Guess Who Came to Dinner?

We had a bit of excitement last night in the form of an unwanted guest. Caught this old possum sneaking around in the back yard, probably trying to steal Tsion’s dinner. Mr Possum was quickly shoved into a large dog crate and given a change of address out to a wooded area a long way from our house!

While possum are interesting from the scientific point of view…the only marsupial in the US, the land mammal with the most teeth in the US (50 of them), and of course the way they “play possum” – feigning death to make predators seek a more appetizing meal, they certainly do not win any points in the attractive or intelligent scale. Nope…they are just ugly and dumb!

A few year back I went with some girlfriends to dinner at a restaurant here in Tennessee, and one of my friends brought a guest who was from New York City. Somehow the dinner topic turned to...rats (don’t ask me how they got on that subject)! The guest exclaimed in her Bronx accent, “I don’t care what you say about New York City having big rats, they are NOTHING compared to what I have seen since moving to the South!"

This stopped all the conversation. We were trying to figure out what she was talking about since the South is not known for large rats—whom this person said ‘were everywhere’. All of a sudden I realized she was talking about...possums.

Much laughter followed.

We tried to explain what a possum was, but all she said while shaking her head (and I quote), “I don’t care WHAT you call them down here, they are just a damn big RAT!”

Hmmmm...she might just have had a point.

It's Starting to Feel a Lot Like Christmas...

...which means I'm working on my Operation Christmas Child boxes!

If you don't know about Operation Christmas Child, check out:
http://www.samaritanspurse.org/OCC.asp?MPGID=1

Every year I do six boxes and I start collecting at the beginning of the year with the Christmas clearance sales! From there, I load up on whatever clearance sales and loss leaders I find. Nail clippers for .40c, cute plastic cups for .10c, toothbrushes 2 for $1 and so on. I get friends to give me the toys out of kid meals they get (since a lot of us buy them for the smaller portions). Back to school sales in August are a gold mine. And it's usually pretty easy to talk an event coordinator into giving you a few leftover T shirts when you say why you want them. (And I give them a pamphlet for Operation Christmas Child too!)

I save coins to pay the requested $7 a box processing donation and to buy the one thing I don't cost cut on...sturdy Rubbermaid totes with locking lids. I figure the box should be part of the gift. And this year, I'm going to make some simple tote bags of denim just the right size to carry the box, with a handle long enough to sling over their shoulder.

An underbed box in the guest room stashes my treasures until early November. Then I pull out the stored goodies and have a wonderful evening of box packing. We have hot chocolate and cookies as we sort, pack and close each box.

The final thing we put in is a letter to the child who will receive it, with our picture and our prayers and wishes to them. All of our boxes are made for boys in the oldest age level, as that is what OCC receives the least of.

We have been fortunate in that we know where two of our boxes have ended up. One went to Sudan. It was pictured in the annual report for that year! I was SO excited! The other went to Jamaica. The boy who received it wrote us back and sent his picture! What fun!

I wonder where my 2007 boxes will end up?

The Reason Why

I just recently was asked why my sponsor kids and writing buddies and nephews & nieces of the heart are so important to me.

I thought about it for a while and it occured to me why I do this...the reason my kids are important to me, is that in this scary, screwed-up world they bring me HOPE and a feeling that maybe, just maybe, I can have a wee role in making it not so screwed-up.

A day for quotes

Having just been to Madison County Iowa a few weeks ago, I've been thinking about the book that started all the hoopla over the bridges in Madison County.

I've read just about all of Robert James Waller's books...not so much because I really like the story itself but because I really enjoy the way he turns a phrase.


From "Old Songs in a New Cafe"...

(regarding the death of the last Duskie Seaside Sparrow)...
"But the day Orange Band died there was a faint sound out there in the universe. Hardly noticeable unless you were expecting it and listening. It was a small cry, the last one, that arched upward from a cage in Florida, ricocheted along galactic highways and skimmed past the scorched parts of an old moon rocket still in orbit. If you were listening closely, though, you could hear it...'I am zero'.
Extinct. The sound of the word is like the single blow of a hammer on cold steel."
--"I Am Orange Band"
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"For me, I'm content with Waller's Second Conjecture: Existence takes on meaning only when you give it meaning by making it meaningful. And how do you make it meaningful? By listening to those almost-secret voices within you that, at certain critical times, whisper, "This is me".
In those moments, it's important to consciously note what you're doing and to do more of it, a lifetime of it, in fact."
--"The Turning Of Fifty"
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"There are Yaqui drums in high plains arroyos and ship engines north of Cairo I have not yet heard. There are beaches where you can still run naked at dawn and visions within a yard of my house that I have not yet seen through the lens of my Nikon."
--"The Turning Of Fifty"
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And, if it's all right with everyone else, I think I'll skip the midlife passage involving gold chains and Porsches and suntans.
Instead, I'm lacing up my twelve-year-old Red Wings, loading the cameras, putting new strings on the 1957 Martin flattop, getting ready to go where egrets fly. Like an old rider of the surf, I can already see the next wave coming. It looks fine and fair. It looks worth the effort."
--"The Turning Of Fifty"
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"And Arabia came along. On Themari Street in Riyadh, the old ways endure. There is gold, and women with covered faces and men with covered intentions."
--"One Good Road Is Enough"
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Beale Street’s Blues

It’s been about 8 years since I’ve made it to Memphis. So when my Mom and sister proposed a mid-week “chick trip” to the Home of the Blues, I jumped at the chance. I eagerly anticipated an afternoon and evening on Beale Street listening to Memphis jazz and blues.

Fun, cool and smooth were how I used to describe the Beale St experience. But those words escaped me as I made my way into the downtown area. Stadiums? Boutique restaurants? Hard Rock Café? What has happened to the Beale St area?? Even the stately Peabody has sold out the grab-a-buck culture with a high-rise mall where their parking lot used to be.

As I walked down Beale, there seemed to be as many rock and alternative clubs as there were blues clubs. The Hard Rock Café sits like a bloated toad on the third block of Beale. And the WC Handy Park thrummed with the sound of Metallica.

But then I heard it. The low slow sounds of a soulful sax backed up by guitar. There at the corner of Beale and 4th, past the normal tourist flow were two old-timers playing blues the way they should be done.

I had to wonder…was their song for the loss of Beale Street’s uniqueness?

Those who travel...

There are the "sight seers". The "see 16 countries in 2 weeks" tours were made just for them. They've been there, done that. Have the T-shirt and post cards to prove it. You can spot them by their loud voices, bad attitudes and constant critical remarks.

Then there are the "tourist". They have come to see something in particular and have made preparations by studying up on whatever that is. There is appreciation for a culture different than their own. You spot them on local tours (one hosted within the area) and in the historic areas, and they are usually are a fairly happy lot. They bring home objects that remind them of the places they saw.

Finally there are the "travelers". They come to be a part of the culture - to know it for its people, its history, its food, its everyday life. They learn a bit about the base history of the area (to be able to hold a conversation with someone they hope to meet) but they keep their mind open to what can be taught by each person they meet. You usually DON'T spot them as they blend in with the locals or at least look like they belong there. They bring home gifts given to them by the people they have met and shared with (and to whom they have brought gifts for - because they *knew* they were going to meet someone fascinating on the trip).

Reason for the journeys

Now in my 40s, my life list is about me. It's things I want to experience. Things I want to become part of my soul.

There's a quote I've heard that has embedded itself in me "But do you know what the Sistine Chapel smells like?" I don't know what the Sistine Chapel smells like (yet) but I do know the smell of an African savannah and have seen lions living free. I have stood in the spray of Yosemite Falls and felt the vibrations it causes. I know the dead and hopeless feeling of a town who has seen too much hate and killing (in Bosnia). I have ran my hands along the wall of a place I was taught to fear when growing up (the Kremlin Wall, Moscow Russia) while standing beside my Russian friend. I have tasted Navajo fry bread, made just for me inside a hogan in Monument Valley.

These are all part of me now. And I want more. So much more...