than not I am left partially paralyzed by the mental kind. My NERVE gets pinched, the one that makes me lose my “steadiness, courage, and sense of purpose when facing a demanding situation”. 

I stood sweating in the evening heat last night talking to a neighbor. We were trading our ideas for inventions — simple, seemingly obvious ideas that are usually created by someone else because most of us only talk about it. It’s fun for party chat, but then the next week you see another attendee driving a brand new BMW and the very idea you were talking about being hawked on QVC! 

Why do so many of us balk at taking advantage of our ideas? Is it because we’re afraid? Do we not know how to proceed? Or are we just terrified of following through? 

For me, all of the above. I’d probably be rich and famous right now if I had a little dude with a pen and pad following me around, jotting down my thoughts, and then setting them in motion. This is the difference between those who succeed and those who don’t. The former know how to persevere in a linear fashion and the latter just dream. 

I see a lot of people with “pinched nerves” every day, probably more than a chiropractor does. They go off to work, do jobs they hate, end up resenting their lives just because they can’t harness a dream. They need the services of a “motivational chiropractor” to get the blood flowing again. 

I’m going to run this by Dr. Squeeze. I think she’d make the perfect person to pioneer this idea. (But I’ll make sure I set up a system to receive a percentage for coming up with the idea…. yeah right, dream on….)

Expectations of the Rainbow….

I haven’t done a good political rant in a long time, but after a conversation yesterday and some recent events, I feel compelled to figure out what in heck’s going on with the blasted rainbow…

The world is a mess right now. The war in the middle east is still going on, the global economy is collapsing, unemployment is rampant, it hasn’t stopped raining for weeks in the north and full-on summer has arrived in the south well before the solstice. We could really stand a break in the pattern already…

President Obama campaigned on a promise of “Change” after 8 years of stormy “WTF?” politics, and many of us were just looking for the sun to come out again and put some color back in our pallid national cheeks and deliver a fresh breath to clear our politically pleuritic lungs (ironic that we chose a smoker to deliver it) but so far it’s still pouring outside, we aren’t breathing any more easily, and our pallor is no more robust . 

The phrase that came up in conversation yesterday was “reaching out and grabbing onto the rainbow” — pretty, promising, exciting. But the rainbow has lost its luster in this long period of global malaise, and most assuredly, the pot at the end has been purged of its gold. I suppose it’s available for anyone who doesn’t even have one to piss in. That’s what we get for daring to have such high expectations of the rainbow…. 

And then there’s the other rainbow, the one whose promise became blindingly bright when Mr. Obama was elected with his pledges to a community that worked tirelessly to get him into office to eradicate the hateful rhetoric that has held them in spiritual bondage for the past 8 years and beyond: the gay community. This week, under great pressure from some increasingly pissed off constituents, the president signed legislation that would protect the same-sex partners of federal employees in a variety of areas except for health care and pension benefits. I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but in this instance, I’m not sure its the mouth we’re dealing with. Thanks for tossing us a carrot, sir. 

I want to believe that things will get better and I do think progress is happening on many fronts. But once an engine finally turns over and starts running, it becomes maddeningly frustrating when the car can only manage 10 mph (Don’t even get me started on the car industry….).

Does any of this directly affect me in a meaningful way? Not really. But it affects those around me, it permeates the airwaves, and the psychic energy that creates change is stifled in a bubble. Looks neat from the outside — if only we could figure out how to let it out (see: Simpsons Movie).

So the next time you see a rainbow, go ahead and try to grab it. Just be careful about what’s actually in the pot — the color might be gold, but it’s probably kinda splashy….

Remembering Music….again

In honor of the return of my favorite pest control guy, Bud Horning, from Earth’s Best (the natural pest management company), I am linking back to the post I wrote in October about our last visit called “Remembering Music“. 

I got some new stories today, one of them about Bud’s eventual choice to play the trombone after his year in study hall protesting the only available option of playing the clarinet. Way to stand strong, Bud! 

I believe it was his dad that was a great amateur musician from Louisiana who played the accordian, the guitar, and just about everything else even though he didn’t know how to read music. He was a wiz at Cajun and Zydeco music and he and his band  once played the Grand Ole Opry.

So Bud, aside from being a roach killer extraordinaire, you have again made my day with your reminiscences…. makes me want to do a little whistling down memory lane myself.

Get a Dog

Special guest commentator, Wacky Jacky the Weisenheimer Weimaraner, came across the following video and thought it was well worth sharing with y’all…. take it from a guy who knows the value of a good home, no matter how you end up getting there…

The Divinity of Dogs with Ben Stein

Use It Or Lose It: A Uterus Speaks Out

Even if the title itself doesn’t scare you away, you might want to ignore this post. Or if you are squeamish about girl parts, ditto. I’ll try not to be too graphic but I wanted to discuss my thoughts about my first “major” gynecological procedure.  I’ll bet you can hardly wait!

About a year and a half ago I was made aware that I had some polyps growing in and on my uterus. Nothing to be concerned about but it took me this long to do something about them. I started to have flashbacks about the spate of hysterectomies that had taken place back up in Vermont when about half a dozen of my middle-aged friends had their wombs removed. I was not eager to join them. 

So I went in for my pre-op appointment to get the low-down on my down-low. I was given a couple of prescriptions to take prior to the procedure and sent home to wait a couple days. 

One of the pills I was to take is called Misoprostol, which is a “prostaglandin used to prevent stomach ulcers in certain patients”. But in my case it was intended for its secondary use: “In combination with another drug, can be used to end pregnancy”  by dilating the cervix. 

Wow. That was a weird feeling, reading that. Not only have I never been pregnant, I have never even had the opportunity to accidentally become so. Reading this information catapulted me into another consciousness: that of a woman contemplating ending a pregnancy. Suddenly, this strange line of thoughts started to parade through my head like, what if the Virgin Mary had had the option of aborting Jesus? What kind of world would this be now?

Don’t get me wrong. I am very solidly pro-choice. I believe that few women choose to abort a fetus without a great deal of consideration and reasons that need not be judged by anyone else. When I went to take that first pill, I was transported into a world where I was making that choice and I realized that I don’t think I could ever end a pregnancy on purpose. 

The process I was about to go through would very simply scrape the inside of my uterus and remove anything growing in there that shouldn’t be. The day before, the anesthesiologist called to explain the process to me. After I took the prescribed 10 mg of Valium before I left for the office, a “cocktail” of medications would be administered through an IV which would not only put me into a twilight sleep (one that is easily reversed), but I would not remember anything about the procedure. Sounded like a fun time!

I’ve never taken Valium before, but being the relative heavyweight that I am in terms of sedation, I figured I’d take both of the 5 mg pills they gave me. Hoo Boy! Forget “Mother’s little helper”…. this was more like Mother’s little army of helpers! Interesting feeling, but nothing I’d want to get hooked on. 

They got my IV in (the most painful part of the whole thing, incidentally), brought me in to the operating suite, laid me down and put my Maine Moose sock-clad feet up in the little foot hammocks, attached the med tube to my IV port and away I went. 

The next thing I remember was waking up in another room entirely, asking the nurse if they had found anything with a face on it while they were in there, and then seeing Mama N come into the room. 

“How’d I get in here?” I asked. 

“We stood you up, put you in a wheelchair, brought you down here, put you on this chair, and waited for you to wake up.” 

I had zero memory of that. Nada, zilch, zip. I guess the amnesia drug did the trick. It turned out that there wasn’t too much going on inside my aging, underutilized, monthly profusely-bleeding, anemia-inducing uterus — more on the outside. They said it went well and I could go home. Just like that.

Still, the thought followed me about the reality of abortion. As I said, I think the decision is not taken lightly by most, but the sheer comfort of the whole procedure made me wonder how many women do it repeatedly because it’s not a big deal physically. But what is it doing to them spiritually and emotionally? The issue isn’t easy to reconcile, no matter which side you’re on.

It doesn’t look like I’m in any danger of losing my reproductive capability anytime soon, and I am oddly grateful for that, not because I intend to make use of it but because of the permanence of losing the ability. Weird concept. 

Back on track today, just 24 hours after the cleaning out of my girl gizzards, relieved to think that nothing spooky is happening in there but living with a slightly altered understanding about choices that I didn’t have before. My respect for some women has increased but has been diminished for others. 

I hope that anyone who has to make the decision to undertake “the procedure” for reasons other than medical will take the time to understand the permanence of their choice. It may not be a painful operation, but there’s no amount of amnesia anesthesia that can erase the memory forever…

Just sayin’….

Thank you for cracking up a little, Susan Boyle..

I just went online to find a picture of Susan Boyle, the semi-finalist of Britain’s Got Talent and was shocked to find 4,440,000 results. Crikey….

As it turns out, my hero lost in the final round. She subsequently had to spend a little time decompressing in a hospital after a whirlwind rise to worldwide fame. For that, she is even more heroic to me….

I maintain only a cursory awareness of the various “reality” competitions that have so crapped up the TV airwaves in the past few years. People with an unquenchable thirst for fame, or more often for notoriety, have become the bellwethers to follow in our society and I find myself either feeling very old and out of touch or very wise and completely connected to the understanding that THIS IS NOT REALITY!!!! 

When I first saw and heard the video of Susan Boyle’s audition with BGT, I was thrilled. This frumpy recluse from Scotland had taken a GIANT leap of faith and landed squarely in the place she’d fantasized about. Her prayers were answered but as so often happens with such well-intended invocations, the actual outcome was more than she’d expected. 

I once heard Caroline Myss say that when we are ready, our prayers are answered instantaneously — at the speed of light. But often the particularity of the answer can come as a huge shock. This is what I think happened to poor Susan. 

These days, nothing moves slowly. We want what we want NOW, whether we’re ready for it or not. There is no such thing as a gradual ascension when it comes to fame. We can remain below the surface, contentedly swimming along in relative safety, imagining the lives of those who have risen above it. Or we can snap at the line that is trolling along in front of us, happy to have captured the quarry but surprised as hell to suddenly be yanked, gasping, from the comfortable dark waters of obscurity onto the life-sucking deck of fame and fortune. At very least, we end up with a wicked case of the bends…

We’ve all had the dream. We’ve all imagined ourselves on some pedestal where people who don’t even know us worship our greatness. But do any of us even realize that the pedestal is actually a giant hook and we are simply a prize fish that someone is going to have stuffed and hung on their wall as a trophy?

I am relieved by Susan Boyle’s failure to win the contest that swept her out of her living room and into the hot spotlight. She gives me permission to try and “fail” — knowing that the actual goal is achieved in the trying rather than the attaining. Success is not the prize. She already had that, right there in her little town. The real prize is knowing that you have a wonderful gift and sharing it with those who truly matter. 

Thanks for the lesson, Susan. Elaine Page, eat your heart out!

Reason, Season, Lifetime….

A friend just sent me that email that describes the relationships in our lives and helps us to understand why some don’t last while others do. I always enjoy the reminder but today have discovered a new meaning in it.

Lately, I’ve been trying to terminate a relationship. No, it’s not a person, but rather, a “habitual companion” that I’ve been trying to shake for a while. I speak of “____” in the abstract because it can describe a lot of activities we all take part in, knowing that they are not good for us.

I met ____ in junior high while in the company of some friends. I took an instant liking to ____ because in its presence I felt powerful and my friends seemed friendlier.

As time went on, I found that ____ could even help me make friends. Little did I know that my friends liked ____ better than they liked me.

In my early 20s, I decided to try to break off the relationship with ____ and strike out on my own without the courage I thought ____ gave me. For 3 years, I learned how to make friends on my own, without having to use ____ as a bargaining tool. I felt strong and in control. 

Then one day, just as I was making a new life for myself, ____ walked back in, brazen as ever. I figured that in the 3 years without ____, I had learned to manage life on my own. I was not about to let ____ stand in my way. My new friends liked ____ a lot so I figured, what the hell….. the more the merrier.

But after a  while, ____ and I would go off by ourselves. The others didn’t seem to have as much use for us as before and ____ and I still had a lot to share. Eventually, ____ started to dominate everything we did. I couldn’t just walk away without ____ coming after me. ____ wanted all my time and energy.

So I cut ____ off. I felt free again, able to find my own way without having ____ constantly nagging at me and making me feel neglectful. But my resolve was only so great. I couldn’t stand the whining, so I took ____ back again.

Funny how with some relationships it’s the fighting that makes them passionate. People argue and scream and send each other away, only to find greater renewal in the making up. This is how it seems to be with me and ____. The need for each other only becomes greater in our separation.

There was a time when ____ was in my life for a reason — courage, or false courage, really. In each of the seasons of ____’s return, I realize that the season needs to come to an end eventually, but I have a hard time conceiving of a permanent break.

Now, I am trying to convince ____ that our relationship is not meant to last a lifetime. With each passing year, our fights and requisite making up have become too stressful. ____ is encroaching on my integrity again and I am trying to figure out how to end the relationship forever. We have met new friends again together and breaking up means being with these friends on my own again, knowing that ____ will often still be with us in the room. 

Am I strong enough to let ____ go? Will I be able to ignore the seduction that always brings us back together? And can I do it without replacing ____ with another that will only grow to create the same relationship? 

There are some in our lives that serve as markers of turning points for us. ____ has been that marker for me, but never a positive one. ____ has always been the signpost of the weakening of my spirit and integrity. If I can learn to appreciate that fact and respect the signs when I see ____ making eyes at me, I will succeed. Otherwise, ____ will take me over and snuff out my light forever. 

I pray that I am strong enough to not let that happen….