This is the first page of my Random Thoughts. Here are some more, and I hope these are just as amusing and thought provoking. And, as always, your comments are appreciated. I have created an index page of ALL my stories for convenience sake.
This upcoming weekend is when the majority of American's switch to daylight savings time. Fall behind, spring ahead. So you set your clock an hour ahead, and lose an hour of sleep. Which in theory you gain in the fall. At least, I think this is the way it goes. I always get mixed up. This will be the first spring I don't switch my clocks, because Arizona doesn't follow daylight savings time. Today we are the same as Mountain Time, next Sunday we will be the same as Pacific time. I was here for switching back to Standard time, and the major inconvenience I noticed was not knowing what time television shows would be on. Some changed, some didn't. And having hockey games start at 4 pm and be over by 7pm. What am I supposed to watch for the rest of the evening? I believe either all or just parts of Indiana also do not change. It is my guess that the reason Arizona stays at standard time is either they're just plain stubborn and want to be different, or because if it gets darker earlier, it would cool off earlier in the desert. I don't know why Indiana doesn't change, having never lived there.
Time zones confuse me in general. When I travel, I get all messed up, trying to remember whether I have to add an hour or subtract one. It's one of those little things that just drive me crazy. When I went to Australia in 1996, I lost an entire day. I never experienced August 15th. I was flying to Australia, and when we crossed the International Dateline, it was just gone. And I didn't get it back on the return trip, like you do with the hour or so you lose in traveling the United States. To try to figure out what time it is in Australia, or other foreign countries, is a nightmare for me. What I did when I was there, was leave one watch set on Minnesota time, and one set on the time in Brisbane. Then all I had to remember was if it was day or night back there.
Now for a bit of background on Daylight Savings time:
Daylight savings time used to start at the end of April and switch back at the beginning of October. A few years back this was changed, to the beginning of both April and the end of October, to give more daylight hours for shopping. According to the World Book Encyclopedia, "Daylight savings was begun during times of war. Britian used it during World War I and called it "Summer Time". It was used in the United States between 1918 and 1919. It was used again during part of World War II. Daylight savings time was reestablished nationally in 1967." According to a press release from US Congressman McCullom, dated April 1, 1997, "Daylight Savings Time was suggested by Benjamin Franklin in 1784 as a way of saving on candles. Today, Daylight Savings Time remains a valuable concept, allowing Americans to enjoy both greater leisure time and increased energy savings. Depending on a state's location this could prove beneficial in providing more daylight for outdoor activities such as sporting events, theme parks and family outings".
There is even a group that opposed daylight savings time, and proposed splitting up the United States between where Central and Mountain are, and have them be two hours apart. I suppose that's just as rational as anything else, since somewhere, someone or some group created time zones. There is a lot of information on daylight savings time on the net, which is where I found much of the above information.
Enough facts. I remember being able to play outdoors longer in the summer. Or that I had to go to bed while it was still light out. I don't remember my mother making a big deal about changing the clocks. I do remember it getting very dark so very early in the winter, but it was cold in Chicago and I didn't play outside as much then, so it also didn't matter to me. I can't remember it mattering to me when I lived in California, even when I was in college. I must have set my alarm clock, assuming I even had one, to the correct time on a semi annual basis according to custom. But not at 2 am, when you are supposed to, because normally I'm sleeping at that time, and it certainly seems absurd to wake up to change your clock. I, as probably 99.9% of the population, set clocks ahead before we went to bed.
The only times in my life that I really concerned myself with the time changes was when my children were little. About a week before either switch, I would start putting them to bed earlier or later, depending on which way the time was changing, so they would gradually adjust. Most likely my mother did something like that when I was a child, because it is the logical thing to do. You can't take a child who's been going to bed at a certain time and all of a sudden, make them go to bed an hour earlier. As the kids were growing older, they too, complained about going to bed when the sun was still out. I wish I could bring those days back.
One advantage however, of living somewhere that doesn't switch time twice a year, is I don't have to remember how to change the time on the microwave, the answering machine and alarm clocks. I am a collector of Swatch watches, and have some 300 or so of them. It used to be a big pain to change them all to the current time, but now, that's a thing of the past. When people ask me why I chose to move to Arizona, that's the reason I give them. It saves me hours of resetting the time on all my clocks. And time is one of those precious commodities of which you can never have enough.
©28 March, 2000My hands typed this. They look like average hands. I mean, there are 5 fingers on each hand, (one right, one left) they are attatched to my arms by my wrists. They are quite ordinary in most ways. Usually, hands are taken for granted. Songs have been written about them and there are numerous expressions regarding hands. It's just recently I have noticed my hands are changing.
Maybe the first time I noticed was when I removed my wedding ring. It had been on my left hand ring finger 24 years, and there are still lines showing where it was. We had spent half a day looking at rings in downtown Oakland. After several jewelry stores, they were all starting to look alike. Then, one of the salesmen told us, "you aren't just buying a ring, you're buying the company". All of a sudden I knew which ring I wanted, and we went back to Oakland's oldest jewelry store, where Fred's parent's had bought their wedding rings. Mr. Young, our salesman, had to be at least 75. He remembered exactly which one I had liked best. It's a mix of white and yellow gold with an intricate design and several small diamond chips. I loved it because it was simple, yet elegant. It cost all of $150. The ring is in a drawer now.
Or maybe it was looking at my grandfather's hands. He was 96 the last time I saw him, a few months before he died. He was still living in his apartment, but he was ready to go. They were big hands, but they were old. His veins bulged out, and he had big age spots. His nails were yellowed and very thick. They were still soft and I loved holding his hands. I can see him holding his pipe with those hands. Or holding a newspaper or prayer book. My grandfather was very special to me, because he and my grandmother moved in with us after my father died.
It might have been looking at Evelyn's hands. They are small, like mine, but her fingers aren't as short and stubby as mine. Her hands are smooth as silk. She bites her nails like I did, even though she is always trying to grow them out. Her hands are the same hands that minutes after she was born, wrapped themselves around my finger. The ones that held my hand when she took her first steps. Instead of sucking her thumb like I did, she always sucked the middle and ring finger. She still holds my hand, even in public.
My hands are starting to look old. There are big freckles on them. I refuse to call them age spots. I do have a lot of freckles, but these seem different. I need to put lotion on my hands all the time to keep them soft. For some reason, when I was pregnant with Lowell, I stopped biting my nails. I can't stand to have them grow too long for some reason. If I polish them, I sit and stare at them, like I can't believe they are really my nails. I usually pick the polish off in a few days, and won't bother with it for months again. You can see the veins starting to pop out in my hands. More on my left than my right, but that is probably because I am lefthanded.
They still do everything they are supposed to, and they don't cause me pain. I can type, hold a paintbrush and fishing rod, write with a pen, and cook and bake in the kitchen. I hope someday to pick up a grandchild with them, perhaps several. I might even find a man to hold hands with as life goes on.
© 5 June, 1997I stumbled on the first book in this series when I was in North Carolina last April I was there checking out the area, because I was planning on moving to Raleigh and going to school there. Plans being what they are, they fell through. And instead of what I had thought would happen to me, I ended up in Portland, trying to sort out of my life.
I bought the first book, At Home in Mitford, at a used book store. I love used book stores, and have picked up many books I might never have read otherwise. Like this one. I started reading it in the motel room, and finished it on the plane back to Minneapolis. I loved the book. It's about a small town and it's residents, but the central character is Father Tim. He's a lovable reverend with a new female neighbor, charming parishoners and other assorted amusing friends . I think what makes these books so popular, is everyone wants to find a place like Mitford to live. It's in the mountains, it's small enough where everyone knows everyone, there's little crime and the people are friendly.
I couldn't find the second in the series, A Light in the Window, at a used book store, so I paid full price for it. I didn't think it was as good as the first one. I had been looking for the third one, These High, Green Hills for a while. When I was at the library last week, I got to talking with the librarian. She said she would request it for me from another library, and when it came in, I checked it out. I will still be looking for a used copy, because I like to own books I love. There is a new book out, but it isn't in paperback yet.
What makes these books so popular? There is a newsletter one can get that discusses them and the author. They aren't so called great literature. They aren't romance novels, spy stories or mysteries. The author, Jan Karon, probably won't ever win a Pulitzer Prize for literature. I think the series appeal is its honesty and realness. I felt like I knew the people in the book within the first few chapters. It even made me want to start going to church again. I wanted to be a regular at the diner, shop at the Local. As with many books I read, I wonder who would play these characters in a movie. And for some reason, I can't do this with these characters. They are so defined in my mind, that there are no actors that could play them.
In the third book, the one I just finished yesterday, Father Tim has his usual assortment of trials and triumphs. I cried at the death on Miss Sadie, even though she was 90 years old. I was outraged at the poverty and cruelty that Lace lived with. I laughed as Father Tim struggled with putting the parish business on the computer. But what affected me most, was how many of them were so spiritual. I have turned away from religion and God since I was a child. My grandparents were very religious, but I couldn't love a God that dealt me the life I had gotten. I was more than angry at God for taking away my father when I was 5. And then why did He have to add on to that a brother with polio? And relatives who thought it should have been me that had gotten the disease, and made no secret about it? When we lived in Memphis, we actually started going to a church. I hated the phoniness of that church, and used every excuse I could to not go. Now, dealing with all the changes in my life, I have become very depressed and confused. I'm living 1400 miles away from my children, but this is my choice. I'm living alone for the first time ever in my 46 years on this earth. I'm grieving the loss of a 25 year marriage. I'm trying to find something meaningful to do with my days.
Last night, a woman I had met at the divorce support group I've been attending here, called me and wanted to know if I was still interested in going to an Al Anon meeting with her. I hadn't gotten dressed all day, but I quickly said yes. My soon to be ex is a recovering alcoholic, but he didn't attend AA long enough, so his behavior never changed. What he is, is a dry drunk. I realized this one night over a year ago, while chatting with a friend on irc. He encouraged me to go to an Al Anon meeting, and I did call, and find out where they were. But I never went. Now I wish I had, right away. When he first stopped drinking. I can't change that, though.
I don't really believe in God, though I do believe there is something. I discovered last night, and in reading the Mitford books, that I do have someone who can help me. Someone I can turn to for guidance and love. That I can make it on my own and don't need a man to make my life complete. It's a spiritual higher power, and all I need to do is trust it. I felt the same sort of calmness at the meeting last night as I do on a stream, fly fishing. An inner strength, a peacefulness of mind that I don't find anywhere else. But maybe now, I will. I'm going to continue going to the Al Anon meetings because I need to, because I found something there I need to survive. I wish I could fly fish all the time, but I can't. I think I now know how to find that inner peace when I'm not on the stream. Hard to believe reading a book about a fictional town and its fictional inhabitants gave me this insight into what I needed. But maybe that's why she wrote it in the first place. Thank you, Jan.
© 5 November, 1997My son called me today. That in itself is something to write about, because he seems to forget how to dial a phone when it comes me. He never has trouble calling his friends. But this isn't to complain about him. All in all, Greg is a great kid.
He's my middle child, and to hear him tell it, the forgotten one. He is the sweetest disposition, has the most outgoing personality and is a hard worker. He has more friends that anyone can count, and seems to attract them with such ease. He was the one who was most comfortable going with me to the nursing home, when my mom was there. He went out and found a job at 15, which circumstances forced him to give up even before he started. He showed great maturity and acceptance when he was diagnosed with cancer. He never asked why, never complained, and smiled throughout the entire ordeal.
The purpose of his call was to gloat. Well, first he had to spread the good news. His 16th birthday was on the 2nd of this month. In Minnesota, you have to make an appointment to take your road test, and since I knew I wouldn't be there to take him, I told him to work it out with his dad. I guess he put it off too long, and the soonest he could go was sometime in mid November. On his birthday, he and his dad went to every testing station in the twin cities area. They couldn't get in, and the best Greg could do was to call every day, and hope there was a cancellation the next day. Since this was important to him, he obviously did check with the different testing stations every day. Had it been something less life and death, like involving school, it never would have gotten such conscientious attention. I didn't know he was going, so it was a total surprise when he gave me the news. He had already driven one of his friends bowling last night.
He rubbed it in that he passed on the first time. That males were better drivers than females. He knew that I didn't pass the first time nor had his sister. I remember that day 30 years ago. I had taken the day off from school, and my mom and I went to DMV for me to take my test. I did everything perfectly, but the tester failed me anyways. I told my friends I hadn't taken the test. I doubt they believed me, but they said they did. They were plenty willing to ride with me when I got my license a few months later.
Greg told me he was taking his younger brother out to breakfast. I guess there will be no stopping him now. He even briefly considered my suggestion of driving out here to see me. I can't believe another one of my children has passed such a major milestone. I can't believe how fast time passes, that it has been 30 years since I first got my driver's license. Before I know it, the grandchildren I hope to have someday will be passing their driver's license tests. Though first Lowell will have to turn 16. And that will happen soon enough for me.
© 30 October, 1997I'm on an email newsgroup that is predominantly male. The list is about 1000 people total, and it is my guess that less than 20 of us are female. While most of this list just lurks, thank goodness, the number of active female participants is about 7. The active number of males is about 200.
Lately, the list has been going quite a bit off topic. Which is just fine, because it makes the list more interesting, and varied. The list is supposed to be about fly fishing, and maybe 75 per cent of the postings are about the topic. I have learned about dubbing combs, deer moth flies, casting in the wind and other such topics lately. We are treated to poems, haikus, limericks and stories about fishing trips. Every once in a while, certain people become the butt of jokes, and it is all taken in good fun, as it is meant to be.
The last few weeks however, some of the threads became anti-female. One particular person was behind most of this, and his posts were funny yet biting. Being outspoken, I usually countered his posts with sarcastic and male bashing ones of my own. I suggested that he be chained to a tree till he was house broken. Or that he see either a psychologist, prostitute or minister. It was reported he sees all three on a regular basis! He countered with the Women of the Fly Fishing list calendar. I am alledgedly Miss April. Once I posted to the list about how I changed out of my wet clothes on a very sparsely traveled Montana road. So my picture is me, changing on that road. I thought the whole thing rather humorous. So did the other women.
We decided though, that we should get back at the men. Emails were flying furiously back and forth between the 7 of us. It was decided Ann should be the first to announce to to the list she was resigning, as she had been teased pretty badly a few months back. I would go second, followed by the others, with Sue, our leader, resigning last. We decided to tell the list owner what was going on. And we agreed not to tell anyone else this was a joke, and that we would end it the following day.
Ann's post of leaving the list arrived around 9 am eastern time. By the time I sent in mine, maybe 20 minutes later, there were already several posts bemoaning her leaving of the list. Many were understanding. She had had enough, and the men had carried the joke too far. Then my post arrived, and more sympathetic males coming out to say, gee, we should have spoken up against this terrible male who mistreated all the women. They wrote they usually deleted posts before reading them if the thread was something they weren't interested in. One astute fellow announced this had to be a scam. He was shouted down.
Then Kat left the list. Followed by Sue and Raven. By now, every one was up in arms. The emails between us ladies were flying back and forth. We had all received several personal emails, from guys who wanted to tell us to stay, to fight, that they understood. The listmaster called Sue and said he was being inundated with angry posts. One man truly insulted another on the list, and suggested he quit. Our little joke was getting out of hand.
Since Ann couldn't be reached, Sue decided to post early this afternoon that it was a joke, and that we ladies were all in it together. Total chaos might have resulted if she hadn't done that. Each of us ladies posted that we were sorry, sort of, and gee, can't you guys take a joke. Let's kiss and make up and get back to talking about fly fishing. I wrote to the guy who had started the female bashing, and he said he had received dozens of hate emails from the men. But he accepted my apology and someday we may fish together.
All this brought out a few things. A few women can change things if they want to. A joke can be carried too far. Some things that needed to be changed will be changed, making this list better in the future. Some people have no sense of humor. But that everyone needs to think before they speak. One very nasty thing was said by one man to another, and it will be a long time before this is forgotten. I have a feeling it will be a long time before our little joke is forgotten. I almost wish we hadn't done it... almost.
© 30 October, 1997There is a special bond between a mother and daughter. At least, if you are lucky. I didn't have that bond with my own mother. But that's another story. This has to do with my daughter. I don't know what I did, but I did something right. We are very close, and have been all her life.
I think the idea first came to me when Evelyn was 5. We were living in Memphis, not exactly the cultural center of the world. She was always bright, with an outgoing personality. One day, I told her that when she was 10, I would take her to New York City. She didn't understand the appeal of the Big Apple at that young age. Just that it sounded like fun and that it was something just the two of us would do.
As the years went by, we talked about the proposed trip. Lots of things happened during those years. Lowell was born. We moved back to Minneapolis. But we kept discussing this trip. What we would do. What we would see. We would get books on New York, and plan excursions.
The time was approaching. Evelyn would turn 10 in October, 1989. She was starting the 5th grade, and fairly happy at school. Minnesota has a teacher convention every October, usually the third Thursday and Friday. That would be the time to go. We would have four days in New York. But things weren't going too well at home. Money was tight. I worried about the expenses we would incur. I knew I had to tell my daughter we would not be going to New York this year.
Evelyn was very understanding about my postponing the trip. She never complained that I was letting her down. But I felt I was disappointing her. I didn't see any other choice though.
Then, something happened that changed my mind. Evelyn had befriended one of the younger neighborhood girls, and the previous summer spent quite a lot of time at this girl's house. I think it helped that this girl had a very cute older brother. Not that Evelyn was boy crazy. I was lucky about that. But it was one of the reasons I think Evelyn tolerated this girl. One day in early September, the brother of this girl dropped dead at school. He had an asthma attack, and they couldn't revive him. He was 12. We went to the funeral home. It was a very sobering experience.
I realized how life had no guarantees. How you had to live for the moment.
I decided that day, I was taking Evelyn to New York. That I couldn't break my promise to her. That having memories were more important than a few dollars. We could use her father's frequent flyer tickets. We could find a less expensive hotel. I wanted to have memories of her first trip to New York if something ever happened to my only daughter. I wanted her to have memories of the trip if something happened to me. To remember her mother as a woman who kept her promises.
We did take the trip. We wandered all over Manhattan. Looked in the windows in the fancy stores on East 57th Street. Took crazy taxi rides. Had frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity. I bought her clothes at a West side boutique. We bought souvenirs for her brothers and father. We ate Chinese food in Chinatown. We didn't go to any museums, or do any touristy things. But we did have fun. And we did make memories. Maybe that is what I did right. Today, my daughter at 17, still holds my hand in public. We laugh and share stories. I would like to think we are best friends. I know it is not just because I kept a promise to her, but I think it is part of what makes our relationship so successful.
© 3 December, 1996Evelyn and I awoke to the alarm clock this morning. This is noteworty, because we are having a very lazy summer. Technically, she should be working and has interviewed with a temporary service. Funny thing, though, every time she calls them, they don't have a job for her. I am not complaining, as she is a fine companion and willing fishing partner.
The reason for the wake up call was my car was scheduled for service. The fan clutch was stuck, and needed to be replaced, and the car had to be at the shop by 9 am. I especially wanted to get it there on time, since we are driving to Montana in a week. There were a few other things that needed to be looked at. I told her if she got up with me, we could go to the Mall of America.
My boys were already out of the house, off to play golf. Plus, I had a lunch date with a friend at a restaurant right near the Mall. I suggested this be a shopping for makeup morning. We started at Bloomingdales, and nothing caught our fancy. Next stop was Macy's, and we left as quickly as we entered the store. Both of us knew the only place to really look at makeup was Nordstrom.
To the left when you enter Nordstom is the shoe department. Nordstrom is famous for their shoe department, but we knew we didn't have enough time this morning to waste looking at shoes. I only buy new shoes when it is an absolute necessity, but Evelyn has a fondness for shoes that envies Imelda Marcos. To the right, past the costume jewelry is the cosmetics department. They have the standard upscale brands as the other stores, plus all the newest, trendiest and hippest brands.
Our saleslady was Jill, and she was extremely helpful. She could tell we were in the mood to buy! She showed us the latest from Urban Decay. Their products have clever color names such as roach, samonella, uzi and live wire. They were a bit too bizarre for me, but Evelyn found a nail polish she liked as well as some eye shadow. I was more drawn to a new brand called Smash Box. The colors are almost traditional, but not quite. I got some powder and blush. The last brand we bought was Make Up Forever. This stuff was strange. Lots of glitter and body makeup in very bright and unnatural colors. We got some eye shadows from them. While we were playing, I tried different nail polishes. All of my nails are painted a different color, and none are red or pink. Rather they are blue and orange and green. It's fun for a day or two.
We left Nordstrom and walked back to the car. Drove across the street to meet my friend and have lunch. Evelyn had a club sandwich and I had grilled tuna and steamed veggies. When we arrived home, ther e were four messages on the answering machine from the boys. Where were we? How were they to get home? Each message was more annoying than the next. As we started to hear the last one, the phone rang. The poor boys had been waiting an hour and a half. Wasn't I going to come and get them?
After dropping them off at home, because I was tired of listening to their complaining of how shabbily they were treated, Evelyn and I finished our mother daughter shopping. We went to Bentley's, and got some items necessary for our trip. Waders for Evelyn, big flies for the trout in Montana, an extra spool for my reel, a spare fly box, a pair of shorts and a shirt, wading belts and the cutest stuffed bear in a fishing vest.
We spent longer at Bentley's than we did looking at cosmetics. This isn't because fly fishing is more important than looking beautiful. Or that we like the fly shop better. It isn't that we both enjoy shopping or fishing. What is important is that we were together, sharing a mother daughter day of fun.
©1 July, 1997Standing on the corner, in Winslow, Arizona….. the phrase comes from the Eagles song, Take it Easy. This past Saturday, I was in Winslow. I stood on a corner. I didn't see any girls in flatbed Fords, and I wouldn't have been too thrilled had they slowed down to take a look at me.
This was the second time I'd been in Winslow. The first time was back in 1976, when my ex and I took our second cross country trip. We left Los Angeles, and headed east on Interstate 40. It was an early evening in January and driving into Flagstaff, we found ourselves in a snowstorm. I'm sure we both thought, snow???? In Arizona???? Isn't all of Arizona desert? The only other time I'd been in Arizona was when we drove from Chicago to Los Angeles, and spent some time with relatives in Phoenix. That's the Arizona I had a mental picture of for all those years. My mother asking for a glass of water every five minutes and leaving Phoenix in the middle of the night to avoid driving through the desert during the day. We followed the snowplow at a slow and safe distance, as he had never driven in snow before. At some point, the snow either stopped or we had driven to a lower elevation, and proceeded into Winslow. We probably stayed at a motel 6 or similar place, and in the morning headed east, without really looking at the town.
It was a little different last Saturday. I was driving with four other women and we were going there to attend a meeting. Winslow is approximately 150 miles from Prescott, and we left here at 7 am. It felt strange to be a passenger, and I unequally divided my attention between the conversation and the scenery. Flagstaff is about 7000 feet in elevation, and situated in the Coconino Natural Forest. High above it are the San Francisco mountains which were still snow covered. In the summer, Prescottians go to Flag to shop, and to Phoenix in the winter.
Since I was sitting in the front seat, I got to be navigator when we got to Winslow. I found our exit and directed us to the Winslow Senior Center. The main street of Winslow is old Route 66, and you can tell its seen its prime a long time ago. 1950's motels stand along the road in total disrepair. They are far enough off the interstate to be forgotten and neglected. My guess is the only reason Winslow was founded was to be a railroad stop. The terrain is flat and scrub brush despite being at an elevation of 4000 feet. The population is around 11,000.
After the meeting, we walked across the street to Las Posadas Inn. It is the original Harvey Hotel built in the 1930s and is being restored. I'd guess we spent a half hour wandering around the public rooms, looking at the artifacts and art and the work they had done to bring it back to it's former glory. They were setting up for a wedding in the courtyard. The art work they had didn't fit into the décor. It was fairly modern and not very attractive. They had a list of the famous people who had stayed there, including Carole Lombard, who spent her last night alive there. Reminded me of this motel Evelyn and I saw highway signs for in New Mexico, driving out here last year. El Rancho, home of the stars. When we drove past it, we couldn't imagine it at all.
I guess the people who live there like it. I didn't see anything there to make me anxious to return. It's just another small town on the map with no real distinguishing features. People live there, work there, die there. They recently dedicated a small park in town called the Standing on the Corner Park. We didn't drive by there, so I have no idea what it looks like. But thanks to a song, Winslow has it's claim to fame. I doubt the people there think much about it all, as they go about their daily business, but probably most tourists drive through, looking for that flatbed Ford.
©April 28, 2000There are more stories I have written to read. Please remember these are my original stories and thoughts, and to copy or otherwise use them without my permission is a copyright violation. I would love to hear your random thoughts on any of these stories.