Our World

So there's a whole bunch of sad news going on in our world - which is true of almost every, single day.

You need some examples? Here you go:

More than 250 people have been confirmed dead after a 7.2 earthquake that rocked Eastern Turkey over the weekend. 

On October 4 a Dad came home to find his 11-month old daughter missing. Authorities are still searching for Baby Lisa Irwin.

On Friday, October 14, five children and their foster dad were killed in a car accident. 

Sometime on Thursday October 13 a two-year old Chinese girl named Yueyue was run over multiple times, with no one stopping to help her. She died from the injuries she sustained.

So here's a little good news. 

Late yesterday afternoon, around dusk, an acquaintance of ours (Joey) posted on his facebook wall a story that was heartbreaking and at the same time, a reminder of the good in people.

Joey's mom was driving yesterday (Sunday 10/23) down a fairly busy highway around suppertime. She happened to notice a child walking, alone. So she stopped. He had only a blanket (no clothes - temps at that time here yesterday were probably between 45-50 degrees) and could only say one word, "doggie". He was able to indicate his age when asked by holding up two fingers. So she stopped, called the police and waited with him.

So while there's a whole bunch of sad, horrible stuff happening here and around the world, it's nice to be reminded that there are some good things happening, too - even in bad situations.

Vent

This is going to be a brief post to vent. Here goes ...

Someday you might read something in your local newspaper about someone you know - maybe he or she is a student or former student; maybe they were a high school classmate; maybe they taught your child's Sunday School or preschool class; maybe they are a neighbor or even a friend.

Maybe it will be a glowing story about their amazing community service or their state-of-the art classroom.

And maybe it will be the most awful thing you've ever read - someone you know and like is arrested. maybe it's for tax evasion or dealing drugs or something worse. And I promise - it will suck when that happens.

But here's something you need to chew on when you're reading those stories - good, bad, impartial ...

The journalist who wrote that story is not writing it because they love your neighbor and want to write about how wonderful they are, and likewise, they are not writing that story because they hate the person and want to see them reamed in the court of public opinion. (Which is not to say that sometimes the journalist handling the story will enjoy what they are writing about - maybe they loved hearing the story or maybe the person they are writing about has always been a jerk in public encounters so it feels good for them to get theirs, so to speak - those sort of news encounters are much more rare than the average reader thinks - honest).

The journalist who is writing that story is doing so because it's the news. Period. 

And when you're sitting back in your comfy chair, complaining about the "biased media", remember this: My husband, and many of our friends, ARE those journalists. And the good ones - they agonize over every story, every photo, because they want to be truthful. And sometimes the truth, it sucks. And it's not what you, or I, want to hear.

Good, honorable, ethical journalists want to deserve the trust you've given them. They bring those stories - and many you can be thankful you've never have to read - home with them. And many, many times it's heartbreaking for them to have to run those stories - but it's their job, their passion. 'Cause trust me when I say - the pay is not worth the heartache (from agonizing over stories) and the uncertainty (of the profession) that many - most - good journalists live with day in and day out.

So when you're reading about this great kid that you know who made a stupid mistake and the local paper had to run that story (because they can't ethically choose to run only the good stuff about the same kid/team/school), remember how much you appreciated that same newspaper running the story about the unregistered sex offender who left his light on last Halloween and invited kids into his/her home; or the driver who has had multiple DUI's but is still out there driving around - on the same roads that you and your children drive on - and how that story resulted in his/her license being suspended or was jailed. And remember: You didn't know those people, so you didn't think that the local newspaper was out to get you and yours.

That's all. That's my vent for the weekend. Enjoy some college football today, Friends!

(Almost the) Best Gift, Ever

(borrowed this photo of The Great Pee Dee River in Marion County, SC from www.csrasportsman.com)

 

My Daddy grew up in a tiny town in the Low Country of South Carolina called Gresham. My Grandma lived all of her married life in Gresham, and so every summer, every Thanksgiving and lots of times in between, we made the four hour car trip from the Upstate to Gresham.

On the way, my sister and I would mostly sleep, read, or argue. My Mom seemed to be forever painting her toenails. And Daddy drove. We'd leave on Friday afternoon when he got home from work, so it was usually pretty late when we got there. And as much as we couldn't wait to see Grandma, there was a great thing that had to happen before we got to Gresham. We had to cross the Great Pee Dee River.

My Papa died when I was in the third grade. I wish I could say that I have incredible, vivid memories of him, but I don't. 

My Papa, he walked with a limp because he was born with a club foot. 

My Papa drove an old green truck but I don't remember the make or model, if I ever knew.

As an adult I've learned a lot about the man who was my Daddy's Father, many things that hurt my heart and have changed the way I thought of my Papa. 

But one thing I am certain about is that as an "old man" he was proud of us - his grandchildren. Years after he passed away, I would sneak and go through the treasures he left behind. Pictures of my cousins (most of whom were in high school or college when he passed away), newspaper clippings, notes written on scraps of paper about one or the other of us, art work from school or church. I remember being jealous that my older cousins had more time to make him proud, that he'd made note of them.

But the real, hard and fast memories I have of him are few. I remember the smell of his pipe; how he'd ask us to help him take off his shoes; that he put his contacts in at the kitchen table; that Grandma always spread newspaper under his plate at the kitchen because he was so messy. 

One thing that I recall vividly about my Papa was his love for the Great Pee Dee River. He loved the River so much; maybe more than he loved some of his own family. It was not a thing he could wrap up in a pretty bow or put away towards a college education, or put in a trust toward our futures. But it was a gift that he gave each of us at some point.

Grandma and Papa had taken us to the Country Kitchen for a bottled Pepsi, then to the River to check Papa's traps. He was showing us things along the riverbank - what I don't recall now - but he told us (my sister and I) - that the River was his, and that he was giving it to us, to his "Grans". I don't remember him telling us what we were supposed to do with the River, and as a very little girl I remember wondering how I was supposed to hold on to it - it was, after all, a pretty big gift. I know now that the River is a part of my family: A friend who welcomes us each time we cross her bridge, an integral part of the story of my family's life. And I know that while the Great Pee Dee River is mine, it has also belonged to my Daddy, to his sisters and brother, to my cousins, and now to my children. But just like it can't be wrapped up in pretty paper, it can't be caught and held. It's ever-changing, shifting ... working its way to the sea.

stealing from Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides ...

"... the moon lifted a forehead of stunning gold above the horizon, lifted straight out of the filigreed, light-intoxicated clouds that lay on the skyline in attendant veils. Behind us, the sun was setting in a simultaneous congruent withdrawal and the river turned to flame in a quiet duel of gold ... The new gold of moon astonishing and ascendant, the depleted gold of sunset extinguishing itself in the long westward slide, it was the old dance of days in the Carolina marshes, the breathtaking death of days before the eyes of children, until the sun vanished, its final signature a ribbon of bullion strung across the tops of water oaks. The moon then rose quickly, rose like a bird from the water, from the trees, from the islands, and climbed straight up --gold, then yellow, then pale yellow, pale silver, silver-bright, then something miraculous, immaculate, and beyond the silver, a color native only to southern nights "

Five Things I Like, 'Cause It's Friday

It's Friday. My kids have no school (yeah) and we're being lazy. But I didn't want you to think I've forgotten you ... so, in no particular order I give you 5 things I like - 'cause it's Friday!

1.       I like hand-written notes. I like getting them and I like giving them.Thank you, Emily Post.
2.       I like wearing my glasses. They make me feel smarter. Not too proud to admit it, either.
3.       I like my forehead. Seriously. It's the one part of me that I look in the mirror and it doesn't make me cringe.
4.       I like the original version of Footloose. Why would you want to re-make that movie when you re-making it means that you no longer have Kevin Bacon as the lead?
5.       I like Parenthood. Not my job, but the television show. Tuesday nights, NBC, 10 pm EST.

Alrighty, then. Have a great weekend. I'll post some updates over the weekend, if I don't get too sucked in to cleaning and organizing. And remember - click on the ads!

Mid-Semester Blues

So ... back in school after eight years of NOT being in school is hard.

I'm definitely a different kind of student now that I'm picking up the tab - which means (among other things):

• No sleeping in just because it's a rainy day and no skipping class 'cause I kind of feel like I'm maybe getting sick.
• No patience for the 'waste time questions' that some of my classmates seem to think are perfect for a class that I'm paying a ridiculous amount of money to take part in. 

But likewise, I don't want to put up with a professor/instructor who picks favorites or takes pleasure in tricking students.


Today I got a test back. It was a test that, admittedly, only took me 20 minutes to complete. But it's a test that I spent a tremendous amount of time preparing for: I attended every class meeting (was on time, stayed until the end), I have read every chapter, I have taken copious notes (both on the reading and from lecture).

So when I get a test back and three of the questions I've missed are TRICK questions, I get a little frustrated.

Let's be honest here: College is important. Many of the classes that students are required to take do a great job of preparing us for the real world, or at the "least", more academic work. But some of the courses that we are required to take are, well, a waste.

And sometimes that has something to do with who is teaching the course.

Yes, I'm learning a lot of lingo in this course. Yes, some aspects of the course are interesting. But the reality is that I am taking this class because it's required and not because it's something I one day want to pursue as a career choice (and I would say this is true of the majority of students in the class; Although, no, I have not formally surveyed every student in the course).

The job of teacher - at any level - is to encourage learning, to encourage students to go a little deeper in their thinking, to provide students with the information they need in a format that is palatable, to be a guide into new studies.

So right now I am incredibly frustrated by a teacher whose joy comes from intentionally tricking students, rather than teaching ... Grrr.


I am taking notes as the semester progresses so that when we have the opportunity to give feedback on the course and the semester, I will be prepared. I'll let you know how that goes.

A note: I have added google adsense to my blog ... please click on the ads below for me to receive a paycheck!!

Got a few issues, so what?

If you know me, you might hear me say, “yeah, I’m a little O.C.D. about that” or you might hear me say “yeah, I’m mildly dyslexic” or even, “yeah, that’s the A.D.D.” And you might think I’m joking, or making fun. 

I’m not. 

I have some issues. I am not a compulsive hand-washer or even a compulsive cleaner. But I’m compulsive about a few specific things. 

I worry that doors aren’t locked. 

I worry that seat belts are buckled.

I like the bed made a certain way, or not made at all. 

I like my computer files to be filed in labeled folders with names that make sense. 

I have to do things in certain order — if it’s a chore, I do the hardest thing first and end with the easiest chore (I deep clean before I strip the sheets). 

I have to run errands in a specific order — I go to the farthest stop from home first and work my way back home. 

And I won’t even start on packing a suitcase or the car for a trip. 

I’m 30-something and I don’t know my left from my right. Ask me to take a left turn and I can do so because I know that the driver’s side of the car is on the left. I know that I drive on the right side of the road. But to know left from right, I have to hold up my hands and find the capitol “L” (thumb and pointer finger) — that’s how I know which hand is my left. 

I transpose numbers. Often. I have to run my finger along a series of numbers and say them out loud to know that I’m getting them in the right order. I memorized the face of my phone and I memorize phone numbers so that I don’t dial 4945 when I mean to dial 4549. 

I start projects — big ones, small ones — and I get sidetracked by a book. Or a cabinet that’s out of order. Or a car that needs to be cleaned out. I make lists and I stick to them, or I get lost in the jumble of things that need to be done. I take notes and keep a notebook in a specific order. I highlight and use post-its to mark up special pages and chapters. I have ways of coping, but if I deviate from my plan then I find it almost impossible to get back on track. 

I promised honesty, so here it is. None of is perfect. We are all just doing the best we can in many instances. We check locks. We wash our hands . We make lists. We do the best we can. 

Wanna share your issues?

Life in the INoB

So maybe you’re wondering, and maybe you’re not. But I thought I’d share the story behind the title of the blog. So. 

About a year ago, I was talking to my Father-in-law. I like him a lot. He’s smart. He’s got a dry sense of humor. He is super patient with my kids when they want to build Lego trains for hours at Christmas. And he likes me, too. (I think.)

But I digress. 

So about a year ago I was talking to my Father-in-law about some crazy stuff that was going on in Georgia. 

So foreclosures are a big deal right now. I’m not really looking to go into all of that craziness, but it’s enough to say the foreclosures are a Big Deal. And people in Georgia were going out, finding homes that were vacant and had been forcelosed on. And they were moving into these vacant, foreclosed homes. Then they would go out and file new property deeds as an independent nation. (No, I’m not making this up). Evidently, there’s some kind of loop hole in foreclosure law (at least in Georgia) that basically says that a bank can’t own property. So until the Georgia Legislature changes the wording of the law, taking over these vacant, foreclosed homes is perfectly legal. 

Well, as you might imagine, I thought my Father-in-law was joking. I laughed. Really hard. And then I realized that he was not joking. Stunned, I let this information sink in. Unbelievable. Here we are — worrying about make our mortgage payment every month — and others are just moving in with no financial investment  to homes that aren’t theirs. 

“Well, “ I said, “there’s this house I really like. I think I’m going to go move in, write my own deed and become the head of (yep, you guessed it!) The Independent Nation of Brooke.”

However,  since my husband is an ethical man, he talked me out of squatting in an unoccupied home (despite my deep, deep desire to own a home well out of our price-range). 

But the idea of an independent nation where I am in charge has stuck. Periodically, I come up with new laws for the IDoB. I promise to share some of the m with you. 

In the meantime, thanks for visiting the IDoB. 

P.S. I need a state flag, so feel free to submit your ideas for design in the comments section. 

P.P.S: Here's an interesting and recent story about this ... almost funny.

Things I Like

1.       I like hearing Judge Judy yell at people. I know, it’s awful, isn’t it?
2.       I like organizing stuff.
3.       I like the way (clean) babies smell, but conversely I like the way my kids smell when they’re sweaty from playing hard all day.
4.       I like scars. And freckles.
5.       I like bad music. Music with no meaning whatsoever. For example ... I am not actually saying I like this song, just giving an example of bad music.

Crashing Parties Mama Style

So there's a little church across the street from our house. It's probably a 250-member or so church with a fairly active congregation. Pretty frequently we see this congregation having hotdog suppers, hay rides, bouncy houses - that kind of thing.

Well, this afternoon when my parents stopped by to pick up my 8 year-old for a sleep over, my 3 year-old said, "Look Mommy - horses!" And since we've been invited (many times) to attend functions at this sweet church, I thought to myself, "Today, we go."

So back into the house we went for my Sweet Girl to put on her jeans and (red) cowgirl boots ('cause you don't ride horses in Twinkle Toes and leggings!) and across the street we went.

What a great set-up - kids (baby goats), horses, snakes, rabbits, turtles and at least one exotic birds, plus there was a tractor all set up for a hay ride and lots of children having a great time.

And so I was talking to this really nice lady who asked me, "So, is your daughter in Cameron's class?"

"Um, no. Who's Cameron?" I said, "Isn't this a church event?"

She was very sweet, but she did laugh, and said, "No, Cameron is my son - this is his birthday party."

Oh my. Talk about being embarrassed. But the Hostess Mom was so very sweet - she said, "C'mon - let her ride the horse and see the animals. We don't mind."

So I did. I walked my 3 year-old over to the line to ride horses and in a few minutes she was riding a gelding named Sandman. She loved it. Then we walked back over for her to pet the goat and the rabbit, and hold the snake, and then we thanked the Hostess Mom and crossed the street to come home.

So. Today I taught my daughter how to crash a birthday party (and in total style, too, I might add). What did you do?