I opened up the newspaper today, and an interesting article caught my eye. Apparently, on Tuesday, the Wichita City Council will decide the fate of a pit bull named "Mr. Bonz", to test the city's new dangerous dog ordinance. Mr. Bonz bit his owner's 5 year old niece on the cheek back in February, requiring 26 stitches and plastic surgery. No one disputes that. However, the mitigating facts in the case are that there were no adults in the room when the attack happened, and, the little girl may have provoked the attack. After the bite occured, the dog was impounded. Animal control officers decided the dog should be euthanized because he had bitten his owner once before on the hand, and because the owner did not have Mr. Bonz licensed or vaccinated. The owner is, of course, appealing that decision, writing in a letter to the council that Mr. Bonz is "a loving, family dog", and that "He has never shown aggression to any human being young or old, to people he knows or strangers that he sees for the first time."
Several years ago, my husband walked in the front door of our house, carrying a small fluffy object in his hands. "Look what the kids found," he said as he handed me a ball of fur. I held out my hands and immediately fell in love with a 4-5 week old puppy, who had been abandoned in a nearby park. We named her Coco, and a subsequent visit to the vet confirmed that she was almost 100 percent red chow, complete with a totally black tongue and that thick fur that chows are known for.
Chows are also known for their sometimes aggressive, territorial behavior. However, we decided to keep her, and my three young children were thrilled. We began the vet visits, the shots, the licensing, the spaying, the dog food buying, and all that which goes along with pet care. As she grew, I would mention to my husband periodically, that at the first snap, growl, baring of teeth, or aggression to our children, and this dog would have to be put down. We continued to watch her carefully, and when my young nieces visited, we supervised them, never leaving them alone with Coco. Even after a year or more and she never ever showed any aggression, still we watched. Our kids grew, and the frequently visiting nieces grew. Coco grew, and became a full grown chow, with a wagging tail and playful disposition. We did, however, see her aggressive side. She became a terror to all the oppossums in the neighborhood. Woe to them if they came in our backyard. With one snap of her jaws, they were gone. And, because of this behavior, we continued to watch and supervise. Every year she had shots and a vet visit, and every time she was around small children, we were there.
Coco lived happily with us for 10 years, never, not one time, ever, showing any aggression to anyone. The man who owns Mr. Bonz spoke words about his dog that are not true, and not only is he not being truthful about his own dog's violent behavior, but he is not a responsible dog owner. He failed to meet even the rudimentary requirements of dog ownership by not obtaining a license and vaccinations for Mr. Bonz. However, these words do describe Coco, and I want to use them here: She was truly a loving, family dog. She never showed any aggression to any human being, young or old. She merely barked at strangers, and always made friends. Our mailman brought her treats every day and she enjoyed a scratch behind the ears as she stood up on the fence. She was a loving, faithful companion.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Looking ahead
Easter Sunday, twenty-eight years ago today, at 8:30pm, I gave birth to my first child, a daughter-with a smattering of brown hair, blue eyes, and a healthy set of lungs. My life forever changed with the advent of this little girl, who grew up to become a wonderful young woman. We had some rough times during her teen years and early twenties, but she has turned her life around and I am blessed to be her mom.
She has never had her birthday fall on Easter since the day she was born, and it won't be on Easter again until the year 2042. However, April 5 will be Easter Sunday 3 times before April 6, 2042, in 2015, 2026, and 2037-I don't quite understand how this works, but, oh well. Let's see, in 2042 she'll be 62. I'll be 88. I hope I'll be here to help her celebrate her birthday on that momentous occasion, but I also hope I'll be in good enough health to enjoy it. By the time I'm 88, I can't even imagine what things will be like. That's only in 34 years - and it'll go by fast.
She has never had her birthday fall on Easter since the day she was born, and it won't be on Easter again until the year 2042. However, April 5 will be Easter Sunday 3 times before April 6, 2042, in 2015, 2026, and 2037-I don't quite understand how this works, but, oh well. Let's see, in 2042 she'll be 62. I'll be 88. I hope I'll be here to help her celebrate her birthday on that momentous occasion, but I also hope I'll be in good enough health to enjoy it. By the time I'm 88, I can't even imagine what things will be like. That's only in 34 years - and it'll go by fast.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Bad and good news
Leaving the train discussion, it's time to comment about other things. I told someone that this has been the worst work week I've had since school started in the fall. I am in a situation at one school where there's a power struggle, and the "winner" of the power struggle, which wasn't me, managed to go behind my back and set up two meetings to take control of a situation which was my responsibility to take care of.
This person managed to convince 3 people higher on the food chain than either her or I that she could handle the situation and that my input was neither needed, wanted, nor welcomed, and hence, two meetings were held without me and sort of behind my back, during which major decisions regarding a particular student were made. I wonder what is written in the blank beside my name on all of the paperwork where it says, "psychologist". Even as I type this, I can hardly believe that someone was devious enough to do this to not just another person, but to ME, a person who has gotten along with 99% percent of the people I've ever worked with my whole life.
So of course, my reaction is one which rock and rolls from being aghast, to being amused, to being angry, to being hurt. I need to figure out what to do, and to that end, a book I picked up on my recent train trip from a store in Michigan is being helpful. The book only cost me 3.00, it was on clearance, and because it looked like an interesting title, I bought it, never dreaming I would be reading it so soon. The title is, "Working With You Is Killing Me." I'm reading about strategies which can be used to deal with all manner of people that make you crazy in the workplace, and so far, it's been helpful. Right now, the strategy I'm learning about is how to "unhook" from the situation the controlling annoying person tries to put you in.
In other news, this weekend our church is having its annual "women's retreat", a yearly gathering of women, sort of like a big slumber party, but also with a spiritual emphasis. I've been helping to plan these now for 10 years and I always say, about this time, I'm not doing this again!, and then somehow, I always do it again. These retreats have been wonderful, and this one promises to be no exception.
My oldest turns 28 Sunday. She was born on Easter Sunday, April 6, 1980, and I'll have to blog about her next. She's something else!
This person managed to convince 3 people higher on the food chain than either her or I that she could handle the situation and that my input was neither needed, wanted, nor welcomed, and hence, two meetings were held without me and sort of behind my back, during which major decisions regarding a particular student were made. I wonder what is written in the blank beside my name on all of the paperwork where it says, "psychologist". Even as I type this, I can hardly believe that someone was devious enough to do this to not just another person, but to ME, a person who has gotten along with 99% percent of the people I've ever worked with my whole life.
So of course, my reaction is one which rock and rolls from being aghast, to being amused, to being angry, to being hurt. I need to figure out what to do, and to that end, a book I picked up on my recent train trip from a store in Michigan is being helpful. The book only cost me 3.00, it was on clearance, and because it looked like an interesting title, I bought it, never dreaming I would be reading it so soon. The title is, "Working With You Is Killing Me." I'm reading about strategies which can be used to deal with all manner of people that make you crazy in the workplace, and so far, it's been helpful. Right now, the strategy I'm learning about is how to "unhook" from the situation the controlling annoying person tries to put you in.
In other news, this weekend our church is having its annual "women's retreat", a yearly gathering of women, sort of like a big slumber party, but also with a spiritual emphasis. I've been helping to plan these now for 10 years and I always say, about this time, I'm not doing this again!, and then somehow, I always do it again. These retreats have been wonderful, and this one promises to be no exception.
My oldest turns 28 Sunday. She was born on Easter Sunday, April 6, 1980, and I'll have to blog about her next. She's something else!
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Hints for taking the train
Pack just what you need and no more. Use a smaller rolling suitcase you could stow overhead if there's no room in the baggage compartment and take along one backpack you can take to your seat. Don't take a purse, put all your essentials in your backpack/shoulder bag. Put luggage tags on your suitcase and your shoulder bag. Plan for delays-Amtrak's on time record is dismal.
Bring a book to read or puzzle books. If you have room to bring a small blanket, do so-we were chilly on the train going out. Bring a neck pillow. Take along a bottle of water and some simple snacks. Bring hand sanitizer and use frequently!
Wear comfortable shoes and clothes you can be in for a day or more. Settle in and relax. Understand you aren't getting anywhere fast. If something is dreadfully wrong (i.e., a nauseating odor you can't stand) notify your car attendant, if you can find him or her, and they should try to make it right.
Many people (including us) used cell phones on the trip, but it gets noisy with everybody doing that. Enjoy the observation and lounge cars, but know that people who have sleeper berths have to hang out in these cars because they can't sit in the coach seats and it may be crowded.
If motion bothers you, take something for it before you get on the train. If you can stand going without a meal, do so because the food is expensive and not of very good quality. However, the dining car experience is something I guess everybody should try at least once.
The bathrooms on the train are functional, however, it is not a pleasant experience to use them. At one point I used the restroom for handicapped folks and it was better-more room and there wasn't a million and three people who had already gone before.
I do think that Amtrak's PR people have not done a good job of informing first time riders what it's like. They do say "No Baggage Service" but until you are standing there with a 50 pound suitcase to hoist up a narrow steep, winding train staircase, you don't really know what that means. It is a no frills, you take care of your own stuff kind of trip. It's pleasant enough, but don't expect a lot of customer service.
And, we did not submit any suitcases or bags through x-ray machines. You probably could carry a Howitzer on board without notice. So if lack of security aboard public transportation bothers you, don't take the train.
All in all, I think I would do it again now that I know what to expect. It's not a bad way to get somewhere, meet some people along the way, and see some sights.
Bring a book to read or puzzle books. If you have room to bring a small blanket, do so-we were chilly on the train going out. Bring a neck pillow. Take along a bottle of water and some simple snacks. Bring hand sanitizer and use frequently!
Wear comfortable shoes and clothes you can be in for a day or more. Settle in and relax. Understand you aren't getting anywhere fast. If something is dreadfully wrong (i.e., a nauseating odor you can't stand) notify your car attendant, if you can find him or her, and they should try to make it right.
Many people (including us) used cell phones on the trip, but it gets noisy with everybody doing that. Enjoy the observation and lounge cars, but know that people who have sleeper berths have to hang out in these cars because they can't sit in the coach seats and it may be crowded.
If motion bothers you, take something for it before you get on the train. If you can stand going without a meal, do so because the food is expensive and not of very good quality. However, the dining car experience is something I guess everybody should try at least once.
The bathrooms on the train are functional, however, it is not a pleasant experience to use them. At one point I used the restroom for handicapped folks and it was better-more room and there wasn't a million and three people who had already gone before.
I do think that Amtrak's PR people have not done a good job of informing first time riders what it's like. They do say "No Baggage Service" but until you are standing there with a 50 pound suitcase to hoist up a narrow steep, winding train staircase, you don't really know what that means. It is a no frills, you take care of your own stuff kind of trip. It's pleasant enough, but don't expect a lot of customer service.
And, we did not submit any suitcases or bags through x-ray machines. You probably could carry a Howitzer on board without notice. So if lack of security aboard public transportation bothers you, don't take the train.
All in all, I think I would do it again now that I know what to expect. It's not a bad way to get somewhere, meet some people along the way, and see some sights.
Friday, March 28, 2008
The last leg of the trip
Leaving Chicago, I looked out the window at the industrial landscape. Because I'm from Kansas, I've never seen a salvage yard for watercraft, but lo and behold, close to Union Station in Chicago the train tracks run alongside a huge piece of property with a myriad of different kinds and sizes of boats, all in a sad state of disrepair. There's a lot of rundown two story houses, built within just a few feet of each other. I stared out the window, wondering how you would install siding or windows if you were working in a 3 or 4 foot space.
On the train, I read a book, visited with Rebekah, learned what a "Zune" was, and people watched. The attendant made an announcement that the train was full, thus they were taking reservations for the dining car for supper. She was going to start with the people who had sleeping berths, then work her way up the train from the last coach car forward. We were in the first coach car, so we didn't hold out much hope. An hour or two later, she appeared, and as she stopped by our seats, she said she had one reservation left, at 8:45 pm. We took it, wanting to give the train dining experience another try.
Soon, an announcement was made that they were behind schedule in serving people with reservations, and as the evening progressed, they got further and further behind. At about 6:00pm, I went to the snack car and got a bowl of cereal and some milk. We ate crackers and other things we had brought onboard with us and spent some time in the observation car, enjoying the scenery rolling by. At 9:45pm, fully one hour late, all those with 8:45 reservations were called. We were seated across from a couple who were from Niles, Michigan, and were on their way to Flagstaff AZ for a bowling tournament. Conversation was basically pleasant, although the man was very sarcastic and rude as he muttered under his breath at the wait staff. We had Black Angus burgers and salads, and a serving of Haagen Daz.
After our late supper, we strolled back to our seats and settled in for the remainder of our trip. It grew dark and quiet on the train, with people sleeping and visiting quietly. The couple seated in front of us and a gray haired woman across the aisle were from Newton, and chatted pleasantly. At the various stops, no announcements were made of what town we were in. The car attendants placed a ticket over your seat with your destination, then came to get you when you're supposed to be getting off. Suddenly, the train stopped. We were near Newton (I found out later that we were actually in the Walton area), and stopped dead on the tracks. Rebekah was anxious to get her things together, so we gathered up our stuff and went downstairs to where our suitcases were. Another woman and her granddaughter followed us down. There were 3 or 4 men standing in the baggage area, also waiting to get off in Newton. An Amtrak employee came down and waited for the signal to open the doors. And there we all stood. It was about 3:15am.
We waited for almost 45 minutes. An authoritative man, looking like he might be the conductor, came down and said we were waiting on the eastbound train to come through before we could roll into the station. A few more minutes went by and here came the eastbound, inches from us on the other track. Still we sat. Here came a freight train. Still we sat. Here came another freight train. THEN, we started rolling. Made it into the Newton station at 4:30 or so, and I was home by 5:00am, in my own bed. I'll never forget how good that felt!
Final comments tomorrow.
On the train, I read a book, visited with Rebekah, learned what a "Zune" was, and people watched. The attendant made an announcement that the train was full, thus they were taking reservations for the dining car for supper. She was going to start with the people who had sleeping berths, then work her way up the train from the last coach car forward. We were in the first coach car, so we didn't hold out much hope. An hour or two later, she appeared, and as she stopped by our seats, she said she had one reservation left, at 8:45 pm. We took it, wanting to give the train dining experience another try.
Soon, an announcement was made that they were behind schedule in serving people with reservations, and as the evening progressed, they got further and further behind. At about 6:00pm, I went to the snack car and got a bowl of cereal and some milk. We ate crackers and other things we had brought onboard with us and spent some time in the observation car, enjoying the scenery rolling by. At 9:45pm, fully one hour late, all those with 8:45 reservations were called. We were seated across from a couple who were from Niles, Michigan, and were on their way to Flagstaff AZ for a bowling tournament. Conversation was basically pleasant, although the man was very sarcastic and rude as he muttered under his breath at the wait staff. We had Black Angus burgers and salads, and a serving of Haagen Daz.
After our late supper, we strolled back to our seats and settled in for the remainder of our trip. It grew dark and quiet on the train, with people sleeping and visiting quietly. The couple seated in front of us and a gray haired woman across the aisle were from Newton, and chatted pleasantly. At the various stops, no announcements were made of what town we were in. The car attendants placed a ticket over your seat with your destination, then came to get you when you're supposed to be getting off. Suddenly, the train stopped. We were near Newton (I found out later that we were actually in the Walton area), and stopped dead on the tracks. Rebekah was anxious to get her things together, so we gathered up our stuff and went downstairs to where our suitcases were. Another woman and her granddaughter followed us down. There were 3 or 4 men standing in the baggage area, also waiting to get off in Newton. An Amtrak employee came down and waited for the signal to open the doors. And there we all stood. It was about 3:15am.
We waited for almost 45 minutes. An authoritative man, looking like he might be the conductor, came down and said we were waiting on the eastbound train to come through before we could roll into the station. A few more minutes went by and here came the eastbound, inches from us on the other track. Still we sat. Here came a freight train. Still we sat. Here came another freight train. THEN, we started rolling. Made it into the Newton station at 4:30 or so, and I was home by 5:00am, in my own bed. I'll never forget how good that felt!
Final comments tomorrow.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Train Trip Installment #3
We arrived exhausted, but very glad to be "home". The next 4 days sort of go by in a blur as I remember them, but we had all kinds of fun. We played games, visited, had a professional massage, went shopping, ate out, enjoyed Linda's cooking, had fun with the niece and nephew, heard a bagpiper on St Patty's day, relaxed, and rested. Too quickly the time went by and we found ourselves in the Jackson train station, waiting for the westbound to come by and whisk us off to Chicago.
However, in order to make things easier for us on the way back, my daughter UPS'd her small suitcase, packed with "bricks", back home. We both bought new shoulder bags, actually more like backpacks, which we wore in order to have both hands free to wrestle suitcases. We hopped on the train at Jackson, right on time, and found plenty of storage for big suitcases on the train-no upper level. In Chicago, 3 hours later around noon, we knew just where to go and what to do-immediately we found the gate that the Southwest Chief would depart from at 3:25 and since we were so early, we were able to find seats to sit close to the gate. We parked there and I knew just where to go in search of food, found lunch and brought it back, PLUS (I hate to admit this) I bought a Cinnabon as well that we shared.
I then had a firsthand view of the seemingly confusing way Amtrak boards trains. We were in a big room, with a moderately sized room in front of us. Through the doors to that room, were the doors to walk out of the station and get on the train. That room was empty, and we couldn't figure out why there was a guard posted there to keep people from going in. About 40 minutes before time to leave, the announcement was made for all those with disabilities, over 65, and with small children to please line up and have tickets and ID's ready. Those people then, were led to that room and waited there instead of with us at the "regular" gate. After they lined up and left my daughter hopped up and stood at the door, the first in line in our room to get on the train. We stood for 20 or 25 minutes, while a long line formed behind us.
Finally, after the first room boarded, we were able to board, and once again, we were semi-panicked about how we were going to manage everything up that awful staircase. No need to worry! (Why do we do that???) I got on board, and with my tunnel vision fully employed, headed toward the staircase. I heard this, "MOM! OVER HERE!" I turned, and realized I didn't even see the luggage compartment on the lower level, nearly empty. Quickly I loaded my suitcase and we headed for the staircase empty handed except for our backpacks. However, before I started up the stairs I looked to my left to see if there were people sitting on the lower level already, and whaddya know, there were no seats in that section. Amtrak had removed them, and turned that section into a small baggage car, so, even had we been the last ones in line, there would have been plenty of room for us to stow our suitcases in there without dragging them up to the upper level where we were sitting.
Last installment coming up!
However, in order to make things easier for us on the way back, my daughter UPS'd her small suitcase, packed with "bricks", back home. We both bought new shoulder bags, actually more like backpacks, which we wore in order to have both hands free to wrestle suitcases. We hopped on the train at Jackson, right on time, and found plenty of storage for big suitcases on the train-no upper level. In Chicago, 3 hours later around noon, we knew just where to go and what to do-immediately we found the gate that the Southwest Chief would depart from at 3:25 and since we were so early, we were able to find seats to sit close to the gate. We parked there and I knew just where to go in search of food, found lunch and brought it back, PLUS (I hate to admit this) I bought a Cinnabon as well that we shared.
I then had a firsthand view of the seemingly confusing way Amtrak boards trains. We were in a big room, with a moderately sized room in front of us. Through the doors to that room, were the doors to walk out of the station and get on the train. That room was empty, and we couldn't figure out why there was a guard posted there to keep people from going in. About 40 minutes before time to leave, the announcement was made for all those with disabilities, over 65, and with small children to please line up and have tickets and ID's ready. Those people then, were led to that room and waited there instead of with us at the "regular" gate. After they lined up and left my daughter hopped up and stood at the door, the first in line in our room to get on the train. We stood for 20 or 25 minutes, while a long line formed behind us.
Finally, after the first room boarded, we were able to board, and once again, we were semi-panicked about how we were going to manage everything up that awful staircase. No need to worry! (Why do we do that???) I got on board, and with my tunnel vision fully employed, headed toward the staircase. I heard this, "MOM! OVER HERE!" I turned, and realized I didn't even see the luggage compartment on the lower level, nearly empty. Quickly I loaded my suitcase and we headed for the staircase empty handed except for our backpacks. However, before I started up the stairs I looked to my left to see if there were people sitting on the lower level already, and whaddya know, there were no seats in that section. Amtrak had removed them, and turned that section into a small baggage car, so, even had we been the last ones in line, there would have been plenty of room for us to stow our suitcases in there without dragging them up to the upper level where we were sitting.
Last installment coming up!
Monday, March 24, 2008
Chicago Union Station
Union station in Chicago is intimidating to the first time visitor. The trains pull up and stop in an underground labryinth of rails and cement walkways. We alighted from the train and asked for directions, and set out walking. It felt like quite a long ways to go, but in reality, probably was 2 or 3 city blocks. We finally found the passenger entrance, and there we were, two of a throng of people. We waited in a line to use the restroom and developed a plan. Our breakfast guests had told us that for lunch, we could simply go upstairs at Union Station and find all manner of food, so, hauling our luggage, we followed the Food Court signs to escalators going up. Because several trains had disembarked passengers, the Food Court was packed with people. People everywhere, milling around, hawking merchandise, eating while on the run. The noise was deafening. We finally found a table and two chairs and I went in search of lunch, leaving Rebekah with the luggage.
Those of you who know me know that I have absolutely no directional sense whatsoever. If I don't pay particular attention to gate numbers, parking lot rows, or entrances, I can easily get turned around and become lost. Walking away from our table in that unfamiliar place, with a million and three people around, while keeping my bearings was quite a challenge-I had to mentally note exactly where I was going and what I was walking past. I found a little sandwich shop around the corner and ordered. On the way back, I missed a landmark and walked way past the corner she was in, but had the sense to turn around and retrace my steps. Thankfully, she was wearing a bright red overcoat, so I spotted her in the sea of faces.
We ate, and since our connecting train was leaving at 6:00, decided we needed to find our gate. We waited in line at the Amtrak Information desk, and a friendly woman told us we needed to get new tickets, as I had called and changed our destination from Ann Arbor to Jackson. We waited in another longer line to get replacement tickets, all the while, dragging our luggage along. Finally we were set to go to the waiting area, and by the time we got there, there was no place to sit. People were crammed wall to wall, and I realized that there were many trains departing from this particular gate-not only Amtrak trains, but Chicago communter metro trains. Trying to listen to garbled announcements over the loud speaker was exasperating, plus, we were already nervous about once again trying to haul our luggage aboard the train heading for Jackson.
Faith is the victory! I reminded Rebekah that God had provided two people to help us earlier in the day, and that we would make it just fine. My words were comforting, my stomach was in knots and my heart was pounding.
Finally, we heard the call for train # 354 to Jackson, and got toward the end of a very long line, inching our way forward. "Please have your tickets and picture ID ready." Exhausted and nervous, we headed out the gate and walked toward our waiting train. Here we go! Up, up, and up. Three normal sized steps and we're done. We looked around, amazed. This is not a Superliner, there's only one level of train here. And it's a newer model. There's a place right there to put our luggage.
Gratefully we find our seats. Suddenly our spirits lift, and we're on the way to Jackson. After a pleasant 4 hours, we're there, and Max meets us at the Jackson train station. We're right on time and he's right on time. He calls to us and we drag everything over to him. "Whaddya got in here, BRICKS?" he says as he lifts our luggage into the car. "Yes," we say, "BRICKS! We brought BRICKS to Michigan!"
Those of you who know me know that I have absolutely no directional sense whatsoever. If I don't pay particular attention to gate numbers, parking lot rows, or entrances, I can easily get turned around and become lost. Walking away from our table in that unfamiliar place, with a million and three people around, while keeping my bearings was quite a challenge-I had to mentally note exactly where I was going and what I was walking past. I found a little sandwich shop around the corner and ordered. On the way back, I missed a landmark and walked way past the corner she was in, but had the sense to turn around and retrace my steps. Thankfully, she was wearing a bright red overcoat, so I spotted her in the sea of faces.
We ate, and since our connecting train was leaving at 6:00, decided we needed to find our gate. We waited in line at the Amtrak Information desk, and a friendly woman told us we needed to get new tickets, as I had called and changed our destination from Ann Arbor to Jackson. We waited in another longer line to get replacement tickets, all the while, dragging our luggage along. Finally we were set to go to the waiting area, and by the time we got there, there was no place to sit. People were crammed wall to wall, and I realized that there were many trains departing from this particular gate-not only Amtrak trains, but Chicago communter metro trains. Trying to listen to garbled announcements over the loud speaker was exasperating, plus, we were already nervous about once again trying to haul our luggage aboard the train heading for Jackson.
Faith is the victory! I reminded Rebekah that God had provided two people to help us earlier in the day, and that we would make it just fine. My words were comforting, my stomach was in knots and my heart was pounding.
Finally, we heard the call for train # 354 to Jackson, and got toward the end of a very long line, inching our way forward. "Please have your tickets and picture ID ready." Exhausted and nervous, we headed out the gate and walked toward our waiting train. Here we go! Up, up, and up. Three normal sized steps and we're done. We looked around, amazed. This is not a Superliner, there's only one level of train here. And it's a newer model. There's a place right there to put our luggage.
Gratefully we find our seats. Suddenly our spirits lift, and we're on the way to Jackson. After a pleasant 4 hours, we're there, and Max meets us at the Jackson train station. We're right on time and he's right on time. He calls to us and we drag everything over to him. "Whaddya got in here, BRICKS?" he says as he lifts our luggage into the car. "Yes," we say, "BRICKS! We brought BRICKS to Michigan!"
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Train Installment #2
After plopping down, we discovered a few pleasant things about coach seats. They do recline, further than you would expect. A footrest pops up, and when everyone is in this position, it looks like rows of recliners. There's also a bar to put your feet on attached to the seat in front of you. The windows are good sized for viewing. We settled in with the small pillows the attendant gave us and tried to sleep. In the cars, there is not a lot of engine noise, and it is quieter than an airplane.
I dozed intermittently. There were people who got off the train in Topeka and Lawrence, and as we reached Kansas City, as an announcement was made that we were stopping twice, once to pick up passengers and once for fuel.
Around 6:30, an announcement was made that breakfast would be served in the dining car by reservation only. My daughter walked all the way up to the dining car and put our name on the list, and we were called at 8:30. We began making our way up there. Walking on a train is an art form-there are times that tracks are smooth and it's fairly easy. But there are many times that the car rocks back and forth, and sways-you feel as if you are on a carnival ride at the state fair. We carefully navigated through 4 coach cars (we were in the one on the end), and an observation car, and finally reached the dining car, only to be told by the dining steward that he had seated someone else at our table because "you took too long to get here". My daughter explained that we were in the last car, and came as soon as we were called, but, alas, there was no seating for us. He told us to wait in the observation car and he would call us in "two minutes". Two minutes stretched into 5, 10, 15, and 20. I checked back in with him, by saying, "This is the longest two minutes I've ever had to wait", and he seated us at a table that had been cleaned off.
Other than the brusqueness of our wait staff, breakfast was a pleasant affair. Across from us was an older couple, making their way from Flagstaff AZ to Harrisburg PA, and they were good dining companions. The food was expensive and mediocre.
Back at our seats, more people were awake and talking. Looking out the window, I was fascinated by the five second peeks you get into other people's lives as the train rolled through small towns and farmland. Garden spots were plowed up. We saw a lot of above ground pools with the covers still on them. There were many treehouses and swingsets, BBQ grills and bicycles. I noticed Mobil gas stations with the flying horse logo, and busy downtowns, filled with donut shops, tire repair stores, hometown restaurants, and playgrounds. We passed by a field and I noticed a man standing in the field, looking the opposite direction, and not a car or another soul in sight.
Something else we noticed-the last car on the train developed a significant odor. I thought it smelled like a combination of diesel fuel and sewage, Rebekah thought it was pure raw sewage. The odor became stronger and stronger-and finally, when we saw our car attendant, we asked her about it! "You're right!" she agreed enthusiastically. "This car DOES smell!" She said it was worse in our car than in the rest of the train. She came back a few minutes later with some Febreeze and an air freshener, but the stench overpowered it quickly. It was nauseating. End of the story-she offered to move us to the car ahead, and we quickly took her up on her offer. Leaving the stinky, swaying, last car in the train, we were seated in another coach car, and immediately, our spirits improved. It was wonderful! We tipped her generously for helping us out.
The time went by quickly, and the landscape changed-we were nearing Chicago, and instead of yards, playgrounds, and farmland, we saw industrial smokestacks, office buildings, and substandard housing. The railyard at Chicago is enormous, and I thought of the guy who has to know where all the trains are all the time in order to direct traffic safely.
As we got in to Chicago, we realized that we were going to have to hoist our luggage DOWN all those steps, and a dread came over us. We steeled ourselves for the worst. As we pulled into the station, we put on our coats, gathered up our belongings and mentally prepared for what was ahead. We waited until most passengers had gone from our car, and retrieved our luggage. OOF! Down, OOF! Down a step and OOF! Painfully, we made our way down the steps. I was carrying Rebekah's shoulder bag, as well as my own shoulder bag and large suitcase, in order to give her two hands to drag her suitcases down the steps. As I made the first hairpin turn, I noticed a gentleman ahead of her offering to take her big suitcase, if she could take his small one. Gratefully, she gave exchanged bags. He helped her out, then helped me out. He was so gracious and we were so thankful!
Next: Chicago Union Station Adventures
I dozed intermittently. There were people who got off the train in Topeka and Lawrence, and as we reached Kansas City, as an announcement was made that we were stopping twice, once to pick up passengers and once for fuel.
Around 6:30, an announcement was made that breakfast would be served in the dining car by reservation only. My daughter walked all the way up to the dining car and put our name on the list, and we were called at 8:30. We began making our way up there. Walking on a train is an art form-there are times that tracks are smooth and it's fairly easy. But there are many times that the car rocks back and forth, and sways-you feel as if you are on a carnival ride at the state fair. We carefully navigated through 4 coach cars (we were in the one on the end), and an observation car, and finally reached the dining car, only to be told by the dining steward that he had seated someone else at our table because "you took too long to get here". My daughter explained that we were in the last car, and came as soon as we were called, but, alas, there was no seating for us. He told us to wait in the observation car and he would call us in "two minutes". Two minutes stretched into 5, 10, 15, and 20. I checked back in with him, by saying, "This is the longest two minutes I've ever had to wait", and he seated us at a table that had been cleaned off.
Other than the brusqueness of our wait staff, breakfast was a pleasant affair. Across from us was an older couple, making their way from Flagstaff AZ to Harrisburg PA, and they were good dining companions. The food was expensive and mediocre.
Back at our seats, more people were awake and talking. Looking out the window, I was fascinated by the five second peeks you get into other people's lives as the train rolled through small towns and farmland. Garden spots were plowed up. We saw a lot of above ground pools with the covers still on them. There were many treehouses and swingsets, BBQ grills and bicycles. I noticed Mobil gas stations with the flying horse logo, and busy downtowns, filled with donut shops, tire repair stores, hometown restaurants, and playgrounds. We passed by a field and I noticed a man standing in the field, looking the opposite direction, and not a car or another soul in sight.
Something else we noticed-the last car on the train developed a significant odor. I thought it smelled like a combination of diesel fuel and sewage, Rebekah thought it was pure raw sewage. The odor became stronger and stronger-and finally, when we saw our car attendant, we asked her about it! "You're right!" she agreed enthusiastically. "This car DOES smell!" She said it was worse in our car than in the rest of the train. She came back a few minutes later with some Febreeze and an air freshener, but the stench overpowered it quickly. It was nauseating. End of the story-she offered to move us to the car ahead, and we quickly took her up on her offer. Leaving the stinky, swaying, last car in the train, we were seated in another coach car, and immediately, our spirits improved. It was wonderful! We tipped her generously for helping us out.
The time went by quickly, and the landscape changed-we were nearing Chicago, and instead of yards, playgrounds, and farmland, we saw industrial smokestacks, office buildings, and substandard housing. The railyard at Chicago is enormous, and I thought of the guy who has to know where all the trains are all the time in order to direct traffic safely.
As we got in to Chicago, we realized that we were going to have to hoist our luggage DOWN all those steps, and a dread came over us. We steeled ourselves for the worst. As we pulled into the station, we put on our coats, gathered up our belongings and mentally prepared for what was ahead. We waited until most passengers had gone from our car, and retrieved our luggage. OOF! Down, OOF! Down a step and OOF! Painfully, we made our way down the steps. I was carrying Rebekah's shoulder bag, as well as my own shoulder bag and large suitcase, in order to give her two hands to drag her suitcases down the steps. As I made the first hairpin turn, I noticed a gentleman ahead of her offering to take her big suitcase, if she could take his small one. Gratefully, she gave exchanged bags. He helped her out, then helped me out. He was so gracious and we were so thankful!
Next: Chicago Union Station Adventures
Saturday, March 22, 2008
To Michigan on the Southwest Chief Installment 1
We started our journey at the train station in Newton, Kansas, population-a little more than 17,000 on the 2000 census. I thought perhaps besides my daughter and I, there might be 3 or 4 others waiting to board either the east or the west bound SWC. That was my first misconception, because upon arriving, we found the station was packed with people. It was Saturday, the 15th, first day of spring break, and young people were anxious to get started on trips away from school.
So, it was sit, sit, sit, in a crowded lobby, at 2:30 in the morning, and wait for the train. I've never really been good at taking trips, but I really got sort of nervous. When you are middle-aged, you begin thinking of all those things you might have forgotten-do you have the TICKETS?? Your medications??? Do you have EVERYTHING??? And the train, well, I've never done this before. I'm not young, ya know. I'm not as wowed by impulsive, exciting, adventurous opportunities as I once was, I'm more terrified by them.
The train pulls up, and out we all herd, like sheep, onto the platform. I'm hauling a large (but within Amtrak rules) suitcase on wheels and a shoulder bag. My daughter is hauling a little larger and heavier suitcase on wheels, another smaller suitcase on wheels, and a shoulder bag. Did I mention that Amtrak has no baggage service at Newton?
No baggage service. Key words when you are planning a trip. This means, you are on your own in carrying all your stuff with you, on the train. This means that you must navigate yourself, and all your stuff onboard the train. Lest you have any doubt, let me rephrase. This means that you will have no HELP from Amtrak staff in getting your stuff on the train.
The SWC is a "Superliner". Almost every car has two levels. When you ride coach, and your train originates from Los Angeles and has stopped at many points west of you before it gets to Newton, and when it's the first day of spring break, and when every seat is sold out on this run, there are no lower level seats.
No baggage service. Upper level seating. Middle aged woman with large, heavy suitcase. Younger woman with two heavy suitcases. I hopped up on the step stool, dragging my suitcase. From there, I stepped on the first train step. Stepped up and up and up, 3 more times, my suitcase dragging beside me, listening to my daughter struggle behind me. Stopped on the lower level and gazed at the baggage compartment, filled to overflowing with suitcases stuffed in there, like sardines in a can. Looked at the Amtrak man wearing a hat. His expression was unchanging. He pointed to the steps leading to the upper level.
I turned and saw a narrow stair case, not more than (I got out a yardstick to estimate) 24 inches wide. After the first three steps, the staircase made a sharp turn to the right. The steps were at least a foot high. At that point, I very much wanted to turn around and go home. I could not imagine how we were going to do this, but some things you do because you have to, you have no choice. So onto the first step I went, dragging my suitcase behind me. Also behind me is my daughter, voicing her disbelief and about a hundred other people, waiting on me to ascend.
Up, up, up. Three big steps. Hairpin turn to the right. 4 even bigger steps. Another hairpin turn to the right. 4 more steps. Grunting, straining, and almost in tears, I pulled my suitcase any way I could get it to go up, behind me, beside me, whatever, however, I could get it UP the steps. At the top, a very nice young man stood in the aisle and waited to get to his seat. When he saw me struggling, he took two steps down, and helped me haul it up the rest of the way. An Amtrak employee at the top of the staircase directed me to put it at the end of the car with some other luggage. The middle-eastern looking young man then helped my panicked daughter navigate the last steps with her suitcases. He ended up in the seat in front of us, and I profusely thanked him for his help.
We plopped down in our seats in the last coach car, panting, sweating, and amazed that we made it. We looked at each other. Well! We were off to a fine start!
So, it was sit, sit, sit, in a crowded lobby, at 2:30 in the morning, and wait for the train. I've never really been good at taking trips, but I really got sort of nervous. When you are middle-aged, you begin thinking of all those things you might have forgotten-do you have the TICKETS?? Your medications??? Do you have EVERYTHING??? And the train, well, I've never done this before. I'm not young, ya know. I'm not as wowed by impulsive, exciting, adventurous opportunities as I once was, I'm more terrified by them.
The train pulls up, and out we all herd, like sheep, onto the platform. I'm hauling a large (but within Amtrak rules) suitcase on wheels and a shoulder bag. My daughter is hauling a little larger and heavier suitcase on wheels, another smaller suitcase on wheels, and a shoulder bag. Did I mention that Amtrak has no baggage service at Newton?
No baggage service. Key words when you are planning a trip. This means, you are on your own in carrying all your stuff with you, on the train. This means that you must navigate yourself, and all your stuff onboard the train. Lest you have any doubt, let me rephrase. This means that you will have no HELP from Amtrak staff in getting your stuff on the train.
The SWC is a "Superliner". Almost every car has two levels. When you ride coach, and your train originates from Los Angeles and has stopped at many points west of you before it gets to Newton, and when it's the first day of spring break, and when every seat is sold out on this run, there are no lower level seats.
No baggage service. Upper level seating. Middle aged woman with large, heavy suitcase. Younger woman with two heavy suitcases. I hopped up on the step stool, dragging my suitcase. From there, I stepped on the first train step. Stepped up and up and up, 3 more times, my suitcase dragging beside me, listening to my daughter struggle behind me. Stopped on the lower level and gazed at the baggage compartment, filled to overflowing with suitcases stuffed in there, like sardines in a can. Looked at the Amtrak man wearing a hat. His expression was unchanging. He pointed to the steps leading to the upper level.
I turned and saw a narrow stair case, not more than (I got out a yardstick to estimate) 24 inches wide. After the first three steps, the staircase made a sharp turn to the right. The steps were at least a foot high. At that point, I very much wanted to turn around and go home. I could not imagine how we were going to do this, but some things you do because you have to, you have no choice. So onto the first step I went, dragging my suitcase behind me. Also behind me is my daughter, voicing her disbelief and about a hundred other people, waiting on me to ascend.
Up, up, up. Three big steps. Hairpin turn to the right. 4 even bigger steps. Another hairpin turn to the right. 4 more steps. Grunting, straining, and almost in tears, I pulled my suitcase any way I could get it to go up, behind me, beside me, whatever, however, I could get it UP the steps. At the top, a very nice young man stood in the aisle and waited to get to his seat. When he saw me struggling, he took two steps down, and helped me haul it up the rest of the way. An Amtrak employee at the top of the staircase directed me to put it at the end of the car with some other luggage. The middle-eastern looking young man then helped my panicked daughter navigate the last steps with her suitcases. He ended up in the seat in front of us, and I profusely thanked him for his help.
We plopped down in our seats in the last coach car, panting, sweating, and amazed that we made it. We looked at each other. Well! We were off to a fine start!
Friday, March 21, 2008
Train Trip
I'm back from spring break! My daughter and I took a trip via Amtrak to visit some relatives in Michigan. As I explained to a brother-when you take the train, it's not about getting there quickly.
We left early Saturday morning-about 3:30am. Caught the eastbound "Southwest Chief". Landed in Chicago 12 hours later about 3:15. At 6:00pm, we boarded the "Wolverine" and 4 hours later (5 if you count the time change) we disembarked in Jackson Michigan, and headed by car to my brother's home about 20 miles away. Five days later, coming home, it was the reverse-got on the Wolverine in Jackson at 9:00am, landed in Chicago at noon, caught the westbound Southwest Chief at 3:25, ended up in Newton around 4:30am and home by 5:00am.
Traveling by train is an interesting experience. My goal to write about this several times in the next few days, so I hope you check back for further commentary. I'm pretty tired this evening, and not thinking very clearly.
We left early Saturday morning-about 3:30am. Caught the eastbound "Southwest Chief". Landed in Chicago 12 hours later about 3:15. At 6:00pm, we boarded the "Wolverine" and 4 hours later (5 if you count the time change) we disembarked in Jackson Michigan, and headed by car to my brother's home about 20 miles away. Five days later, coming home, it was the reverse-got on the Wolverine in Jackson at 9:00am, landed in Chicago at noon, caught the westbound Southwest Chief at 3:25, ended up in Newton around 4:30am and home by 5:00am.
Traveling by train is an interesting experience. My goal to write about this several times in the next few days, so I hope you check back for further commentary. I'm pretty tired this evening, and not thinking very clearly.
Friday, March 07, 2008
I wish I'd written that...
So I got a wedding invitation in the mail yesterday. A homemade one, but it didn't look too bad. Until I read it.
"Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Snuffleopagus request the Honor of your Presents at the Marriage of their Daughter, Philomenia..."
I am not kidding. I have the invitation saved, in case any of you would like to review it.
Here's an email that was sent out:
"Please pass on to your employees:
The engineering staff has discovered a blockage in the pipes to drain the building restrooms. This is causing the pipes in the 2nd floor restroom to back up and drain into the SunTrust Bank. If possible, please refrain from using the restrooms unless it is an emergency. I will send another email when the problem has been corrected. I apologize for the incontinence."
And finally, from a church bulletin:
"Don't let worry kill you off-let the church help!"
Have a good day.
"Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Snuffleopagus request the Honor of your Presents at the Marriage of their Daughter, Philomenia..."
I am not kidding. I have the invitation saved, in case any of you would like to review it.
Here's an email that was sent out:
"Please pass on to your employees:
The engineering staff has discovered a blockage in the pipes to drain the building restrooms. This is causing the pipes in the 2nd floor restroom to back up and drain into the SunTrust Bank. If possible, please refrain from using the restrooms unless it is an emergency. I will send another email when the problem has been corrected. I apologize for the incontinence."
And finally, from a church bulletin:
"Don't let worry kill you off-let the church help!"
Have a good day.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Challenges
I looked back on this blog at January, February, and March 2007. And that's one reason I'm glad I have a blog. I was busy, busy, busy last year at this time. And feeling quite overwhelmed.
This year, I'm in a much better frame of mind. I don't have as many evaluations to do at either school. I know more about what I'm doing. I'm more comfortable with the process. I'm feeling a bit more organized. And best of all, I don't have the internship class to worry about, like I did all last year.
I do have a lot of things going on at both schools. One of the best things about my job is the chance I have to build relationships with kids. For example, there's a lost younger student I've been getting to know-I found out he would like to learn to play chess. Although I have an understanding of the game, I'd like to see an older boy, or perhaps a male teacher take this challenge on-and play chess with this little guy. That's going to be one of my goals this week.
More challenging events occuring the last couple of weeks include watching a couple of siblings taken into protective custody, waiting on a young student being evaluated for a possible tumor, two evaluations for possible mental retardation are in progress, and some observation and work with an emotionally disturbed preschooler continues. This job has a variety of responsibilities-and that's one thing I really enjoy. It certainly isn't the same old same old every day.
Next blog entry: Parents who are connected with their cell phones, but who don't have any words of greeting or encouragement for their children.
This year, I'm in a much better frame of mind. I don't have as many evaluations to do at either school. I know more about what I'm doing. I'm more comfortable with the process. I'm feeling a bit more organized. And best of all, I don't have the internship class to worry about, like I did all last year.
I do have a lot of things going on at both schools. One of the best things about my job is the chance I have to build relationships with kids. For example, there's a lost younger student I've been getting to know-I found out he would like to learn to play chess. Although I have an understanding of the game, I'd like to see an older boy, or perhaps a male teacher take this challenge on-and play chess with this little guy. That's going to be one of my goals this week.
More challenging events occuring the last couple of weeks include watching a couple of siblings taken into protective custody, waiting on a young student being evaluated for a possible tumor, two evaluations for possible mental retardation are in progress, and some observation and work with an emotionally disturbed preschooler continues. This job has a variety of responsibilities-and that's one thing I really enjoy. It certainly isn't the same old same old every day.
Next blog entry: Parents who are connected with their cell phones, but who don't have any words of greeting or encouragement for their children.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Dishwasher Wars
For all six of you people who read this blog, help me understand something. How can a grown man "with opposable thumbs" do the following?
We have a portable dishwasher in our kitchen. Not a built-in one, like 95% of the people in the United States, but a portable one. It's a good one-it heats the water up and does a pretty good job of cleaning the dishes. It even has a built in disposer, should you put really dirty dishes in there.
To operate the dishwasher, you roll it out from the corner to the sink, you hook up the water hose to the faucet, and you plug it in. Then you push buttons, and voila! You're done!
You're done until the dishwasher has completed its cycle. Then, you unhook the hose and drain it into the sink, you unplug the electrical cord, you snake both of those lines back into the dishwasher and you roll it back in the corner. Voila! You're done!
I run the dishwasher in the evenings at bedtime. When the Husband comes home from his second job, it's done with its cycle. Husband gets a snack in the kitchen, and dutifully unplugs the cord and unhooks the hose. Snakes them both into the dishwasher. Voila! He's done!
What? That's right folks, you read it here first. He does not, ever, roll the dishwasher back into the corner. He leaves it sitting there in the kitchen, not unlike Ray Barone, who left his suitcase on the stairs in that famous episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond".
I determined today, as the oatmeal was cooking, that if he was gonna unplug and unhook it, he could take 10 seconds to roll it back into place and I wasn't going to. Amen. So, it's sitting out there. If you come to over to my house to dinner, watch where you walk. It'll be right in front of you as you go into the kitchen.
We have a portable dishwasher in our kitchen. Not a built-in one, like 95% of the people in the United States, but a portable one. It's a good one-it heats the water up and does a pretty good job of cleaning the dishes. It even has a built in disposer, should you put really dirty dishes in there.
To operate the dishwasher, you roll it out from the corner to the sink, you hook up the water hose to the faucet, and you plug it in. Then you push buttons, and voila! You're done!
You're done until the dishwasher has completed its cycle. Then, you unhook the hose and drain it into the sink, you unplug the electrical cord, you snake both of those lines back into the dishwasher and you roll it back in the corner. Voila! You're done!
I run the dishwasher in the evenings at bedtime. When the Husband comes home from his second job, it's done with its cycle. Husband gets a snack in the kitchen, and dutifully unplugs the cord and unhooks the hose. Snakes them both into the dishwasher. Voila! He's done!
What? That's right folks, you read it here first. He does not, ever, roll the dishwasher back into the corner. He leaves it sitting there in the kitchen, not unlike Ray Barone, who left his suitcase on the stairs in that famous episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond".
I determined today, as the oatmeal was cooking, that if he was gonna unplug and unhook it, he could take 10 seconds to roll it back into place and I wasn't going to. Amen. So, it's sitting out there. If you come to over to my house to dinner, watch where you walk. It'll be right in front of you as you go into the kitchen.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
If I only had a brain...
How's this for an advertising slogan for a sugar substitute: "Sweetness-the most important ingredient in life." This was on the new box of Splenda that I opened last week. Usually, I don't pay attention to these things, but I stood there and read it, and wondered if it was true. Who made this brash statement? Where is their research to back up this claim? Were there studies conducted? How do the authors of this statement know that it's true? And if it's not true, why is it on my box of Splenda? Did this statement actually convince someone to buy this particular sweetener? "Oh! Look honey! The Splenda people say that sweetness is the most important ingredient in life. We'd better get this rather than the Equal, or the Sweet 'N Low."
This is an opinion, period. However, it was stated as if it were fact. Now you know where I'm going with this. How many other things do we hear, or read, especially in these days of political contests, that are opinions, but presented as facts? And many of these things that are said or written have quite impressive research findings. In one of the first classes I ever took at WSU, the professor challenged us to read and listen to everything with a critical eye. One of our assignments was to find news stories which made statements such as, "Four out of five headache sufferers prefer Brand X", and to come up with plausible explanations or fallacies regarding the claims.
When political candidates debate, they all present "facts". A popular retort is, "That's what he/she says! Let me tell you the FACTS of the matter." And what I really have a hard time with, are those who, just because their candidate, or radio host, or CNN or FOX commentator SAID it, it has to be true! Same thing about "the oracle of all knowledge", the internet. "I read it on the Drudge Report! It's true!" I'm not necessarily saying it's not true. I'm saying, don't let people spoon-feed you pablum and tell you it's true. Try to find out for yourself. Our pastor said a couple of weeks ago, "I welcome your critical thoughts regarding anything I say in this pulpit. You check it out for yourself. You read, you research, you study. Know what you believe."
Of course, this is way too difficult for many people. The Joel Olsteens of the world will tell ya what you need to do in order to be happy, rich and prosperous. Go ahead. Follow along. Don't stop to think for yourself. He's the one getting richer and happier, not you. But don't let that deter you. It's much less work to just let someone else do the thinking for you.
This is an opinion, period. However, it was stated as if it were fact. Now you know where I'm going with this. How many other things do we hear, or read, especially in these days of political contests, that are opinions, but presented as facts? And many of these things that are said or written have quite impressive research findings. In one of the first classes I ever took at WSU, the professor challenged us to read and listen to everything with a critical eye. One of our assignments was to find news stories which made statements such as, "Four out of five headache sufferers prefer Brand X", and to come up with plausible explanations or fallacies regarding the claims.
When political candidates debate, they all present "facts". A popular retort is, "That's what he/she says! Let me tell you the FACTS of the matter." And what I really have a hard time with, are those who, just because their candidate, or radio host, or CNN or FOX commentator SAID it, it has to be true! Same thing about "the oracle of all knowledge", the internet. "I read it on the Drudge Report! It's true!" I'm not necessarily saying it's not true. I'm saying, don't let people spoon-feed you pablum and tell you it's true. Try to find out for yourself. Our pastor said a couple of weeks ago, "I welcome your critical thoughts regarding anything I say in this pulpit. You check it out for yourself. You read, you research, you study. Know what you believe."
Of course, this is way too difficult for many people. The Joel Olsteens of the world will tell ya what you need to do in order to be happy, rich and prosperous. Go ahead. Follow along. Don't stop to think for yourself. He's the one getting richer and happier, not you. But don't let that deter you. It's much less work to just let someone else do the thinking for you.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
"Worthy" writing and reading
"Do I want to blog today?", I asked myself. "I dunno. Maybe." So I'm sitting here, rehashing the last few days to see if there's an event worthy of me writing and you reading.
The cat went home, so I have no furry body sitting on the computer desk, competing for my attention.
It's payday (finally).
Yesterday was in the 50's, today the high will be 27, and the wind is howling. Tomorrow, sleet and ice are expected.
Son is back from a trip to Wisconsin. He has a cold, husband has flu-like symptoms.
Work continues. People are on edge. At a school close to one of mine, an angry parent threw a clipboard at office staff. A teacher confided in me yesterday that she "has had it with 'Johnny' (not his real name), and I don't know what to do. I'm on my last nerve with him, and I cannot take it anymore. I need help NOW." Someone complained that an evaluation was taking too long. A staff member is embroiled in a situation which is requiring top-level mediation.
I didn't win the "Biggest Loser's Club" prize this month. (You can't do that when you GAIN a pound on your diet instead of lose.)
I watched all of Gone With the Wind Monday night. I'm telling you, Clark Gable- the epitome of an actor who could sneer contempuously and sarcastically one minute and show his heart the next... Several weeks ago I picked up that book to reread it, and I'm about 3/4 of the way through - did you know that GWTW was the only book Margaret Mitchell ever wrote? And speaking of the movie, here's a quote from film reviewer Frank S. Nugent, from the New York Times: "We still feel that color is hard on the eyes for so long a picture."
And, so, comes the end of this post. To quote another film giant:
"T-t-t-that's all, folks!"
The cat went home, so I have no furry body sitting on the computer desk, competing for my attention.
It's payday (finally).
Yesterday was in the 50's, today the high will be 27, and the wind is howling. Tomorrow, sleet and ice are expected.
Son is back from a trip to Wisconsin. He has a cold, husband has flu-like symptoms.
Work continues. People are on edge. At a school close to one of mine, an angry parent threw a clipboard at office staff. A teacher confided in me yesterday that she "has had it with 'Johnny' (not his real name), and I don't know what to do. I'm on my last nerve with him, and I cannot take it anymore. I need help NOW." Someone complained that an evaluation was taking too long. A staff member is embroiled in a situation which is requiring top-level mediation.
I didn't win the "Biggest Loser's Club" prize this month. (You can't do that when you GAIN a pound on your diet instead of lose.)
I watched all of Gone With the Wind Monday night. I'm telling you, Clark Gable- the epitome of an actor who could sneer contempuously and sarcastically one minute and show his heart the next... Several weeks ago I picked up that book to reread it, and I'm about 3/4 of the way through - did you know that GWTW was the only book Margaret Mitchell ever wrote? And speaking of the movie, here's a quote from film reviewer Frank S. Nugent, from the New York Times: "We still feel that color is hard on the eyes for so long a picture."
And, so, comes the end of this post. To quote another film giant:
"T-t-t-that's all, folks!"
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Bela Bartok
I went to the symphony concert last night, and quite by accident, ran into a couple who have been life-long friends with my oldest brother. We enjoyed chatting after the concert, and I sent an email this morning to my siblings, who also know Don and Marilyn, to let them know of this chance encounter.
In the email, I made a comment about the opening piece for last night's concert-it was a work by Bela Bartok, one of the greatest of modern composers. Although Bartok was a genius in his own right, I am not a Bartok fan. Bartok's music just sounds so disorganized to me. In the piece the orchestra played last night, (Concerto for Orchestra), there was a lot of dissonant chords and sounds that never quite resolved. There were frequent time changes from measure to measure, making the piece list from side to side like a drunken sailor on a rocking boat. There was not any discernible melody I could pick out - and although I can deal with some of that, I have a hard time doing that for a 30 minute concerto. It seems that Bartok ignored all the "rules" of classical music in his composing. Wikipedia says he did not use traditional harmonic functions associated with major and minor scales. No kidding. The opening measures of that concerto was indicative of what was to come.
I told my brother's friend Don that I wasn't a Bartok fan, but he disagreed. "It's great music!" he said enthusiastically. "You can just see the dragons come out and breathe smoke..." Ok. Don's got a great imagination. Give me something I can hum - give me a tune I can remember in my head. Does this make me a classical music wuss? Probably. I'm not ready to give up on Bartok, though, I'll keep listening. Maybe I'll learn something.
In the email, I made a comment about the opening piece for last night's concert-it was a work by Bela Bartok, one of the greatest of modern composers. Although Bartok was a genius in his own right, I am not a Bartok fan. Bartok's music just sounds so disorganized to me. In the piece the orchestra played last night, (Concerto for Orchestra), there was a lot of dissonant chords and sounds that never quite resolved. There were frequent time changes from measure to measure, making the piece list from side to side like a drunken sailor on a rocking boat. There was not any discernible melody I could pick out - and although I can deal with some of that, I have a hard time doing that for a 30 minute concerto. It seems that Bartok ignored all the "rules" of classical music in his composing. Wikipedia says he did not use traditional harmonic functions associated with major and minor scales. No kidding. The opening measures of that concerto was indicative of what was to come.
I told my brother's friend Don that I wasn't a Bartok fan, but he disagreed. "It's great music!" he said enthusiastically. "You can just see the dragons come out and breathe smoke..." Ok. Don's got a great imagination. Give me something I can hum - give me a tune I can remember in my head. Does this make me a classical music wuss? Probably. I'm not ready to give up on Bartok, though, I'll keep listening. Maybe I'll learn something.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Dreaded Inservice
Well, I thought I'd try to post this morning, but I have to warn you that Smokey the cat is sitting up here on the computer desk and is being very affectionate. He's in a great mood, having just eaten his breakfast, and he's wanting some attention. This cat, I tell you, he just wants to be with people. He's so different from my other cat of 20 years who was very much in control of the people she lived with. She was properly aloof a lot of the time. This cat, on the other hand, wants to be right in the middle of what you are doing. He follows me around the house like a puppy, and I think I mentioned earlier that he comes when ya call him. He's a dog in Turkish Van fur.
We have "inservice" today. I'm sure those of you who have kids in the school system are thrilled with inservice days, just like I was when my kids were small. At one school, I'm attending a morning session about implementation of a school-wide behavior plan (BIST). This afternoon I'm heading downtown for some additional training with other psychologists on mental health issues. I know inservice days are a pain-we seem to have one about every month-but they do provide staff with training and what the district calls professional development. They allow teachers especially, time to look over classroom data to see if objectives are being met, and to revise plans if that's what's needed. In case you've been buried under a rock recently, the federal government now drives the teaching profession. As a teacher, your classroom must meet federal mandates of competency, and getting your kids to achieve those standards on district and state assessments are what every teacher from third grade on up MUST do. If you don't, people notice. You are targeted for more training, more meetings, and more urgent "memos". You might be eligible for extra help in your classroom, depending. You might be tempted to bring "slow" kids to the Child Study Team for evaluation-these kids, if they are labeled special ed, might do better if they can take an alternative assessment. If things don't progress, then you might, in the end, be reassigned to another school, and another whole team steps into your school to fix the problems you created.
The teaching profession is not what it once was, although, not all change is bad. There are some very good things happening in our schools, especially for special ed kids, that didn't happen 30 years ago. Or even 10 years ago.
Well, it's off to meetings. And a good Friday to all of you!
We have "inservice" today. I'm sure those of you who have kids in the school system are thrilled with inservice days, just like I was when my kids were small. At one school, I'm attending a morning session about implementation of a school-wide behavior plan (BIST). This afternoon I'm heading downtown for some additional training with other psychologists on mental health issues. I know inservice days are a pain-we seem to have one about every month-but they do provide staff with training and what the district calls professional development. They allow teachers especially, time to look over classroom data to see if objectives are being met, and to revise plans if that's what's needed. In case you've been buried under a rock recently, the federal government now drives the teaching profession. As a teacher, your classroom must meet federal mandates of competency, and getting your kids to achieve those standards on district and state assessments are what every teacher from third grade on up MUST do. If you don't, people notice. You are targeted for more training, more meetings, and more urgent "memos". You might be eligible for extra help in your classroom, depending. You might be tempted to bring "slow" kids to the Child Study Team for evaluation-these kids, if they are labeled special ed, might do better if they can take an alternative assessment. If things don't progress, then you might, in the end, be reassigned to another school, and another whole team steps into your school to fix the problems you created.
The teaching profession is not what it once was, although, not all change is bad. There are some very good things happening in our schools, especially for special ed kids, that didn't happen 30 years ago. Or even 10 years ago.
Well, it's off to meetings. And a good Friday to all of you!
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Smokey
So, I'm cat sitting this week, and maybe next. This is my daughter's cat, Smokey. He's had a little surgery on his leg, and she's afraid her dog might unintentionally rambuctiously injure it, so, he gets to recouperate over here. We've been petless for awhile now. Our dog died several years ago unexpectedly, of a heart attack, and we put our 20 year old cat down last year. So there's a certain freedom in being petless, but, I sure don't mind having one around again. He's a sweet boy. He's the only cat I've ever known in my life who comes when you call him. She rescued him from a life on the streets and has a little money invested in him (neutering, declawing, eye infection medicine, shots, etc etc.) He has sort of odd fur-he's a Turkish Van (according to his owner the cat expert). It is very thick and soft, sort of like cashmere, and just feels different that regular cat fur. He has adapted well here, and responds to us with affectionate headbutts and rolling over on his back for a tummy rub. After his life on the street, he should be a cat with mental problems, but he's really got a wonderful disposition. Welcome, Smokey! You've already wedged your way into my heart.Monday, February 04, 2008
Updates
Well, the Kroger company emailed me back. They are very concerned (yadda yadda) about my angst regarding the Dillons at Meridian and Douglas closing.
"Dear Ms. Bass: Thank you for contacting the Dillons Co. We appreciate your feedback regarding the closing of the Meridian and Douglas store. It is never an easy decision when we must close a store and we realize the effect it has on many of our loyal customers. We apologize for any inconvenience caused and will relay your concerns to our regional office for review. Sincerely,Christie MetropulosConsumer AffairsReference: 4708610"
And regarding my input to KAKE about one of their news stories:
"Thank you Marianne,
I appreciate you watching and your views on the Etheredge story. We have been getting calls since the bankruptcy from viewers wanting us to find them and make sure they did not take millions of dollars and disappear. That is why we did the story. I'm sorry you feel we used sleazy news tactics. We don't believe we violated their privacy. We did not release exactly where they live or the name of the ranch they are working on. I can tell you we did what Cheryl asked us to do.
We are getting as many positive responses from the story as we did negatives.
Thanks again for watching,
Deb"
And finally, my blog about Charmin' toilet paper generated some comments. My brother went to the P & G website and attempted an email to company to let them know what he thought of them using "Hallelujah Chorus" to sell bathroom tissue, and apparently so did a lot of other people. As he was sending it, a window popped up which advised him that they had gotten so many complaints about it that they've taken the ad off the air, and substituted other music.
There ya go.
"Dear Ms. Bass: Thank you for contacting the Dillons Co. We appreciate your feedback regarding the closing of the Meridian and Douglas store. It is never an easy decision when we must close a store and we realize the effect it has on many of our loyal customers. We apologize for any inconvenience caused and will relay your concerns to our regional office for review. Sincerely,Christie MetropulosConsumer AffairsReference: 4708610"
And regarding my input to KAKE about one of their news stories:
"Thank you Marianne,
I appreciate you watching and your views on the Etheredge story. We have been getting calls since the bankruptcy from viewers wanting us to find them and make sure they did not take millions of dollars and disappear. That is why we did the story. I'm sorry you feel we used sleazy news tactics. We don't believe we violated their privacy. We did not release exactly where they live or the name of the ranch they are working on. I can tell you we did what Cheryl asked us to do.
We are getting as many positive responses from the story as we did negatives.
Thanks again for watching,
Deb"
And finally, my blog about Charmin' toilet paper generated some comments. My brother went to the P & G website and attempted an email to company to let them know what he thought of them using "Hallelujah Chorus" to sell bathroom tissue, and apparently so did a lot of other people. As he was sending it, a window popped up which advised him that they had gotten so many complaints about it that they've taken the ad off the air, and substituted other music.
There ya go.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
When things don't go right
So I learned that my little neighborhood Dillons store, which has been a part of my weekly (and sometimes daily) shopping experience for the last 22 years, is closing. I am stunned. Dillons is closing this little store and two other small neighborhood stores in this city of 300,000 people, and moving them to 3 vacant large store buildings that were owned by a competing grocer, who pulled out of the market. I'll have to drive 5 times as far, and shop at 5 times as large of store if I want to continue to patronize Dillons. They don't get it. If I WANTED to shop at a big grocery store, I would. I could go to any of the WalMart Supercenters, or the big Dillons down on Seneca. But instead, I chose to spend my money in a small neighborhood store, where I know Megan the cashier, Robert the dairy stocker, and Paul, the manager. Two of my three kids got their first jobs at 16 at that Dillons. The aisles are a bit crowded but they aren't a block long. You can usually park close to the door. I know where everything is. I really do! When I used coupons more religiously than I do now, I sorted them at home by the aisles the products were located in. Without a grocery store there, the building will sit vacant, and deteriorate. I never realized before now, the impact that a grocery store has on a neighborhood-particularly a small friendly store-I mean, it's MY Dillons!
I have emailed the Kroger company about my concerns. I do not really expect an answer back, they are a large corporation that could care less what I think, but we'll see. I'm sure they'll end up telling me how much better this will be for me, if I'd just give it a chance.
A second email this week went to a local TV station to express my views about a news story they did concerning the founders of Prairie Rose Chuckwagon Supper and Wild West World, Thomas and Cheryl Etheredge. Without going into details, I thought the news story was tabloid journalism, obtained by unethical means, and just sort of sleazy. The Etheredges, although they may have used questionable business tactics in financing WWW, have not been charged with, nor convicted of any crime. They just want their privacy-and it was violated by KAKE TV. The reporter quickly emailed me back, and defended the story, and the tactics, saying that it was in response to many viewers who wanted them to pursue the Ethredges and find out if they had absconded to Texas with all the investors money. Excuse me? Since when did KAKE become an attorney general for the state of Kansas?
So, there you have it. A better way to express an opinion, than the 74 year old woman, who, tired of poor customer service and having her complaints ignored by ComCast (a cable-internet provider), had her husband drive her down to their offices, and proceeded to smash their receptionist's phone and computer with a hammer. "Are you paying attention to me NOW?" she yelled at them. My quirky sense of humor found this funny on several levels, (74 years old! And a hammer! And her HUSBAND drove her down there and watched her do it!) and I found myself admiring her for her gumption. Maybe it's not the BEST way in the world to solve a problem, but ComCast indeed finally paid attention to her. Consumer vigilante justice.
I have emailed the Kroger company about my concerns. I do not really expect an answer back, they are a large corporation that could care less what I think, but we'll see. I'm sure they'll end up telling me how much better this will be for me, if I'd just give it a chance.
A second email this week went to a local TV station to express my views about a news story they did concerning the founders of Prairie Rose Chuckwagon Supper and Wild West World, Thomas and Cheryl Etheredge. Without going into details, I thought the news story was tabloid journalism, obtained by unethical means, and just sort of sleazy. The Etheredges, although they may have used questionable business tactics in financing WWW, have not been charged with, nor convicted of any crime. They just want their privacy-and it was violated by KAKE TV. The reporter quickly emailed me back, and defended the story, and the tactics, saying that it was in response to many viewers who wanted them to pursue the Ethredges and find out if they had absconded to Texas with all the investors money. Excuse me? Since when did KAKE become an attorney general for the state of Kansas?
So, there you have it. A better way to express an opinion, than the 74 year old woman, who, tired of poor customer service and having her complaints ignored by ComCast (a cable-internet provider), had her husband drive her down to their offices, and proceeded to smash their receptionist's phone and computer with a hammer. "Are you paying attention to me NOW?" she yelled at them. My quirky sense of humor found this funny on several levels, (74 years old! And a hammer! And her HUSBAND drove her down there and watched her do it!) and I found myself admiring her for her gumption. Maybe it's not the BEST way in the world to solve a problem, but ComCast indeed finally paid attention to her. Consumer vigilante justice.
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