...she got here, probably taking about six or seven hours for the three hour trip. And saying that she has been places she has never been before. Along with thinking that the next time she makes the drive, she will just stay on I-75 all the way up to Ft. Valley, or Byron. Which is twice as far north as you really need to go before turning more west. But if you do drive halfway to Atlanta before getting off the interstate, it is pretty much a straight drive due west to get to the Chattahoochee.
For some who is as directionally impaired, as well as forgetful (when she does ask for driving directions, she tends to not follow the instructions she is given, meaning there was actually no point in her asking) as the Auntie, it is truly a wonder she arrived at all. So if there was only one turn involved in the trip, there is a good likelihood it might actually work.
She sits here and reads the Sunday paper. Reminding of how my mom would read the newspaper every day, and not retain anything. Which had me thinking, crassly, that we could cancel the subscription, and just give her the same paper under the ink faded, leading her to believe it was new news every day. With memory loss, you might as well laugh as cry....
Sunday, July 5, 2015
expecting company...
...I have invited my Auntie from south GA to come up for a visit. With the idea that we will go up to Decatur on Monday and visit family members who are in the states from India. I am always anxious to think of the Auntie driving, roaming around the by-ways without any sense of where she is going or how to get there. She claims to have a great sense of direction, but can consistently get herself completely lost and have no idea of how to get where is wants to be.
The last time Auntie was planning to come up to middle GA, it took her six hours to make the three hour drive. I did not ask, and don't think she could have clearly reported, where she had been all that time, making a massive number of U-turns, and stopping every few miles asking for directional info. But she did eventually get herself to the right place.
She was not sure about how to get back on the right road when she was ready to head back to south GA., so I tried to draw her a map. And after conversation, realized that the map was not really helpful. So said: 'I will drive and you can follow me, to the point that you know where you are and I will just pull over and wave, let you go on your merry way.' She did follow, up to a point, but then chose to not take the proper exit to get onto 520 to head south. I took the exit, and pulled over, hoping that she, the maker of numerous U-turns, would get to the end of I-185, where it comes to a dead end on Ft. Benning, and know to turn around. It all worked out, she saw the sign that directed her south, and obliviously passed me, standing along the edge of the road, frantically waving.
Called me several hours later, to say she had gotten home.
And now she is coming back again.
The last time Auntie was planning to come up to middle GA, it took her six hours to make the three hour drive. I did not ask, and don't think she could have clearly reported, where she had been all that time, making a massive number of U-turns, and stopping every few miles asking for directional info. But she did eventually get herself to the right place.
She was not sure about how to get back on the right road when she was ready to head back to south GA., so I tried to draw her a map. And after conversation, realized that the map was not really helpful. So said: 'I will drive and you can follow me, to the point that you know where you are and I will just pull over and wave, let you go on your merry way.' She did follow, up to a point, but then chose to not take the proper exit to get onto 520 to head south. I took the exit, and pulled over, hoping that she, the maker of numerous U-turns, would get to the end of I-185, where it comes to a dead end on Ft. Benning, and know to turn around. It all worked out, she saw the sign that directed her south, and obliviously passed me, standing along the edge of the road, frantically waving.
Called me several hours later, to say she had gotten home.
And now she is coming back again.
Saturday, July 4, 2015
4th of July after dark...
...is when the fireworks happen. But it's raining and I am wondering if it all came to pass. I called a friend who used to go with me downtown to see the fireworks on all the Appropriate Fireworks Occasions. We went several times, for New Years' Eve, or Independence Day or some other worthy holiday. But she had plans, so I was debating taking myself, thinking I could just drive downtown and park in the lot of the Civic Center, a couple of miles away from the actual event. Assuming the show would be set up on a bridge crossing the river, where there is plenty of good viewing from either side. Knowing that when the show got fired up, all the rockets would be pointed straight up and be visible for several miles if you were in the right place for viewing.
I nearly did, but then it started raining, with thunder rolling in (that I first though was just more celebratory noise), that might have caused a postponement, and the Playing With Fire event to fizzle out before it got started. Making me think about getting in the car and driving down to Golden Park to arrive at the beginning of the ninth inning. To get there just in time for the glorious explosions. Not caring a thing about the baseball game, but always ready to make a run for fireworks. Arriving just before they turned out all the lights in the stadium and started blowing things up.
The air would eventually be filled with wafting clouds of grey smoke, smelling of gunpowder, after all the sparkling and explosions were done. And as a result of being the last people to come into the parking lot, we would be the first out... just showing up for the brilliantly festive celebratory star-spangled end of the holiday.
I nearly did, but then it started raining, with thunder rolling in (that I first though was just more celebratory noise), that might have caused a postponement, and the Playing With Fire event to fizzle out before it got started. Making me think about getting in the car and driving down to Golden Park to arrive at the beginning of the ninth inning. To get there just in time for the glorious explosions. Not caring a thing about the baseball game, but always ready to make a run for fireworks. Arriving just before they turned out all the lights in the stadium and started blowing things up.
The air would eventually be filled with wafting clouds of grey smoke, smelling of gunpowder, after all the sparkling and explosions were done. And as a result of being the last people to come into the parking lot, we would be the first out... just showing up for the brilliantly festive celebratory star-spangled end of the holiday.
oh, my goodness...4th of July....
...do I love living in America? Do I love the flag? Do I love everything about the constitution? Do I even love those cranky old people in black robes who have far too much influence and impact on our measly little lives from such a highly placed position? Yes to all of that, and the process of electing officials with whom I don't necessarily agree.
I recently read an editorial about what it was like in the Early Days: when the forefathers signed the document but the war was not won. How the colonists struggled, often cold, hungry, insufficiently clothed and shod, and under-armed to beat back the British invaders. One of the earliest recorded stories of the use of guerilla warfare. Young men, who were accustomed to life in the untamed wildness of the forest, and the necessity for careful aim in bringing home meat to provide for their families. Snipers, that the red-coated army, orderly, properly drilled and marching in tidy lines, were not prepared for.
According to the article I read, by a political science prof. at a nearby college, and based on David McCullough's "1776", the fight went on for a long time. Through all kinds of weather, for nearly two more years before the Brits finally capitulated. Washington orders his men to leave their coats behind, while the Brits continue to maintain a 'uniform' appearance in the June 1778 heat. As the temperature rises to 100 degrees, those heavy wool coats cause the English army to loose many men to heat stroke, while the colonists, who have been diligently drilling over the winter, gain the upper hand. General Cornwallis admits defeat.
Though we celebrate the fourth day in July as one of independence, it took months and years more of difficult, dirty, lonely, hungry effort on the part of the colonists to make it Truth. I am so thankful for the people today who make the decision to enforce the laws and amendments that keep us safe. Public safety men and women on the streets. Military men and women in service to our country. And those long gone men and women who would rather die than live in a colony with a monarch making their decisions for them.
I recently read an editorial about what it was like in the Early Days: when the forefathers signed the document but the war was not won. How the colonists struggled, often cold, hungry, insufficiently clothed and shod, and under-armed to beat back the British invaders. One of the earliest recorded stories of the use of guerilla warfare. Young men, who were accustomed to life in the untamed wildness of the forest, and the necessity for careful aim in bringing home meat to provide for their families. Snipers, that the red-coated army, orderly, properly drilled and marching in tidy lines, were not prepared for.
According to the article I read, by a political science prof. at a nearby college, and based on David McCullough's "1776", the fight went on for a long time. Through all kinds of weather, for nearly two more years before the Brits finally capitulated. Washington orders his men to leave their coats behind, while the Brits continue to maintain a 'uniform' appearance in the June 1778 heat. As the temperature rises to 100 degrees, those heavy wool coats cause the English army to loose many men to heat stroke, while the colonists, who have been diligently drilling over the winter, gain the upper hand. General Cornwallis admits defeat.
Though we celebrate the fourth day in July as one of independence, it took months and years more of difficult, dirty, lonely, hungry effort on the part of the colonists to make it Truth. I am so thankful for the people today who make the decision to enforce the laws and amendments that keep us safe. Public safety men and women on the streets. Military men and women in service to our country. And those long gone men and women who would rather die than live in a colony with a monarch making their decisions for them.
Friday, July 3, 2015
didja' miss me?
... when I did something to make the blog disappear? I was, in my complete ignorance, trying to get rid of this little thing that pops up in the middle of the screen every time I open, that says: whoops. And did something to make it vanish from my screen, so I could not log in. I was really sad, and I hope that you missed me ranting about work, interesting cooking experiences, funny family tales?
I went to my best tech support, who could not resolve my crisis from a distance. So thought I would go to the library and talk to their useful, knowledgable tech support person. But they are apparently closed to celebrate our Independence. So when they would not answer the phone, my next choice was my BFF. Who always surprises me with her smarts. Which in itself is surprising, as I am long convinced she is the smartest person I know.
She has some experience with technology, from years of workplace experience. And she figured it out, fixed it. So I am back in business, with lots of things to rant about, along with ample amusing anecdotes from foolish family foibles.
I went to my best tech support, who could not resolve my crisis from a distance. So thought I would go to the library and talk to their useful, knowledgable tech support person. But they are apparently closed to celebrate our Independence. So when they would not answer the phone, my next choice was my BFF. Who always surprises me with her smarts. Which in itself is surprising, as I am long convinced she is the smartest person I know.
She has some experience with technology, from years of workplace experience. And she figured it out, fixed it. So I am back in business, with lots of things to rant about, along with ample amusing anecdotes from foolish family foibles.
single tomato harvest....
..is the sum total of what I have gotten thus far When I plant tomatoes, or anything really, and do not follow through with nurturing, like I used to do, I know I do not deserve to be rewarded. Like those tomato plants that have started roaming as the grow and vine all over the garden plot, unsupervised and untamed. I picked one a couple of days ago, that was about 60% red, and brought it in the house, to keep bugs and birds from destroying. And have watched it slowly get ripe. The problem is that I can't even say which of the three varieties I planted this one came from. So I don't know which gets credit for success.
I planted them in some really good, improved dirt, and put the names on each one so I would know what's what when they started producing. But did not cage when they were small and easy to manage. And did not hammer in stakes to provide support as they grew. So now, I guess we should call them 'free range' tomatoes? They are all healthy, and growing, and sending out vines, tumbling into each other and flopping on other varieties, so I don't know which this one successful tomato belongs to.
I decided to plant several different kinds as a sort of test, to see which would be the most productive and which would provide the best flavor... and now: surprise, surprise... I have no idea what I have picked. So, between the value of the fertilizer, dirt, the plants and the sweat equity, I think I might have twenty bucks invested in this one tomato....it better be good!!
I planted them in some really good, improved dirt, and put the names on each one so I would know what's what when they started producing. But did not cage when they were small and easy to manage. And did not hammer in stakes to provide support as they grew. So now, I guess we should call them 'free range' tomatoes? They are all healthy, and growing, and sending out vines, tumbling into each other and flopping on other varieties, so I don't know which this one successful tomato belongs to.
I decided to plant several different kinds as a sort of test, to see which would be the most productive and which would provide the best flavor... and now: surprise, surprise... I have no idea what I have picked. So, between the value of the fertilizer, dirt, the plants and the sweat equity, I think I might have twenty bucks invested in this one tomato....it better be good!!
not really thinking...
...that the un-workable situation at work has changed in any significant way. So it must be all those people I have recruited to pray. I've been a supplicant for quite a while, asking, hoping that I could be granted an 'attitude adjustment', that I would have a change of heart and be more open to the barrage of stuff that has me so fearful. That I could somehow accept the reprimands as merely points for improvement, those things that have been so consistently and frequently been sore spots, when pointed out in a negative manner, would be things that I could accept with good grace and move on.
While in reality I have been so overwhelmed, so intimidated by the barrage, it would seem the best choice would be for me to be amongst the 'formerly known as'. So I finally gathered up my cojones and spoke to the store manager about my overwhelming anxiety. To get the response: He is just doing his job. This individual is charged with seeing that safety regulations are followed, that all the employees are always in compliance. His position is one of constant oversight, to prevent injuries in the workplace, and keep compensation claims low, and therefore profits steadily increasing.
Not surprising, as co-workers I have spoken with who have been there for years, see the incremental/ gradual changes that have taken place on a corporate level. There does not seem to be much desire to retain employees. To invest in training, and provide the encouragement and support to keep that investment. Just a different attitude at a corporate level. Not one that makes employees feel valued.
It is remotely, vaguely possible I feel a wee bit better as result of being able to vent, have an opportunity to express my concerns, fears and all-encompassing anxiety. But really? Did I expect anything to be any different? No. I realize the manager's position will always be one of backing up those directly under his purview. And I readily accept that the management position is simply put: get the job done. With little concern for who is doing the work, as long as it is done in a timely manner.
What I do know has changed: instead of asking people to pray for me, I am requesting prayer for others.
While in reality I have been so overwhelmed, so intimidated by the barrage, it would seem the best choice would be for me to be amongst the 'formerly known as'. So I finally gathered up my cojones and spoke to the store manager about my overwhelming anxiety. To get the response: He is just doing his job. This individual is charged with seeing that safety regulations are followed, that all the employees are always in compliance. His position is one of constant oversight, to prevent injuries in the workplace, and keep compensation claims low, and therefore profits steadily increasing.
Not surprising, as co-workers I have spoken with who have been there for years, see the incremental/ gradual changes that have taken place on a corporate level. There does not seem to be much desire to retain employees. To invest in training, and provide the encouragement and support to keep that investment. Just a different attitude at a corporate level. Not one that makes employees feel valued.
It is remotely, vaguely possible I feel a wee bit better as result of being able to vent, have an opportunity to express my concerns, fears and all-encompassing anxiety. But really? Did I expect anything to be any different? No. I realize the manager's position will always be one of backing up those directly under his purview. And I readily accept that the management position is simply put: get the job done. With little concern for who is doing the work, as long as it is done in a timely manner.
What I do know has changed: instead of asking people to pray for me, I am requesting prayer for others.
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