tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-311328502024-03-14T03:14:22.634-04:00I always wanted a nicknameRandom postings, midnight musings and extraneous babble.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-52016511942545780842013-12-31T09:37:00.001-05:002013-12-31T09:37:24.749-05:00Garden LightsAs 2013 draws to a close, I shall breathe a sigh of relief. It has NOT been a good year and I will be glad to see the back of it. As my best friend and I always say, next year has to be better. Sometimes that happens and sometimes not - but in this case it simply must be true. <div>
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All that said, we spent a lovely evening with friends yesterday at the Atlanta Botanical Garden looking at their light display. It meant I got to play with the shutter speed setting on my camera and got some interesting photos. Perhaps my resolution for this New Year should be that I will finally take a photography class.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-63540383072836894642013-04-20T10:20:00.001-04:002013-04-20T10:30:12.672-04:00Atlanta Fair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A few weeks ago, on a gorgeous spring day, Charles and I ventured out to the Atlanta Fair. Held every March in a parking lot across the highway from Turner Field, it's become a rite of spring for me. I have fond memories of going to (or working at) the Illinois State Fair for almost every year of my first 2 decades of life. Probably because of that, I go to fairs every chance I get and love every flimsy ride and greasy food. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-7999523420024238182012-09-03T11:02:00.000-04:002012-09-03T11:02:55.505-04:00DragonConHere in Atlanta, Labor Day weekend means DragonCon! While we didn't buy tickets this year to go to the convention itself, I did make it to the parade and got some interesting pictures of terrific costumes.<br />
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All shot with zoom-lens and auto focus since things were moving by so fast!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-37256134454122668852012-07-30T21:54:00.001-04:002012-07-30T22:06:51.033-04:00Pictures of People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The most number of pictures from my camera have been pictures of people. Some of them are awful, most of them are nothing special. But I do like how these turned out. </div>
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Nothing special about aperture or shutter speed here. Just using automatic setting for its convenience.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-30294630840789299982012-07-29T18:08:00.001-04:002012-07-29T18:08:54.082-04:00Playing With Shutter SpeedWe spent this past weekend at Lake Sinclair with good friends, Nikki and JC. I played around with the camera while out on the pontoon boat and got some experience adjusting the shutter speed. These are some of the results.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-36591726476861930372012-02-23T17:49:00.005-05:002012-02-23T18:02:26.101-05:00W.H. Reynolds Nature PreserveToday brought near-record high temperatures for this time of year in Georgia. It was 78 degrees at one point, and absolutely beautiful. We went down to a nature preserve just a few miles south of us and explored. I'm already planning to go back once spring has returned for real, because it is going to be gorgeous once the trees and flowers start blooming! The daffodils and a few other flowers were already showing themselves, but most of the trees are still waiting for warmer nights.<div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QK-YJQJv4Og/T0bEJpaE4yI/AAAAAAAACEM/h7bxUD-l6ko/s1600/DSC_0470.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QK-YJQJv4Og/T0bEJpaE4yI/AAAAAAAACEM/h7bxUD-l6ko/s320/DSC_0470.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712468847379145506" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div> <img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VpmmNsx1iAI/T0bE7s1PN_I/AAAAAAAACEk/x9B0aAS2yik/s320/DSC_0495.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712469707291834354" style="font-size: 100%; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M5DFtsaCLvg/T0bErJ5mooI/AAAAAAAACEY/WMM0ujnCf_g/s320/DSC_0472.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712469423036998274" style="font-size: 100%; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px; " /> </div><div><br /></div><div> <img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FSCD2GzAHpA/T0bFKqnnZ6I/AAAAAAAACEw/oBUVzRWsu4g/s320/DSC_0486.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712469964395866018" style="font-size: 100%; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-50446541984865595662012-01-17T20:29:00.006-05:002012-01-17T21:06:53.922-05:00Hi, you guys!Yeah, I'm not sure who "you guys" is in that title up there. I haven't posted in several years and besides a couple friends and a couple family members, it's not like I had any dedicated blog followers. However...<div><br /></div><div>I finally, finally have a new camera in my life. It's a Nikon D3100, with two lenses, and it's beautiful. All of my free time for the foreseeable future is going to be spent learning to use it well. I've decided to use this site as a way to share some of that journey for anyone who's interested. And I might accidentally write something funny along the way.</div><div><br /></div><div>On MLK Day, a friend (who knows lots about cameras and picture-taking) and I went to the zoo to play around with the camera for the first time. It was a good day for it - overcast so that shadows weren't a big problem, and not too crowded early in the day because it was chilly. Here are some of my favorites from the day. I haven't learned much about photoshop yet, so they're presented with a very minimum of tweaking as far as color or light.</div><div><br /></div><div> <img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H1WMfztd3w8/TxYohm9E31I/AAAAAAAACDc/etaL0fI2ov0/s320/DSC_0050.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698786936341454674" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /> <img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q4_emIKBEGo/TxYoiKS7r4I/AAAAAAAACDs/UUx_WV2NcY4/s320/DSC_0090.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698786945828368258" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div> <img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Em2sQSBC0yM/TxYoi_MAqwI/AAAAAAAACD0/FFp0t-SgoDk/s320/DSC_0099.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698786960026413826" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /> <img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_MBPLqhmkqA/TxYohBR9V2I/AAAAAAAACDQ/tye--gDVgkI/s320/DSC_0231.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698786926228494178" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zy63CjCourY/TxYmCJ3bpBI/AAAAAAAACC4/qG9wyRFjltg/s320/DSC_0247.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698784196933952530" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /> <img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-auWJuawWKbU/TxYkCT_giuI/AAAAAAAACCk/L8OY8UW_YQU/s320/DSC_0316.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698782000628927202" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BUo2qRFumrs/TxYjkCVp7fI/AAAAAAAACCI/h1aFeEtFshI/s320/DSC_0367.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698781480493903346" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /> <img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vC_pji4iulY/TxYmB-TCXhI/AAAAAAAACCs/D4v-ogfNB_A/s320/DSC_0295.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698784193828511250" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mvVG1Oxj2YM/TxYkCXuax8I/AAAAAAAACCU/dIe9Z7j1Spk/s320/DSC_0339.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698782001630988226" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px; " /> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-44026605946760588282008-12-14T23:14:00.002-05:002008-12-14T23:34:19.422-05:00Remembering...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SUXeGn8_SlI/AAAAAAAABgs/703LTEp9LQk/s1600-h/pict2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SUXeGn8_SlI/AAAAAAAABgs/703LTEp9LQk/s320/pict2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279870343547144786" border="0" /></a><br />When I was very young, I was confused about my grandfather's name. I knew that my mother's father's name was Charles. However, everyone called him Sammy. To make matters worse, my grandparents always had a sticker on their car from the College of William and Mary, and so since I knew my grandmother was named Mary, I naturally assumed that the college had something to do with them as well.<br /><br />That is probably my first memory about my grandfather - being confused about his name. (For the record - his name was indeed Charles Watkins Rose, his nickname was Sammy because he was born during World War I when the soldiers were called "Sammy", and so he became his father's "little Sammy", and of course, the college had nothing to do with them besides the fact that their son had gone there.) I have many, many more memories of my grandfather ranging from that early memory to the last time I saw him, which was last Christmas.<br /><br />I wasn't lucky enough to grow up in the same town as my mother's parents. We always lived at least two or three states away from them. That didn't make them any less precious to me - or I to them. When I think of Christmas and Easter, it is often their house I remember. I recall Christmases in Richmond, Virginia, in the big split-level house they had. One whole level, it seems, was always taken up with the tree and the mounds of presents spilling out from under it. Later, in the big farmhouse on the side of a mountain in New York, there was again an entire room filled with a tree and presents. Christmases with my grandfather were magical because invariably, there were gifts he made in his woodshop. A stool for me. A creche for my mother. A doll-house for my cousin.<br /><br />Pipe smoke will always remind me of my grandfather. He quit smoking his pipe when I was in middle school, but the smell is forever linked with him. When I was in college, my cousin and I even took up smoking pipes...and probably looked very silly doing it. But oh, that smell. Not many people smoke pipes anymore, but when I run across the odor drifting on the air, I'm immediately transported back to grandpa's side.<br /><br />I am incredibly lucky. I am 36 years old and until this past Monday, I still had three living grandparents. That's some good genes right there. But early last Monday morning, my grandfather died. He left behind his wife of 66 years, his four children, and his seven grandchildren. He left memories and friends and extended family. He lived a long, productive, loving life. And I will miss him.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-32505532010474227122008-11-17T23:43:00.002-05:002008-11-17T23:49:00.302-05:00WowI guess it's been a while since I had anything intelligible to relate here. Does that mean nothing funny ever happens to me? Or maybe just nothing interesting. Sad commentary on my life, perhaps.<br /><br />Just had to write a note about the insidious beast that is Facebook. I joined, oh, I don't know...perhaps a year ago? I don't even remember what prompted me to join, but I had a page on there for ages without ever doing much with it. And now suddenly in the last 6 months, it has exploded. Friends from high school and college are finding me - and I, them - and writing and exchanging pictures and it's all nice, but a little odd. To suddenly be face to face with these older images of people who last existed for me when they were 18 or 20 or 22 is just a little disconcerting. I mean - some of these people have GREY hair. That's a little heavy.<br /><br />And it's also a little odd in other ways. I see most of these people in marriages and with kids, and I wonder when exactly it was that I forgot to have these things. I know that I've made (mostly) the right choices for my life, and I'd rather be where I am today than in a bad marriage or raising kids on my own. But it's more than a little disheartening sometimes to feel like the last single person in the world. Note: I know that I'm not, and enough of my friends - especially the college ones - are also single so that I'm not despairing. It just makes me pause for thought sometimes.<br /><br />Oh well. C'est la vie!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-44141889081635303912008-08-18T23:17:00.004-04:002008-08-19T07:25:30.549-04:00Herding CatsThe title is exactly what Asha has been trying to do for the last few days. The kittens continue to grow apace - as all babies seem to do - and they are now trying out their wobbly legs to explore the wide world. Their mother Does Not Approve. She spends a good portion of the day watching them take a few steps out of the closet they've been living in, and then chasing them down and grabbing them with her teeth to pull them back in. Which they complain about. Loudly. <div><div><br /><div></div><div>They are darling, though, and starting to pounce on each other and on Asha. One of them (the blonde one that I currently call Jake) will be going to live with a family in about 6 weeks. The black one, whom I call Maggie, is staying with me. For some reason, all pictures of Maggie turn out not in focus. Perhaps she's just a little blurry? She's not as brave or as big as her brother, but she can yell just as loud.</div><div> </div><div>Behold:</div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SKqtHnP-fsI/AAAAAAAAA7E/fj-uoopRj0o/s1600-h/DSC00967.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236187863078305474" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SKqtHnP-fsI/AAAAAAAAA7E/fj-uoopRj0o/s320/DSC00967.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SKqtSjr8HNI/AAAAAAAAA7M/bbcjDThY6AQ/s1600-h/DSC00968.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236188051100409042" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SKqtSjr8HNI/AAAAAAAAA7M/bbcjDThY6AQ/s320/DSC00968.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SKqtgWlBIDI/AAAAAAAAA7U/Kt2UzA_VNVI/s1600-h/DSC00960.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236188288099885106" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SKqtgWlBIDI/AAAAAAAAA7U/Kt2UzA_VNVI/s320/DSC00960.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-57282422930320702072008-08-02T00:13:00.001-04:002008-08-02T00:19:30.307-04:00And the result...<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SJPgMXS7GYI/AAAAAAAAA6s/5Bdm7rNkIEY/s1600-h/DSC00950.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229770095323715970" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SJPgMXS7GYI/AAAAAAAAA6s/5Bdm7rNkIEY/s320/DSC00950.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />For three weeks.<br /><br />In August.<br /><br />In Georgia. <br /><br />'nuff said.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-4716633831272912062008-07-31T21:05:00.004-04:002008-07-31T21:18:19.668-04:00Why I Am Going To The Doctor Tomorrow...AGAINI think I've mentioned that I'm a klutz. My mother used to seriously believe that I was at best self-destructive and perhaps at worst suicidal, but no...I really am klutzy enough to knock out a front tooth by running into the side of the GARAGE, to f*** up my knee for life by slipping on some ice, and to sprain my ankle by falling down a hill in San Francisco. Sober. In broad daylight. And now I can add to these tales of woe.<br /><br />I was playing on a softball team this spring and summer. I am a spectacularly bad softball player, but I enjoyed it. Last Thursday, (one week ago almost to the minute as I write this) I stepped off first base to begin running, heard a snap in my calf and went down. And was carried off the field. I knew I'd torn a calf muscle, but was leaving for the beach the next day. I didn't see a doctor, but I figured there was nothing a doc could tell me anyway besides the RICE routine (rest, ice, compression, elevation for all of you out there that may not be as conversant in treatment of injuries as I apparantly am...). So I went to the beach, walked carefully, rested as much as possible (not hard...it was the BEACH, after all) and generally felt a lot better within a few days.<br /><br />Wednesday, I returned to work. And Oh My God. My leg went from feeling better to looking like I had allowed the softball team to use it for batting practice. See below:<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SJJi4XidYuI/AAAAAAAAA6k/iWr1JEfB4eQ/s1600-h/DSC00949.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229350837861311202" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SJJi4XidYuI/AAAAAAAAA6k/iWr1JEfB4eQ/s320/DSC00949.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The picture is gross, but it doesn't do the bruise-that-is-my-lower-leg justice. It is bruised from the knee to below the ankle. That ankle there that is usually normal sized. Which is attached to that foot that is normally not puffy. I may not have an anywhere-near-perfect body, but I do have nice legs. This is not my leg. It is a distorted caracature.<br /><br />And that is why I'm going to the nice doctor tomorrow for (hopefully) some verystrong pain meds, even stronger anti-inflammatories, and perhaps a prescription to wear long pants for a month. Which will be fun in Georgia in August.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-28898205540172835742008-07-23T16:18:00.004-04:002008-07-23T16:23:38.581-04:00Now appearing...I specialize in procrastination. <div><br /><p>I also own a cat.</p><p>This time, my procrastination and the cat caught up to me, the indoor cat got out (for FIVE MINUTES) and 65 days later, there are two brand new kittens at my house. </p><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SIeSxnAoYEI/AAAAAAAAA2o/c38hHYkzFHs/s1600-h/onpillow.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226307273569624130" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SIeSxnAoYEI/AAAAAAAAA2o/c38hHYkzFHs/s320/onpillow.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p>Do not lecture me. I have owned cats before, and have always gotten them spayed or neutered. This time, time just got away from me. But...I think this will turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Asha was found abandoned when she was barely 6 weeks old. She didn't have time to be socialized by her mother or siblings, so she is very skittish, afraid of people and other animals, and not very friendly even to me. But with two kittens of her own, she might become a little more relaxed and friendly. She's already very chilled out. She lets me handle them (while watching me closely, of course). And I knew I was going to keep one of the kittens all along, but since she only had two I might just keep both of them. After all, they are SO CUTE.</p><p>But they're all getting fixed ASAP. :-)</p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SIeSXn06KeI/AAAAAAAAA2g/PaeDVz3IvJE/s1600-h/DSC00896.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226306827112294882" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/SIeSXn06KeI/AAAAAAAAA2g/PaeDVz3IvJE/s320/DSC00896.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-56824333623619586142008-06-06T18:01:00.002-04:002008-06-06T18:05:50.146-04:00AhhhhhhhI frequently get very defensive when people tell me that teaching is great just because of all the vacation days we have - summers, spring break, Christmas break, etc. But you want to know a secret? Those people have it partly right. <br /><br />Teaching isn't easy and teachers are underpaid. Blah blah blah, we all know that. But it sure is nice after a stress-filled year dealing with teenagers and all the baggage they carry around every day to know that in just an hour or so I'm leaving for the beach. For 10 days. <br /><br />Don't get too jealous - I'm coming back and teaching at a summer camp and have the rest of the summer pretty well filled up with work either in the yard or at the camp. But til then, I guess I can say... "nyah, nyah - I'm at the beach while you're at work!"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-7997236017863517422008-06-02T00:05:00.004-04:002008-06-02T00:18:12.994-04:00GraduationsAs a teacher, I relive many things about high school quite frequently. I've often thought (and said) that many people who go into teaching high school are those that never really wanted to leave it in the first place. That can make for some...interesting dynamics between teachers and students, teachers and teachers, etc.<br /><br /> I like to think that I was not one of those who chose this career out of a desire to stay in high school. For one thing, I am not one of those people who looks back on high school as the best years of my life. Don't get me wrong - I had some great times. But I also had some bloody awful times that I never, ever would live through again. One of the things that I've discovered about being 30-something<something> is that my 30's have been soooooo much better than the years that came before. They aren't perfect - I haven't found the love of my life or started the family I hope to have, for example - but then, what is? But I know myself better, I'm more self-confident and self-aware, the depressions that I used to experience before have finally been brought very much under control.<br /><br /> Occasionally things happen that bring me right back to being 18 again. Watching my seniors experience graduation every year is a bittersweet experience. I remember my graduations. I remember the elation and the fear and the incredible possibility that lay before me and wish I could experience it again. But then again - if a guy I hoped would be something special turns out not to be, I remember the utter devastation that would have wreaked in my life at 18 and I'm glad again not to be there. Instead I pick up my head and keep going forward because I've learned that there really isn't anything else to be done.<br /><br /> I guess that's a kind of graduation, too.<br /><br /></something>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-2841175782461922892008-05-13T23:07:00.002-04:002008-05-13T23:07:51.967-04:00Trivial things...We lost at trivia tonight. <br /><br />But I think I won. <br /><br />Yes, it's cryptic, but I'm happy. Go figure.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-28042396052178370902008-04-03T09:34:00.005-04:002008-04-03T09:47:45.112-04:00Pain and SufferingPeople have odd reaction to migraneurs. Sympathy, empathy - often. But there's also the desire to tell the story of their father/mother/friend/whomever who has migraines. There's the advice to just lie down, take this drug or that drug, quit eating this or that. There are the doubtful looks, wondering if a migraine is made up or preventable if you would just do...something.<br /><br />I have now been in various degrees of pain for two weeks straight. In the last two months, there have been perhaps a fortnight's worth of days that I have not had some form of a migraine. People ask all the usual questions. Here are some I've had:<br /><br /> What causes these? (Don't you think that if I KNEW that, I'd STOP it??)<br /> Have you seen a doctor about this? (That's hilarious. Only about 10.)<br /> Have you taken any medicine? (About 75 different kinds at last count...)<br /> Have you tried <insert>[insert various folk remedies here]? (The answer is that I've tried everything but acupuncture and Botox - and I'm about to try the former, and can't afford the later.)<br /><br />I've read books about migraines and remedies. I've read articles written by fellow migraneurs recommending different approaches. The latest one was written by a woman who says that she has come to "accept" her migraines as part of her and simply retreats to a room where she is quiet and can "be one" with her headache. That's fine if you're a free-lance author. Doesn't work so well when you are a teacher and coach.<br /><br />I cannot live like this.</insert>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-42849099726636958702008-03-27T22:30:00.004-04:002008-03-27T22:45:22.640-04:00Being a Grown-Up...Y'know that house I've been posting pictures of? Well - I OWN IT now! Hooray!<br /><br />Of course, since it was *me* buying it, there's no way that the closing went off without a hitch. Sit back and behold the wonder that was my day:<br /><br />I arranged to have the morning off school. The appointment with the lawyer was at 9:30. I showed up at the bank to get the certified check, and the fun began. Naturally, I had a trainee teller, who took 15 minutes to write a single certified check. So I rushed out the door, already late.<br /><br />In Atlanta rush-hour traffic, I now had 15 minutes to make it across town. Every road - and I am not exaggerating - EVERY road I traveled on had construction on it. Highways, surface streets, back roads that no one knows about - ALL OF THEM were under construction. Therefore, I arrived at the lawyer's office at 9:55 instead of 9:30. However, this turned out not to be as big a deal as you might think. You see, the power at the attorney's office had just come back on. The construction crew outside (see - you thought I was joking about the construction) had cut a power line. So the lawyer was behind already.<br /><br />Now comes the really fun part. The seller of the property (who is also financing this deal) and the lawyer had thought they each understood each other, and it turns out they had not. Lots of boring/frustrating/bordering-on-angry conversations followed, the settlement statement was re-written TWICE, and I sat and did basically nothing for THREE HOURS. I had to call work and get someone to cover my classes. I developed a headache, which my migraine drugs did nothing to alleviate. I ate quite a few mini Three Musketeers candies out of the dish in front of me. Finally, an agreement was reached, papers were printed, I signed and signed and signed and it was done.<br /><br />Now, in the middle of all of that, my mother called to tell me that she was heading to Pennsylvania, where she was going to have to take my 90-year-old grandfather to be admitted to the hospital for what we believe is bleeding in the brain. I don't know what will come of this, but of course, it won't be good. So that added a new dimension of drama to a day that had quite enough already.<br /><br />All of that happened by 1:30. I rushed out of the office and back to school. I grumped and yelled and basically took out my frustrations on the last class of the day. I foisted my track runners off on the boys coach, went home and took a nap, and then got up and drove an hour and a half in MORE rush hour traffic to play in a double-header with the softball team I'm on. But hey - at least I got a couple of decent hits tonight!<br /><br />Anyway. I sincerely hope that all of you have had/will have far easier closing days when you buy houses. As for me - if this is what happens when I buy a house, I'm not planning to move, oh, EVER.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-21822737319427908152008-03-16T22:53:00.004-04:002008-03-16T23:01:28.728-04:00And some more<div>This is the last major change that was made. The house was built somewhere around 1915, and originally had no indoor plumbing. What used to be a back porch is now a laundry room and the bathroom. The laundry room is long and narrow, with jalousied windows. I still haven't decided what to do about window coverings back there (you know - it's been almost two years now and I don't like to rush into these decisions...) but Todd made the room eminantly more fuctional with the addition of shelves! </div><div> </div><div>Before (this was when Todd was staying here trying to get the house sold, hence the air mattress....):</div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R93eH-WIykI/AAAAAAAAA1A/cAgKl8ke3x4/s1600-h/Laundry.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178539375122238018" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R93eH-WIykI/AAAAAAAAA1A/cAgKl8ke3x4/s320/Laundry.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>After (note that I've also replaced the 25 year old dryer! :-):</div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R93efOWIylI/AAAAAAAAA1I/AEfWXGDPI2Y/s1600-h/laundry1after.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178539774554196562" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R93efOWIylI/AAAAAAAAA1I/AEfWXGDPI2Y/s320/laundry1after.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />And the view in the other direction:</div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R93eu-WIymI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/ADPy1o2_bV0/s1600-h/laundry2after.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178540045137136226" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R93eu-WIymI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/ADPy1o2_bV0/s320/laundry2after.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-28228579400534235612008-03-13T22:59:00.007-04:002008-03-13T23:12:42.702-04:00More with the house...Ok, so on to the living room. <div><div><div> </div><div>This will be the first room of the house that gets completely done the way I want. The painting phase is over (although I still need to touch up the TV cabinet and get now knobs for it). This summer, with extra money from a summer job, I'll be replacing the couch and making new curtains. Oh, and moving in the piano from my mother's house. Anyone out there want to help get a piano from Knoxville, TN to Atlanta, GA? Anyone? No? Hmph. </div></div><div> </div><div><div>In any case, behold the progress so far:</div><div><br />Before (really before...as in before I ever moved in, hence no furniture). Notice, especially, the pine mantel around the bricked-up fireplace:</div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9nq0OWIyfI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/MQCtJ8Xvm8w/s1600-h/LivingRoomBefore.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177427429564140018" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9nq0OWIyfI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/MQCtJ8Xvm8w/s320/LivingRoomBefore.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div><br />And a slightly different view, immediately after I moved in, with my unpainted TV cabinet and un-slipcovered couch:</div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9nrMOWIygI/AAAAAAAAA0g/M6kmXorlezU/s1600-h/LivingRoom1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177427841881000450" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9nrMOWIygI/AAAAAAAAA0g/M6kmXorlezU/s320/LivingRoom1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After:</div><div>(This is a view of just the fireplace, obviously. The bricks are now matte black, so as to recede a little, the mantel is white to match the trim, and the walls are a very pale blue-grey.)</div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9nrpOWIyhI/AAAAAAAAA0o/uylqu4QSmek/s1600-h/Fireplaceafter.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177428340097206802" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9nrpOWIyhI/AAAAAAAAA0o/uylqu4QSmek/s320/Fireplaceafter.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div>And a view with the painted TV cabinet and covered couch. </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9nsGeWIyiI/AAAAAAAAA0w/xktVGlqNw58/s1600-h/lr2after.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177428842608380450" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9nsGeWIyiI/AAAAAAAAA0w/xktVGlqNw58/s320/lr2after.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Still to come: the laundry room!</div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-83252382222780948702008-03-10T22:37:00.003-04:002008-03-10T22:44:52.497-04:00Before and After<div>I am addicted to home improvement shows. I like watching the transformations, but really, I'm perfectly happy to miss most of the show and skip to the end where they show the before and after shots of the rooms they've transformed. And now I get to do my Very Own Version! Woo-hoo!<br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Last week, as a house-warming gift, my friend Todd (who is the one selling me the house) came up from Savannah and absolutely SLAVED for a week, doing many projects. I helped, but he did almost all the real work. So here are some shots of his (our) results!<br /></div><div>#1: The kitchen, specifically the sink. Someday, I'd like to have this kitchen be the perfect kitchen. Unfortunately, that costs tons of money. So this go-round, I settled for replacing the antique, cast-iron sink and the cabinet under it that was rusting away. I hate throwing out a good antique, but it just couldn't get white anymore, didn't have enough room, etc. Also, notice that the ugly piece of crappy counter over the dishwasher is replaced. The cabinet and counter are from IKEA, the sink is from Lowes. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Before:</div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9Xwu-WIycI/AAAAAAAAA0A/QJihwImp4nk/s1600-h/Sinkbefore.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176308036532750786" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9Xwu-WIycI/AAAAAAAAA0A/QJihwImp4nk/s320/Sinkbefore.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>During: </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9XxFeWIydI/AAAAAAAAA0I/xt6MZWcvTfc/s1600-h/Kitchen+during.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176308423079807442" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9XxFeWIydI/AAAAAAAAA0I/xt6MZWcvTfc/s320/Kitchen+during.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>After:</div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9XxmOWIyeI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/cZYqDbKhxGM/s1600-h/kitchenafter.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176308985720523234" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R9XxmOWIyeI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/cZYqDbKhxGM/s320/kitchenafter.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It is missing the small door for the cabinet to the left of the sink (I just got it from IKEA, but haven't installed it yet) but isn't it great?? And the greatest thing is that now I can replace the other cabinets as I have time/money!</div><div> </div><div>Stay tuned for more tomorrow.<br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-85368197623909165822008-03-06T13:53:00.003-05:002008-03-06T13:58:44.462-05:00Moments in House Renovation With Mary(And, by the way, I know it's been two months since I wrote anything. Chalk it up to a case of terminal laziness and a spectacularly uninteresting life.)<br /><br />************************<br /><br />male: "I need to paint over this caulk by the bathroom mirror with white paint. I don't understand why the caulk has turned pink."<br /><br />female: "The caulk didn't turn pink. That's from my makeup."<br /><br />*************************<br /><br />person who is not Mary and doesn't know how clumsy she is: "Don't worry about a drop cloth. Since I'm on the ladder I'll be the one who makes a mess...oh, wait. You've stepped in some paint and tracked it all over the floor."<br /><br />*************************<br /><br />Yes, that's right. I've been participating in home repair and renovation! Whoo-hoo. I'll have pictures soon...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-45454980441475553482008-01-08T21:33:00.000-05:002008-01-08T21:42:28.011-05:00Conversations With My NeighborsThe house next door to me has been empty for the better part of 6 months now. This is Not Good in a sketchy neighborhood, so I was glad to learn on Saturday that a young couple has moved in next door to "fix up" the place. I learned this because the young lady (around 25 and only missing a few teeth) showed up on my doorstep asking to borrow my phone to call her sister-in-law since her husband had dropped their phone in the toilet. Don't you hate it when that happens? In any case, I have since learned interesting things.<br /><br />Hand to God - all of these are direct quotes. They were said by one or the other of my neighbors either directly to me, or while on my phone standing directly in front of me. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry or pray...or all three.<br /><br />"It's just the two of us right now, but I'm hoping my girls will be with us soon. I hear Fulton County is real quick about getting your kids back to you."<br /><br />"Nah - he's doing real good. He ain't done <span style="font-weight: bold;">that</span> in three whole days."<br /><br />"I forgot to tell you - the DNA results came back! Now no one can deny that he's her father."<br /><br />"Don't you worry - if someone tries to break into the house, they'll get shot. And then I'll hand the gun to my wife 'cause, you know, I ain't supposed to own no gun."<br /><br />"You've been so generous - when my food stamps start up next week I'm gonna buy you something special."<br /><br />Maybe when I was wishing for neighbors to make the neighborhood a little safer, I should have been more specific. Sigh.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-22684694576857612632007-12-07T17:34:00.000-05:002007-12-07T17:42:24.422-05:00In Which I Display Momma Bear QualitiesMaybe I'm not understanding this because I'm not married. Or because my family would not make demands on me like my friends are experiencing. Or...maybe I'm just a bitch. Whatever.<br /><br />I have several friends who are married (no, really! We still talk and laugh and everything!). And the thing is, several of *those* people are being dragged all over hell and back at the holidays by their families. Now here's the thing - I've met most of these people. I know that their families are by and large nice and loving and want only the best for their children. But OH MY GOD. The demands I see my friends go through! Waking up at 0-dark-thirty to fly on Christmas Eve and then drive, or drive to several states/cities in one day, or spend a major holiday *not with* their spouse in order to accommodate both families. Am I crazy for just absolutely knowing that I would long ago have told people that I was crossing my arms and stomping my feet and NOT MOVING AT ALL until they stopped acting like it was the end of the world if Thanksgiving was celebrated on Friday? <br /><br />I don't mean to imply that I look down on my friends for doing what they choose to do. They all have their own balancing acts to create and they choose what matters, and I really do respect everything that they do. But oy. It really makes me appreciate the fact that for all the differences I may have with my family at times, I know that I would never be made to feel bad if I had to choose a place to be for a holiday.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31132850.post-91680374345357027462007-11-28T17:50:00.000-05:002007-11-28T17:53:59.467-05:00Almost Done...Much as I love my shoes, I'm ready to have this series over with. For one thing, I'm running out of comfortable shoes to wear to work. The 4" spikes don't work so much there for some reason...<br /><br />Anyway, these are as comfortable as shoes get. Plus, they're ballerina flats with bow, which I seem to have developed an obsession with (I just realized that I have <span style="font-weight: bold;">four </span>different pairs in that style). Oh well.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R03xZ53GrSI/AAAAAAAAAoM/ImmLJ3RJ6CA/s1600-h/DSC00422.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b6WTXaMGvzs/R03xZ53GrSI/AAAAAAAAAoM/ImmLJ3RJ6CA/s320/DSC00422.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138028177230572834" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16948564773899634324noreply@blogger.com2