Cricket... Cricket

Wow. I just realized that there's been nothing but utter blog silence here for months on end now. That's sad.

I could say that it's because between work, exercise, and volunteering at the zoo, I simply have no time. But the fact of the matter is that I've not been in a very contemplative place recently, because sometimes it's just too damn painful. Sometimes there's no comfort. Sometimes you don't hear His voice. Some things just can't be forced.

In a sermon recently, Pastors Bill and Jane described the response, "I'm fine" as an acronym for "Feelings I'm Not Expressing." But when an honest response to a casual question might give way to a deluge of hot tears and a torrent of emotions, some very childish and ugly, it can seem like a better bet to opt for the safe route. "Just stay away from those things. Go distract yourself. There's nothing to be done to fix it anyway."

Hiding? It may feel safe for awhile, especially for us introverts. Building walls? Erm, now it gets a little dangerous... no one gets in, but you can't get out either. Hardening the heart to dampen the disappointment. Ouch! That's not how I want to end up.

Jesus, keep me tender, despite my disappointed dreams and hurting heart. Please.

Are You Smarter Than an Almost-3-Year-Old?

Observations from babysitting Odin, which is a brand new experience every time. My understanding is that some of the rules which I have documented here are fairly consistent, while others change depending on the babysitter... or the weather... or the moment... :o)


ODIN’S RULES for SATURDAY, MAY 16th*

*Rules are subject to change at Odin’s sole discretion, with or without prior notice.


1. Toy trucks shall be called “roaries.” Any vehicle that is not actually a truck may also be categorized as a “roarie” at Odin’s discretion.

2. Lisa’s suggestion that hot rods and sports cars should be called “vrooms” instead of “roaries” shall be ignored.

3. Cranes are required construction when playing with building blocks. Furthermore, cranes must be constructed of either red or blue blocks. Green and orange cranes shall not be tolerated.

4. Wide bases to prevent tipping shall not be added to any new or existing cranes. This is not aesthetically pleasing to Odin and will not be tolerated.

5. Trains running on Odin’s track shall consist of one engine and one box car, neither more nor less. Multi-car trains are an abomination and must be eliminated.

6. The elimination of multi-car trains should involve spectacular derailings and much carnage.

7. Sometimes trucks and trains take precedence over silly things… like dinner.

8. Odin shall have the latitude to leave the dinner table to fetch “roaries” or Play-Doh at his whim. Tables are overrated anyhow.

9. When Lisa makes an unreasonable request, such as returning to the dinner table, Odin shall use the baby gate to lock himself out of the kitchen, thus providing a solid excuse for not being able to return to the table.

10. Odin shall periodically and arbitrarily change his mind on all manner of subjects, to make sure he always “wins” and to keep Lisa on her toes.

11. Baths are a welcome event, but shampoo is for sissies.

12. Odin shall retain control of any cup used to pour water over his head, prior to or following shampooing.

13. Feet are the only body part which shall allowed to be washed with soap. Soap is for sissies… but clean feet are next to (Norse) godliness.

14. Following the bath, hair combing is acceptable, provided that Odin retains control of the comb.

15. Bedtime stories must be read on the couch. Period.

16. If Lisa manages to trick Odin into his crib under the guise of scooping him up for a bear hug, Odin shall be allowed to retain his dignity by pretending to have been aware of Lisa’s intentions all along.

28 Days Later (And I'm not talking about zombies...)

In case you were wondering about the prodigious growth rate of the goslings in my previous post, here's a little comparison to enlighten and entertain. The oldest goslings were about 2 weeks old in the photos I took on April 17. The new photos here are from today, a mere 4 weeks later.

This little, fluffy family...


...with the most darling faces...



...is now a ragtag gaggle of gawky teenagers...


...with down coming out in tufts, quills sticking out everywhere, and a general appearance comparable to mangy featherdusters...


Of course, when you grow to 2/3 your parents' size in only 6 weeks of life, there must be some growing pains involved...


...and a lot of sleep is required. (Seriously, is this one even breathing? It looks more like roadkill than Sleeping Beauty.)


Well, at least they don't have to go through it alone...


There's comfort in numbers. And their awkward teen phase is only a few weeks long, as opposed to a decade or more for humans. Heck, I'm not sure I ever got through mine. ;o)

Extreme Sheep LED Art

Ha! It's 'Sheep Pong'! That'll do pig... that'll do. :o)

Give Peeps a Chance

One of the many privileges of working for my employer of the last several years is our beautiful campus. We have plenty of green space, and the landscape designers went to the trouble of recreating the small streams and wetlands that occur naturally just a few miles up the road from here. As such, we have a plentiful supply of wildlife just outside our windows. I see nutria, Canada geese, ducks, and herons on a daily basis. And on several occasions I've even seen deer.

The resident population of Canada geese can range from just a few pairs of "permanent" dwellers all the way up to 150+ migrating geese enjoying some respite for a few days (or even weeks) at a time. While I love sharing the campus with these beautiful fowl, I know a number of folks who are less than excited about the abundance of goose poop on the sidewalks. And then, of course, there are the handful of people who are deathly afraid of birds. Watching those individuals take some very circuitous and inventive routes across campus to avoid them is practically a spectator sport. I think perhaps the geese take some sadistic pleasure in hissing at and chasing those people, who squeal and bolt like frightened bunnies. Me? I'm the Goose Whisperer. I speak to them softly as I walk by, and they let me pass in peace, and sometimes even chat back.

My *favorite* time of the year on campus is April because of -- you guessed it -- the goslings!! We've had three newly-hatched broods in the past 2 1/2 weeks, so I took advantage of the clear skies on Friday to go out on a little photo safari at lunchtime.

It's really not fair to the rest of the universe to have this much cuteness concentrated in such a small area. Brace yourselves -- this may hurt a little. :o)

This first set of 7 was about 2 weeks old at the time of the photos...












By comparison, this next group of 5 was only 3-4 days old at the time the photos were taken. They grow at an astounding rate, believe me!











And finally, just in case you haven't reached the cuteness saturation point, here are the newest 2 goslings, who just joined this world about 20 hours prior to their photo shoot today...







So there you have it. In a world faced with economic crisis and deadly weather phenomena, there is still new life and goodness all around. As they say, give peeps a chance.

Of Sunshine and Moods

After a freakishly snowy winter, Oregon was blessed the past few days by an early visit from Spring. We've now had 3 (or 4?) days in a row in the 70s, with a high yesterday of around 78 degrees.

Before you get too jealous, keep in mind we're going to plummet right back into the 50s tomorrow, in the typical fast-cycling bi-polar weather patterns of the Willamette Valley. Nonetheless, after a few emotionally draining weeks, the sunshine was a rather nice tonic. I made sure to get my fishbelly white flesh out into the sun as much as possible to induce production of that natural happy-maker, Vitamin D.

For those of you who are reading this and needing to live vicariously because you are still snow-bound, or threatened by tornados or floods, here are a few pics to get you in the spirit.

I took the opportunity on Sunday to plant some pansies in my balcony flower boxes...



Naturally, they're all purple, because that's how I roll...



I let the furs join me on the balcony to get in touch with their inner wild cats. Or at least with their inner lazy couch-potatos, but in an outdoor setting for a change.

The Bear...





Her Royal Highness, Emma...





The Princess, Khaliah...





Of course, all of these scenes of feline ease were *before* they realized that the penalty for rolling in my potting soil and getting goodness knows what kinds of dirt and pumice and fertilizer in their coats was that they all got baths when we came back inside. There are no pictures from *that* portion of the day, as I was too busy wrestling damp cats and protecting my vital organs to use a camera. That was pretty much a buzz-kill, and they spent the rest of the evening shooting me suspicious looks and probably flipping me the bird when I wasn't looking.

Anyhow, here's your window into my sunny afternoon, which will be just a lingering memory when the downpours start tomorrow and last for the rest of the week. I'll have to revert to the mantra I picked up from someone at work on one such rainy morning: "I love Oregon because it's so green... I love Oregon because it's so green..."

Clown Snake

For my friend, Patricia...



Because the only thing scarier than a snake is a clown. And the only thing scarier than a clown is a snake with clown makeup. (I won't even go into the clown with snake makeup.)

I will gladly be your human shield anytime you come across hissing geese, whiskered rodents, or slithering garter snakes. I'm glad to call you my friend, and I only tease you because I love you... and because you're so cute when you squeal and run away. :o)

Hugs.

Indecision

After months of waffling, I finally ordered the shirt that I feel has described so much of my last year...



So at least I'm being decisive about my indecision. There's that at least. ;o)

Seriously, though, I find that the more I am stressed, sad, discouraged, or dejected, the more difficult I find it to make even simple decisions. Here's the irony... In Myers-Briggs terms, I'm an INFJ. That "J" says I'm not comfortable in limbo, that I like to have things decided as soon as practicable. But ask me what I want to do for a girl's night out, or where I want to eat, and you'll get lots of shrugs and variations of "Meh."

I could pretend that's just because I'm "easy like Sunday morning" (as Beth would say) and truly don't have a strong preference in most cases. I think my family and friends might beg to disagree, though, if I said I wasn't opinionated and didn't sometimes really dig my heels in when I'm in disagreement with a decision.

When it boils down to it, I think I often want people to make decisions for me so I can just go with the flow and not have to expend any emotional energy in the process. I'm tired of being my own head of household. I want to submit to a good leader, like a husband. But then why oh why is it sooooo hard to submit to the Lord sometimes? Isn't He better than any husband, real or imagined? Maybe it's that His plans are often hidden from me, so even though I know His plans are good, I feel like I'm in limbo just because I'm walking blind.

Lately I've had to face up to the fact that I've been disappointed in God. Instead of waiting to see what wonders He will eventually unveil in my life, I blame Him because I feel left on the sidelines of the game. "I'm tired of being a bench warmer!" I rail against Him. I pout. I justify trying to take things into my own hands because in my blindness I interpret the invisibility of His plans as myself being brushed aside while everyone gets to live their "real" lives.

But He is light. Why would He keep me in darkness? I think maybe I'm keeping myself there and need to take a big step toward the light. Not that all will necessarily be revealed, but it's sure more comfortable waiting in the warmth of His glow than glowering under a self-imposed veil.

Philadelphia Part II: The Cheesesteak Nazi

Another trip back in time, to January 31st...


The “Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld is perhaps one of the more memorable in sitcom history, but I did think it was fictional… at least until I went in search of the quintessential Philly Cheesesteak.

It didn’t dawn on me that I needed to experience the “original” cheesesteak until I saw a cd at a gift shop entitled “The Cheesesteak Song.” Suddenly on this, my final night in Philadelphia, I had a quest. I asked a local where I could get a good cheesesteak, while remaining close enough to the freeways to not get hopelessly lost. I was given directions to a place in South Philly called Pat’s King of Cheesesteak.

Finding it turned out to be the easy part. Parking? Well, that was a different matter. That part of town is a “one-way” grid of epic proportions, but with streets about 15 feet wide. With cars parked along every single inch of every curb, that makes for one tiny little lane in the center, barely enough to get through. I actually saw a couple of what I thought were miniscule alleyways, but the street signs seemed to indicate that they were indeed lanes of travel. Maybe for mopeds. There was no way my rental car was getting through!

After circling for a while and trying to decide how badly I really wanted that cheesesteak, I finally found a likely looking parking spot. I could fit there without technically blocking the fire hydrant, and the curb wasn’t painted yellow at any rate. Despite inner forebodings about getting the rental car towed and finding myself stuck in the city, I saw other vehicles parked much worse than I would be. In a moment of “recklessness” (because you all know how “reckless” I can be), I decided to leave the car there for 15 minutes and hoof it to Pat’s King of Cheesesteak, which was now several blocks away.

Pat’s is basically a walled-in kitchen on a small triangular lot between 3 streets. Patrons line up –and boy do they line up!– to order their food and either take it to go, or eat at one of a few small outdoor tables. Being that the temperature was barely into the 20’s and with windchill it felt even colder, I decided not to linger any longer than necessary. As I was standing in line, I could see one of the kitchen windows, stacked with giant cans of Cheese Whiz. I kid you not. Does Cheese Whiz qualify as “cheese” in the proper sense of the word? Perhaps not, but its uncanny ability to melt into velvety smooth cheese sauce is really the whole purpose of its existence.

While hopping up and down a bit to keep the teeth-chattering at bay, I started to get close enough to the front of the line to read the “how to order” sign. This is when I started wondering if Pat and the Soup Nazi are related. I can’t remember the sign word for word, but here’s the best approximation I can give…

1. Decide if you want your cheesesteak with onions (“wit”) or without onions (“wit-out”).

2. Specify what kind of cheese you want on your steak: Cheese Whiz, American, Cheddar, or Provolone.

3. Have your money ready. Do any borrowing while you are waiting in line.

4. Practice your order while you are waiting. If you don’t get it right the first time, you can go to the back of the line and try again.

I did practice. And I *almost* passed for a seasoned cheesesteak orderer. I got the words out all right, and handed over my money efficiently. But wait… where do I actually get the cheesesteak? I was so busy practicing in my head (“American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out…”) that I didn’t watch anyone in front of me actually get their food. In that moment, I reverted to my Soup Nazi education. I ordered, handed over my money, and stepped to the left. And then I heard it. “Hey, ma’am! You have to wait for your sandwich!”

Doh! So close. Oh well. My abundance of fleece outerwear and lack of stiletto boots for walking in the city probably already gave me away as a west coaster. After 25 years in Washington and Oregon, I guess it’s hard to hide anyway.

So the mission was a success. I got my cheesesteak. I was not sent to the back of the line as punishment. My rental car was just where I left it, safe and sound. And most importantly, I eventually found my way back to I-76 W, I-476 S, and my temporary home sweet home at the Marriott in Devon Square.

Another day in Philly, another adventure. The last adventure remaining: finding my way back to the airport. Don’t laugh. It may be more of a challenge than you think…

Philadelphia Part I: Battle of the Airlines

This should have been posted on Sunday, January 25th, so you'll have to take a little trip with me back in time...


I’m en route to Philadelphia – somewhere I’ve never been – for software configuration training. I’m excited since I’ve wanted to take this class for a couple of years now, but I’m also a touch apprehensive. Partly that’s due to my usual reticence about leaving my furry, quadrapedal children at home, this time for 8 days. Also, though, there’s the “what if” game… What if this is too abstract for my brain to comprehend? What if I stink at this and my manager realizes he’s spent $4,500 to send me to a class and still gets no additional skills from me?

I actually had a “test anxiety” dream a couple of weeks ago. I dreamed that after this weeklong brain-stretching extravaganza, I was supposed to take a highly technical test to show what I had learned. I sat down in the classroom, broke the seal on my test booklet, and – to my horror – found that it contained nothing but legal and employee relations questions: “You suspect Employee A is embezzling money from the company. Describe in detail how you would proceed.” “Employee B and Employee C have been in a physical altercation, and both claim that the other employee instigated the fight. What are your next steps?” etc. This being a dream, naturally I could not find an instructor to tell that I had been given the wrong test booklet, and the others around me were blissfully finishing their test in record time and with utmost confidence in their success, while I wailed and bemoaned my fate.

Yes, folks, that’s a bona fide HR nightmare. :o)

This morning did not get off to an auspicious start. I was running a few minutes late – I know, I know… try not to be shocked, right? – and didn’t really allow enough extra time to park in the shuttle lot and take the bus to the terminal. I arrived at the ticket counter 43 minutes before takeoff, only to find out that United’s cutoff is 45 minutes before takeoff. 2 minutes. Seriously. They refused to let me get on my scheduled flight, even though my seat would be vacant. They also charged me $75 for the privilege of being bumped. I was NOT a happy camper to say the least. So after waiting almost 3 hours at PDX until the next flight, a very grumpy and tired Lisa sat in seat 17E mentally ranking and rating United against my usual carrier, Southwest. Here’s my tally so far…

Ticket agents… SWA ticket agents, in my experience, are friendly and accommodating. They actually want you on their flights. Even during freak snowstorms that cause thousands of flight cancellations, they try to get you to your destination without too much fuss. And they look the other way when you’re laden with Christmas gifts and so your bag weighs a couple pounds over the 55-pound limit. United, on the other hand, was unbending and unhelpful in general. It was too much for the attendant to help me successfully use the self-check in kiosk. It wasn’t possible to let me on the flight if my reserved seat hadn’t already been filled by someone on standby. There were no smiles, no apologies, no pathos. SWA +2 United -3

Seating Assignments… This one is a toss-up. The SWA open seating has a certain cattle call feel to it, with folks trying to check in via the web exactly 24 hours in advance to get the coveted A passes with low numbers. On the other hand, there’s a certain advantage to choosing your seat and being (mostly) able to avoid sitting near the families with screaming toddlers whom you noticed in the terminal and prayed (in vain) would not be on your flight. SWA +1 for freedom. United +1 for a more calm boarding procedure.

Checked Baggage… SWA still allows up to 2 checked bags per person, up to 55 pounds each. No fees. United charges $15 for the first bag, $25 for the second bag. SWA +1 United -1

Snacks… SWA still gives you complimentary beverage service and your choice of pretzels or peanuts. United charges $6 for a snack box. Cash only, preferably exact change. SWA +1 United -1

Flight Attendants… SWA has those wonderful, witty, cheeky flight attendants I enjoy so much. I think there are sarcasm and irony portions of their flight attendant exams. On the flight back to Portland after Christmas, one such flight attendant got on the intercom and requested that a certain passenger called Josh ring his call button if he was aboard. When the 30-something-year-old pushed the button, the flight attendant got back on the intercom for everyone to hear and said this: “Josh, your hotel just contacted us. I’m sorry, but they were unable to find the Spiderman pajamas you left there last night. They said you can call back later and they’ll check again.” Heh. Now that was funny. United? Not a single joke cracked in 3 ½ hours. How very boring. On the other hand, at least they weren’t rude. SWA +2 United 0

In-Flight Movie… I’ve never been on a SWA flight that’s had a movie. United treated us to “The Duchess” today, featuring Keira Knightley. SWA -1 United +1 for showing a movie and +1 additional since the movie did not feature any SNL alumni.

Passenger Flatulence… Today felt like I was at a military training base in the biological weapons training facility. Okay, I know I can’t truly blame the airline for the copious consumption of gas-inducing foods by the persons sitting near me – after all, it’s not like the airline gave us any food! – but maybe those oxygen masks need to be available for more situations than loss of cabin pressure. No score here.

Landings… My last two landings with SWA have been at significant speeds, such that myself and many other passengers braced our hands against the seats in the event we’d go sliding off the end of the runway. United had fairly clean landings today, with only minor side-to-side movement. SWA -1 United +1

Okay, let’s check the tally… Drumroll please…

SWA: 5
United: -1

I guess it’s official… I prefer good ol’ customer service to in flight movies or other “luxuries.” :o)