Sailing

It's done! After waiting for the rainy spring to pass, I have finally mustered the courage to take my first official sailing class. This past week, I booked a 2-day sailing class held on a local lake. So in July, I'll be on the lake - and in the classroom - taking my first strokes in the art of sailing.

Sailing is on my list of "to do items before I leave earth". So is hot air ballooning, sky diving, finishing my novel. Somehow, sky diving seems less intimidating than the novel.

I became interested in sailing when I traveled to Mexico awhile back and had a chance to take a day cruise. Ever since then, I've been reading about it and thinking about how I'd like to learn more about it.

Bandit

Rituals are like prayers: they are things we do that keep us grounded and in place. I have a series of them, especially in the mornings, as mornings and I are not always on good terms. I shuffle to my kitchen, try to eat, do yoga and then go through my bank accounts online.

I have major issue with numbers. I have a friend, named Jim, whose neurons in his head run back and forth over numbers, gemoetry, physics like a superhighway. My number neurons are more like a dead end round in the deep south: the further you go with it the more lost you become.

This last Tuesday, I went through my morning ritual and quickly caught my breath. My account showed that I was overdrawn over $4,000. Moreover, it seems that I had purchased a couple of first class flights to Ohio, bought a boat load of flowers -- all while I was working in my yard on a rainy memorial day weekend.

I have heard a lot about identity theft but, like so many, think "it can never happen to me". But as I stared at the bright red text of my online bank statement, I realized that I had been ambushed by a cyber bandit.

I had so many questions. The first are obvious ones..."how could it happen?" "Who could have let it?" "How do I fix it.." After awhile, they gave way to ridiculous questions such as, "Who sends 3 bouquets of flowers all in one day?" I started making up stories about some sad guy who really needed to get a date and was so desperate he hacked into my (almost) empty bank account to try to impress his lover.

The girl at the bank was sympathetic but I was such a mess that I didn't give her much time to apologize. My main question was - and remains -- how could someone take money from my bank account that wasn't even there? What, when I have to get a signed affadavit just to cash a check at my drive in, what with the girl in the glass cage not even speaking English.

I couldn't shake the feeling of violation. I walked around the rest of the day with my shoulders hunched looking around corners, wondering if i could spot my bandit. But everyone looked very normal - if not concerned -- as I peered nervously around.

My questions remain and my concerns are now greater than before. It seems that traditional muggings are passe - now, intelligent cyber thiefs can scam us while we stand outside in the rain, digging holes in our yard and never knowing for a minute what kind of danger we are in.

Letting go

I have my checklist almost complete.

All day marathon of "Law and Order". Check.
Comedy station on my XM radio. "Check
Lots of dirt to spread around my (very wet) garden. Check.
Newest bestseller by Ann Lamott. Check.

I will need all of these tomorrow and the days following because around 5 PM I put our youngest child, E, on a plane that will take her to London. She'll be gone for 11 days.

It is hard being 17 and totally terrific. What with all the great grades, the constant athletic achievements, there is a lot of pressure. Also, it's tough to continue hating your mother, which is the first job of all teeange girls. I know. I did it, too. We all do it because deep down we're terrified that we'll become just like her. And most of the time we're so busy fighting that we do exactly that, become like someone we don't want to be. Who was it that said, "What you resist, persists?"

I've been trying to figure out something to say to her, write to her, lie to her and let her know that I won't be doubled over with grief over letting her get on a plane and fly halfway across the world - without even her dad with her.

I know I'm suppose to be in this generation that has all these enlightened views about parenting. I have a friend who is like Lorelei on "Gilmore Girls" and she and her daughter have coffee and talk all the time. I really hate her, sometimes, when she chirps about shopping and all that.

E and I tried shopping together. But I do all the wrong things. I do stupid things like pointing out stuff that will look great on her. I compliment her on her hair. I ask her opinion on shoes that I want to wear. She looks at me with those great, steady eyes and (not so) patiently will say, "Yes, mother.." just like I use to say to her when I dragged her through shopping malls and she pointed out stuff for me to look at. I was too busy, too often, trying to get home, get the dinner started, trying to "do" all those things moms do.

Funny, I just didn't see the moment when the roles would reverse.

I have one friend who has kindly said, "they have to hate you, otherwise it hurts too bad for them to leave you" She's had three daughters so she should know. Now she spends vacations with her daughter and grandkids and thinks it marvelous. So maybe that is in the future for us.

Tomorrow will be just another step for her to take and one that I cannot take with her, at least not in the same direction. She is going and I'm staying. She has a passport not only to another country but to another phase of her life, one that she has been headed all this time. And while I can be present, I cannot really be with her for that is the call of adulthood, to do it on your own steam.

I am, on every level, so deeply proud of her. She's a completey together kid. Often after she speaks in fluent spanish or solves some math problem that would stump NASA, her dad and I will look at each other and wonder how this force came from us. We kind of dumbly made our way into parenthood and we've been ambling around, making things up as we go.

Kind of cool to see that our missteps have taken at least someone in the right direction.

Rain and Roses

In spite of my best intentions, my garden sits in a bog, weedy and overgrown. I had high hopes for a Memorial Day Weekend weeding blitz, but alas, this morning there is more and more rain coming my way. Even though I tried to scare off the bad spirits by insisting that a dump truck load of dirt be delivered in the driving rain (the truck couldn't even get the dirt to my garden. Deep rifts of sod and dirt stretch across my yard where the driver attempted to fulfill my request) there is little hope that my garden goal will be accomplished.

Seeing that my plans were squashed, Dan wisely packed me up last night and drove me to the Tulsa Rose Garden. Most years, I'm knee deep in my own gardening projects and I miss the display of roses -- usually arriving a couple of weeks too late or too early to see the real beauty of this Tulsa masterpiece. Not this time. This year, I was right on schedule to see "Gizmos" and "Gidgets" and "Dolly Parton" and "Casablanca" all strutting their stuff and in full bloom. At one juncture I stopped in front of "Sheila's Perfume", it's large blooms bigger than my hand. I plunged my nose into its heady fragrance and I was undone.

The colors, architecture and fragrance of this garden can lift the dreariest of spirits. Go and see for yourself - but take your umbrella.

http://www.tulsamountains.com/gallery1/html/rose_garden_i.html

Garden re-do

I finally mustered the courage, after weeks of rain, to scour the damage of my garden. Last summer's drought coupled with this year's rain has made my garden something of a mess. Add the fact that major repairs were needed anyway to replace old pathways and you have a tangled web of crabgrass, leggy roses and out of control herbs.

It is sad, really, to think of all the work that has been done - and still needs doing - as I wonder amidst the broken twigs of my garden. I see the corner where I removed the roses that were suffocating under blackspot. I see the miscalculations everywhere: too big shrubs here, too little ones there. Why did I think Nandina would work besides the butterfly bush in that small spot? What prompted me to plant mint so near the borders of my perennials? Why did I think that pathway should go left instead of right?

It's enough to make one give up gardening for good.

Instead, I spent a good part of yesterday re-drawing the lines of the garden -- a new garden that I'll spend time re-creating this summer. Work begins this weekend with a load of topsoil that is scheduled to arrive later today. I won't get to it until later in the holiday weekend but just knowing that it's coming gives me hope.

Rebuilding is a daunting task and one that forces tough questions: 1) Why did the original plan go wrong? 2) do I rebuild? 3) and if so, then how? How to make it better?
How not to repeat the same mistakes? What have I learned from the work from before?

Not surprisingly, many of these questions go to the fundamental questions of structure which give life to the garden. Structure gives direction, calms the chaos and defines the garden. Get the structure wrong and you've got weedy paths and tangled vines. Not to mention unnecessary maintainance.

This is where the basics of art, design and color must have their place. It's where you strip back all the "fluff" and lay bare what is -- accept it and decide if you can live with it. As with life, acceptance is a big part of gardening: Can I change it? If not, can I live with it?

These are the thorny questions that make gardening so essential to living a good life. These are the questions that I find solace in, even in the midst of crumbling paths and falling fences.

Moving forward

A few months back, I renamed this blog, "Sacred Space" because I discovered the powerful force of creativity, namely gardening, in my life. I felt that my blog, along with gardening and a newly emerging creative life, were giving me back a life that I had forgotten I had.

Since that time, enormous changes have taken place. Yes, many have been life changes, including my kids leaving home. However, there is something about setting an idea "out there" and watching what the divine spirits do with a small, wobbly step of faith.

That simple renaming has given birth to a new life for me in so many ways. I am now the owner of a design studio where I can work amidst creative people all day, creating and thinking and then doing it again. Writing continues to be a huge part of my life, in fact, you can begin reading my monthly column at my new site where I will write on creating nurturing interior and exterior spaces. The first installment of a workshop was this past week and you can see a photo essay of that concept which will grow and change into other experiences.

I have also been journaling and writing on a book which sets the pathway for positive change and how to do it without say, losing every ounce of your mind. I first had the idea when working with volunteer opportunities and asked the question, "how do we change and why is it so hard?". Questions like that never lead to easy, neat answers and voila - I was initiated in my own life changing Q & A.

This all to say, though I haven't been writing here in this blog, I have been furiously writing and creating in other areas. And I'm wondering if this blog may have served its purpose -- that is being the ship that sailed me to this point, a new juncture of the journey? Either way, I'll keep it and may revisit it from time to time. So much of the change journey is painful and personal and frankly, these have been better posts for a quiet journal that has a lock and key on it. Maybe with a little editing they can emerge as helpful and interesting down the road.

To the creative life!

Only in Oklahoma

Backing out of the crowded post office parking lot a large truck barged in and completely blocked my exit. Oklahoma is a big truck state and so, at first, I didn't think too much about it. But as I waited there, stuck in my parking spot, I noticed that this was no ordinary truck. It towered over me with its bright red exterior with the words "DODGE 4x4, CUMMINGS Ram 2500 TURBO DIESEL" in big block letters.

As I was held hostage by this mammoth thing, I had time to think. I had mainly two thoughts: Thought #1: "Who needs a truck this big?" and #2: "What kind of person drives such a thing?".

I watched the door open up and then a small, skinny guy dressed in blue jeans, t-shirt jumped from the doorway onto the pavement. He stood about 5'4" as he stretched to get a package from the seat of his truck. As he made his way into the post offic, I caught the site of the back of his t-shirt which read, (and I promise I'm not making this up), "Testical Festival 06".

I laughed all the way through the rest of the day and in fact, shared my story with one of my friends. He looked at me with all seriousness and said, "Don't you know what that is?"

I confessed that I did not.

As it turns out, this festival is quite the event, held annually in Stillwater where folks come from miles around to the regional "calf fry". And yeah, they are frying up more than a few legs and thighs.

I have lived in many parts of the country, each with their own regional flair. And truthfully, I could have continued living in many of these cities -- New Jersey, Kansas City, Columbus. But I made a conscious effort and made my home back here in OK where I was born and raised. I could have lived anywhere and I chose here.

Still, days like this, I often wonder why.

I disavow any knowledge

I better get this out there before my brother does. This is me when I was about 12. It says more than a million words, so I'll just let it go.

This in the hands of my kids could be deadly.

Catching up

I've been a fickle blogger of late - only writing bits and pieces as I felt like it or as the mood hit. It's not that I've not been writing -- it's just that I've not been blogging. I think I said once before in this blog that sometimes it is not that you don't have anything to say, it's that you have too much.

We took our daughter to tour her very first campus visit. Again I underestimated the emotional whallop this would take on me. Like her dad, Ellen is a great student who leans towards disciplines such as science and math. As we toured the bio chem department Ellen and Dan were completely engrossed and acted as if they understood all the five-syllable words that the professor was telling them. As for myself, I got that same twitchy, nervous feeling that I often had in my chem labs in college. Give me an essay exam any day over numbers or chemical strings.

There are moments as a parent that you get caught up short, that you realize that your job is nearing completion and that while you know you have had some influence in your kid's life, you also know that they are who they are by some ingenious mix of DNA and divine hand. And you marvel at that thought, at how this person can be so much a part of you and yet so much their own person. As I watched Ellen begin her own journey towards her new life I was struck with just how much she has it together and I had to wonder, "how the heck did that happen?"

I called an old friend this past week who also has kids leaving for college. She was the one who gave me some good advice once. When we were getting ready for Ellen to be born, I worried that I could not love another kid as much as I did our first. I asked her, "can you love two kids the same?" And she said, "Of course not. You love them differently." At the time I don't think I understood what she was saying. Now, 18 plus years later, I think I am beginning to understand.

Going to State

This post will reek of "mom'isms", I'm afraid. I am just so proud, I could pop.

I could be proud that her team won and is headed to State Playoffs. I could be proud that she played through some difficult pain in her shoulder, but you had to look carefully to know it, if you noticed it at all.

But what I'm most proud is how she handles herself both on and off the field. She plays to win but not at all costs. She cares about her team and she plays unselfishly. And when confronted with players from other teams that may lack maturity, she plays her own game and refuses to be embroiled in showmanship or talking smack.

She continues to be a good student with numerous awards but again, it isn't what SHE DOES that makes me so proud. It is who she is and who she is becoming.

Go get 'em Rams!

Regionals

Occassionally, I am able to see my kid's somewhat objectively and, though I love them to death, I try not boast too much.

Today is not one of those days.

Saturday, my daughter's bball team dominated a well known team and took away the Regional Championship, a feat not done in a decade. I am more than proud of her and her teammates, not only for the score but more importantly how they handled themselves on the court. Even when they had the trophy, they waited until they were in the locker room before the hooting and hollering really started. And, they kept their cool even when the other team threw a few intentionals their way late in the game.

Some of the teammates have played together for over eight years and the synchronicity of their playing time together is a big advantage.

Next report: Area on Thursday against another tough team.

Sunday Movie

Some friends and I went to see "The Queen" at the cinema yesterday. It was not my kind of movie . I am always a bit suspicious of anything considered "historical" when the history in question is less than 20 years old.

Still, the royal family intrigues most of us and for my generation, the death of Princess Diana is much like the death of JFK for my parent's generation in that we all remember what we were doing when we heard the news. (For myself, I was tucking kids into bed and watching a remake of another movie, Cape Fear, when the reports came in.)

I believe there are much more important themes that underlie the death of Diana, which for all accounts and purposes is the death, if not symbolically, of the monarchy itself (a fact made real by an ingenious scene in the movie. See if you can find it). I don't pretend to understand the enigmatic charm that Diana had over us but I do believe that she was the one last chance my generation had to believe in romance and fairy tales. And believe we did. We believed with our whole hearts. We cut our hair to look like her, we wore ridiculous bows on our dresses to be like her and we dreamed of having her life.

What I like about the movie is that it avoided cartoon-ish images of the royal family and a particularly generous profile of Tony Blair is given throughout the film. The character in the film that is least likeable - and least understandable - is Prince Philip (played by the best evil man working in Hollywood, James Cromwell). We don't understand Prince Phillip's rage or bitterness, but a quick study of history helps. Who amongst us would like to marry a queen only to be given a dumpy old castle and not the kingship itself?

At any rate, I cannot recommend the movie on the merits of acting nor on storyline. The few moments when the film really starts to gel for me are edited quickly for another montage of flowers and bows and that smile that haunted us all.

From every angle...

Last weekend, we drove to OSU to visit Nathan and he showed us his latest projects. It is impossible to view anything your child does with any objectivity and so I won't even try. Here's some pics of his brilliance.

While his father can fully appreciate the complexity of the math/physics/geometry entailed, I had but one question: "Where's the kitchen?"

Download

I've been putting off blogging. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I have so much. It's hard to know where to start, really.

I've been working on a new project that has been taking a lot of my time. I hope to share more about it soon.... it is very exciting and I'm working hard on it. For now, that's about all I can say.

Last weekend I saw, "Notes on a Scandal" and was bewitched by the deliciously evil Judi Dench. Her performance held me despite a storyline that failed. I've put her on my "Most Want to Meet List".

Basketball season is now in full swing and so a lot of my free time is invested watching my amazing daughter do her thing on the court. This topic has kept me busy writing in my personal journal because I just want to capture every moment of this time...soon she'll be packed away at college like her brother - a thought that immediately shakes tears from me.

And, I continue to fall onto the couch to watch reruns of my newest viewing addiction, "Scrubs". I absolutely love this show...I get completely absorbed by its lunatic poignancy. My favorite character is probably "Jordan" who is played by the the director's wife. Whatever - the alchemy of the script and actors is for me, first rate and a lot of fun.

Birthday with Brian

Today I turned 43 and so, luckily, the Brian Regan (www.brianregan.com) concert was tonight - -postponed from a couple of weeks ago because of the great ice storm.

The concert was held at the "historic" brady theater. Let me say something about this. Oklahoma became a state in 1906, therefore Tulsa is about 100 or so years old. 100 years, in the life of the cosmos, is not necessarily old. Yet, the "historic" brady theater sits in relative abandon. It does, in fact, make Roman catacombs look somewhat contemporary. The site could be one of Tulsa's most unique and artsy destinations, once it gets heating and hot water, which it did not have on Friday night

Despite being huddled under my husband's jacket, I could not stop laughing at this performer whose ability to handle hecklers--along with passing of distant freight train - hit every mark. I have seen many comics who cannot deal with interruptions in their act but Brian's best moments came at times when he ad libbed getting off stage and handling a freight train's whistle that happened mid-way through his act.

Another impressive component of Regan's act -- I heard nary a curse word nor one reference to any body part. It's not that the crowd was old ladies, either. I was probably one of the oldest there with many looking to be about my kid's ages. Brian takes ordinary life and spins it, twists it and makes it hilarious.

I have watched Regan a lot, have a couple of his CD's and seen him perform on Comedy Central. Still, most of what I saw on Friday was new material to me. Clearly he continues to work on his act in spite of 25 years of stand-up experience. This is refreshing in a performer where many in his league often re-hash old bits time and time again.

Regan can make even turning 43 a fun night.

Why I Volunteer

I found this article on a Fox 23 online site this morning. It is interesting that this article ran a day after another article ran in my little town which described a nasty town official meeting this past week. The issue on the table was whether or not my town would allow an addiction treatment facility to be built within city limits. Sadly, it was voted down because of comments such as "how can I keep my kids safe if these "crazy" people are running around?" The reality is, in Oklahoma (as in many states and communities) addictions of many kinds are rampant. And, other studies suggest that chemical addictions (including alcohol) are inevitably related to domestic and child abuse.

The reality is that people with addictions are just like you and me. I had a friend of mine once say, "I don't think I've ever known anyone with a drug problem." And I said, "Sure you have, you just don't know it." The stereotypical "drunk falling down" or "crazy meth head" around town are just hollywood inventions. I hope that someday, Oklahoma will arise to the fact that our state is in dire need of treatment programs and resources to assist those who are struggling so desperately.

Once a week I invest time with a local facility where I teach nurturing parenting to families who are making the courageous steps to put their families back together. I haven't written much about this experience yet. The experience humbles me in ways that I cannot put into words because of the persistence and bravery of those that are working through unbelievable circumstances to have healthier families. While I hope that I, along with trained therapists and counselors, do provide some resources for those in the class, the class participants teach me every week with their courage. I hope I can write more about these experiences at some time.

Here's the article from local news web site:

OKLAHOMA CITY (AP) - A study suggests that bad childhood experiences, from neglect and abuse to domestic violence in the home, contribute to Oklahomans' overall poor health. Anne Roberts, executive director of the Oklahoma Institute for Child Advocacy, says findings of the Adverse Childhood Experience Study represent a "ticking timebomb" for the quality of Oklahomans' future health. Roberts says if the state doesn't intervene on behalf of abused children, chronic health issues will only escalate. Oklahoma ranks Number 1 in the nation in deaths due to heart disease. And the state recorded more than 24,500 domestic violence cases to law enforcement agencies in 2004. In 2005, there were more than 13,300 cases of child abuse and neglect in Oklahoma

Today's reading

With our unexpected "winter break" I have been reading many books. Too many, perhaps. Is that even possible?

I picked up "Reading Like a Writer" by Francine Prose and am finding it helpful beyond, well, words. Here's a great reason why:

'A novelist friend compares the rules of grammar, punctuation, and usage to a sort of old-fashioned etiquette. He says that writing is a bit like inviting someone to your house. The writer is host, the read hte guest, and you, the writer, follow the etiquette because you want your readers to be more comfortable, especially if you're plannign to serve them something they might not be expecting.' (p. 43).

Movies

I saw two movies this weekend. The first one, "Little Miss Sunshine" on DVD and the other, "The Last King of Scotland" at the box office.

I was drawn to "..sunshine" because of Toni Collette who is a great character actress. I've loved her in every movie she's done and I admire the fact that she plays varying roles and those roles are generally complex characters, not always beautiful. I love her transparency and the fact that when I'm watching her I see the character, not Ms. Collette. Other actresses should be so talented. What I liked about this movie is the transformation of a fragmented family into something more whole.

"..Scotland" was such an intense movie, I left the box office shuddering and soothed myself in a nearby bookstore. Something about a bookstore on a rainy Sunday afternoon can be soothing, I think. "..Scotland" is a film based upon true events which is what makes the movie so frightening. I was drawn to the film because I had once met a man, a doctor, whose family had fled Uganda under Amin's reign of terror.

The rumors mills regarding the performance of Forrest Whitaker are absolutely true. His take on "Amin" makes a frightening character at least understandable if not likeable and the movie does what a good historical movie can do - -it allows the viewer to see the clash of the historic components. It is characters such as Amin (and Hitler and so many other leaders) that encourage me to believe that each of us live on a bubble that wobbles between evil and good and that a set of decisions can propel us down a path of either. I think movies such as this are valuable when done well, and this one is done well.

Day 5 of the Ice Age

It continues to be icy with dangerous road conditions. Today, I ventured forth to meet with my accountant -- that story later. For now, I'll rage against the stupidity of drivers. The ones that forget that more than half of the road (my half, thank you) is still covered in slick ice and who drive fast -- clocking speeds that rival Nascar races. Do they forget the danger of passing me in my "lane", honking and flipping me off? Do they think that one small fish-tail won't take us both out? Do they think that the crags in the road that I'm forced to drive on is going to suddenly melt under my tires so that there is no danger to them? Why are they so angry that I'm going a mere 45 mph on Tulsa's death road (HWY 169) while they top out at 70 plus?

Oh, I get it. They want to be the first to hit the ditch about a mile up the road. First to the auto repair. First to the chiropractor or hospital. First to be a thoughtless pig.

People are crabby because of the cancellations I guess. Five days of watching TV and ridiculous shows like the "Golden Globes" will do that. One cancellation I couldn't get out of: the annual meeting with the Tax Guy. (Strike up the scary music...)

Meeting with the Tax Guy is a lot like being held up -- only it's legal and no gun is required - except the gun that if you don't pay you lose your house, your wages, your job. It's a friendly fleecing, I guess. You make money? You pay.

Still, I can't complain about paying taxes. I really cannot. No one in my neighborhood had their car explode from a car bomb this week. And my drinking water is safe, more or less. The roads in my city are full of potholes but they will be fixed eventually. And no one has arrested me or any members of my family for saying demeaning things about the government. The fact that we can talk about the "worst dressed list" from the Golden Globes Ceremony and act like it means something is a tribute to the fact that we live in America, where our royalty waltz down a red carpet, accept commendations from their peers while a senseless war wages on in a country far away.

God, I love this country. I love that I can pay taxes because there have been days in my life when I stood in the FREE LUNCH line at my school and was laughed at by kids whose parents' income - and their paying taxes -- made that possible. I love that I can volunteer at a local organization, giving my time and energy to people not unlike me and that my tax dollars -- in part -- make that organization and its services possible. I love that I can rant against a school system that is fallible in most every way but still remains one of the best ways to educate worldwide.

Still its sobering to look at a year in pictures, painted in the language of numbers and neat columns. The Tax Man looked at me after I recovered from the anxiety attack that came from the "Pay here.." column...and said, "What does success look like to you?"

His question didn't surprise me. It's one I've been asking myself a lot lately. I looked at him, square in the eyes, and said, "The problem with success is that the definition keeps changing." He must have read some book on talking to clients because he acted like he might actually care about me past the W-2's and all. I told him that the greatest moments of joy for me this past year were when I saw my son graduate, my daughter hit a 3-pointer, laughing with my husband on our anniversary. And I found the courage to answer his next question which was, "What would you do if you could do anything?"

And to that, I felt my stomach quiver and my strength slip. Do I tell him that my most satisfying moment this year came from the weekly class I teach at the Parent Child Center? Or that the moment when I danced in my office is when I got my first letter from an editor, telling me the submission was all wrong but to keep trying. To me, these were really important moments, moments that were made from that place deep inside that says, "This is what you were really made to do."

In many countries, following a dream takes a backseat to surviving the daily war lords and their brutality. In many countries paying the bills means working years with nothing remotely looking like "minimum wage" or health care. In many countires, studying a painting or reading a book isn't lawless, just non-existant.

It's imperfect, sure. But it's my country and it's worth paying for. Who do I make this payable to...?

Ice and wind in Redneckville

You know it's bad weather when the OSU-Nebraska basketball game is postponed.

And indeed it is bad weather. Here in T-town, we are now bracing ourselves for the third wave of ice and sleet. For those that may live in other parts of the country and only see ice in their mixed drinks or refrigerators, this may sound like a typo. Ice? Falling from the sky?

What makes this really amazing is that a day before the first wave of ice and sleet (yes, there is a difference in the two) we had temperatures of 66 degrees. I barely used a coat while on deliveries. This is why I believe here in the midwest we believe in the stories of the bible, like Noah and that big boat thing -- we understand that weather conditions of biblical proportions can happen suddenly, cancelling important things such as school, churches and when it it gets really bad -- collegiate basketball games.

I'm pretty steamed that my date with comedian Brian Regan was postponed because of all this weather. (OK, it wasn't exactly a date - -2400 other people would have probably been there AND my husband who was suppose to go with me celebrating that 21 years of marriage thing...) So I have hunkered down and done what most obsessive compulsive types do when there is nothing that they can do -- started cleaning out closets, surfing the web and of course, watching endless hours of my favorite TV shows. (And a few of my not so favorite).

Dan and I did tromp out to the local home/garden store in the midst of the calamity. I claimed I needed to get laundry detergent (washing clothes becomes a bigger priority when you're stuck at home for endless days) when I really was looking for exterior lights for patio. A project that seemed remote and unimportant began to haunt me with an urgency so intense, I found myself surfing the web at odd hours of the night looking through images of lights, chandeliers, lamps.

The mind works strangely when the fear of being house-bound takes hold. I started noticing every stain on the carpet, every dust bunny in the house and have started a cleaning campaign that will no doubt entail the need for a new Dyson vacuum cleaner and a truckload of cleaning supplies.

Getting back to work will be a relief for all of us.