As I have mentioned before, I have tried to do some virtual volunteering communications work to keep my hand in the pot, so to speak. Thus far, I have logged over forty hours of work. However, I haven't really found this to be much rewarding.

Three of the folks I found off of www.volunteermatch.org were organizations that sound great, but have no business plan, no communications plan, and no strategic objectives. They are going through the motions, accomplishing work each day, but without thought for tomorrow. That sort of situation does not really allow for great growth and makes trying to do communications work for them difficult.

Couple this with the fact that I have not had much appreciation or acknowledgement of the quite fine work I have been doing for free, and you might begin to understand why the whole experience has not left the best taste in my mouth.

Realizing this, I contacted a foundation here where I live. I still preferred the virtual aspect, but I figure that I might be able to accomplish something a bit more significant. It is an organization to which I applied for a job, and while I was not hired, neither has anyone else be. Therefore, they truly are in need of my services.

In contacting them, I took the opportunity to mention some of the observations I had made about their messaging while researching the organization to prepare for an interview. A free gift, really. Finally, the vp of operations got back to me and asked me to review their new website. I was a bit disappointed in the task, but went at it with careful thought. The resulting three page analysis pointed out that they still have yet to hit the mark with the potential messaging that could come from a solid website.

Since they have no visible collateral besides three newsletters, an annual report, and a 32-page research study, I suggested that they create some smaller brochures for folks. For example, the research study was a two-year examination of women and girls in the region, with critical observations and recommendations. But few would plow through the report, even though it was beautifully done.

So, I spent some time creating a four-fold brochure covering the recommendations. They could use it to easily share with potential stakeholders the focus of their organization. They could use it with potential funders to let folks determine what areas which they would like to support. They could also use it in meetings with officials to show where they could demonstrate the needs of their constituents and where they should focus their work. I used the organization's color scheme, but brightened up the piece a bit to show how to make such things attractive (their new website has a white background and is quite boring aesthetic wise).

I sent a PDF of the brochure off to the vp. Her response? Nothing.

The same response a president of another foundation gave me after researching and drafting a code of ethics for volunteers per her request.

Nothing.

I have started the monumental task of going through the floppy disks that I have been keeping to see what pieces of writing are there that I might want to save.

I found this piece that I submitted to Reader's Digest in 1992 for Life in These United States. I never had a response from them. I wonder what you think...


As a teacher, one often wonders if the students are able to transfer what they are learning in the class to the outside world. Recently a fellow teacher related a funny incident which reminded her of the special view students may hold of their teachers and answered this question of transference with the current social studies unit.
My friend tries to have lunch with her second grade students when she can, to take the opportunity to get to know them better as students and as individuals. During these lunches, the conversation most often turns to what they had been studying in class and the students' families.
At one of these lunches just before the end of the year, she sat with a little girl who had recently moved from Greece. The girl was quite proud of her father and spent the lunch time telling her teacher all about the restaurant he runs and how hard he worked for his living, as the class had been discussing careers as a part of their study of communities.
At the end of the lunch as the two rose to return their trays, the girl turned to her teacher and eagerly asked, "So, what do you do for a living?"


If you have not already guessed, I was the teacher.

In working on trying to put together a portfolio, I realized that several examples of the collateral that for which I both designed and wrote the content were missing from the meager collection I was able to gather together after sorting through all those boxes.

Today, I braved the lion's den and retrieved three of four postcards and the pocket folder I re-worked.

Well, I did not really brave the den per say...I nervously waited in the parking lot whilst one of the employees from my old job fetched the items from me and the blender that I had forgotten to bring home with me. I am a spineless wimp.

She could not find the fourth postcard, which I know is there, but I was unwilling to go inside myself and search for it. A superlative wimp, eh?

I did spend the journey there and back with my very dear friend B on the phone. I had asked my writing student to go with me for moral support. Although she initially agreed, she backed out on the grounds that she just had too much homework to do. I was hurt, therefore, when I arrived at her house afterwards to pick up her mother who was going to walk at Huntley Meadows with Kashi and I. She said that my writing student's friends had brought her home from school and they had been hanging out together ever since.

I wonder, though, if I have no right to be hurt. I had made the assumption that now that she was older and ever so much mature as a writer, that we had moved from a teacher/student relationship to one that was more of a friendship. However, I realized, in thinking about how things have been, that I am still only someone to help her when she needs it. The times I have tried to ask for help myself, knowing how skilled she has grown to be as a writer, have not worked out very well.

It is funny...my niece has returned to college after choosing a GED instead of graduating from high school (and spending a few years working only to learn that college really is the true path to better paying jobs) and I told her that if she ever needed help with her writing assignments, I would very much welcome the opportunity to work with her. Tonight, she sent me three essays. One was an assignment that she already had submitted and had been subsequently graded. She received a 104 on it (I am not sure about this more than a 100 business). The other two essays were for an assignment that is due tomorrow. She had actually written two for the one that was due, but she was not happy with either one of them. I could see why, because the writing was forced, resulting in language what was at times stilted and at other times gushingly naive. Her first essay was a wittingly written breath of fresh air that, while containing some basic grammar errors, was sophisticated in content...at least until she tried to wax poetically about the whys of her father's behavior.

Still, reading her work and seeing the less-than-sophisticated sentence structure and poor grammar, I realized anew how incredibly talented my writing student is. I suppose it should be enough that I had a hand in shaping her talent and still get to work with her from time to time.

Her mother pushed me as we walked, so I had my best time ever walking through the trails through the woods.

~~~~
NOTE: Can you find the double entendre in this entry?

Today, I waded through four months of filing that had been piled on the stairs (so that I could take it up to my office) and in my office (in the closet, on the floor, and on my desk). In this mess was a bunch of warranty information for various and sundry items that needed to be put in my warranty binders (I now have four of them, two for the house and two for things I have purchased). While the labor was quite tedious, I did enjoy watching two television shows from my computer as I was sprawled on the floor sorting papers.

Now, my office is clean, my stairs are clean, my file cabinet is clean, my utility closet is clean, and the yard is "clean."

What will I do to occupy my time now?

I am trying to accomplish something each day, to not waste my time away from work as is so easily possible to do...to languish on the couch. So, yesterday I trimmed the bushes and weeded all the beds in my yard. Today, I mowed and edged (hopefully for the last time this season) and pulled off all those pernicious vines that stubbornly grow on my chain link fence despite my attempts to eradicate them. I've said it countless times here, but I never grow tired of the beauty found in a freshly manicured yard. I also reveled in that oneness-with-the-soil time.

Afterwards, Kashi and I went for a walk in the neighborhood since it was too late to run over to Huntley Meadows with him. I was admiring the fall foliage rustling in the wind when I noticed that several of the people in my neighborhood were also working in their yards. I was a bit dismayed to see this house down the street still for sale. The price has been reduce and yet it remains empty. I worry about that.

When Kashi and I returned home, I set out the garbage and the recycling and then took the time to fetch a few roses from my bushes. I really ought to have cut them back whilst I was trimming all the other bushes yesterday, but I so enjoy seeing them bloom in my yard. Admiring them as I walked toward my house, I realized that I have never thought to bring some inside. So, I popped inside to retrieve the shears. I placed the different colored roses in a champagne class and set it on top of the television. Just a few hours later, the whole first floor is redolent with such fragrance that I find myself smiling in pleasure.

Now...if the Cowboys would just pull themselves up by their bootstraps and find a way to beat the Giants...it will be a good day.

There's always hope, eh?

After gulping three Dr. Pepper's and chowing down on some free pizza, I felt I had bolstered my courage enough to plow through the eight boxes that I brought home from my old office. Going through them, I struggled to hold back the tears because I just plain feel horrible about leaving that job. I worked my tail off to no avail, while others profited by slacking off and engaging in unethical behavior. But the worst is that my boss's actions rarely followed her words and I was fool enough to believe her. I have learned ever so much, but the lessons hurt still. I wish they did not.

At the end of my labors, I still had eight boxes, but I did have two full trash bags of things I should have let go of long before. I had two boxes of things that I kept in and on my desk. I also had a box of things that I used since I ate lunch at my desk while I worked nearly every day. For someone who does not drink coffee, I have three of those metallic thermal mugs. I really do not use them, but they are nice ones. I do have all I need for my nasty-tasting-but-healthy protein shakes. A fourth box was supplies that I had brought from home to augment my work since ordering supplies meant going through something like an inquisition. The rest of the boxes were resources that I have amassed over the years, things that help me think and plan and strategize.

What was not in there were the samples of collateral that I had developed that I thought I brought home. I do have two binders of copies of just about all my work and three folders with brochures in them. I did not have the extra copies of all the of the design work that I could have sworn were in there. I cannot begin to express my disappointment that I will not be able to create a portfolio (other than an electronic one) without asking my old organization for samples. ARGH!

I did take the opportunity to clean out my utility closet in the basement a bit, including the file cabinet in there, and the closet where I am storing half of the boxes. I ended up with a third trash bag and a much cleaner space.

I did realize that I left my blender at the office. I wonder if I can gather the nerves to go retrieve it.

I was cheered this afternoon by reveling in the slug-fest between the Falcons and the Steelers. Rightfully so, Michael Vick drove the Falcons to an overtime victory to cap off a rather thrilling game. Now, if the Colts will just beat the Redskins, it will be a good day. The Cowboys don't play until tomorrow night.

~~~~
NOTE: "No Hassle Miles" are a fallacy. No hassle means six to eight weeks to redeem even a gift certificate. I had planned to use them to get one that I could use to purchase an auto navigation system. My friend W suggested I think about getting one the last time I was lost. After calming down after being lost on Friday , I called to see why the gift certificate had not arrived since it was supposed to be shipped via UPS. I learned that the order of two weeks ago to redeem the miles had not yet been processed...and most likely would not be processed for at least four more weeks. My only option offered by the representative: to put the miles back into my account.

Yesterday, I got lost on the beltway again. I had tried to avoid the problem by going to my father's house so that I could follow them to the restaurant (more driving, less thinking), but my step-mother did not want me to come over there. Setting out from my house, I told myself to remain positive, but I missed the correct exit for the third time in visiting this same restaurant. Still trying to control my fear, I encouraged myself that I could just take the next exit as I did the last time. Only, I missed that one, too. I was hurtling down the highway in the midst of rush hour and slowly losing my mind.

With tears streaming down my face and sheer panic setting in, I called my dear friend W. Normally, she is a great person to talk with, but her first response crushed me. She suggested I pull over and ask for directions. On the beltway, that just wasn't going to happen and any exit I took could lead me further into confusion...not to mention the fact that folks up here would likely ignore any request for help from a strange sobbing woman. I just wanted some encouragement and someone to help talk me through what I knew and what I might do.

I quickly hung up with her and cried and prayed.

Then, my phone rang. It was my vet. Really, the woman should get some sort of reward. She listens to all my Kashi, Fancy, and Madison concerns with patience and kindness. She is always positive and encouraging. She regularly calls me to check in on how we are all doing. And she never once has in any way, shape, or form made me feel as if I were not welcome in her presence, in-person or on the phone.

I had called her earlier to see if there were any of Kashi's medicines that I could safely skip for a month or two to save money. She had been in surgery at the time and was returning my call.

I tried. I really tried to keep the fact that I was crying from her. I tried to focus on the original purpose for my call. But I didn't count on her generosity.

She talked with me. She listened to me. She calmed me down. And she agreed that MS is a crappy disease.

So, it was with great irony today that a county police officer asked me for directions.

Kashi and I were walking in Huntley Meadows. The first time I brought the video camera, it was too dark to really record the visit. Today, the second time I brought the video camera, the visit was interrupted by a police training exercise. At a wetland preserve! Who made that decision?

Anyhow, a helicopter flew overhead just as I was filming a great blue heron. I waited for it to pass, but it began circling. I was a bit irritated because the engine noise drowned out the insects humming in the background and my own cheesy commentary. Then, this police officer drove out onto the boardwalk on a motorcycle! I was a bit amazed to see him, but a woman who had joined me in watching the heron told me that when she had arrived, there were a half dozen police cars in the parking lot and she was assured that nothing was wrong.

I tried to enjoy my visit, but both the helicopter and the motorcycle broke through my reverie, and I walked back into the woods to finish my hike. Imagine my surprise when the police officer on the motorcycle returned shortly after entering the woods and asked me if I knew another way out of the park other than the boardwalk. He was lost on the winding, circuitous trails that wend their way through the woods and did not want to navigate the steps of the viewing platform to exit the park via the main portion of the boardwalk. I was able to show him the way back through the woods by drawing in the dirt with a stick.

While walking out of the park myself, I kept thinking about being lost. The truth is that I struggle with navigating the unknown. If I am familiar with where I am or where I am going, then I can drive with confidence. But when I have to make decisions, the hypotheses I posit regarding north or south, right or left, almost always are wrong. And when I go to try another path or make adjustments, I cannot seem to straighten out what it is that I did in the first place and lose my way even further in my attempts to rectify the situation. Confusion reigns, panic ensues, and tears flow. I feel stupid and incompetent and utterly worthless.

I have walked the paths of Huntley Meadows so much that even if I did not carry a visualization of the trail guide around in my head, I still would have been able to help the police officer. I could not, however, tell him how to get to that blasted restaurant.

While weeping on the phone with the vet, I told her that I felt as if I had no business asking for a job when I couldn't even drive to the restaurant. Her very soft reply was to lightly tease me that of course I knew how illogical that was. Communications had nothing to do with being able to successfully navigate to a restaurant!

I wonder though...I wonder.

What hurts the most (to borrow the phrase from Rascal Flatts) is the fact that neither my friends nor my family seem to take my cognitive problems seriously. Most of the time, I get some remark about how he/she forgot something or has been lost before. I know, though. I know how very often I am confused, how I struggle to understand what used to be easy for me. I know. I know, and I am terrified. I am terrified, and I am alone.

Last night, I wept for a long while, struggling with my fears and worries and sorrow. I wept and prayed and fell asleep clutching the bible.

Yesterday, I was lost and needed help. Today, a police officer was lost and asked for help. For that one moment, I was anchored in certainty. I am still savoring that moment.

NOTE: My video of our visit has much footage of moss. Huntley Meadows is rife with it. I have discovered that viewing moss on tape is almost as good as gazing upon it in person. Kashi, however, cares not for the stuff.

Well, should I say my life is complete now?

I just watched this video of a shrimp on a treadmill. Frankly, I did not understand the importance of a crustacean's endurance.

Perhaps, I should say my life is rather incomplete?

If you are what you eat...am I contentment because my preferred food is pizza and Dr. Pepper.

~~~~
Playing on my $2.00 electronic Texas Hold 'Em Poker game I have learned something about myself. I can get through to the second and even third set of players, taking out several of them myself along the way, but get to that 200K level and I choke. There is no other way to put it. I start thinking about how much money is stacked among my chips and I start making foolish decisions, chasing straights and flushes when I know I should fold.

I climb the poker ladder with great success and then choke.

I am a choker...not something I want to be...

I had a phone interview this morning that went surprisingly well. Two hours of chatting with a fellow ex-Texan about my skills and accomplishments. I had all but mentally talked myself out of even the remotest possibility of progressing pass the call. I did so because of the number of years of experience. Yet...the job is editorial director; I would be writing and editing for a living, managing the messaging of a non-profit. It is in my targeted salary range, targeted vacation range, targeted location, and something for which I could be proud advocating. Four out of four on my wish list.

[BIG SIGH]

I should hear some time next week if I am going to be called in for an in-person interview. If I am, I have to produce a portfolio. More money that I have to spend when money has not been a companion for months on end.

[SECOND BIG SIGH]

I learned late Thursday night that my grandfather was back in the hospital with pneumonia again. We were quite worried for his health, but he has battled the disease and may get to come home in a few days. Being bed-ridden with such a disease is so very dangerous to the elderly, so I am doubly glad he has turned the corner.

I found it difficult to write, thinking about his battle and praying for restored health. It is not that long ago that his life-long love died and my step-mother would be heart broken to lose her father as well.

In addition, my step-mother's birthday is in just a couple of days, and I would hate for the celebration of her life with the death of her father.

I feel as if I have been walking in sorrow for days...but today there is hope...and for that I am thankful.

Happy birthday to my nephew and my dear friend T!

I left singing voicemails for both of them. In my opinion, birthdays are the time when you get to say how glad you are that the person was born. You are celebrating the gift of their life.

~~~~
I have tried watching more episodes of Without A Trace and have a better understanding why I do not like the show: the pace is slow, the lighting dark and dreary, the soundtrack would be more fitting at a funeral, and the speech most often mono-tonal. Thus, I find the show downright depressing!

~~~~
I found myself strangely disturbed by the plane crash in New York City today. I ended up watching several hours of the coverage on three different cable news shows. Tears swam in my eyes and I found it difficult to speak around my thickened throat. I had flashes of memory from another time of watching hours of television depicting another burning highrise building. This day must have been hard for the families of 9/11 victims and the rescue workers from that day.

SOS did the job. After three trips the store without returning home with the scrubbing pads, tonight I arrived home victorious. Of course, the last of those failures I did remember to look for the scrubbing pads, but could not find them. Tonight, I had two bright twelve-year-olds racing around the store to find the items on my list. They even found lemon scented ones!

Whereas the vinegar and baking soda concoction failed to remove the remnants of the burnt corn, the SOS pads, with MUCH elbow grease, did the job. My grandmother's pot is now usable again. If I did not stuff myself overly much at dinner, I would have promptly made some Malt O'Meal in the pan, enjoying its perfect size for the job.

~~~~
I had thought to start another mother/daughter book club with my writing student's sister since she is now twelve, the same as my student when she began, but it just didn't turn out that way. She had two friends who wanted to read books with us, but not with their mothers. Then one of her friends dropped out after the initial meeting. I had to set aside my disappointment and do some creative thinking because the remaining friend is not a strong reader and her mother has been quite ill.

I decided that instead of meeting at either of their houses, we would meet in a restaurant, that we would have a literacy dinner of sorts. They both liked the idea, and tonight's meeting was a good beginning...even if there was still far more giggling than I would have preferred!

We went to a new Italian restaurant, where the girls investigated the savory delights of calzones. I had a chicken and bacon pizza (or a third of one...yes, I brought home enough leftovers for at least two more meals). All three of us also munched on spinach and artichoke dip with fresh baked bread sticks. They guzzled lemonade while I savored Mr. Pibb, since I have been without Dr. Pepper for four days. The meal was rather fulfilling.

We had read Karen Cushman's Catherine Called Birdy. The book discussion, while not as erudite as I would have liked, was still a good beginning. I introduced them to a way to identify themes in a story. You make a four-squared chart that has "likes" and "dislikes" in the top two squares and "patterns" and "questions" in the bottom two squares. Then, you have the readers fill in each square by listing things they liked, things they didn't like, the patterns they saw, and the questions they have about the story. After doing so individually, you combine the lists. If done in a large classroom, you can break the class into small groups for the first round and then have everyone call out their ideas for the combined chart. Once the chart is filled, you look for patterns/groupings across the four areas, which will highlight different themes of the book. It might be themes of plot or character development or setting. Those patterns/groupings can then be the catalyst for further discussion, especially with searching for other instances of what was noted.

I had asked them both to maintain response journals while they were reading, but the friend did not do so. I believe that she was a bit intimidated by the process. What tickled me is that she had a three page response to the book when she arrived tonight. When she had told my writing student's sister that she did not have a journal, she advised the friend that she had better not show up without any writing. Apparently, my reputation proceeds me with my writing student's siblings. The friend promised to try keeping a journal next time. Since they live down the street from each other, I might have them swap journals so they can see what each other thought before I get them to write responses to their notes before we meet. Both of their writing was a good first effort, reflective of their interests and abilities. They have the best time making home movies together, so I have to figure out a way to incorporate that interest into what we are doing with books.

Over all, I was not disappointed in my altered approach to the book club, and I very, very much enjoyed the opportunity to teach literacy again.

Yesterday's game was heart rending. I had hope. I had multiple moments of joy. I had anguish. I moaned and groaned and grieved with the Cowboys. They should have won that game!

~~~~
Last Friday, I decided to bring order to my dining table. I have been using it as a desk in my unemployment. I even went so far to add the leaf although it made the table a bit too large for the space. Anyhow, somehow a few piles of stuff bred into edge-to-edge coverage of paper. I finally bowed beneath the weight of my guilt and refused to continuing averting my eyes as I passed by the table on the way to the kitchen. After much effort, the majority of the surface is clean. I was rewarded today for my labors because my writing student needed help and she popped by with her mother to work. All three of us were able to sit around the table and talk about the form she needed to complete about herself.

~~~~
I am stuck trying to write the next sermon in my novel. I am so darned intimidated that I have just doodled the last week away. I did manage to fit in those historical details I waxed poetically about here...but to be honest...I have been resting on my laurels and not plugging away at the keys because I am a wimp. I want so much for this story to be what I envision that I am fearful of ruining it when it comes to my sermons. I am, after all, not a preacher.

God, in His infinite lovingkindness, has moved the heart of my old prof who preaches when his pastor is out of town to offer any of his sermons for my text (I have them all on tape). However, even with such help available, I am trembling in my literary knees. Yep...I am a wimp.

~~~~
I fell down the steps to the upper section of my deck tonight. I was trying to encourage Kashi to see to his business despite his fears of the dark and was so busy crooning sweet nothings to him that I missed the second step. I tell you, I think he was more surprised than I to find me sprawled at the bottom of the steps with the dew soaking quickly into my clothes and my right ankle screaming in protest to being twisted backward in the fall. I thought about just staying there. Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.

Yesterday, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. With my friend W, using that wonderful Sprint PSC technology, I battled my way through the Texas-OU game, helping her pull for her team. Texas didn't need me, but it is always good to support a friend.

After the game, I gave up my battle and fell asleep at around 7:30 PM. [I know, what a shocker, eh!] I woke at 8:30 PM, 10:50 PM, 11:50 PM, and 2:00 AM. I was so tired that I couldn't really sleep. Of course, the backwards schedule that I have been keeping is probably most to blame. Anyway, I got up at 2:00 and watched some TV until 3:30, when I crawled back in bed.

So...I did not awake again until 2:10 PM today. I was about to roll over and sleep some more when I felt the call of football. I was already missing the first game! I was rewarded in getting out of bed when I looked at the TV guide because I discovered that the Cowboys-Eagles game is actually going to be on TV up here. Woo Hoo! I get to see my 'Boys!

I still feel as if I could go back to sleep, and I do not know why I am so tired, but...perhaps...if I manage to stay awake until 11:00 PM or so, I could transition myself back into being awake days and asleep nights in one fell swoop.

Right now, the Giants are beating the Redskins, so I have to stay awake to support Eli Manning. While the Giants are in the Cowboys division, I would much rather they win than the Redskins. I want the Redskins whipped by the time they meet the Cowboys again!

Ah...the joy of Football Season...is there anything better?

Perhaps...perhaps seeing Tiger Woods hit the ball so creatively... powerfully... beautifully... skillfully! The Golf Master is taking a well earned rest just now after six PGA victories in a row.

Ah, whilst writing this, the Giants just scored a touchdown after three mere field goals. I should get back to supporting them as they move up 16-3 over the Redskins! What a way to begin the third quarter. Eli just marched them down the field for the score. Good on you, Eli!

While it is not totally free, Dale and Thomas Popcorn Company are having a free popcorn month in October. They are offering one or two bags of gourmet popcorn if you pay the shipping ($2.95 per bag). The offer is here: http://www.daleandthomaspopcorn.com/freepopcorn.aspx.

The flavors are quite toothsome: Dreamy Chocolate Drizzle, Peanut Butter and White Chocolate, Chocolate Chunk and Caramel, and Cinnamon Creme. [BIG SIGH]

Each month I PDF the newsletter of her Mom's Club for my friend D. I found the notice for the free popcorn while reading through what she had written. So...no good deed goes unrewarded!

Kashi and I went back to Huntley Meadows today. He was practically beside himself in the car during the drive over. I really should take him there more often.

I enjoy the walk, but at 2 1/2 miles, it is a bit lonely. Today, through the miracle of Sprint PCS technology, I was able to spend the walk chatting with D, hearing about her new baby and all things happening in her life. It was just as if she were there, walking beside me on the hiking trail. Kashi and I and D didn't meet up with another person, so my use of technology did not disturb the outdoor pleasure of another visitor. We saw a great blue heron and three deer whilst out among nature.

When we arrived home, I took the time to sew up the holes in Kashi's stuffed banana. Even though I had sewn up eight others last night now surrounding his bed and still more scattered around the room, Kashi sat at attention the whole time I was working with the needle. He whimpered and shivered in worry over his baby. Once I was finished, he took it from me and placed it with the others around his bed. All of them there are the ones that were repaired.

I find it quite amusing that, inevitably, each time I gather up his stuffed toys and put them back in the basket by the door, by the end of the day, they will be redistributed all over the house: upstairs by his bed and on my bed, beneath the dining table, on the rug in the kitchen in front of the sink, on the beds in the basement, on his bed in the study, and a few more spread around for good measure. Sometimes, he makes a circle of them on my bed and then curls up asleep among them. They are his mates!

~~~~
NOTE: If you are in search of a snack, you might want to try having a cup of Cheerios with a mini Baby Bell cheese circle. I find it to be a rather tasty, if unusual, combination. You also might want to try washing it down with some ice cold Orange Gatorade...

I am in pursuit of another communications job. As you well know by now, I am having difficulty finding one. I have, for the first time, had interviews where I was not offered the job. I was measured and found wanting, which surprises me not just in the novelty of the experience, but for the skills I can offer to these organizations. So...my resume gets me in the door and my presence shows me out that same door. What am I doing wrong?

I am in pursuit of another communications job because I believe that it is work that I can do and do well. After all, I practically worked miracles for my last employer. I worked miracles because the job duties are a wonderful combination of my literacy skills and organizational bent. After all, I revel in all those details.

For each organization with which I have interviewed, I have researched the company and evaluated their online presence and existing collateral. In each case, I would offer that I was able to generate an astute analysis and identify key message points to consider in strategic planning. In each interview, I tried to make these observations known.

For the third one, even after I knew that I would not be getting a call asking me to come work, I thought about their message issues for a few days and came up with the following pitch that could be used in both print and media:

Build a playground and you build community where children and adults work side by side.
Build a playground and you build organization, communication, and cooperation.
Build a playground and you build health and well-being.
Build a playground and you build hopes and dreams and possibilities.
Build a playground and you build the future.

You see, KaBOOM, Inc. (www.kaboom.org) is an organization whose mission is that every child in America will have a safe place to play within walking distance of their homes. The organization is impressive in that its MO is to teach folks how to fish, not fish for them. Communities, schools, housing communities, etc. who come to KaBOOM for help are required to manage the process themselves, from planning, to volunteers, to partial funding, to press work. KaBOOM supplies 90% of the funding and 100% of advisory help. They supply the tools and resources (and personnel on build day) to ensure success.

KaBOOM's website is impressive in its message about play, including some interesting research. In reading their material, I totally get that play is important. But I think that they are missing and important WHY Factor in their messaging. Why should I support them in building playgrounds? Why should I build a playground? The litany I wrote answers that why while reinforcing the great things about KaBOOM. [They talk about playspaces, which is important, but for general audiences, I think playground is best.]

Build a playground and you build community where children and adults work side by side.
Build a playground and you build organization, communication, and cooperation.
Build a playground and you build health and well-being.
Build a playground and you build hopes and dreams and possibilities.
Build a playground and you build the future.

I have toyed with the idea of sending my pitch to the VP of communications there because I do think the organization is important. They are already rebuilding playgrounds in Katrina devastated areas. They are building playgrounds across America and changing the lives of those who build alongside them. They are doing this...and few really know about it, comparatively speaking. Few know when they could be a household name.

Build a playground and you build community where children and adults work side by side.
Build a playground and you build organization, communication, and cooperation.
Build a playground and you build health and well-being.
Build a playground and you build hopes and dreams and possibilities.
Build a playground and you build the future.

What do you think? Am I a good communications person?

I have an interview a week from next Tuesday for an Editorial Director position. Writing, editing, and managing collateral for an organization that provides materials for youth mentors seems right up my alley, eh? I am trying not to get my hopes up.

~~~~
I wrote two more thank you notes, three postcards, and two letters today. I also packed up some books for my sister and my friend D and a much overdue gift (that I actually purchased before I lost my job and mistakenly put it in a "safe place" some months ago) and carried the packages out to the car to mail tomorrow. I cleared out the kitchen sink and ran the dishwasher. I collected all of Kashi's babies who had been set aside for medical care and spent several hours stitching up their wounds by hand. [Kashi often falls into atavistic behavior in trying to kill his captured prey. Somehow, he doesn't understand that this is the reason his babies lose their stuffing and stop squeaking. He is quite sorrowful when they are injured. I will admit that just before writing this, I discovered one I missed--his banana--and will have to tackle it tomorrow.] I dusted all of my demi-tasse teacups. I took Kashi for a walk through my neighborhood (I could tell he would have preferred that we visited Huntley Meadows again). I set up on-line bill payments and updated Quicken. I wrote two sentences in my novel. Was that productive enough? I really am becoming a couch lush and am trying to combat the tendency to wallow in my fears and sadness while loafing.

Kashi and I went to Huntley Meadows to walk this afternoon. Huntley Meadows is a wetland preserve in the heart of Fairfax County that is more than a thousand acres. Once you step onto the walking path, you can forget about the outside world...unless a plane flies overhead. It is rather remarkable that the government has preserved this area, and bird specialists from all over the US come to walk out on the boardwalk that extends out over the water and allows visitors to hang out among the wildlife there: deer, beavers, otters, ducks, geese, turtles, snakes, frogs (oh so many colorful varieties), birds (include king rails and blue herons), etc.

I have been walking with Kashi, trying to be more consistent in his exercise. Usually, I just throw the ball to him in the backyard until he is exhausted. I also try to do the same inside at least once a day, with either his ball or one of his babies (Kashi's word for his plush squeaky toys). But today I thought it might be better to get the both of us out of the house. I am languishing on the couch, and he is sleeping entirely too much.

We spent just over an hour walking the paths there. Kashi wanted to investigate the foliage just off the path every few feet or so to see if he needed to mark it as his territory. I took my cell phone and made eight 30-second movies of our journey, along with a few photos. Filming my puppydog with the small camera on my phone reinforced just how much I want a camcorder. Thanks to my loving friends and family, I have enough funds to purchase one since my birthday, but I held off because I am, as you know, quite unemployed. Back in June, I thought perhaps I would have a job by the end of August. It is now October. So...it is good that I have kept those funds in reserve, right? I am not so sure. I am missing the chance to record the bits of life I struggle to remember. I do not want to waste the time I have before the cheese-hole in my brain become too numerous to work around.

Kashi is now crashed on his bed, too tired to do more than raise an eye-lid now and then.

He is a contented dog this day.

~~~~
NOTE: I found this website http://garyjean.zenfolio.com/p417884714 that has photos from the flood that occurred in my neighborhood. If you click on the slide show button, you will cycle through the rather long selection of photos that shows the damage and the folks who came in to help.

My dear friend W certainly came through for me today in a mighty big way. Personally, I think that God sped her care package along in the mail since it just left Texas on Friday, and I am still reeling from being lost yesterday and struggling with the weight of another month beginning while I remain unemployed.

My dear friend W is gifted with the ability of making the most sumptuous strawberry bread, and she sent me not one, but two of them! It goes without saying that upon discovery of her culinary sacrifice on my behalf, I promptly poured a glass of milk and consumed...oh...well, let's say more than one slice of deliciousness.

Being the loving person she is, W also includes a few other kind gifts in her package. Now I can dry my tears with kleenex from a Dallas Cowboys box. I can mark my place in the books I am reading with this exquisite silver book mark that has a bone crafted feather hanging off the end. Native American jewelry is often beautiful in its simplicity.

She went to a conference on crimes against children and popped in a few freebies from there, including post it notes, one of my most favorite of all office supplies.

And there was an article that speaks to the veracity of one of my soapboxes. It was from the Washington Post and outlined the declining literacy rate among college graduates. When it comes to the importance of literacy, I sometimes feel like I am a voice crying out in the wilderness. At my old job, many of the management staff truly could not communicate clearly in written form, but that did not stop them from doing so, even to the detriment of the organization. Even though I pointed out the need for reviews before such materials were sent and was quite willing to do so, no one really cared.

Not to be overlooked was the gift of money she tucked within a gift of scripture: Psalm 103:8

The Lord is compassionate and gracious,

slow to anger and

abounding in lovingkindness.

Words to nourish my soul and funds to nourish my body. I am humbled by the lovingkindness that God shows to me through her...

Last night, I talked with my dear friend W long into the night, as we both channel surfed since the game of her alma mater was inexplicably not on television. Today, we did get to enjoy the second half of the Dallas Cowboys game together, savoring the strong play and eventual win.

I missed the first half because I had gone to have lunch with my step-mother and father at one of their favorite restaurants. I missed the first half not because I was still eating, but because I got lost on the way home. When I set out on my way to the restaurant, it was with some misgivings since I knew I would be traveling the beltway. I did miss the exit since the entrance ramp was a separate entrance that broke off of the highway at least a mile from the actual exit. I was able to take the second exit and, with the help of my step-mother, navigate my way to the restaurant via an alternate route. When I was leaving the resteraunt, I mused aloud that perhaps I should try to retrace my route back up highway 66 instead of going the way I should have come down route 50 back to the beltway. I was fearful of traveling along a road that was different than the path I had just taken because figuring out where I am while driving is so difficult for me now. My step-mother heard me talking to myself and quickly admonished me that route 50 was the correct way to go. I ignored my own concerns and took her advice.

45 minutes later, I was in a near panic because I knew that I was lost along the beltway. While it loops around the city and I would eventually see my exit, there was a very good chance I would miss even that because it would not be from the direction I was expecting and could take another hour just to get to it. I called my two best friends because I knew they would willing look on the Internet to discover where I was, but neither was home. I did reach my writing student mother and she did turn me around and sent me back in the correct direction, but she was busy and did not understand how upset I was at feeling completely lost and completely stupid.

When I was recounting the experience to my dear friend W, she reminded me that I am not stupid, I just have an MS-riddled, cheese-hole brain. I found small comfort in that, until she very logically pointed out that I really should look into one of those auto navigation systems. Of course, I very much need a job, and at this point, I would have to repair the financial damage that has come of now starting my fourth month unemployed, technology has advanced to the point that I could have help in the car though there is no one in my life who can ride around with me to rescue me in those times of confusion.

Now, I will offer that the direction that I went on the beltway to go to the restaurant was West toward Richmond, and when I was faced with choosing a direction on the way home, East, the natural reverse, was not an option. My options were South toward Richmond or North toward Tysons Corner. I thought for sure that since I had been driving toward Richmond on the way to the restaurant, the logical choice would be to drive away from Richmond on the way home. Alas, that was the wrong choice for some convoluted, yet logical reason to the transportation department of this area.

Still, that feeling of panic, confusion, and utter loneliness was oh so difficult to face and lingers a bit even now that I am safely home again.

I have spent much of this week delving into Idaho history for my novel. I had originally settled on Iowa, but with my cheese-hole brain, I forgot and started looking into Idaho. For once, struggling with congnitive function proved beneficial.

It is almost eerie how some of the key factors of my story already fit with exactly what was happening in that state in 1891. It was a tumultuous time for people whose state had just entered the union the year before. Traders who had been the heroes and much sought after travel guides of a new area fell by the wayside as the gold rush drove the production of railway routes across the state. Towns popped up right and left and the population double in size in just a decade, to nearly 90,000. Approximately 4,000 of those residents of Idaho were Chinese immigrants, chased out of California, who found welcome and success in the mines, though silver grew to be a greater product than gold. Ranchers discovered the prime grazing land and moved north. Settlers could make a good living selling the produce of their gardens to miners. Farmers found success in the dry ground when it came to growing wheat, oats, and barley, but more importantly the appeal for the Idaho potato spread across the nation.

There was great change, great success, great growth. But none of them knew that in just a couple of years, the tide would turn and a great depression would fall across the state before the government sponsored irrigation efforts saved the struggling farmers. Further chaos was ensued by the clash between the mine owners and the miners. Strikebreakers fomented the growing tensions and violence marred the state. Governor Frank Steunenberg called in federal troops to quell the violence in 1899. Six years later, after he left office, he was assassinated in his home.

Sadly, the westward expansion once again was at the cost of the lives of Native Americans. The Nez Perce occupied northern Idaho, while the south was populated by Shoshone, Bannock, and Paiute Native Americans. While the settlement of this northwest territory was thought to have been in the distant future, the 1860 discovery of gold in the mountains held by the Nez Perce, already decimated by small pox brought by traders, spelled the end of their freedom. In 1855, the Nez Perce had a treaty that would allow them to keep their homes in Idaho, Oregon, and Washington. However, in 1863 the treaty was "renegotiated" to reduce their land to only 10% of the original agreement. The territorial governor systematically moved to restrict the Nez Perce to reservations, and many were forcibly resettled from fertile land in Oregon to Idaho. In 1877, Chief Joseph made a valiant yet failed bid to lead his people in a run to freedom in Canada. By 1909, nearly all the Native American population had been moved to reservations so that the "American" people could enjoy the wealth and prosperity of the region. What selfish and cruel arrogance those people harbored in their belief that they had the right to do so!

Idaho is a land of mountains and plains and river valleys, a state of geographical contradictions. In 1891, it was a land of miners, ranchers, farmers, and traders. It was a land of new beginnings and great opportunity. But it was also a land of doom for those original inhabitants caught in the path of western expansion.

I started and ended the day helping my sister study for her tax exam. I have never had the opportunity to share this kind of experience with her and found the time quite fulfilling. She has learned so much about tax in her career, and she is quite good at cramming! I also learned that she has already completed 120 hours of continuing education in the past three years. It is as if I was meeting a person I've never known. I half wish she had more exams to take...but that would be downright mean. After all, who would wish the pressure to succeed on anyone.

Of course, I had to admonish her that studying by the poolside sipping cactus juice margaritas might not be the most effective method, but she proved me wrong. Tomorrow is her oral exam, but she already has her information organized and ready to go.

Perhaps being in the lap of luxury is actually good for productivity!

I am absolutely in the wrong business! My sister has a test that she has to pass as a part of a certification process. So, her company sent her to here: www.Westin.com/lapaloma. Yes, this is the best environment in which to study state sales tax!

With the caveat of my MS-riddled, cheese hole brain, to the best of my recollection, in nearly two decades of professional work, I have only been sent somewhere for work once. I was asked to present a paper at a conference, quite successfully I might add!

What, do you ask, were my luxurious accomodations after a six-hour, cross-country flight? Well, let me tell you: one of two beds in a rather smelly dorm room connected to three other rooms by an even more odiferous bathroom that was clearly supporting the scientific advancement at the university by providing prime breeding ground for local fungus and mold.

Yep! I am clearly in the wrong business!

I spent last night on into this morning working on the job search. Trying not to be discouraged on the whole matter is a gargantuan task. I chose six new job listings, all of them a bit of a reach, but all of them within my skill set. Since they are not the most perfect fit (as several of the no-response resume submissions were), I am most discouraged about the possible response rate on these hopes of mine I sent on out to the cold, cold world of business.

~~~~ I had a melt-down with Cox Cable twice today. I have had service interruptions several times an hour dating back to May. I procrastinated on making a service request, because, in my experience, calling for assistance is NEVER easy. Two months, three appointments, five calls, two supervisors later, I am still having the service interruptions. Really, why do I bother?

~~~~ I finally managed to remember to wash the curtain where Madison left a "deposit a wee bit ago. Four times, I have done laundry and then spotted the curtain when I was through. Now, if I can only manage to remember to get some steel wool for my most favorite pan. My friend B suggested that I try a combination of baking soda and vinegar on the burnt corn pan bottom. While the chemical interaction was so interesting that I repeated the experience three times, I still ended up with a still ruined pan. Besides being my grandmother's pan (she never would have burned the corn), it is the most perfect pan for cooking Malt O'Meal. I have high hopes for that steel wool...

~~~~ On my list of Monday accomplishments, I neglected to add 11 thank you notes and letters that were long, long, long overdue.

If you want to entertain yourself with how ridiculous our world can be, read through the pages of www.mouseprint.org.

The idea is that we no longer have fine print, but we have mouse print. Microscopic print that explains why we are being short changed. Did you know that toilet paper squares have diminished in size from 4.5 inches to 3.7 inches per length? Did you notice that the 32 oz. Helman's Mayo is now 30 oz? Or that the same size box of Tide is now 17 oz. less on content?

Read it and sigh deeply with me...

Today, ashamed of how much of a couch lush I have been, I vowed to be productive.

I reconciled by bank statements that have been piled on my table since January. I scheduled my on-line bill payments. I did two loads of laundry. I cleaned the kitchen and ran the dishwasher. I attempted to repair the laundry room door (I was not very successful). I cleared off my work area. I took a shower (that might not sound like work...but it was). I walked Kashi. And I did some research for my novel.

Was that productive enough?

I helped my writing student's mother put down a new floor in the basement computer room project. We used four different colors of industrial style Armstrong floor tiles. I had worked out a few patterns, and the kids modified one to make a truly spectacular pattern. It changes from every angle. There are two main four-tile patterns. However, they create diagonal linear patterns in cross directions. And from yet another direction, you can see alternate four-tile patterns. I suppose it is just another sign of the genius that breeds in that family!

apparently, after a first run, I turned out to be quite skilled in applying adhesive in the sweeping, grooved manner needed for the installation. I wonder...do you think I could get a job installing vinyl tiles?

Once the floor was in, it brightened up the room even more. With between the wall colors and the floor, it is quite cheerful in there. Gee, I would like to do my homework in that space!

When installing this type of floor, you have to put down the adhesive and then allow it to set-up for a while. So, we installed the floor in sections. Since, as aforementioned, my first stab at swapping the deck was not quite ideal, we ended up letting it set-up for three times as long as it should have taken. The second two sections only took the requisite time to cure. So...what do you think we did while waiting in between sections?

Yes, you guessed it! We played Texas Hold 'Em poker.

And...drum roll please...I WON!

WS's mom took over for the 12 year-old, but she was knocked out of the game a short while later. Now...don't snicker at me...at that point I was playing with the six-year-old and the nine-year-old. As the six-year-old who was dealer, big blind, small blind, or first to act and she would promptly answer your question. Ask her what beat what, and she will consult her list and tell you (although she does call two-of-a-kind "matches). It was a while before I over took the nine-year-old who held the chip lead. It was a long time later that I finally was up enough to start playing the "chip bully" and dwindle down their piles via the blinds.

I am constantly amazed at how quickly those kids pick up strategy and employ critical thinking and deductive reasoning in EVERY new game we play. It is an honor, actually, to see their fine minds at work. I do revel in playing with them...if only because I revel in seeing kids employing those valuable skills while they are playing games and enjoying themselves.

And...I like winning...too bad I cannot seem to find a way to combine playing with them and winning on a regular basis.

I guess we cannot have our cake and eat it, too...

Two of my friends really like the show Without a Trace. I have never been compelled to watch the show and the three times I have sat through an entire episode, I never became engaged in either the storyline or the characters. However, both of my friends really like the show, and so I tried to watch a four-hour marathon session of the show to see if I could figure out its appeal.

Would you believe that of the four episodes, three of them were the only ones that I have ever seen. That's weird, eh?

I didn't enjoy the fourth episode either.

Of course, neither of them much like Sci-Fi, so I guess that we can agree to disagree on what makes a good show. I mean, after all Babylon 5 was simply great!

Kashi and I have been taking walks together. He doesn't seem to understand that I do not prefer to run beside him. He also doesn't seem to understand that after "watering" attractive location during the first block, he will not be able to "water" for the rest of our trip. But he keeps trying and then stands in confusion when he is unable to do so. Eleven plus years of this companion and he still makes me laugh.

Can anyone say incorrigible?

I have been avoiding an admission: My illusions of decent potential at poker were dashed by a bunch of kids...and their mother!

A couple of Saturdays ago, I was treated to another sumptuous meal by my WS's father, one of my requests to boot. While he was slaving at the stove, I taught his three youngest children how to play Texas Hold 'Em poker. Their game playing brilliance apparently extends to poker. WS's middle sister had an embarrassing pile of chips in front of her by the time the meal was read to eat.

With the two youngest bundled off to bed, the rest of us sat down to play after a few more tutorials. I thought I would have the upper hand. After all, I have had hundreds of hours of watching those experts play on TV. I did well for a while, then I foolishly tried to be a chip bully with my WS's mother. She broke me. I had few chips left and folded three hands in a row. All three hands, I would have had trips had I stayed in the hand. It was a misery to lose. The twelve-year-old who had given everyone else a run for their money before dinner, led her father on a merry chase when it got down to heads up. Of course, the brilliant scientist won, but it was exciting to see her grasp the concept and strategies of the game in just a few hours.

I, of course, hated losing. Yet another game in which those children demonstrate their mental prowess.

Perhaps if I just played with the six-year-old and the nine-year-old I would have a chance at winning?

~~~~
NOTE: My WS's father often comes under fire during his masterful culinary exercises because we often sit down to enjoy his hard labors after 9:00. Last Sunday, the twelve-year-old and I launched into a culinary effort of our own (with a wee bit of assistance from the master chef). We prepared guacamole and chips, muli-layered (by hand) nachos, quesadillas, and chicken and steak fajitas. We used all fresh ingredients (my is she skilled with a knife) and the dinner was quite sumptuous. However, we sat down for the last course at 10:00, when the parents had work and the kids had school the next day. My co-chef and I spent hours and hours laboring under the kitchen lights. I will forever more hold my tongue with regard to ETA queries of WS's dad when he is doing his magic.

NOTE 2: It has come to my attention that all of the poetic waxings of WS's father's skill in the kitchen has not reflected well on her mother. Trust me, she can wend her way around spices as well. I am just there, primarily, when her father is showing off. And...when he is at his finest, his wife often serves as sous-chef. We all know that without a skilled team in the kitchen, no great meal is ever a success. Thus, here is my tribute to her...even if she did shame me in poker!

You know what is wonderful about Jesus Christ?

It doesn't matter who you are. It doesn't matter what you have done. Nothing matters but that you give your life to Him. The blood of Christ covers all, renews all, saves all.

Stephen Baldwin became a born again Christian some time after 9/11. His wife had found the Lord in 2000, but he talks about how his "road to Damascus" experience was not a blinding light, but a gradual awareness of the emptiness of his life. Still a bit skeptical, he began reading the bible, praying to God, and then turned his life over to Christ.

He frolicked on the grounds of the Playboy mansion, even as a married man, and Christ saved him. He drank and took drugs and was the Hollywood symbol of how to live your life in the party lane, and Christ saved him. Christ saved him.

He has written about the path he is walking with Christ now in words he knows and understands. He shares his faith, the message of Christ, and the charge to make disciples in this world. He is being obedient to that charge in a way that makes sense to him.

This article has a brief excerpt from his book and a video clip of his interview with Matt Lauer.

He is candid about the fact that his off-beat sense of humor has not changed, but that's how he can equate an Abbott and Castillo routine with a foundation of the Christian life. The "who" of "Who's on First?" is actually a "what": the bible. If you have questions, go to the bible. If you are confused, read the bible. If you need advise, study the bible. What a great outlook.

He also admits that even fellow Christians treat his conversion with skepticism.

What a shame.

Look past the prankster, and you see someone who not only gave his life to Christ, but is willing to walk the narrow way despite what obstacles might cross his path. He is free to be who he is. He is free in Christ.

He is praying. He is studying Scripture. He is sharing the Gospel. He is seeking the Truth and proclaiming it in his own brand of metaphorical and allegorical language that will bear fruit in the soil where his seeds are tossed. The bible promises the Word does not return void. He may not look or act like what mainline Christians would like him to be, but he is walking in obedience.

The Spirit is moving in the life of Stephen Baldwin. I am encouraged that, in his words, he took "the red pill," that he left the matrix of pop culture and found the reality of Jesus Christ. He has fixed his eyes on Jesus, on the Author and Perfector of his faith, and he is not looking back.

What a testimony to the power of Christ!

Selah.

Today was a day of unexpected gifts and a bit of sadness.

After a tasty meal at Ruby Tuesday's, we headed over to Wal-Mart to do the $5.50 DVD bin search. However, much to our dismay, we discovered that the Wal-Mart near me is remodeling and part of the remodel was the removal of that bin. Alas, be still my beating heart. My poor father was absolutely bereft and wandered about a bit in disbelief. What are we going to do with our visits now?

He did, much to my surprise, begin our lunch with the announcement that he wanted to spend "much money" on me today. He caught me so off guard, that I did not quite get what he was saying. I supposed my dumbfounded state was revealed in my visage, for he went on to explain that he wanted to ensure my larder was full and whatnot. He ended up refilling my bathroom cabinet of many necessities and added two gallons of milk and two boxes of protein bars.

We made our way home and managed to get in a viewing of Ocean's Eleven and Ocean's Twelve before he had to go. But he did have one more gift: he paid my car insurance (a ridiculous amount because of that blasted accident) bill for the month.

Thanks to the generosity of my father and step-mother, I believe that I will be able to finish out the month without adding more debt to my credit card. That makes this a good day that will be reflected in next month's bill.

The day is ending well because I am watching the Dallas-Cowboy game with my dear friend W thanks to the technology of SprintPCS. Dallas has kept the lead since the opening drive and is mere minutes away from squashing the Redskins again for like the 14th time in the last 17 games or something like that. My 'Boys have a bit of a problem with penalties that they need to address by the NEXT game, but I am quite proud of them. At 1-1, they will be tied with the Eagles and the Giants in their division...Woo Hoo! Washington will be 0-2...boo hoo!

A good day all around.

SMILE

While camped out on the couch today watching wretched TV, I actually remembered a game from when I was young that I have not thought of in years. After a few failed Google searches, I found it: Kings in the Corner Solitaire.

After studying the rules, I spent the evening watching stupid TV movies and trying to remember the strategy behind the game. After losing 26 games and growing quite frustrated with my brain cells, I finally won a game. Soon, I was winning at least half the time with a few multi-win runs.

I would like to think that the confusing instructions were the reason it took me so long to win, but perhaps I should not blame my poor acumen on the author. After all, at least I had the instructions and the tips on strategy. I just didn't get that section.

I also remembered, I am ashamed to admit, that I had forgotten the most wonderful gift my dear friend B gave me as a welcome-to-our-abode gift the last time I visited: clear plastic playing cards. I got them out of my games basket (at least I remembered to put them in the proper place when I came home last March) and used them in my journey down memory lane. Surprisingly, they are quite easy to shuffle.

Time to get back to exercising my brain cells...

I was playing with Kashi outside and noticed how pleasant it was with a gentle breeze blowing. Seated on the deck (when tossing the ball, I make my puppy dog climb up and down the steps on each throw to wear him out sooner), I looked at two of my bonsai plants and realized that I have woefully neglected them. I popped inside, grabbed some scissors, and started pruning. For a while, doing so was another "oneness" moment. However, soon the breeze began to slow and some very determined mosquitoes descended upon my hands. I was equally determined to finish. I will admit that, although the job was completed, it was done at the sacrifice of the surface of my hands. You know, I could definitely live in an ecosystem devoid of mosquitoes!

215 minutes and 21 seconds later, I finally hung up the phone with my dear friend W. She is quite intelligent, which makes our conversations meaty and satisfying. She is challenging and encouraging and admonishing and inspiring all at once. Of course, talking the entire night away helps.

I enjoyed being able to talk all the news stories that have piqued my interest while camping out on the couch. One I did not get around to rehashing was this satirical piece about literacy. It reminds me of Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal, and yet at the same time it strikes a bit of fear in my heart as to the future of literacy.

My friend was talking about her graduate students in social work. She teaches one class a semester in addition to serving as a counselor to distressed families in the system down south. We were discussing standards of construction and presentation. For example, if a student cannot be bothered to spell check a paper, I believe that it should be docked a grade before the cover page is even turned. Were it possible, I would hand it right back and say, "If you care not enough to spell check your paper, I care not enough to grade it."

Anyhow, she was saying how her class was not one filled with English majors and therefore well-written compositions were not her goal. Yet, given that, as she came to put it, the writing of these students would have higher stakes than an English essay, perhaps that thought process did not hold true. The reports, the documentation, her students would be writing would directly affect the lives of their subject matter, with abused children, that could actually be a life-or-death situation. So, perhaps how they write might actually be important. I coached her on my favorite three C's. Coherent (makes sense), Cohesive (the content sticks together from beginning to end), and Clean (spelling, grammar, and construction mistakes free). You need not be a Faulkner or a Angelou or a Shakepeare in my book to earn that A. You just need the three C's.

I am an absolute fanatic in my belief that it is vital that people be able to clearly convey their messages. Students need to be able to demonstrate that they have garnered knowledge, have internalized it, and can manipulate it to their purposes. If they can do this, then they have learned. This translates to the business place because employees also need to be able to clearly convey their messages...emails, letters, reports, presentations, etc.

Yet, while I fervently hope that this article is satirical in nature, a part of me fears that it is not. Why do students need to read after all? They can get what is necessary to their lives in multi-media format. Oh, how shortsighted and empty a message. Perish the thought!

I edited a letter of intent (LOI) for one of my virtual volunteering organizations. It is full of professors, yet the writing is so confusing that I have to plow through it as a reader before I can even begin to edit it. I feel like I ran a marathon while working on this four page document. I hate to run.

As with the other work, I enjoyed the challenge and reveled in actually being able to accomplish something, yet I am wondering how to point out that I have already done a year's worth of volunteering according to the original job description on www.volunteermatch.org. I liked the idea of helping several organizations rather than just one. Yet, here, the executive director is a full-time volunteer position, and I suspect they would prefer me to be full-time as well.

I also specifically have not responded to any grantwriting volunteer requests because I wanted to just edit rather than have to generate text from scratch with an organization that was virtually a stranger to me. And yet, here, I am working on grantseeking materials.

BIG SIGH...

Am I just a wimp?

BIGGER SIGH...

How can I be assertive yet kind to someone whom I have never met?

I have been spending a bit of time at my writing student's (WS) home helping with their basement room. The walls are painted and the floor has been removed. So, next will be putting in the new floor and the workspace area. I absolutely cannot wait to see the finished "product." My WS's mother let me pick some beautiful colors for the walls, a pumpkin on the bottom third and a cantaloupe on the top two thirds with a wide band of white between the two. She actually had the idea of putting multicolored tiles on the floor (the wall color matched one of the four colors we picked for the floor), so the kids should find it a bright, cheerful place in which to do their homework.

I have cherished the opportunity to labor hard on their behalf. I need the distraction. While my virtual volunteering is taking up quite a bit of time for something that was just supposed to be a couple of hours a week, I still have too much time to think.

Both organizations with which I interviewed declined to hire me. I had another interview today, but I could tell that she was not really interested in hiring me. She thought I was more of her level, not a manager. The job duties also failed to mention that I would need to travel 30-35 times a year for a day or two at a time. The commute would be about an hour and parking would be $25 a week. The job would be good experience, but even if I am completely wrong and she offered me the position, I cannot see how I could in good conscience accept. The job would be an incredible drain on me. Still, I am 98% sure that I will not be needing to give further thought on the matter.

I have been crying since I came home, because I feel so lost and have so little hope that I can find a place where I can work...at least here. I know that God is sovereign. He understands where I am and has a plan, but I also know that I cannot just sit back and wait for some job to plop in my lap. I have to keep searching. But what if I am doing everything wrong? I am intelligent. I am skilled. I have significant work experience.

What is wrong with me?

I finished re-writing the website from my first virtual volunteering experience. I am curious if they will use my much reduced, quite tightened prose. This was definitely a case of less is more being the best course of action in the editing work. The original author believed quite strongly in cramming large numbers of polysyllabic words into each sentence. I did very much enjoy the academic labor this opportunity afforded me.

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Another PMD mystery: How do I have four loads of laundry when I have been living in my pajamas on my couch?

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What drives you crazy? Me? A cricket in my house. Too bad Kashi doesn't view them as a tasty treat...

Today was a bad day. Really, this week was a bad week. This week, being unemployed has weighed heavily on my heart.

After getting a rejection letter from the organization with which I interviewed twice, I looked for jobs virtually the entire day yesterday (even searching during a couple of games of Scrabble), finishing with a list of twelve at about 2:00 AM. I then put off writing all the cover letters and turned to my novel.

Five pages later the clock struck (figuratively) 6:00 AM, and I turned into bed where I read for an hour before finally falling asleep. Today, I awoke earlier so that perhaps I could shift back a bit in my waking/sleeping hours, but I did not wish to be awake. I would rather have slept the entire day away.

Today was the first grand opening since I left my old job. It was hard to take knowing that world has gone on without me, but really knowing that all the work I did do has been virtually abandoned. The new website is horribly out of date, having not been updated in nearly three months. The new program direction is not updated. The staff and board changes are not current. The event calendar is not current. The new module I created before I left showing the current development work has lain fallow as well. Having a current and dynamic website was the foundation of positioning the organization for a greater public presence...and it is has been abandoned.

There are several ex-employees who are quite vocal about the intellectual dishonesty that regularly takes place at the organization, from the community development programs to the real estate development. One of whom has made a bit of career about doing so. I can understand that desire. I can understand the utter frustration at how people who regularly disregard ethics are seemingly rewarded while those who asked the hard questions were booted out. It seems harsh, but no matter how my ex-boss tries to rationalize the behavior, the behavior still exists. She would say that all companies were this way. Once a review of the programs area showed a lack of data to support the claims, she said it would be better for the future participants for that not to come to public light. Forget the past and move forward. Yet, what is the company teaching the youth in the programs if taking money from funders based on lies is at the heart of the work? I mean, would the funders who are backing the youth programs really want to see teenagers being encouraged to make a movie about boyfriend jealousy during a much hyped leadership all day workshop? Ask the majority of the kids there what they learned about leadership or who was their favorite leader from the months long study of the subject and they couldn't answer. They could answer the questions to the trivia quiz because they had been rehearsing them, the answers, not the subject matter.

I moved from passionately arguing for an organization to repeatedly trying to understand the mildew hidden beneath the paint. I believed at least my ex-boss was not a part of the cover up, but I think that really the best way to describe her is a walking Hallmark card. She can say just what you want to hear, but no real actions follow her words. In that regard, given how I've waxed poetically about her here in my blog, I feel the fool.

Yes, I am sad and hurt at being let go. Yet, it is more than an inability to walk away. I keep finding myself being confronted by the ugly reality of an organization that I thought was a step above others. The last call from my ex-boss only served to trouble the waters that I still find lapping about my ankles. I was frankly appalled that the real purpose of her call was to tell me that the ex-vp was dating one of the worst program staff persons, which is now evident as to the reason she was never fired despite the rather egregious behavior reported by several of her colleagues. I was appalled that she would just call and tell me something that gave credence to my heartache at the seedy underbelly to that which I had poured myself into building up and promoting. Even so, what bothered me more is her telling me that during her visits to funders she was discovering that the grant reports were long overdue.

Yes, the person who is not skilled at writing, who did not really bring in additional funds to the organization in the nearly two years she was there, who never performed an analysis of past resource development, who never created a strategy for addressing the financial needs of the organization, and who never collated the contact information of the funding program officers also did not effectively manage the report process. I wanted to scream in frustration when she mentioned that. I mean, why did the manager still have her job? The answer: incompetence doesn't matter. If you are willing to perpetuate the veneer of the organization, you will succeed.

So, tell me this: is it really that way everywhere? Is even the non-profit world just a game? Is there a place for a person who really does pursue intellectual honesty over career advancement? Will I ever find a place where I can belong and use my skills and contribute something to this world? And when will I learn not to be taken in by those who claim to be what they are not?

I have this new asthma prescription. The medicine that helps me most is an inhaler that I need to use four times a day. As I have firmly established here, my MS riddled brain simply does not handle remembering very well. This means I get maybe two doses a day...if it is a good day and I remember again before going to sleep. This new medicine is a once-a-day hit. Sounds perfect for me, right?

Hah!

I was a bit surprised to see the new prescription came in a box too large to be an inhaler. The size alone sent a shiver of worry along my nerves, but tried to remain positive as I opened the box.

Now, I am QUITE skilled at using an inhaler. I can get the perfect dose even without using a spacer. Quite skilled. Not so much with this thing. The instructions fill a ledger size piece of paper even using print that cannot be larger than 8 pica. Oh, already you see the problem?

Yes, instructions and I do not get along. Foolish me, I never thought to ask the doctor about demonstrating the use of this new contraption. I assumed it was another inhaler. Three days past and it still fills me with fear and trepidation to spread out the sheet of directions and try to use it once more.

First, you have to open the dust cover. Next comes the mouth piece. This must be raised to access the capsule chamber below. Once the chamber is exposed, you have to open the blister pack of capsules with the medicine. There are three capsules to a pack, and they go bad quite soon after opening. So, you have to peel back the foil wrapping carefully as to not open the next capsule down in the sheet. When the capsule is removed from the blister pack, you place the capsule into the chamber and close the mouth piece. Next, you have to push a lever on the side that will puncture the medicine capsule. After exhaling away from the contraption so as to not get any moisture into the inner chamber, you have to cover your mouth on the mouth piece and breathe in slowly and steadily enough to rattle the capsule, being careful that you do not block the air intake valves as you do so. Once you have drawn a deep breath, you have to hold the medicine in your lungs as long as possible before exhaling again, remembering to not do so back into the contraption. Then, you have to repeat the repeat the last two steps once more. When you are finished with the process, you have to remove the capsule, wipe down the mouth piece, close the dust cover, and put the box in a place where your dog won't try to investigate it.

Now, you might think that the whole process sounds easy, but believe me it is not. There are at least a dozen ways to mess up on many of those steps. And let me tell you that "rattling" that blasted capsule might actually be a skill outside of my reach.

Still, if I can master this process, breathing might just get a bit easier. That ought to be impetus enough, eh?

I hope so.

NOTE: There is an entire column for cleaning the contraption. I think it might just last the whole month before needing a cleaning, right? A new month...a new contraption...no need to clean.

The past for September 5th did have a less-than-violent mark I discovered today...

One hundred years ago, yesterday, the first legal forward pass took place in the game of football! It was actually called a "projectile pass" and the receiver did not catch it...but the game of football was changed forever as it moved from a completely ground game to one that also sailed through the air! Strategic play calling became a driving factor in the success of a team. New skills had to be developed to address this new dimension and new positions created.

It was a great day for the game of football!

Today In History is a feature on www.msnbc.com that I like to read because I just frankly like history. Reading historical fiction is really what sparked my interest. You see, both professors of the two history courses I had in college did not believe that women belonged in higher education.

I know, it sounds unbelievable for the mid 1980's, but that is really how it was. I would ace the objective portion of tests and fail the essay portion. Yes, me...the writer...would get very low scores. Having five paragraph essay answers with topic sentences, supporting details, and content from the course did not matter. Each time, I would ask for an appointment with the professor to discover what was wrong with the essay. He would rattle off facts that needed to be included, and in somewhat disbelief, I would point out that they were in my answer. He would tell me not to worry and try harder next time. No matter what I did, I could not excel in the "subjective" portion of those tests. I wasn't alone in being discriminated against. One day in class, the professor actually had the gall to say that the reason that McDonald's existed in society was so that "black" people could have jobs. I literally saw the hair raise on the back of the neck of the guy in front of me. He was African-American.

Of course, I am saddened to say that at 18 I had not the courage to confront that professor or stand against his prejudices other than to offer my friendship to that young man who was filleted in class without regard for his humanity. I had no voice then.

So, I really cared not for history after those two classes and having had coaches as history teachers in high school who were not much interested in what was being taught. That is, I was cared not for it until I read my first historical fiction book in my children's literature course. I became fascinated with learning more about what life was like in years past and read and read and read. Scott O'Dell's Sarah Bishop will absolutely change the way you look at the revolutionary war.

I have a few of my grandmothers' antiques and a few collected along the way. Someone once gave me a bible from 1836 not because he knew I was a Christian, but because it was the year Texas became a republic. I hold the bible and think of the hands it passed through before mine. What were those owners like? Was it merely a book to them or the Word of God, author of their salvation? I have some old coins and wonder how they were spent over the years. Each bit of history I own fascinates me as to the life it lived.

Years later, I see something about history on the Internet and click on it. Thus, we come back to the "Today in History" section.

Here is the one from today:


Today's Highlight in History:

On Sept. 5, 1774, the first Continental Congress assembled in Philadelphia.


On this date:

In 1793, the Reign of Terror began during the French Revolution as the National Convention instituted harsh measures to repress counterrevolutionary activities.

In 1836, Sam Houston was elected president of the Republic of Texas.

In 1905, the Treaty of Portsmouth, ending the Russo-Japanese War, was signed in New Hampshire.

In 1914, the First Battle of the Marne began during World War I.

In 1939, the United States proclaimed its neutrality in World War II.

In 1945, Japanese-American Iva Toguri DÂ?Aquino, suspected of being wartime broadcaster Â?Tokyo Rose,Â? was arrested in Yokohama. (DÂ?Aquino was later convicted of treason and served six years in prison; she was pardoned in 1977 by President Ford.)

In 1972, Arab guerrillas attacked the Israeli delegation at the Munich Olympic games; 11 Israelis, five guerrillas and a police officer were killed in the siege.

In 1975, President Ford escaped an attempt on his life by Lynette Â?SqueakyÂ? Fromme, a disciple of Charles Manson, in Sacramento, Calif.

In 1986, 21 people were killed and dozens wounded after four hijackers who had seized a Pan Am jumbo jet in Karachi, Pakistan, opened fire when the lights inside the plane failed.

In 1997, Mother Teresa died in Calcutta, India, at age 87; conductor Sir Georg Solti died in France at age 84.


Ten years ago: Russian President Boris Yeltsin acknowledged he had serious health problems, and would undergo heart surgery. Hurricane Fran slammed into the Carolinas.


Five years ago: Mexican President Vicente Fox arrived at the White House as the first state visitor of the Bush presidency. PeruÂ?s attorney general filed homicide charges against Alberto Fujimori, linking the ex-president to two massacres by paramilitary death squads in the early 1990s. (Fujimori, now in Chile, continues to fight extradition.) Sports commentator Heywood Hale Broun died in Kingston, N.Y., at age 83.


One year ago: President Bush nominated John Roberts for chief justice. President Bush and Louisiana Gov. Kathleen Blanco, during a Gulf Coast tour, consoled Hurricane Katrina victims and thanked relief workers. An Indonesian jetliner crashed, killing 143 people, including 44 on the ground; 18 passengers survived. Jerry Rice ended an NFL career that included three Super Bowls and records for most career receptions, receiving yards and receiving touchdowns.


Interesting reading, eh? September 5th has surely been marked well in time. Yet, I keep thinking about the fact that much of this history is negative, is war in fact. What good things happened this day? What scientific breakthroughs happened this day? What charities were established? What lives were saved? What outpouring of help was made this day?

Watch the news, and you will get the opinion that we are a murderous, hateful, ignorant nation. I just watched this story of a young musician who started thinking about the musicians in New Orleans. She started a non-profit, collected instruments and funds, and donated them to musicians in New Orleans. A child leading the effort to help others. A young girl, not yet a woman, who thinks first of others and demonstrates the power of one in this world.

What would our nation be like if half the news was of the positive and hopeful events taking place each day, in each state, by children and grandparents and scholars and construction workers and environmentalists? How would we treat each other and how would we feel if our steady diet of news 24/7 had a balance of light and dark, war and peace, hatred and love?

Perhaps more people would feel as if they could contribute to this world. Perhaps more people would understand that they have a voice that counts, a life that is as valuable in a small town as it is in Redmond, Washington. Perhaps the epidemic of hungry and homeless children in America will be wiped out in a wave of people acting on the power of one.

If you are not yet convinced of the power of one, consider the life of Steve Irwin. His passion for conservation vaulted him from his parents wildlife preserve to a world known advocate for nature's most feamisunderstoodderstoon animals, fighting foexistencexistance and educating adult and children along the way. His death is such a moment of sorrow, of loss...but his life still is a model for others as to what can be accomplished by being willing to speak up even when few others understand you or believe your message at the outset, as to the power of one.

Perhaps.


~~~~
The 8:15 doctor's appointment did not start until 8:45. The 9:15 AM fasting blood work was not done until 3:40 PM. Nearly a whole day without food because there was no one in the office who could stick a needle in my arm...no one in an office filled with four board certified physicians and six nurses?


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Kashi, Madison, and Fancy are all taking naps. I cannot decide which of them is the most adorable while curled up snoozing.

I shall not be watching the news of death, destruction, and despair. I shall be watching my companions and concentrate on the wonderful feeling consuming a meal was this afternoon, savor the win I had at Scrabble, and ponder how I can avoid the impending loss on the game B_ and I had to adjourn since her husband came home.


~~~~
Don't forget that the new season of House premieres tonight!

While I only had 400 ml of water in the jar I set out for the storm and not a single branch fell to the ground, I lost power. Only a small strip of homes were out of power when there where large outages, so we were pretty far down the list of where to send crews. I lost power for over two days just after I bought groceries for practically the entire month of September. I tried to save them by putting ice in both parts of the refrigerator after the first day, but it was too late for the milk, eggs, and a lot of other food I had purchased.

The day before, I had learned that hundreds of dollars in my medical spending account was being returned the company since the claims for them did not occur before my last day of work. I was stunned to learn that that my claims were being denied.

I specifically asked about those funds once I learned I was losing my job. I specifically asked the HR assistant if I could continue to file claims when I no longer worked for the organization. She said, yes. So, I reconfirmed the answer by saying, "So I don't have to rush out and spend the money?"

She laughed and replied, " Like you did with those contacts [I had extra money at the end of one year.]? No, you don't."

I asked her about it a third time because I wanted to know how I would get the money if I was no longer getting a paycheck. I asked her, "When I file a claim, say in October, will the money come directly from ___ [the medical account company]?"

She replied that it would still go through the payroll/paycheck company.

At the review of the termination paper work--which did not include any information on the medical spending account in the insurance section--I said that the assistant said that I could still file claims after I no longer worked for the company. She said that was right, that I had 90 days after the end of the year to file claims just as I did the years before. The plan documentation given to employees, the deduction agreement, the staff orientation, and the termination packet do not mention the fact that you lose the money in your account after you leave the organization.

Learning that my claims were no longer valid and the money would be returned to the organization, I asked for the organization to send me a check for the balance of my account, but my ex-boss refused, effectively keeping my money despite the fact the company failed to communicate this caveat to the plan, even when someone like me went out of the way to ensure the money in the account was still safe after leaving. I could have gone out and purchased contacts and supplies and dozens of other covered items as a stockpile to still utilize the investment I made, but I was told not to do so. I mean, really, what person would put up to $3,000 in an account that he/she could loose if terminated, something that can happen at any time without any warning? That information should have been made just a clear as the "use-it-or-lose-it" caveat of the plan. Frankly, this is just another way that this particular non-profit fails at intellectual honesty and ethical practices, effectively taking profit off its employees.

This financial blow was followed by the loss of the groceries.

I also discovered that my alarm system is no longer working after the power outage. When I called Brinks, I learned that I would have to pay for a technician's visit and the new equipment...most likely $250.

More bills right and left and no job.


I need a prescription for a stiff upper lip or stronger boot straps or something...