Rain Lily!

Back in 2010 I posted this message on the FB wall of the Native Plant Society of Texas:
I wonder if you can help me identify a plant. or help me find a place that can ... It's probabaly not native to Texas, however. I brought it with me from Califrnia. Bought originally from University Nursery in Moreno Valley, CA in 1983, they called it a "Mexican grass plant". Over the years I've tried numerous nurseries and no one knows what it is. Thanks! ツ 

Pic posted to Native Plant Society of Texas
was still there!  These are my little plants
before last summer's drought took them.

Apparently I missed the reply, because just now I clicked in to see if the photo of the plant was still there ...

This little plant, that I've had for 29 years and is the only thing I brought from California - has been identified! Patsy Ann Bell tells me what it is, and includes a link to the site where she purchased hers!

Why it's the rain lily! They sprout after rains (August thru September mostly), come from bulbs, and have naturalized here in Texas. I purchased my bulbs from:

http://​www.southernbulbs.com/​catalog/index.php

I can't express it much better than this

In one of those moments that you may not understand unless of course, you have aspergers, anxiety, and the level of adult ADD that I have ... I accidentally ran into this blog earlier today when what I STARTED to do was compile my list of 10 physical abilities I am grateful for (The Gratitude Challenge).

As usual... I was off on an hour long tangent before I had even completed number one.

Which, by the way is my eyesight.

I am extremely grateful for my eyesight.

I just had the thought... good thing I haven't gotten past #1 ... that eyesight is not actually a physical ABILITY.

Strength, flexibility, the ability to run, jump... great coordination... those are abilities ....

Eyesight is related to physical functional ability. Motor skill development... hand-to-eye coordination...Though perhaps I am just thinking physical skill level.

I return to my post.

The post... is about ... oh! digressing from task.

As most of my posts do... or refer to...

As I was listing #1, in which I am grateful for my eyesight. I felt the need to research a bit and find out what the thought was back in the 60's about so-called lazy eye. Not 100% convinced this was my issue, still I wore glasses from the time I was six years old until I had lasik surgery about four years ago. Most of my life I was convinced I would eventually be blind.

of course, there is still life to live and the possibility remains open.

As a child, however, I expected to become blind before reaching adulthood.

Researching amblyopia led me to many sites, several blogs and yes, finally to a blog that caused me to have the thinking I referred to in the first sentence of this post.

(with me?)

Where was I? On my own blog page? As I read I kept scrolling up and down (Aspects of Aspergers) to see who wrote the post: What it's like to receive an asperger diagnosis as an adult. Sure I had not (well, of course, don't we know what we've written) - yet, somewhat unsure as the words so well explained many things I've experienced or felt since understanding - nay - I may never understand - since acknowledging... I have aspergers.

What?

I'm 50 and just found this out?

True, it did not become a diagnosis until 1994.

True too I have always been labeled as odd..weird..strange...different. That's just by my mom.

Read the post... I'll write more as soon as I am able... it is Christmas Eve after all.

Del Taco in Texas

It's true... Del Taco has opened locations in McTexas.

A few weeks ago my son came home with the oh so familiar bag.

I could smell the cheese. He handed me this little packet of the mild sauce I'd been so desperate for family members to send me in the mail.

Still, I doubted him.

Had a friend just flown in from California perhaps and brought the food with him?

Not unheard of.

I like to make a stop when traveling - driving or flying - to ensure the last meal out is my favorite green burrito.

My son assured me it was no joke. He'd been at a get-together and spotted the fast food restaurant on Hwy 380 as he was headed home. Knowing that despite rarely eating (happily) at any other fast food places - I truly do crave Del Taco - he stopped for me.

A perpetually broke student, he had only a few dollars to his name.

It made no difference. While they do offer usual menu item fare, they continue to carry the budget conscious 99 cent items and of course, that distinct little packet of mild red sauce.

Del taco in McTexas. We've been here 6 years and I've griped for - 6 years about the unrequited yearnings.

I recently needed to run an errand which took me up towards 380, so I naturally made a short uh, 12-13 mile detour to stop by and personally visit this newly launched fast food establishment.

I ordered over $20.00 worth of green burritos. Well sure I did! They can be warmed up easily and after a six year dry spell, I have no problem eating the same item several days in a row.

As I waited for my order to be prepared, I strolled over to the self serve sauce - packet n' napkin counter. Heh heh... I expected I could get more than the usual three packets per burrito of red sauce if I self served.

Holy mother of a refried bean. I saw that counter and could not believe my eyes.

Cups. Fill-up-yourself cups for sauce!

Before I could contain myself I had indeed filled up one of those little cups.

And oh the memories that brought back!

Back in the 80's when our neighborhood Del Taco first opened up in California, a friend and I had a set Saturday routine.

Laundry before our moms could hassle us about it, wash our cars before our dads could hassle us about that, then shower, suit up and drive thru Del Taco to get green burritos to take to the beach.

Back then the sauce came in little tubs, much like what-a-burger's ketchup tubs (if you're in Texas and familiar with what-a-burger).

No tearing and squeezing endless packets. Just dipping that burrito right in.

I decided to fill a second when the thought came to me ... I wonder ... did they have a ... larger container?

I asked. The most congenial young man behind the counter I've ever encountered bagging up food told me ... yes! and handed me what seemed like a small soup bowl with a lid so that I could fill and fill to my heart's content.

And fill I did.

Oh yes, I got home and enjoyed two of those burritos that very night.

Guess what I had for breakfast the next day?

Dinner later on?

When I ran out of burritos I still had a serving of sauce left, so I made my own, home made quesadilla, and dipped IT into the rest of the sauce so as not to waste a single drop.

I'll be headed to Del Taco again soon.

You think maybe I post too much about food? what?

If so it's because they are usually complaints. No complaint here - just green burrito deliciousness and red sauce dippin' heaven.

29 ....

I just read a fun chain-letter like FB post.
I clicked “like” and was dispensed the age of “29”. (after my plea for any age other than my true, factual age of 53… please)
The kind lad issued me 29 with the just-like-a-son comment; because we know that’s what age you really are.
Undoubtedly I should ignore the entire matter or white lie and post to FB – but I can't and you know it.
...¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸...

When I was: 29
I wanted to be: a MOM!
I was in a relationship with: my husband of 7 years
My best friend was: also in a relationship with my husband of 7 years
I was scared of: my husband of 7 years causing my 29 years of exuberant life to be nothing more than a tick mark on the chart of domestic violence statistics
I lived in: California
The post closes with, LIKE MY STATUS AND YOU GET AN AGE!!
No need for such involvement, of course.
I LIKE MY OWN STATUS a whole lot more these days – I have so very much to be thankful for, so much to look forward to and if I'd known then what I know now .... well, wouldn't we all like to erase a lot from the past, 'ey?

unconscious mutterings

Week 456

I say ... and you think ... ?

1.Inhibitions :: fears
2.Sprint :: dash
3.You :: me
4.Shop :: aholic
5.Priority :: mail
6.Testify :: gavel
7.Guys :: gals
8.Phone call :: message
9.Removed :: cut
10.Produce :: lettuce
Want to play? Visit luna niña...

Briggs Meyer

Found

Ever incapable of idle time I am now armed with both a laptop and smart phone containing blogger, twitter and FB capabilities.
Hence I am protected from the previous excess of small jot-note-journals that never get transcribed and posted because they become lost -
though sadly YOU are now subjected to an ever increasing number of dreary-peek-into-my-thoughts blog posts as I can immediately document and record some of the 33,000+ thoughts that fly through my ADD-wired brain as I walk from one class to the next.
In the common modus of the rapid thought transitioner it seems natural to move from reading a favorite blogger's morning musings and ponder how - why - through what portal - did an internet birthday shopper stumble upon MY blog?
So I queried the common search parameters used to get here:
• romantic
• barrel of monkeys
• 50lb dryer in Dallas Texas
• "343 firefighters"
• I’ve been accused of having blonde roots
• croissant picture
• never forget 11.09.11
• We need to teach our daughters to distinguish
• you can do it
• born under a blue moon
• seizure trigger
• sterling auto
• horsemeat
• TV antenna installation
• biggest snake
• Amy
• Chevy part link exchange
• world turns
• Texas salon
• Dr Chan
• one year
• spend an evening
• arbys
• We need to teach our daughters to distinguish between a man who flatters her and a man who compliments her, a man who spends money on her and a man who invests in her, a man who views her as property and a man who views her properly, a man who lusts after her and a man who loves her, a man who believes he is God's gift to women and a man who remembers that a woman was God's gift to man
• Plano
• parlor
• phantom
• miao
• 343 firefighters remembered
• 9/11 memorial in Dallas
• scott shiver
• dating
• 9-11 window decals anniversary
• horse sandwich
• distinguish between a man who flatters her-and a man who compliments her.
• 3A
• beauty and grace
• a man who remembers a woman was God's gift to men
• Wendy’s
• where to buy a fifty year old man a birthday gift in dallas,tx
• horse sandwich
Beauty and Grace? I recall no such post or the use of that pair of words in the past 5 years ….
True, I have recently expressed a personal desire to change the focus of my prayers.
Ahhh - strength … I’ve mostly prayed for strength, patience and guidance to do Heavenly Father’s will. Even in my darkest spiritual days I always prayed for strength.
And I remain unmarried at 53. Clumsy, awkward and not terribly attractive. Is it a poor testament of my faith that I hesitate to pray for beauty and grace because I anticipate the answer will be ‘no’? Hecka no – I’m stronger than that!
50 lb dryer though? That has me thoroughly stumped.

Now I can sleep

holy cartidgeless fountain pen batman - I've been LITERALLY holding my breath since Friday class when our first GRADED writing assignment in Comp/Rhetoric was to have been returned.
My first thought, as I opened the returned e-mail document attachment was that he negelected to read it.
hee.... tell me how many literary rules I've broken and I'll bake you a fresh batch of cookies!
haha
I am ecstatic to report; My professor has deemed my essay ... no, not an A plus plus, close enough to light the cigar if I smoked however ....
Comments:
You have an interesting story. Please consider some vague language and sentence clarity at times. Some transitions would help as well. I noticed much improvement. Grade: A-
I assume he really means please consider avoiding vague language and improving sentence clarity - heh
Hardest task for ADD-me - if any of you have read more than one post you know that all too well already!
My mind races at the speed of \quad c^2 (s-t)^2 - (x_1-y_1)^2 - (x_2-y_2)^2 - (x_3-y_3)^2 ....
If I could type as fast as I think, I could have imploded the internet single handedly ... well, ok ... double-handedly. No cute kittens required!
It is my biggest challenge to stay focused on ONE THOUGHT long enough to write or converse coherently - so I do read and re-read and re-read again, but usually by third post edit I have lost complete interest and am thinking about a BRAND NEW SHINY BRIGHT subject that has no rules or parameters much less any edits or cohesiveness yet....
Pleased as punch however, I shall indeed put forth my best, BETTER effort for this week's descriptive essay. And in all kindness, will go with the amusing, interesting, lighthearted selection, rather than the life changing, somber, he'll also never forget once I've detailed it selection :D
I can now sleep soundly.

forget not

from a Mother, sister, wife, daughter, and (blogger?) friend who is a writer, dreamer, visionary, and a very hard worker.
A Mormon, but like me, has never lived in Utah ...

The Vanished American

Special Lamanite Section
------------------------------------------
Yes, this article is from LDS. org and states it is in the "Special Lamanite Section"
Being a Special Lamanite myself - it caught MY eye!
The Vanished American
by LeRoi Smith
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The contemporary urban American Indian exists in a kind of plastic limbo, effectively suspended in a nonworld between two very different cultures.

While it may seem fashionable to be an Indian today, there are still traditional barriers extremely difficult to hurdle. In most white communities adjacent to concentrations of Indian people, a foundation of prejudice remains that is a formidable restriction to Indian intercourse with the outside world. While the Indian feels he is a prisoner behind invisible bars, he knows that to escape prison can be his very death. He can move to a large city and there join the Indian ghetto, a place where he becomes a nonentity in a society alien to his every experience. For the Indian of any blood lineage, this becomes a form of genocide, or, put in the word spoken as a hiss by Indians, assimilation.

I’ve been assimilated. It is a thousand years from the tar paper shacks in remote Oklahoma hills to the concrete maze of Los Angeles, and I made the trip in a few swift strokes. I’m one of the sixty thousand or so American Indians living in the immediate Los Angeles area, a sea of humanity often described as the second largest reservation in the country. I’m also one of the many thousands of metis (mixed blood) whose combination ancestry serves to bridge those thousand years between white man and red. I can have the best, and the worst, of two significantly dissimilar worlds.

I am luckier than most mixed bloods, including direct cousins. I look like a white man and thus am automatically exempt from the immediate visual tag of half-breed. My tribe, the Tsa-la-gi, first had contact with the European when de Soto penetrated their country in northern Georgia and the Carolinas during the early 1500s. From that time, the Cherokee made rapid change from a war-oriented society to positions of affluence in an infant United States. Mixing with the white man has long been common until only a small percentage of Cherokee now remain full blood. For me, this has made a genealogy possible through several generations, something seldom possible with Indian tribes.

Today my people are concentrated in two areas: the Qualla Boundary in North Carolina and portions of eastern Oklahoma. It is a bitter memory of every Cherokee that a rapidly advancing, highly organized Indian community was literally thrown from its treaty-guaranteed lands in the middle South. Thousands died in the infamous Trail of Tears to Indian Territory, but some Cherokee ran away into the hills rather than leave their beloved country. Because my aunt had some white blood, she could claim to be white. (This confusion over lineage continued through the Dawes roll; thus many mixed blood Indians find official records completely erroneous. In a society where being an Indian meant terrific struggle for survival, no wonder full bloods claimed to be part white.)

Through my aunt those Indians who had escaped the army pooled enough money to purchase unwanted acreage in the Smoky Mountains. This land was eventually set aside for “guidance” by the United States, the only Indians had to buy land they ready owned to give to the government for a reservation.

Those Cherokee who had come west to Oklahoma soon had another strong community going, with schools and a rapidly growing economy. A mixed blood named Sequoyah had created a workable Cherokee alphabet while the tribe was still in the East (where the Cherokee language newspaper Phoenix had flourished), and education was strongly emphasized in the relocated nation. At first there was a reservation in Oklahoma, but the famous land rush and subsequent government policy have left today’s western Cherokee with no land base (reservation) and little privately owned land. Still, the Cherokee exist, mixed through the hill country of eastern Oklahoma and settled in remote valleys seldom visited by outsiders—a reservation without identification.

It was from this background that I moved into the mainstream of white America. Denied an advanced education, my mother determined that I would be given the chance, an attitude shared by a white stepfather. In the white world I took my stepfather’s name, Smith, and set aside the Cherokee name of Oogama, which translates roughly to mean food like water, such as soup or gravy. Other family names are perhaps more romantic, but they are confusing to the white reader. Now I use the old name only in tribal matters.

We Indians of today, particularly those of us who live in an urban surrounding, do not consider ourselves much different from our white neighbors, but we cling tenaciously to our Indianness. It is as though we are holding fast to a rope while the floodwaters tear at our grip. We are a defeated people, but we will not disappear. While the reservation Indian struggles primarily to exist, the urban Indian fights to remain Indian—though this isn’t exactly the way a typical immigrant reacts after immigration to the United States.

Some Indians seem to think the government owes everything to the Indian just because he is an Indian, but that feeling isn’t true of most Indian leaders. They realize there is no way to turn back time. Instead, they argue, pay the Indian his due, as spelled out in treaties, and then leave him alone.

There isn’t a way to really separate the urban Indian from his reservation counterpart. What happens, or has happened, on the reservation will have an effect on the urban Indian, and what the city Indian learns will be transferred back to the reservation. There is no faster means of communication than moccasin telegraph.

The contemporary Indian is faced with problems in five specific areas: education, religion, social structure, economy, and goals. How he reacts to any or all will vary, so there isn’t a “typical” Indian at all (at least, I’ve never met one). This is a very important point. I am a writer, my cousin is a fireman, another cousin is a machinist. None of us sit around in front of a tepee and fashion arrows, the conception of Indians held by so many white people. We are a people with a rich heritage that we don’t want to lose, but we’re not frozen in a hundred-year-old image.

The essential difference between the European and the Indian is concept of property. After years in white America, I still cannot conceive of anyone owning the land. Land is free, like wind and water and fire. Earth is the mother of all things living, given to us by God. We may borrow from her, but only what we need to live. So how can I mix this basic reality with the white people huddle in middle class ticky-tacky, mortgage payments, massive insurance plans, for-sale signs plastered on vast reaches of empty timberland? I can’t really understand how the white man justifies this ownership philosophy, but I must live with it to survive. I am a successful writer and have many things, but when Indians visit, most are not impressed by my things. Only the white man is impressed.

At my home, anything I have is yours for the using if you want it, and I consider anything you have as being available to me. That’s the way it is with most Indians, but try something like that in an urban Western nation and you end up doing time, unless it’s the lawnmower you borrowed seven months ago. Since my needs are only those for living this day, today, it is very difficult for me to maintain a savings account or shore up against the coming flood. As a Church member, the one-year’s food supply presents me with a problem. I do it because the prophet says so, but it is not my tradition. Through my eyes, the white man is forced into these situations because he does not trust the earth or his ability to live with the earth.

While I’ve learned to some extent how to cope with the white world’s conception of personal property, I will never overcome the clock. Even during military service, I fought constantly with the requirement to be somewhere at this or that time. I am there when I get there, which seems perfectly obvious to me, but this isn’t the way things get done in the outside business community.

I find the Church emphasis on family a great similarity to Indian tradition. Among the Cherokee, all children are considered a great wealth to the tribe, for they are the tribe in coming years. To the white man, an Indian child seems perhaps spoiled and undisciplined, but to me he is experiencing early the opportunity of making his own decisions.

No Indian friend comes to me and says, “You will do this or that.” Instead, he will say, “I am going to do this—won’t you come along with me?” If I refuse, my decision is honored without stigma. Persuasion then becomes the mark of a fine Indian leader. Living in the white community seems to be dominated by the word no. There are very few no signs on reservations. The white man’s world seems to be ruled by restrictions rather than by consent.

I seriously doubt that any Indian would ever move away from the reservation, or home territory, if the local economy were strong. Mexicans flock to Southern California and Texas cities in search of greater earning power. Tribesmen in South Africa walk hundreds of miles in search of work in mines. And the white man from Utah moves from his farming community to the city because he can make a better living there. Yet, he yearns to return to the “good life.”

On the reservation, everything is geared to what the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) says can or can’t be done, and the economy struggles along on a subwelfare level. Last year, a sign scribbled on an Arizona reservation wall caught my eye, “I sure wish I could find a job.” Any reader who lived during the depression knows this feeling of despair. As a part of the hated assimilation/termination policy started during the Eisenhower administration, the BIA now promises the reservation Indian a chance to go to the city and get a job. Inference is that the BIA will train and place the Indian, but in reality he is bused to the city, shown where the training takes place, and forgotten. The ghetto grows.

In the city, the Indian finds himself ill-equipped to even be trained. The white man’s world is highly competitive, and the Indian finds advancement hard or even impossible. He can easily become low man on the economic totem pole with no hope for advancement. Education is his salvation.

Education is the great dilemma of the Indian people. Without it, we can never survive the white man; with it we may destroy ourselves. In the 1700s an eastern chief wrote his white correspondents, “No longer do we send our young men to you for an education. You teach them how to read and write, but they come home soft and cannot.” Today the Indian sends his child to the white school to learn values and trades that do not necessarily relate to the Indian world. The average reservation doesn’t have the economy to support advanced education. It is fine to train a young boy to be a dentist, but when he must choose between going home to reservation conditions or staying in town and making money, the choice is obvious.

The question, then, is one of educational needs for the Indian future, both reservation and urban. I received a solid education because I moved away from the Indian community and concentrated on making it through college. Many colleges and universities are just now moving to include the Indian in their program, recognizing the potential of a person with poor preparation. But these institutions are reaching a very small percentage of the Indian students because an alarming number of Indians drop out of school long before the question of college arises. It doesn’t really make much difference whether the Indian lives on a reservation or goes to a city school; he finds it extremely hard to identify with the system. He is always the bad guy in history or is overlooked entirely.

Last year there were an estimated three thousand Indians enrolled in colleges and universities, with five hundred of this number at Brigham Young University. The parents are really quite concerned about their children away at college, since mores are much stricter in traditional Indian surroundings than is commonly thought. Tribal leaders are also concerned, because the persuasion of the outside-directed red militant is working on young Indian students just beginning to realize their importance to the Indian community.

Education for the Indian sometimes takes strange turns. An oil company currently advertises on television about how it helped members of a native Alaskan village learn trades when the company was drilling for oil. The commentary concludes: “We didn’t find any oil … ,” which translates to mean “We didn’t make a big strike, so we split.” Fade commercial, and everything is super keen in Alaska. Except where are the cars for that mechanic to fix? What can the surveyor survey? When can the welder weld something? Education isn’t worth a milkweed vision if the Indian has no place to use it.

So it is just one big vicious circle, and it reaches from the sorry situation of BIA reservation schools to urban school systems geared not at all to the few Indians in the back row.

In the final analysis, I’m forced to consider exactly what my education can do for my own Cherokee people. Too little. Publicity, perhaps, or maybe advanced techniques of public relations and advertising. The lesson came home hard a few years back when I was at Whiteriver, Arizona, gathering material to do a series of magazine articles for the White Mountain Apaches. Their recreational program has been successful, but as one observer put it, “Go ahead and write all you want to bring in more people, but we still can’t get enough trash cans for those campgrounds.” The Indian, reservation or urban, is trying desperately to shift into high gear before the motor is running.

About religion. This has to be one of the very great sore points in the American Indian history. Chief Joseph long ago gave a summary of Indian views of the European religion when questioned about schools for the Nez Perce reservation.

“Do you want schools or schoolhouses on the Wallowa Reservation?”

“No, we do not.”

“Why do you not want schools?”

“They will teach us to have churches.”

“Do you not want churches?”

“No, we do not.”

“Why do you not want churches?”

“They will teach us to quarrel about God, as the Catholics and Protestants do on the Nez Perce Reservation. We do not want to learn that. We may quarrel with men sometimes about things on this earth, but we never quarrel about God. We do not want to learn that.”

Nevertheless, missionaries bent on saving the red man’s soul have poured through Indian villages for hundreds of years. If there has ever been a Christian religion practiced by man, it has been preached to the Indian.

For those of us who have been introduced to the restored gospel, it rings a long silent cry—one of the reasons The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is well received in Indian circles. Some representatives of religious groups have promised more and done less than the U.S. Government, with little visible results other than Indian skepticism. If ever there is to be a really solid Indian religious movement, it will center around the quiet efforts of Mormons honestly concerned about the needs of Lamanites.

San Carlos, Arizona, has a chapel but no basketball floor. Basketball ranks second only to rodeo as the favorite sport of the Apache. In Southern California the Indian Welcome Center begs for basketball courts and softball fields for Indian teams but has little success against the more influential and better-organized industrial leagues. Surely a few wards somewhere could extend a helping hand to San Carlos, and LDS businessmen in Southern California might be ideal support for a Los Angeles Indian Community Center.

I don’t have to say much about Mormon philosophy to my Indian acquaintances when action is put where the words are. The moccasin telegraph is also efficient here. The Native American Church, with its peyote overtones, is being promoted to disillusioned urban and reservation Indians as the original Indian church. How poor that claim stands against the record of Lehi’s descendants. And because of the tremendous potential of the Mormon Church in the Lamanite cultures, red militants are attacking it and its Indian program as none other.

It must be realized that religion has always been the very essence of Indian life. Mormons can understand that, knowing the history of our people. It is a sincere, deep-rooted desire to please God that keeps driving the Indian to maintain his identity, for we feel we are a chosen people of the Great Spirit. The spark of the restored gospel has taken hold in the Indian world, and it will spread like wildfire in the next few decades. The urban Indian communities should not be overlooked.

A successful author and writer, Brother Smith brings to this discussion of the Lamanites a special view. He is a mixed blood Cherokee from Oklahoma who has become an urban Indian. In addition to his duties as editorial director of TRM Publications in the Los Angeles area, Brother Smith has written hundreds of magazine articles and several books. He is presently completing a book on the problems of the urban Indian. A member of the Church since 1969 and active in youth leadership activities, Brother Smith is a member of the Yorba Linda Ward, Fullerton (California) Stake. His point of view is not represented as being the view of all Indians, but his reactions are worthy of consideration.

Official Web site of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
© 2011 Intellectual Reserve, Inc. All Rights Reserved

Substandard Works I "LIKE"

Still haven't visited?
... ... another sampling of mormon mirth

The Best Two Years
"A lot of people refer to their missions as the best two years of their life, but I like to go one step further and refer to every other time as the worst 30 years of my life."

Unconscious Mutterings

9 hours, 55 minutes ago

I say ... and you think ... ?

1.Clay :: pigeon
2.Eggs :: quail
3.Dress :: chicken
4.Games :: reindeer
5.Drummers :: band
6.Proud :: snob
7.Hoisted :: lifted
8.Feuding :: richard dawson
9.Itching :: mosquito
10.Remain :: nest

Want to play? Click the pic and join in ....

gunk mire muck

As if there is any question as to why I am single...
If is all too often I remark to a co-worker, classmate or friend .... Hmmm... this would reason number (today it’s reason #4,687 ) and laugh about something outrageous I’ve done or said.
Just now?
I messaged someone I’ve been enjoying chatting with on a singles site and used the term bovine sludge.
Should I explain?
There is always (to me) a logical course of thought process.
The abundance of rain we had yesterday left a huge flooded area in the school parking lot.
I DID drive through it to obtain a prime parking spot.
The flooded area reminded me of my California commute and the oh so very many times I would escape the 60 freeway stress by taking side roads through Chino Hills dairy land.
Dairy land trekking was tolerable on a good day only with operating A/C. On a rainy day – well, I tried not to ever let it happen.
The one time I did, rain water permeated with aforementioned bovine sludge rose up to mid door level and seemed to penetrate every modicum of the vehicle. Despite the continued heavy rain for another 25 miles, I was forced to stop at a drive through car wash and spray it off before even considering pulling the car into my garage for the night.
Yes, this is a map showing that daily grueling and lengthy drive.
I had posted it once before when writing about the mastodon stationed at the Jurupa Cultural Center in Riverside.

SHOT of JR and SUE ELLEN

ha - found this from when I was DFW home-shopping.
Vlad, (best DFW area realtor ever) took me to southfork one day to break the monotony of viewing hundreds of homes that started to all look alike. Cities began to look alike as well. It was only a few years later that I realized how far he'd driven me. Rockwall is not close to Frisco or McKinney or Richland Hills.....
He probably needed a break too.
Once there, I HAD to have him snap a pic with the photo of JR and Sue Ellen's wedding pic in the background. I did NOT buy the cheesy EWING license plate frame though.

Dude, I'm An Aspie.: To Be You, or Not To Be You

Dude, I'm An Aspie.: To Be You, or Not To Be You
--- by Matt Friedman
(Follow him)
“Be yourself,” we are often told, when we are worried about fitting in. Ironic advice, when you think about it. Be an individual, to feel comfortable among many?
Being yourself, when you’re an Aspie, can get you in heaps of trouble. A poorly timed meltdown, a missed signal, a split second reaction, can form a lasting impression. “Be yourself,” but not your whole self, lest you offend someone.
Being yourself is sometimes not advisable. There are times we must fit in to survive. We want to fit in at school, or with the company culture. We want to be polite. We want to hang onto valuable relationships.
So we develop different versions of ourselves that we trot out as needed. But being phony takes energy. In squelching authenticity, we fragment. We start to doubt who really is our real self. Is “the real me” so great, if it’s so often censored?
Being yourself, when you’re a person with autism, can mean asking for accommodations or special treatment. This is a struggle. We often think of equal treatment as the ultimate goal of autism awareness, but is that really possible? What we often ask for is to be the exception. We want to be the one who doesn’t have to play dodge ball. We want to be the one who doesn’t have to get up and do a presentation.
Sometimes we can negotiate deals in exchange for being ourselves – do more independent reading that we like, and less outdoor recess that we don’t. Yet in so doing, we further emphasize our difference from the norm, rather than blend in.
There is no easy answer. We learn this from a very early age. Be yourself, or be accepted: we often must choose. And the unanswerable question is: If I cannot be myself, then who can I be?

College Success

My 24 year old engineering-student co-worker told me last week, in an almost double dog dare you manner - oh, you're taking 'college success'. I give you a week.
At the time I thought.. .. ..what? do you KNOW the things I have survived?!? Endured?!?
Aside from past poor personal choices, I've worked with some of the biggest *cough* on the planet... some of the temp jobs I've had *cough* uh, no I won't mention the color of the hat society ....
ha
haha
that reminds me of a recent post asking for favorite movie quotes.
Mine?
From the movie Two Week's Notice
" I think you are the most selfish human being on the planet."
"Well that’s just silly. Have you met everyone on the planet?"
So, true, I may not have worked with the biggest jerks, tightwads, a**----s on the planet, but remembering one (supervisor) that used to make me pick him up 30 miles away and give him a ride to and from work every day with no gas reimbursement, lend him money for lunch without ever repaying and then make improper advances .... well, you get the picture.
College Success is supposed to be a course that teaches incoming college students, among other things, effective and efficient study skills.
It also should teach time management, test taking skills, learning style, and motivation strategies to build self-confidence and IMPROVE success in college.
As an older student returning to college after having left under inexplicable circumstances in my youth, it seemed optimum for me.
Three days in I discovered that perhaps the college I am attending uses that program as an alternative to rubber room assignment as a way of dealing with depraved, unscrupulous instructors.
M*rilyn Rice, the woman who led the class (I will not permit her the title of teacher) was degrading, insulting and the very definition of DE-motivation.
20 minutes into her tirade of questioning whether we had brains, I stood up, gathered my things and walked out.

I had to stop on the way out as she actually asked if I was leaving.

I had to struggle to keep from replying in a sarcastic angry tone since this what what she had been dishing out, it was difficult to keep my nice on. I did. I did stop over exaggeratedly and look at her and the class, then tilt my head as if deeply pondering the question before I responded.

"Yes."

My withdrawal paperwork clearly states my dissatisfaction with her and the details, though surely she is aware of her disparagement.

To help me keep my 4.0 and perhaps possibly allow knowledge to absorb my rock solid dura mater ... I've found this gem.

Asperger's theory does about-face - Healthzone.ca

Asperger's theory does about-face
Maia Szalavitz
A groundbreaking study suggests people with autism-spectrum disorders such as Asperger's do not lack empathy – rather, they feel others' emotions too intensely to cope.
People with Asperger's syndrome, a high functioning form of autism, are often stereotyped as distant loners or robotic geeks. But what if what looks like coldness to the outside world is a response to being overwhelmed by emotion – an excess of empathy, not a lack of it?
This idea resonates with many people suffering from autism-spectrum disorders and their families. It also jibes with the "intense world" theory, a new way of thinking about the nature of autism.
As posited by Henry and Kamila Markram of the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Lausanne, the theory suggests that the fundamental problem in autism-spectrum disorders is not a social deficiency but, rather, a hypersensitivity to experience, which includes an overwhelming fear response.
"I can walk into a room and feel what everyone is feeling," Kamila Markram says. "The problem is that it all comes in faster than I can process it. There are those who say autistic people don't feel enough. We're saying exactly the opposite: They feel too much."
Virtually all people with autism spectrum disorder, or ASD, report various types of over-sensitivity and intense fear. The Markrams argue that social difficulties of those with autism spectrum disorders stem from trying to cope with a world where someone has turned the volume on all the senses and feelings up past 10.
If hearing your parents' voices while sitting in your crib felt like listening to Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music on acid, you, too, might prefer to curl in a corner and rock.
But, of course, this sort of withdrawal and self-soothing behaviour – repetitive movements; echoing words or actions; failing to make eye contact – interferes with social development. Without the experience other kids get through ordinary social interactions, children on the spectrum never learn to understand subtle signals.
Phil Schwarz, a software developer, is vice-president of the Asperger's Association of New England and has a child with the condition. He notes that autism is not a unitary condition – "if you've seen one Aspie, you've seen one Aspie," he says, using the colloquial term.
But, he adds, "I think most people with ASD feel emotional empathy and care about the welfare of others very deeply."
So, why do so many people see a lack of empathy as a defining characteristic of autism spectrum disorder?
The problem starts with the complexity of empathy itself. One aspect is simply the ability to see the world from the perspective of another. Another is more emotional – the ability to imagine what the other is feeling and care about their pain as a result.
Autistic children tend to develop the first part of empathy – which is called "theory of mind" – later than other kids. This was established in a classic experiment. Children are asked to watch two puppets, Sally and Anne. Sally takes a marble and places it in a basket, then leaves the stage. While she's gone, Anne takes the marble out and puts it in a box. The children are then asked: Where will Sally look first for her marble when she returns?
Most 4-year-olds know Sally didn't see Anne move the marble, so they get it right. By 10 or 11, children with developmental disabilities who have verbal IQs equivalent to 3-year-olds also get it right. But 80 per cent of autistic children age 10 to 11 guess that Sally will look in the box, because they know that's where the marble is and they don't realize other people don't share all of their knowledge.
Of course, if you don't realize others are seeing and feeling different things, you might well act less caring toward them.
It takes autistic children far longer than children without autism to realize other people have different experiences and perspectives – and the timing of this development varies greatly. But that doesn't mean, once people with autism spectrum disorder do become aware of other people's experience, that they don't care or want to connect.
Schwarz, of the New England Asperger's association, says all the autistic adults he knows over the age of 18 have a better sense of what others know than the Sally/Anne test suggests.
When it comes to not understanding the inner state of minds too different from our own, most people also do a lousy job, Schwarz says. "But the non-autistic majority gets a free pass because, if they assume that the other person's mind works like their own, they have a much better chance of being right."
Thus, when, for example, a child with Asperger's talks incessantly about his intense interests, he isn't deliberately dominating the conversation so much as simply failing to consider that there may be a difference between his interests and those of his peers.
In terms of the caring aspect of empathy, a lively discussion that would seem to support the Markrams' theory appeared on the website for people with autism spectrum disorder called WrongPlanet.net, after a mother wrote to ask whether her empathetic but socially immature daughter could possibly have Asperger's.
"If anything, I struggle with having too much empathy," one person says. "If someone else is upset, I am upset. There were times during school when other people were misbehaving and, if the teacher scolded them, I felt like they were scolding me."
Said another, "I am clueless when it comes to reading subtle cues but I am very empathic. I can walk into a room and feel what everyone is feeling and I think this is actually quite common in AS/autism. The problem is that it all comes in faster than I can process it."
Studies have found that when people are overwhelmed by empathetic feelings, they tend to pull back. When someone else's pain affects you deeply, it can be hard to reach out rather than turn away.
For people with autism spectrum disorder, these empathetic feelings might be so intense that they withdraw in a way that appears cold or uncaring.
"These children are really not unemotional. They do want to interact – it's just difficult for them," Markram says. "It's quite sad, because these are quite capable people. But the world is just too intense, so they have to withdraw."
Maia Szalavitz writes about the intersection of mind, brain and society for publications like Time online, The New York Times, Elle and MSN Health. She is co-author, most recently of Lost Boy, the memoir of Brent Jeffs, a young man raised in Mormon fundamentalist polygamy. She is also senior fellow at the media watchdog organization stats.org.

double double

It is with intense attitude, but little emotion that I declare the passing of twenty years of spousal detachment.

As with any legal action there are actually many calendar dates involved; the filing date, the dissolution date, there once was a time I could recall the ominous date of discovery.

None of that is relevant any longer to my life. My life has moved forward.

Tomorrow I turn fifty three. 53. Holy mother of a meshiggina batman ….

Used to be … I’d never tell anyone my real age.

Oy vey – as Frank, a guy I worked with used to say, once you turn 50, haven’t you done and seen it all? What is there to be embarrassed about, just live!

Still stunned to be here past forty, I thought I’d share a few words of accumulated wisdom with you, now that I’ve lived through so much.
Uh --- maybe not today though. . .

Today I want to share with you the best birthday present I could ever have received.

Last night, my 21 year old came home from the fire station totally exhausted, ready to have dinner and get some sleep. He was not feeling well from a cold, and was worried about how I'd been feeling, so he stopped to chat with me a while.

Our schedules are such that we don’t see each other on a daily basis, and when we do, there is not always the opportunity to talk. Normally ok, as a 21 year old doesn't care much if he sees his mom more than once a week.

I noticed he was spoting new boots. Yeah. He told me’d gone with his bestie to Cabella’s to buy a new pair. Laughed and was utterly astounded when I told him almost to the dollar how much he'd spent.

Said he'd thought about not telling me, but should know better.

BTW - ‘bestie’ is my word not his, of course. I think he’s got him tagged on FB as his brother though. His redheaded brother. Heh

Anyway, he was chatting about how comfortable it is to hang out as bestie’s home. And remarked how similar the familial setup is. Male kid his age, (the bestie), a younger sister comparable in age to my daughter’s age, the dynamics and rapport between the two siblings similar to those of my two kids.

Parental unit female is apparently much like me; he probably means she is equally perfect in every way.
:D

So I said, well, the family set-up is the same, except that they have a parental unit … male …. The lad looked at me and said, you know mom, you’ve been a good double parent.
I was oh – so pleased.

He recognized the extreme effort it has taken over the years for me to not be a single parent, but be a double parent. In the complete absence of their dad, taking on the role of both mom and dad so that they (hopefully) never felt like they were missing anything.

I’m far from perfect. OH SO FAR.

But there is no greater gift a parent can receive than acknowledgement from their child of their love and caring.

Life has indeed moved forward fabulously. I look forward to the next twenty, nay double that - forty years - with anticipation and appreciation.

Free Sound

. . . a morning full of memories from the 343 climb, but none will stay with me longer than being in the stairwell while the firefighters climbed and the overpowering sound of THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY THREE distress alarms simultaneously sounding, resonating back and forth freely against the walls, without the “obstruction” of open space to dissipate the noise.

Three hundred and forty three alarms signaling the precise time the south tower fell.

Only then did they all stop and pause quietly for a moment of silence, which was then interrupted by a sad slow sound in the distance - a TX trooper sounding taps.

And their climbing resumed, ‘til just once more those hundreds of alarms sounded again,
corresponding to the time of the north tower's collapse.


They climbed, not racing, but staying together as a crew, always smiling, always thanking US, as we handed them water, cheering those amazing women and men on as they memorialized the 343 lives lost by climbing 110 floors in full turnout gear.

struck

cryin'

she says .... coming soon... a hip equine collection for women and girls who love horses. I say it's below 110° in NTX for two days in a row .... it's fall!

.

practice

a crazy person doesn't HAVE the focus I have

Second to None

Second to none, we are daughters of our Heavenly Father, no matter what our age.

Words of wisdom swiped from the chat pages ...
‎"A woman would be much better off if she would distinguish the difference between a man that flatters her and a man that compliments her. A man that spends money on her and a man who invests in her. A man that views her as property and a man that views her properly. A man that lusts after her and a man that loves her. A man that believes he is God's gift to women and a man that REMEMBERS a woman was God's gift to man."

It is our birthright, beautiful, sacred and divine. We should never forget. Our Eternal Father is the great Master of the universe. He rules over all, but He also will listen to our prayers as His daughter and hear us as we speak with Him. He will answer our prayers. He will not leave us alone.

BEE EYE EN GEE OH

Sometimes it pays to read the sidebar links ...

neither trivial nor stereotypical.

the following is an excerpt from
"Is this Really a Mormon Moment?"
Michael Otterson, Head of Public Affairs, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Three things you should know about Mormons which are neither trivial nor stereotypical.
1. Mormons follow Jesus Christ. He is the Son of God and at the center of our belief and – to the best of our ability – our behavior. Some people like to define “Christian” in very precise and narrow terms. To me, it’s quite simple. We try to reflect Jesus Christ’s teachings in our lives and rely on his love and mercy when we make mistakes.
2. Mormons are friends of the family. Many of those who know Latter-day Saints realize how important the family is to us. Ideally, that means a mother, father, and their children. Today’s reality, though, means that sometimes we have broken families, remarriages, and single parents. And a large proportion of our church membership is single adults. Still, the nuclear family lies deep at the core of our belief about the purpose of life and the nature of God. It is, we believe, the fundamental unit of our society and of the eternities. While the traditional family is increasingly under threat, Mormons continue to sustain it as part of the divine order and the ballast of society.
3. Mormons are big on incorporating their religious beliefs into their day-to-day actions. Service is a hugely important principle, whether serving in the church or out of it. For some, that means partnering with others to help the people of Haiti or Japan. For others, it’s cooking a meal for a sick neighbor. At whatever level, service is as much a part of our religious culture as going to church on Sunday.

I be giddy, oh so giddy

Fort Worth Opera
Bass Performance Hall, 4th and Calhoun Streets, Fort Worth, Texas

By Giacomo Puccini
Back by popular demand, soprano Carter Scott gives a mesmerizing performance (not to mention a heart-wrenching aria) as Puccini’s tragic heroine—the unwilling object of Baron Scarpia’s lecherous desires. With her lover Cavaradossi’s life hanging in the balance, Tosca strikes a terrible deal to save him, but will Scarpia keep his end of the bargain?
DIRECTOR Daniel Pelzig - CONDUCTOR Joe Illick - TOSCA Carter Scott - CAVARADOSSI Roger Honeywell - SCARPIA Michael Chioldi
Do I need to say it's by W.A. Mozart
After three years of marriage, Count Almaviva is just plain bored. So he revives an age-old tradition that will give him first dibs on his wife’s servant girl on her wedding night. Never mind that the lovely bride-to-be, Susanna, is engaged to his faithful servant, Figaro—of Barber of Seville fame—who, incidentally, helped Almaviva win the Countess’ hand! Pride comes before a fall…and Figaro, Susanna, and the Countess are ready and willing to give the Count a nudge. You’ll be captivated by this charming production featuring Mozart’s effervescent melodies and an ensemble cast of stars on the rise.
DIRECTOR Eric Einhorn - CONDUCTOR Steward Robinson - FIGARO Donovan Singletary - SUSANNA Andrea Carroll - COUNT ALMAVIVA Jonathan Beyer - COUNTESS ALMAVIVA Jan Cornelius - CHERUBINO Wallis Giunta ::: ::: In Italian with projected English and Spanish translations

I’m Right Here: Rudy Simone on Life as an “Aspergirl”

I’m Right Here: Rudy Simone on Life as an “Aspergirl”

Go On a Date Tonight: Date 8 Just 3 Women and Me

Go On a Date Tonight: Date 8 Just 3 Women and Me: So date 8 was a lot different from the rest of the dates I have been on but it was still just as wonderful. I had the pleasure of taken thr...

... ... ... how the heck is this man still single is all I want to know?

polaroid, every day

Hugh
... and ...
further explanation

My name is Dallas and I'm a ward hopper too

- but Holy Canoli - I surely do not have the insipid views this poor guy has.
There are so many more important things than, uh - being proud of yourself for having told your Elders quorum presidency that everyone in the ward is obese and socially inept.
He claims he wants to be married, but forgets that the first rule of finding a marriage companion is becoming what you hope your spouse will be.
Once you're dating, meaning, you've yes - acually dated more than once wardhopper, then you can dig deeper and find out about their beliefs, values and spirit.
D/C 88:40; “For intelligence cleaveth unto intelligence; wisdom receiveth wisdom; truth embraceth truth; virtue loveth virtue; light cleaveth unto light; mercy hath compassion on mercy and claimeth her own; justice continueth its course and claimeth its own.”
Forget that list you made in high school, the only list you need now is a list to use, not to evaluate others, but as a blueprint of what you want to become.
..... I'm just not going to stop my ward hopping :D

starwatching

I always figured the word 'blog' would sound *less* silly as the years went by.

verily I say unto you, I find this blog to cause loud laughter

New music posted

New music posted

hush, hush, the world is quiet . . .

love the acoustic versions ...

Dallas 9/11 Memorial Stair Climb Window Decal

Dallas 9/11 Memorial Stair Climb Window Decal

September 11th, 2011 marks the tenth anniversary of a day that most of us promised to never forget.

Join us as 343 firefighters from the north Texas region are supported by members of the community, coming together for a day of extreme physical challenge and intense reflection in a truly inspirational setting. Together we will honor New York's bravest who sacrificed their lives on September 11, 2001, and help support the families who survived them.

I know it's a Sunday - I volunteered anyway and I'll be spending my day downtown... someone help me remember to tell my nursery companions. In the meantime, if you want to help support the effort, you can donate or buy get one of these nifty window decals ... or both!

Follow their blog:

http://dallasstairclimb.blogspot.com/

not so a blog about nothing!

I was reviewing some older posts and realized I blogged about my coding presentation and a little about the presentation I had to give in second semester español but have not even mentioned financial accounting.

Despite the fact that I got an incredibly late start and was having to complete nearly a chapter a day to complete the course in time … I was doing well, and right on the cusp of B-A as far as grade goes.

Then I went to the syllabus one more time to ensure I had completed all of the ‘extra credit’ the professor had assigned. [This could send me from an 88.9 to a 90 thereby giving me the “A” I so adore]

Uh – what was this? Term assignment? Hadn’t noticed that there before…Clicked in.

Jumpin’ o’jay jury – it was a full on term project requiring a huge amount of research and due in less than a week.

How long has it been since I’ve called my home teacher for H E L P ?!?!?

OK, then how ling has it been since I’ve called my home teacher for help and he has been able to help? Because I usually need a repair of some kind that no one knows how to do. Whew, well, ok then. I called.

He’s… an accountant!

Going out of town with his son that very afternoon for a hockey semi-pro somebody scouting the kid thingamajig and will be gone almost a week. OH NO!

Luckily, his older son is 'home' interning for the summer. He’s a BYU accounting major. Whew.

He quickly helped me chunk it our into workable portions so I could get it completed in time. And all I had to figure out was writing a full page.

Heh . Me? Write a full page just to say nothing?

Standards for strength of heart

WHAT? You may ask... are LDS [Latter-day Saint] Standards?
From the Single Adult web page of a SLC group:
LDS Standards
In keeping with the mission of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we ask all who attend SLC-SA events to maintain high standards of conduct so that the Spirit of the Lord may be present. Following is a brief summary of standards of language, dress and grooming, costumes, and dances, adapted from official church publications including For the Strength of Youth.
Language
When you use good language, you invite the Spirit to be with you. Always use the names of God and Jesus Christ with reverence and respect. Profane, vulgar, or crude language or gestures, as well as jokes about immoral actions, are offensive to the Lord and to others. Speak kindly and positively about others so you can fulfill the Lord’s commandment to love one another. Use language that uplifts, encourages, and compliments others.
Dress and Grooming
When you are well groomed and modestly dressed, you invite the companionship of the Spirit and can exercise a good influence on those around you. Immodest clothing includes short shorts and skirts, tight clothing, shirts that do not cover the stomach, and other revealing attire. Women should wear clothing that covers the shoulder and avoid clothing that is low-cut in the front or the back or revealing in any other manner. Men should also maintain modesty in their appearance. All should avoid extremes in clothing, appearance, and hairstyle.
Why then I ponder... are these profile pictures allowed on an LDS singles dating site?

My deepest apologies if one of these [well, I won't actually call any of them jerkwads, that would not be encouraging, but good gravy do you see they look like total creepers!] - however, should one of these be your brother-cousin-uncle -or[shudder]-dad.... TELL HIM TO PUT A SHIRT ON [get off the bed, out of the bathroom, take his feet out of the camera, and good-golly-miss-molly I just don't know what that thing is with the man in green]!

^"^

Our temporary intern has moved out and little Gwendolyn notices his absence.

I didn't see him too much in the few weeks he was here. He did after all, just say he needed a place to sleep. But it seems my little Gwen became quickly a-smitten.

Last night she was placated somewhat when I began calling her Gwendolyn instead of just Gwen.

sigh - cats are almost as persnickety as ... uh, me!

She was quick to remind me that now that school is over - my final was last night - I need to make time for morning treadmill again.

um, yeah ... that's dust on the treadmill and the stepper... it has been since summer III classes began that I've even remembered my name much less exercised. Good thing for dances o rImight never have gotten up from my homework desk.

I had an odd void in time this morning when I woke up and didn't have homework to attack. heh - I actually got laundry done, ate a real piece of fruit and went out into the yard.

Ten days until fall semester begins. I'm taking a full load so we shall see - - - it won't be crammed into six weeks time as summer courses were, though.

I expect it to be awesome!

my little visit to the sistine chapel

My second semester beginning spanish summer classes required that I research a 'vacation', plan all the details and document cost, required for travel items and find photos on the internet. Then, keep a 10-day 'journal' of the trip as if I had actually visited, and create a power point display to present to the class.
I chose Romá!
I learned so much about Rome, even needing to know how long it would take to walk from my hotel to certain spots, or what cab fare would be if I called one... and even, the train schedule to get me to the airport on time to meet an international flight!
I also learned about the food, people and tourist sites.
ha - I also learned, think in spanish to write simpler sentences, instead of writing it all in english then trying to translate using second semester beginning spanish skills.
After it's all over and done, I have to share this with you - because though my family travels quite a bit, I've never gone with - and yep, I missed out on actually seeing the Sistine Chapel as a teenager.
The link is incredibly slow to load - but OH! so worth it.
It's below, I just have it broken up or my blog page would never load.
Copy and paste it into notepad or something then remove the "░"s. Then you can paste it into your browser.
It's interactive.
I am telling you, unless you've been there it will knock your socks off!

http://░www.vatican.va/░various/cappelle/░sistina_vr/index.html

Coping With Adult Aspergers

Coping With Adult Aspergers:

unconscious week 445

I say ... and you think ... ?
• Injury :: bruise
• Incentive :: carrot
• Suitable :: attire
• Cheating :: lying
• Remembering :: reminiscing
• Nasty :: rumors
• Games :: scrabble
• Wife :: husband
• Challenged :: disadvantaged
• Barbaric :: conquistador

Want to play? Visit LunaNiña, and join in.

Everybody wang chung tonight

Everybody have fun tonight ....
Single Adult dance last night .... yeehaw
heh
As usual I danced every 'fast' song .... with other women or groups of women.
Seems the men in my age range prefer slow dancing, which I abhor.
Not the physical act of slow dancing, the slow dancing with someone you don't know, trying to make chit chat and be heard or hear over the music, trying to determine if they're going to turn this way or that, wishing you hadn't just danced 8 fast sings in a row because now you're perspiring heavily and how can that be appealing.
I love to dance though and it's likely better that I dance on the basketball court, er, I mean in the cultural hall.
Worry whether I'm up with trends or still dancing like it's 1983? I simply don't care. It's not a performance. It's just fun.
I do admit I can't get back to my seat fast enough when a line dance comes up. Following directions is not my forte.
To the right, to the right, to the right, to the right
To the left, to the left, to the left, to the left
Now kick, now kick, now kick, now kick
Now walk it by yourself, now walk it by yourself
- argh! - I walk it by myself right to the hallway! ha ha ha.
Line dancing requires listening, actual paying attention AND being able to follow direction.
I leave you with this, which I can never get out of my head for a week after a dance.
. . . now see the guy in the overcoat? That's me [not literally no, it's a dude, yeesh] trying to do the cupid shuffle.