Live and Let Live, except...

I'm pretty much a live and let live kinda gal -- except where rodents are concerned. It's not that I don't think little mice are cute -- they are -- but they're also NASTY and they carry diseases. Why is this important? Well, I partner with four agencies in my area and one of the agents is a member of PETA. Therefore, she will not do anything to get rid of the mice in her office, save trying to trap them and "humanely relocate them". This has resulted in quite a nice sized family of the critters taking up residence in this office (which, by the way, is FILTHY to begin with).

It's enough that I have to put up with the cigarette smoke, the dirty dishes in the bathroom sink, the smell of dog urine on the carpet, but I simply draw the line when, upon opening the microwave to heat up my lunch, I'm faced with...

MOUSE TURDS...

I tell you, I nearly tossed my cookies right then and there. Surely this has to be a health code violation. When does one draw the line? When does the hazard outweigh the income potential? And this woman wanted me to bring MY puppy in here today to play with HER puppy. I don't want my baby dining on mouse turds! ACK!

My skin's still crawling... I have to get out of here and go somewhere clean... preferably starting with a hazmat decontamination shower!!!!!

An Odd Compulsion

For the past 48 hours, I have felt compelled to set my affairs in order -- to write down my final wishes -- to appoint my executors and divvy up my goods. I can't explain this compulsion -- I'm not ill, I have no desire or plan to end my own life and I know of no plots against me... but not since the day of my grandfather's death have I felt such a compelling need to get something DONE. On that day, I was scheduled to attend a conference and I could NOT bring myself to leave the house. The prevailing thought in my mind on that day was, "I have to get my house in order" -- so I cleaned and did laundry and waited -- until finally the phone rang and my mother's voice on the other end made it all clear... my grandfather was gone.

So, this morning, I completed the document. My wishes have been made clear, my plans laid forth -- now I just need to get someone to witness my signature. I hope that I'll have a good laugh about this in a few months' time.

Funeral Reunions

It seems as we grow older that we often times only see our childhood friends when someone dies -- as our parents and grandparents pass, we all gather together, reminisce for a while and lament the fact that we only see each other at funeral homes and graveyards. Tonight was such a night... pictures of fifty years of marriage, children, grandchildren, memories shared... promises to keep in touch that will likely not be kept as we all get back to our busy lives. Still, it's nice, if even for a moment, to revisit those carefree childhood days... to laugh about our silly Halloween costumes, who believed in Santa the longest and to smile at the embarrassing tales told so often that we all know them by heart. Each death brings us all closer to our own mortality, which makes these forays into our childhood all the more welcomed.

Grace

Let me preface this post by saying that I don't think of myself as a "religious" person -- but I am a spiritual person. I'm also a musician and I express my spirituality by joining voices with other musicians in a choir -- a choir that presents beautiful expressions of God inside a church. Perhaps it's hypocritical of me -- because I obviously do not hold to all of the tenets of this particular church, as you will read below -- but the music draws me there and I find a connection with my Source within its soaring descants.

That being said, today's sermon was on grace...

Pronunciation: 'grAs
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old French, from Latin gratia favor, charm, thanks, from gratus pleasing, grateful; akin to Sanskrit grnAti 'he praises'


Webster's defines grace as 'unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification -- a virtue coming from God -- a state of sanctification enjoyed through divine grace.'


Also, (2) disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy, or clemency -- a temporary exemption : REPRIEVE


Synonyms are APPROVAL, FAVOR, MERCY, PARDON

The New Testament reading was from Romans and the Hymn of Praise was Amazing Grace. I have to admit that the concept of grace is beautiful -- regardless of our sins, God loves us and forgives us. Isn't that what parents do? I think of the grace my parents have shown me... the grace I have shown others and others have shown me... but I get stuck on the whole "wretchedness of man" and "original sin" concept. I've always had trouble with that. You see, I believe that our energy (essence, soul, spirit) comes from the source of all energy (God -- "and God created man in His image and likeness and breathed life into his nostrils") and if that is the case, then man is NOT wretched simply because he exists... he is wretched when he exists out of harmony with his Source. I think that we are born with everything we need to exist in harmony with our Source and we spend our lives moving away from that knowledge with which we're born.

While I believe that we need to practice the art of grace (2nd definition) in our lives, I'm more inclined to believe that our 'salvation' if you will, comes from the knowledge of our Source and our willingness to become one with it (Him). Perhaps the path is similar -- turning away from things that take us away from our Source and concentrating our energy on being in harmony with that Source (turn from your sinful ways and follow God)... I just choose to believe that God did not create weak and wretched creatures, but beautiful, graceful expressions of Himself.

And it's a hit... hard and fast into left field...

Today something happened to me that hasn't happened for, oh, about six years... In fact, it's been so long, I wasn't entirely convinced that what I thought had happened had really happened. Meeting with a new client for the second time today, we exchanged small talk while I finished up some paperwork and made copies for him to take with him. As he left the office, he turned to me and said, "give me a call if you're ever down at the beach and we can meet for lunch." I stood there wondering if this was just a friendly gesture, or if he really was hitting on me. I mumbled something like, "yeah, I just might do that", which in retrospect and IF he indeed WAS hitting on me, was a green light answer, wasn't it? (Stupid, stupid me... I'm not the least bit interested, but was caught so off guard that I didn't know WHAT to say.)

At any rate, I ran the scenario by a few folks and asked for their thoughts... it was unanimous, "it was definitely a hit." I guess I've grown to think of myself as 'unavailable' and I really never gave a moment's consideration to how I might respond if someone showed an interest in me -- mostly because I didn't really think anyone would! I mean, I know I'm smart and can manage to be funny on occasion -- but I just don't think of myself as attractive to the opposite sex any more. Weird, huh? So, anyway, what do I do now????? I have to meet him again to deliver the policy. I'm leaning toward just pretending that it didn't happen. I'm quite the ostrich that way.

Oh, and did I happen to mention that he's SIX YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME?!? I don't know if he likes older women or if he thinks I'm younger than I really am. I'd prefer to think it's the latter, of course! LOL

Scenes from the Road

At seven this morning, I pulled out of the drive into a foggy street. My trip was filled with wonderful sights:

The morning sun reflecting off the water of the James River, while off in the distance, buoys were shrouded by silver fog.

The approach of the hills near Charlottesville... bare trees appearing like ghostly figures reaching out of the fog, as if to grab a passer-by and detain them.

The Jeffersonian, Colonial revival, neo-Jeffersonian or Greek Revival architecture prominent throughout the city... the stately buildings of THE University (as it's called here in the Commonwealth), with students scurrying to and fro.

Silver trees lining the roadway kissed by the descending orb of the sun... shimmering one moment and appearing as clouds of dusky smoke the next.

The waters of the James River at sunset -- silver with the reflection of the full moon and met by a dark, royal purple horizon, topped by pink and pale turquoise bands. It was truly stunning and made up for the image of the trucker who, when I passed him on the road, honked his horn, flashed his lights and then pulled up his t-shirt, grabbed his right titty and jiggled it at me... I swear, he needed a man-bra.

First Mouse

Standing at the barre is a ten-year-old girl in a black leotard and pink tights and shoes.
She watches intently as the regal Romanian prima ballerina leads the class...
First position, plie', second position, third, fourth, fifth, rond de jambe a terre
The instructor passes by and nods approval

The move to the floor brings the adagio, with developpe's and promenades in arabesque, attitude and passe'. At the end of class, the order at the barre is set for the following week and the girl is pleased to find herself in third position -- a real honor for one so young.

Finally, the day comes when roles for the annual production of the Nutcracker will be announced. The girl stands at the barre chewing her lip - a habit that annoys her instructors, but which she cannot seem to break. First comes the chorus of mice... the names are called and she waits... but does not hear her own. Her heart sinks. Then comes the announcement of the fourth mouse pair, the third, second and finally the first mouse pair. Everyone is staring at her... why is everyone staring at her? In a thick Romanian accent, her name is called again... she is a First Mouse! In her first year with the company, the girl has gotten a role, instead of being relegated to the chorus. She dances a little jig and tries not to be too proud of her accomplishment.

The part of the First Mouse is not extensive -- it consists of a ballet run to center stage to meet the other First Mouse, a furtive mouse-like gesture, a scurry back four steps, a turn and another mouse-like gesture, followed by a ballet run to the wings. Rehearsals are perfect, dress rehearsal is perfect and finally the night of the performance arrives.

The girl waits in the wings for her cue... she runs to center stage, makes her gesture and runs off... from the wings, she sees her partner executing the second mouse-like gesture and tears spring to her eyes. She has failed. Surely, she will never dance again.

And God Brought Forth Order from the Chaos...

Today, I decided to work in my office -- to get organized for the New Year. I'd been lax in my administrative duties and was beginning to have trouble locating documents and information. So, I started by gathering up all of the piles of papers and folders from around the house and emptying the closet of all of the boxes (the ones that have been sitting there since June of 2002 when I moved in -- no sense getting in a hurry about these things). Once these were all stacked about the room, I was horrified to see that there was barely a path from the door to my desk -- a fact over which I teased my mother mercilessly just the day before in her office.

Refusing to accept this as my fate (my mother's office has looked like this for years), I rolled up my sleeves and started to work. I began by bringing in the industrial sized garbage bags and firing up the shredder. There were electric bills from 1990, cell phone bills and instruction manuals for phones that are long gone, nearly every pay stub I'd ever received, college papers, letters home, birthday cards, Christmas cards, Valentines and Easter cards. I found my English Lit book, my History of Western Music, my biology text book, my horticulture lab notes, theatre reviews, poetry, year books and journals -- all of which just extended the processing time, because, of course, I had to flip through them all!

After 10 hours of sorting, shredding, filing, consolidating and arranging, I have completed about 75% of my office project. I hauled out two -- yes TWO -- industrial sized garbage bags of shredded documents, junk mail and assorted papers and set up files for all of the remaining documents. All of my books are arranged by subject matter and size and EVERYTHING is labeled. (This was just standard operating procedure before I met my ex... for some reason, being married to him put an end to my penchant for organization.)

Since I no longer make resolutions, let me just make this PROMISE: NEVER AGAIN! I have put a sorter tray on top of the supply chest labeled, "SHRED." All junk mail and credit card offers will be destroyed immediately and I refuse to keep more than two years worth of receipts and seven years of taxes on file. (I had tax returns dating back to 1981 -- my very first job -- of course I had to keep that one!) I have also (gasp) thrown away all of the Christmas cards I received this year and all of the ones from years past, save a few special ones from my parents. Surely this is a major step in the right direction. Now, if I could only bring myself to get rid of my high school Spanish tests! ?Por qué?

What the *Bleep*?

Today I find myself in an internal dialogue about the nature of and the hypocrisy surrounding cursing. You see, I offended the sensibilities of a card-carrying member of the WMU by saying the word 'shit' in the office.

I have to say that I am vexed by people who feel that there is some vast difference between heck and hell, dang and damn, crap and shit and by those who invent all manner of alternate curse words... like dag-nab-it, cheese-and-crackers, gol-darned, crumbs, fudge, shoot, dookie and myriad other exclamations.

My theory is that the intent, emotion and underlying meaning are all the same... only you're using a different set of vowels and consonants. For example: someone crashes a grocery cart into your new car -- you have a plethora of options ranging from fuck to fudge-sticks -- but the meaning is the same, "someone crashed a grocery cart into my new car and I'm mad!" I find it hypocritical to wring one's hands over word choice, when the real issue is the ability to control one's reactions to adverse events. The issue isn't foul words versus frilly alternatives, but anger versus acceptance.

I ask you, is someone who chooses pretty words to express anger, rage, disgust, displeasure or frustration any better than the one who chooses words which match the feeling? Aren't they feeling the same thing? It's the heart of the matter, I say. What say you, bloggers?

Getting Old Sucks

Since turning 40, it seems that my body is just falling apart... what with my immune system attacking itself, a hole in my eyeball, an upper respiratory infection that's been hanging around for weeks, and now an abnormal "nevus" that will require some cutting and stitches, I just feel like my body is rebelling against me.

Isn't it bad enough that the laugh lines and crows feet are making their appearance?
Or that things that used to point up are now... well, NOT.
Shouldn't it be considered payment in full that cellulite has taken up permanent residence on my derriere and that the mere sight of cheesecake makes my pants get tighter?
I shudder to think what new milestones await me... what joys of maturity.

I'd often heard it said that getting old sucks... I just didn't think it would start sucking quite so soon!