20/20 Bellysight

Where To Start

A friend often asks me when I am going to blog again.  I tell her I don't write unless I experience something out of the ordinary, significant or hilarious.  Apparently, all of 2019 was uneventful.  On the other hand, 2020 has been outright nuclear.

I have been wanting to blog about our new virus, My Corona, but have not wanted to make light when so many are sacrificing, suffering and dying.  In addition, our society has become so divided, uncivil, disrespectful, and openly aggressive, that I am almost guaranteed to offend someone.

I have not taken sides on whether to shut down or stay open because I understand the arguments of both.  I have tried to support local businesses yet not endanger others with my presence.   We are all walking a tightrope in which there are snapping crocodiles on one side and quicksand on the other.  If we fall on one side we will be eaten alive, the other and we will suffocate.   What to do?

Pinball Wizard

After pondering my navel for the last 3 months under quarantine, I've come to the conclusion that we have become a pinball machine society that overreacts to everything, exacerbated by instantaneous, globally available information and video footage "proof."

For those of you who cannot picture a pinball machine, it's different from modern video games in that it was more mechanically operated.  You launched your ball from a coiled plunger and kept the game going by flipping the ball back into action with right and left flippers.   Once you had it going well, the ball could bounce off so many different bells and ringers you couldn't tell which one it hit first, or even second or third.   It's an uncontrolled chain reaction, with each "hit" creating more noise and often gaining momentum.

Of course, pinball machines were not invented with artificial intelligence.  They just react to the ball hitting the mechanism that causes a bounce or a bell or both, and then increases the score.   We, as human beings, were created with real intelligence.  We don't have to react to an object butting up against our senses.  We don't have to aggressively thrust our opinion out there, causing more bounces and bells to go off.

As an example of overreacting, I have been disturbed by the calls to rewrite or even try to erase history, tear down statues, change names.  I understand the anger at certain people who hurt certain groups (as well as understand that this statement itself is oversimplified).  As a person of Jewish blood, I can write pages of  unimaginable horrors committed against the Jews since the beginning of time.  Yet, Auschwitz-Birkenau still stands.  Buchenwald still stands.  Why?  As a reminder to never repeat the same sins.  But, you may argue, these were never celebrated as good.  Read on.

The fact is, everyone of us, including me and you, will do bad things, and everyone of us will do good things.  That makes us human.  The good does not erase the bad, and the bad does not erase the good.  They just are.  Interestingly, the heroes of the Bible were deeply flawed human beings.  David, a man after God's own heart and the most celebrated king of Israel, committed adultery and murder.  Abraham, the Patriarch of the Jews, sent his wife to live with the Egyptians, not once, but twice to save his own skin.   Moses, the great shepherd of the Exodus and Ten Commandment messenger, murdered a man and was prohibited from entering the Promised Land because he disobeyed God and lost his temper.  Aaron, Moses' bro and the first High Priest, helped the people construct and worship a golden calf.    You get the picture.

The common thread is that they were forgiven for their sins.  The sins did not define them.  They also suffered natural consequences as a result of them.  But God did not "cancel" them.  Nor did their fellow community members.  Their flaws were left in the Bible to encourage us to be merciful to others when they fall, and to pick ourselves up in our own tumbles.  In the famous parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus illustrated that EVERYONE is our neighbor, no matter how much we may disagree with them, and we are to love them as much as we love ourselves. 

These are just ponderings of a quarantined woman whose navel has grown closer to her face after too many episodes of The Great British Baking Show and accompanied recipe imitations.   They are not meant to insult, chastise, or otherwise offend.   I would love to hear your opinion as long as you gently slide it over like a light pastry stuffed with creme patissiere and enrobed in chocolate ganache, rather than launch it like a silver pinball.

For your further entertainment, I have included the video of Elton John performing Pinball Wizard.  This song is from the rock opera, Tommy, a disturbingly themed but brilliantly soundtracked movie.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joxyFDmh_LY

Stranded at Costco

I had just come inside from doing chores when the house phone rang.  Anticipating a political call urging me to vote for (fill in the blank), I hesitantly said, "Hello?"  It was my husband who said, "You haven't checked the messages."  Sure enough there were 6 messages from him on the phone.  The poor guy had blown up a tire on the freeway and careened over to an offramp where he sat, waiting for me to answer the phone since only I have AAA service.

He tried to change the tire himself but the design for reaching the spare tire on a Chevy Silverado requires a degree from MIT, or at least parts that work together.  I called AAA and quickly jumped in my car to rescue him.  He had to go to practice so I stayed with the truck.  And so the adventure begins.

I'm looking for a place to sit down on a concrete barrier to get out of the way of traffic when I realize he had pulled up right next to an ominous pile.  Someone had pulled over to "toss their cookies."  From the looks of it though, I would say it was a family-size combo pizza.  Yeah, gross. Guess I'll just remain standing, thanks.  The tow truck driver arrives promptly since our location isn't "safe," which is a nice change.  He lacks aforementioned college degree also because he couldn't get the long stick thing to connect with the internal gadget thing to turn the windy thing.  (You can tell that I have a college degree, can't you?)

The only thing to do is tow us to Costco where Bill had bought the tires.  I guess the tire was too young to have blown because they only charge me $18 to replace it.  Yay!  But I would have to wait an hour.  Boo! I rushed out of the house so quickly I didn't bring any reading material.  Dang.  What to do, what to do.

Hmm, nothing at the food court tempts me.  It is so nice outside I decide to walk around the strip mall to see if there is a yogurt place or something interesting to look at.  Tried Hobby Town.  No, I don't need a premade paper mache horse set for $44.95, nor do I want to build a model car.  I know, Pier 1 has fun things to look at.  I trek on over to the store and step inside.  I almost let out a blood-curdling scream!  The horror of it all!! No, it isn't a mechanical Halloween monster.  It is a store completely filled with...Christmas decor!  I nearly vomit a combo pizza.  I stumble back out the door and turn swiftly back to Costco.

By the time I get back I have really worked up an appetite.  I see people chewing so I know there must be samples somewhere nearby.  Yes!  Stuffing Bread.  Don't ask me what it's made of but it tastes like heaven.  Brazilia Cheesy Bread.  Ooh, baby.  Prime Beef Roast in Gravy.  Soo savory.  Hot dogs in canned chili.  Ick.  Skip that one.  I'm not that desperate.

So now that I've tracked down all the free food, what to do, what to do.  Well I need a new cell phone.  Let's see what they have to offer.  On the way to the kiosk I notice a toilet with the lid open and thought, "Hope no one thinks THAT'S a demo."  Hip cell phone dude is nice enough but not that interested in me because I am looking for the cheapo phone.  Well that killed 5 minutes.

I know!  I remember seeing some really comfy chairs recently.  I can pick out an interesting book and curl up in a comfy chair for the rest of the time.  Let's see, political book, political book, Geisha girl book, tattoo girl book, political book.  Nothing looks appealing.  Ooh, cookbooks - real possibility.  Wait!  Learn American Sign Language.  Yes!  I can learn, oh, probably 20 words in the time I have.  I grab the book and head for the "lounge" section.  Where are the comfy chairs?  The stuffed couches?  The backyard swings? Apparently since Christmas is imminently around the corner, all the furniture was replaced with toys and giant tacky lawn decorations. (Don't worry, I'm not talking about YOUR lawn decorations.  I'm sure they are very tasteful and understated.)

There!  There's a bench.  Oh, it's a piano bench to an electric keyboard. Hey, it's on.  What can I play?  Virtually nothing without sheet music, and even then, my kids would probably pay me not to play.  Well, I used to know The Peanuts theme song by heart.  I plunk around for a few minutes before I realize I've even forgotten that.  So much for my repertoire.  Since it is the only seat I see in the whole store, I just set up the sign language book on the piano and study it.  I am actually too embarrassed to practice the signs lest someone I know see me and wonder why I am sitting at a keyboard in Costco in the toy section waving my hands around my face. Okay, nailed it!  I can sign "good, bad, movie, me, us, the letter K and 21."  However, if actually put to the test I might accidentally say something like, "The tribe has spoken."  Wouldn't that be embarrassing.

Now that I'm an accomplished signer I'm bored.  I stand up to get a different book when I run into a friend.  After a few minutes I can tell she's trying to get away but I'm grasping at things to ask so she won't leave me alone where Ebony and Ivory live together in perfect harmony side by side on my piano keyboard, oh Lord, why don't we?  Sigh.

I meander back to the book section by way of Pendleton boots (ooh soft), and Calvin Klein denim shirt (so fashion).  They had a large display of Jesus Calling books by Sarah Young, including Jesus Always and Jesus Today, daily devotional books.  I open Jesus Today and look for today's date, October 22.  This one, however, isn't set up that way.  Instead, I randomly open to page 76 and catch my breath.  The subject is "worry," the very thing that has kept me up nights for the last month.  It says, "If you think about certain things at the wrong time - for example, when you're lying in bed - it's all too easy to start worrying about them.  Instead...you can interrupt anxious thoughts and change the subject." Then it goes on to tell you to redirect your thoughts, and the best direction is toward God by expressing your trust in Him.  Last Sunday I listened to a man speak about living day by day and being thankful for every one.  This man is and has been undergoing unbelievable trials and yet is joyful.  He said, "Live for today and leave the future to God."

While I'm still standing in front of the books mulling over these thoughts, my phone rings: the truck is ready.  My adventure has come to a close.  Though it wasn't how I planned to spend my afternoon, apparently I needed to read that page.  So thank you, honey, for having a flat tire.  I think I'll go practice the piano now...without sign language.

Why The Olympics Make Me Fat

My family would call me a TV snob. I generally feel that TV watching is not a productive use of one's time.  I make an exception for my favorite show, Jeopardy, because I feel like it's informative and educational, and Wheel of Fortune, because I have to boost my ego back up after being trounced by 22-year-old prodigies.  Other than that, I may watch the news while cooking dinner. 

But oh, the Olympics.  I am fascinated by these people who are so dedicated to their sport and training, and love to see the product of that determination.  Of course, I'm not really impressed with all of them.  You know what I'm talking about.  As Jimmy Fallon gave the real descriptions of Olympic sports, curling is really just aggressive janitoring.  I don't deny it takes skill, but if it takes athleticism, I'm an athletic mopper. 

Most nights I make Bill tired just by watching my constant activity, but here I am, hour after hour, night after night, sitting on the couch watching TV.  I have always been a stickler for eating dinner at the dining room table, but because many of the events happen during dinner time we have set up TV trays -- TV trays!!! -- in front of our little dual recliner love seat.  I guess we are officially old fuddy duddies.  Next thing you know we'll be ordering denture cream and adult diapers from Walmart by the caseload (nothing wrong with that, I just want to keep pretending I'm younger than I am).

Now because I'm not used to sitting for hours on end, I keep looking for reasons to get up and move, or something to do besides just sit here and use my eyeballs.  I need to move more body parts than that.  You'd think that calisthenics or something healthy would occur to me.  Not so.  Instead, my new Olympic sport is snacking!  That uses my mouth, my hands, and my stomach, and takes good hand-eye coordination.  I have to be VERY careful not to drop any crumbs on my new couch while keeping my eyes firmly set on the TV.  That would be a penalty and I'd be sent to the penalty box (uncomfortable chair). 

How many different snacks can I find and consume in 5 hours of spectating?  Let me tell you, I've become a professional at Combine.  I can power through newly discovered but forgotten Christmas peanut butter balls from the freezer and THEN slalom my way through Boom Chicka Pop kettle corn, knocking all those stray kernels off the couch.  What about Ice Cream Cross?  Don't cross me, buddy, or I'll send your scoop flying off the mountain, uh, bowl.  Figure skating?  My figure is fast becoming a Sally-cow with a family-sized bag of puffy Cheetos.  I can get my HEART rate up by snarfing leftover Valentine chocolate while going for the Gold -- covered chocolate coins, that is.  I wonder if other Olympians suffer from couch sores?  I guess it's just all part of the training, and thankfully I have my trusty trainer sitting next to me.    

Adding to all this Olympic-sized indulgence is the snow fall and chilly weather we have had all week.  The roaring fire and cozy sweats have encouraged my sloth and scarf attitude.  No figure-fitting spanx for me.  Loose sweats and slippers are my uni and I wear it proud.  Go USA!




Olympic snacking in action

Obscenity in October

Clearing the Courts

I know it's not like me to use obscenities in my blog, so even the word - obscenity - seems kind of out of place.  And that's the whole point.  Out of place.

Today, October 24, I was in Penneys looking for the escalator when I encountered  tables upon tables and racks upon racks of Nutcrackers, Christmas ornaments, snow globes, reindeer, and other similar trappings just across the aisle from Halloween costumes.  I stopped short, balled my hands into fists, counted to 10 and moved on.  On the inside, however, I was envisioning myself swiping my arms across whole display tables and sending the offending items flying with a throaty growl, upending racks of ornaments and watching them shatter into tiny red, green and gold shards with a self-righteous roar.  "Just like Jesus turning over the money changers' tables in the temple courts," I thought.  Hm, let's compare stories.

When it was almost time for the Jewish Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem.  In the temple courts he found men selling cattle, sheep and doves, and others sitting at tables exchanging money.  So he made a whip out of cords, and drove all from the temple area, both sheep and cattle; he scattered the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables.  To those who sold doves he said, "Get these out of here!  How dare you turn my Father's house into a market!"  John 2:13-16.

Okay, so other than the fact that they both had to do with holy days (holidays) and overturning tables, not really a good comparison.  But the daydream was satisfying nevertheless.  Not as much as actually carrying it out, of course, but then I would have been tased and arrested by Mall Cop, shoppers would be filming me and posting on social media, it would go viral, and my children's lives would be ruined.  Still...what fun it would be.

Really, even more ridiculous than this was seeing fully lit up, 8' Christmas trees in Costco in August.  I actually filled out complaint forms.  Twice.  But only because the checkers told me to. 

I've had a rule in my house since the kids were old enough to ask that Christmas music or movies may NOT be played until after Thanksgiving dinner is done and dishes are washed.  Violators will be subject to a time out room with Jingle Bells sung by Elmo playing on a loop.  Of course no one dared violate it. 

So even though I see red (no pun intended) when commercial Christmas is prematurely sprung in the stores, I will admit that I purchase gifts all year.  I do have two absolutely solid excuses that save me from hypocrite-dom. 

1.  From November 24 to January 14 there are also 6 birthdays between our kids and spouse.  If I didn't pace myself we would go broke.

2.  When I see a bargain I have to buy it then and there.  It's culturally required.  Alright, now we're getting into tricky territory here, explaining why the Jewish girl is finding bargains on Christmas gifts.  That's a story for another day.  Maybe when I start seeing dreidels in the stores.

Closure

Memory Lane is Full of Potholes and Roses

I'm one of those people who, if I had a slide projector, would bore you to pieces with slides of my child's T-ball game, trip to Disneyland or latest surgically removed dermatologic flaw found upon my body.  I LOVE looking at how things were, what we looked like, and what talented/fun/warty people we are.

I recall with embarrassment how I subjected my dad to videos of my infant child waving her limbs and cooing under her Sesame Street activity gym.  Surely no other child had ever been so clever, limber and adorable.  He had come all the way from California to visit us in person, for goodness sake, and I sat him down in front of the TV to watch the baby's fascinating conversation with plastic Big Bird, Bert and Ernie as a 3-month-old.  Thankfully he quickly started nodding off and I got the hint.

I'm extremely sentimental.  Unfortunately my sentimentality includes baggage: the inclination to tear up at Lassie shows, collecting, and the complete inability to throw anything away that dear [fill in the blank] gave me for my birthday, something that was passed down or something that "I might need someday."   Let me reassure you that if you gave me something for my birthday or Christmas, I still have it.  Well most likely.  I've had to shed a few things or I would soon be featured on that hoarders show.  But really, I truly cherish whatever you gave me.  I did swear off garage sales when we moved the last time.  I was so disgusted with the sheer volume of crap I had accumulated.

Now, however, we have just cleaned out my mother's and stepfather's house up in the Sierras.  It was a simple but beautiful place, uniquely suited to their personalities and relationship.  They were...eccentric, to put it nicely.  Artists.  I never knew growing up that most people did not have kitchen cupboards in 4 colors - turquoise, hot pink, orange and green.  Or that other mothers didn't wear only 3 colors  for decades at a time (black, red and white, then later green, blue and purple).

One room of the house was their art studio, and one was their dance studio.  They loved to dance. This room had a lovely wood dance floor, mirrored doors, a disco ball and colored lights.  I kid you not.  They tried many different kinds of dance and I imagine danced the night away with great joy and abandon.  Dang it!  I'm tearing up again.

Moving on, it was in a gated community just outside of Yosemite on a lake.  I have very sweet memories of spending time up there.   Therefore, being there without my mom and her laughter just felt like eating the ice cream cone after the whole scoop fell on the ground.  Have you ever seen a child burst into tears when that happens?  That's me.

I wanted to cling to any scrap of memorabilia to bring home to pass down to my children, whether they wanted it or not.

*Here I will admit something extremely embarrassing from my junior high years so get ready.  There was a hunky guy who lived near my best friends who was 3 years older than us.  When they told me where he lived I made them walk by his house so I could stalk him.  One time I grabbed leaves from his bushes in front of his house and actually kept them in my keepsake box.  For years.  I can even picture exactly what this "special hedge" looked like.  Pitiful and...so strange.  It's not like he touched those bushes or they were scented with his cologne. The young teen mind is a hormonally deranged thing.*

Okay, back to present day where I'm still clingy but not desperately creepy.  It's a good thing that we had only a pickup truck and utility trailer to bring these items home.  If I had brought everything I wanted home we would have needed the 40' U-haul.   My stepsister had tried to arrange for someone to come in and do an estate sale.  The seller declared the booty insufficient to be worth her while.  I started calling local charities to see if one of them might come pick everything up.  And when I say local, I mean within 50 miles.  This is remote mining country.  Remember the phrase, "There's gold in them thar hills!"  Well them thar hills are hard to get to and not well-populated.  I hit the jackpot on the third call with Mother Lode Christian School Thrift Store about 35 miles away.   For you city folks, "Lode" is not a Catholic nun.

They quickly agreed to come the next morning and haul everything away, including what was nailed down!  They were thrilled to get needed items for fundraising, and we were thrilled to have someone take it so we could go home.  In any case, I'm glad that I don't have to visit the house again without my mom's presence.   That was a huge blessing.

And then there was one more.  The rock there is made up of colorful strata of reds, browns and grays and is shale-like in consistency.  When we were leaving Bill took a few for our garden.  I was also looking to see if I could see a nice one.  Right by the bottom step to the front door I saw this rock that I had never noticed before and was very unlike the others.

The fish is not drawn on.  It's a white vein through the rock.  As I placed the rock in the car and climbed in the front seat I was reminded of Hebrews 13:5, "Never will I leave you.  Never will I forsake you."  And this time they were tears of joy.

P.S.  I took that disco ball and colored lights and you can bet I'm going to shake my groove thang under them.

Wherefore art thou, Sunnyo?

Is there a Spring in your step?

So far there is mostly a gush as I stomp through another puddle of mud to complete my farm chores.  There's no springing back from that.  One time I stepped one foot into the neighbor's field to retrieve a golf ball and almost didn't get my foot back.  My boot was immediately sucked into the quagmire. 

There have been little whispers of spring.  A 65 degree day here, a 72 degree there in between days of drizzle and leaden skies and outright gales with sideways slashing rain.  We even had thunderstorm warnings last week.  They actually interrupted our regularly scheduled program (Jeopardy, no less,  of all the nerve!) to give us a warning of thunderstorms in the area, complete with that annoying warning buzz.  What was the warning supposed to do for us?  Stop watching TV outside 'cause you might get struck by lightning?  Clearly the weather warning dude has never been to Florida.  Personally, I love a good thunderstorm, but Florida storms can make even the bravest person whimper. 

Oregonians clearly can't handle anything other than warm and sunny or rainy.  When it snows just the littlest of dusting all schools close down.  And apparently when it thunders we are to batten down the hatches or periscope down or something that requires protecting ourselves from lightning.

What comes after two days of rain in Oregon?  Monday.

Have you heard of the four seasons in Oregon?  They are Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter and Construction.

Still...I love Oregon.  I will take the green over brown any day, even though that includes green moss, green mold and green mildew.  My sweet hubby could see I was growing moss in between my toes and whisked me off to Las Vegas for my very first time to find some sunshine.  Find it we did and I was happy to absorb the rays by the pool, but what I found interesting were all the facades that the casinos created to try to look like real waterfalls and plants and animals.  I thought, all I have to do is walk out my door or drive to the river or ocean or woods and I can see these things the way God  created them, not the way Metro, Goldwyn or Mayer did.

An Oregon lake




A Las Vegas "waterfall"


 

A tiny, lone yellow rose has blossomed on our miniature roses, but in a week we will have hundreds of  blossoms in coral, red, pink and white.  The strawberry plants are covered in white blossoms and little green cherries are filling out the cherry branches.  As the mud starts to dry out and the grass fills in, I will stroll barefoot through our little piece of land going from plant to plant to admire its progress with a spring in my step.

The Flash Ain't No Superhero

Emergency Exit

I recently flew on an airplane in the emergency exit row and thought to myself, this is a dangerous place for a menopausal woman to be.  Why, do you ask?  Well gather round, children, while I tell you the story of the hormonally deranged mind that has developed in my Clairol honey-brown colored head. 

Now I don't claim to speak for all 50-something women, but let me describe to you the progression of my particular brand of hot flash.  First I just notice I feel uncomfortable.  So my first thought is, "I must be hungry!"  A few seconds later heat starts to work its way to my face, neck, and feet.  I then realize it's a hot flash.  I determine how many items of clothing I can decently strip off knowing that the heat will work it's way to the rest of my body.  This is, of course, determined by my surroundings. Church, grocery store or other public area: Coat and sweater.  Friend's home with mixed company: Sweater and shoes.  Good friend's home with all girls: Sweater, shoes, socks and outer shirt if I'm wearing a tank top.  Home: Whatever is necessary.   UPS man and door-to-door evangelists beware.  Side note: I've taken to wearing zip-up sweatshirts almost exclusively to avoid the overhead disrobing muffin top reveal and hair mussing.

Moving on, the next necessary action after stripping off the most possible clothing is finding a fan to fan  my neck area where I am sure I have spontaneously combusted.  I keep an actual hand fan on my desk given to me by my thoughtful brother and sister-in-law, but any piece of paper will do.  My church bulletin works nicely as do checkbooks, newspapers or as a last resort, fast food napkins.  If at home I usually have a slow dance with the fridge door with my face pressed lovingly against the butter compartment door.  Heavenly.  Once while checking out at the grocery store I started flashing (heat, not trench coat creepiness) and held each cold item up to my cheek before placing it on the belt.  After nuzzling each and every item I turned to see a young man behind me in line looking frightened at the kook in front of him.  I lamely said, "I'm really hot." 

If anyone touches me during this firestorm, woe to him for I become a fire-breathing dragon.  The thought of someone else adding even a nanometric degree of heat just about sends me over the volcanic edge.  My poor hubby has born the brunt of too many, "Don't touch me!" barks.

After 2 to 3 minutes the heat starts subsiding and my sanity slowly seeps back in.  Even though I now know that I wasn't uncomfortable because of hunger, I've already sent the cows out to graze and there's no getting them back until the fat lady sings, uh, I mean until they come home. 

There you have it.  I experience those 4 to 12 times per day, 2 to 4 times per night, every day and every night for the last 2 3/4 years.* 

Back to the emergency exit row.  As I was sitting there and had one of my hot flashes, I looked longingly at the "Pull" lever and thought of the lovely cool air that would wash over my face when I pulled it.  It was tempting, oh so tempting.  Thankfully I still retain a little bit of sanity and besides, I didn't want to mess up my hair. 

While I was writing this I had 2 hot flashes and ate chicken 'n' dumplings and  Christmas cookies. 


*When I injured my back I got a 3-week hiatus from hot flashes.  They slowly returned until they were up to full speed ahead again.