Healthy Schmealthy

The district is in the middle of this "pretend we care about your health because we don't like paying for you being unwell, even though that's the only reason you give us money" thing sponsored by our insurance provider.

I went, under duress. (If you don't go, you have to pay an addition $10 a month--or you don't get a $10 per month deduction that everyone who goes gets. Either way, it's duress because they're saying I'm $120 poorer than those who go if I decide not to.)

Well, the good news is, I'm a miracle, in that my terrible blood pressure had somehow not killed me. The other good news (which seems to amaze people, for some reason) is that my cholesterol levels are still great.

There was a weigh-in part of the event, and people at school had been complaining about it, and my plan was to wait for them to tell me my weight, then say, "And how much more do I have to gain for it to qualify as a disability?"

But there were technical difficulties, so I didn't get my chance to say it.

After they took my blood pressure reading, analyzed my blood, talked with me about different things, re-took my blood pressure to make sure it was right the first time (as I wasn't clutching my chest and saying "it's the big one"), I got to go sit in a very private area to answer very personal questions on a computer.

By "very private" I mean RIGHT NEXT TO SOMEONE ELSE ON EITHER SIDE OF ME. It didn't bother me so much, because I'm mostly like, "Here it is, whatever." However, the woman on my left needed assistance from one of the people there helping out, and he was standing in such a way that I got to type my whole survey at an angle.

Also, I learned that she's experienced a loss in the past year, and her Aunt Flo first visited her when she was twelve. Seriously. And this I heard while jamming a finger in my left ear in order to give her some sense of privacy. Imagine if I was TRYING to eavesdrop!

Anyway, it was just an irritating experience. I wasted about an hour of my work day to learn I have crazy blood pressure that I should be talking to a doctor about (oh, wait, I already have), and that I should exercise more (ya think?).

Yeah, I had nothing to do at school at all. No papers to grade, and the team didn't need to meet about anything at all. But at least the insurance company is happy, and at least they won't be yanking that $120 from me over the course of the year. Hooray!

My gig as interim choir director ends on Sunday. Lord willin' and the creek don't rise I'll soon have another job that isn't pizza delivery. I haven't heard back about the tutoring job I'm looking at. It pays well, but it might take up several evenings during the week. But at least it isn't delivering pizza, eh?

Speaking of money, I need to save up for shoes. I think we're getting past the sandal weather. Well, since I'm indoors most of the day, I could get away with it year round, if not for the snow. But it's always fun to start wearing the monochrome black Chuck's, and wait to see how long it takes the kids to notice I'm wearing "cool" shoes.

Well, conferences are over, and that's a good thing. I hate the evening hours of that deal. I minded less when we got a full day off, back when I first started teaching. But now we have to do a half-day on Friday, and it just wears me out.

Or life wears me out, and that's just a part of life. Something like that. I find I'm very tired, anyway. Probably something to do with my blood pressure! ;-)

What else is news? Oh, I played BINGO on Saturday. That was a good time.

Root Canal Day is Thursday. Wish me numbness! (I mean more than my usual numbness!)

Poll Results

"If you didn't have to wake up to go to work or take care of the kids, what time would you wake up?"

The same time I wake up now. 0%

A few hours later than I wake up now. 33%

Five or six hours later than I wake up now. 33%

No work? No kids? Why do I need to wake up? 33%

There were 3 votes. Lame, people. This week's poll's deadline is 11:59 pm. on Saturday, 11/3.

A Terrible Mistake, A Toothache, and a Trip Down Memory Lane

What a great way to start the day...

Last night, during conferences, I remembered at 7:30 that a very important person on my List of People to Notify about No Choir Rehearsal did not get called. I was in the middle of conferences at that time, and by the time conferences ended, figured I'd have to find out what happened later.

Well, I found out first thing this morning when I got my e-mail.

You know that feeling you get when you do something really stupid and put someone through a ridiculously unnecessary amount of time-wasting and stress?

Well, whether you know it or not, there was that feeling.

And what can you do, other than apologize and try to do better in the future, and work really hard to make sure the stressed party knows you are sorry... and so on. It's just an awful position to be in, especially when you know it's all your own stupid fault you're there.

And my tooth, which has gone from a Saturday Night Pain to a daily visitation, decided to kick in early today. But it's payday today, so I decided to see a dentist as soon as I could after school.

So I call one dentist office, and the receptionist tells me they don't have any openings for over a week, but I should call her dentist. So I do.

I get an appointment for 3:15, but in the course of calling, I realized a few things.

First, I realized that the dentist must be in Liberty, because I recognize the prefix from my college years. (In the late 80s and early 90s, Liberty had two prefixes: 781 and 792. Oh, the worthless things we remember.)

Second, I realized I somehow had failed to realize this before I call.

And, most importantly, I realized that some part of me didn't want to go to Liberty.

Part of me thought this was due to the fact that my "once I had this friend who came to the emergency room in tears when she thought I was about to die, and now I have this former friend who would probably show up just to make sure I did die..." lives in Liberty.

And that probably is part of it.

But then I thought, "Hey, it's the middle of the day, I can go hang out up at Jewell and catch up with the theatre department and all that."

It wasn't until I was cresting the hill of the road I used to take to the college (I always forget that road doesn't go up onto the campus any more) that I realized I had another reason for Liberty-avoidance.

I don't like going to Jewell when my life is crap.

I had that feeling that there was something left on pause at Jewell, which I always get when I head that way, and I struggle to figure out what it was. It's almost like I feel I didn't pursue my dreams because there was something I meant to do at Jewell before I left, and if I could only remember what it was and FINISH it, I could have the life I meant to have. Only not, because it doesn't work that way. But you get the idea. Or a vague idea of it, anyway.

Also, going to Jewell when my life is crap is about five times more likely to make me pine for the days when life was so much easier, and I was innocent enough to not realize how easy life was. So I pine with a desire to have it back as long as I get to keep the knowledge that life was so much easier then.

I got to the campus, and first thing, I couldn't find a spot to park. I finally found a spot near the football field, behind Brown Hall (where I spent a lot of time, as it contained the theatre, the newspaper office, and... well, the theatre). I walked in the bottom entrance, and right there I saw one of the green-cushioned benches that have been in Brown Hall since before my time.

Hello, Memory Lane.

But, I walk into the newspaper office, and things look different enough to make my brain throw up an overlay of what that office used to look like.

And I guess that's where some good stuff started happening. Because I think that started a slow process of me putting an overlay of my life onto what my life was, instead of putting an overlay of my life onto what I wish I would have manged to have. Does that make sense?

Anyway, it didn't happen immediately, but I think the process started there.

Then I went back out of the newspaper office, noticed the old "computer lab" was now a "debate lounge", and headed for the stairwell.

They have done very little to that stairwell. Okay, they have done extremely little to it. It's exactly the same, that's what I'm trying to say here.

And what's more, the art department hallway, which you have to walk through on the next level to get to the theatre stairwell, is pretty much exactly as it was my last year or so at Jewell (the "or so" including when I lived in Liberty for a year or so after college).

So I began to get nervous, thinking when I walk in the theatre office (which was honestly my home for most of my five years at Jewell), I was going to have a nervous breakdown. And I almost did, but for a different reason.

But before I get to that, I have to say the stairwell up to the theatre level is exactly the same as it was in 1985. Right down to the scuff marks on the steps.

I walked into the theatre office to see a bunch of people who are probably 20 years younger than me doing what I and my classmates did in the late 80s: hanging out in the theatre office.

I didn't notice how there weren't any big desks in the room, but instead said, "Is Kim or Nathan around?"

Some young lady was nice enough to tell me their office is down the hall and to the right.

Wow. Major deal. Seriously. Kim always had an office surrounded by all of the college theatre freaks having conversations and generally being college folk. So strange. And plus, those offices they've moved to were the Psychology Department offices!

Not that it means anything; it's just things aren't supposed to change that much, right?

So I stopped by Kim's office, and he was chatting with a student. I apologized for interrupting, but told Kim things shouldn't change ever, and that when he was done I'd be hanging around if he had time to talk. There was a hug in there somewhere, too, of course.

Nathan was in his office, but only to stop by to pick something up, I guess, for the class he was in the middle of. He told me he'd come back in a bit and show me the new theatre look. And later he showed me.

But first, we stopped back by the theatre office, now the communication/theatre lounge. He introduced me to the students, mentioned they've probably seen my name on a plaque or program or two, and then asked me if I'd been at Jewell when the renovated Brown from a gym to the building it was now. I told him I started a few years later, and to clarify how long after (since I don't remember when they did that renovation), I said I started in 1985.

To which the young woman who directed me to the offices said, "I wasn't even born then."

To which I said, "If you want me to leave, you can just ask me to."

For fun.

Then Nathan took me into the theatre.

Again, things are changing.

It looks really good, and I'm glad nobody will get the joy of smashing their finger with those crazy heavy seat platforms when converting from proscenium to thrust layout. But it was wild. The green was gone (or had become red), and there was more of it.

I would have loved to have seen the shop and all the tech areas, but I don't think my heart could have taken it. By this time I was doing way too much "remember what was here before; now place it over what you see now".

I got a chance to talk to Kim shortly after that. I didn't realize how much I missed talking to Kim until I saw him.

At one point, he pointed to his wall that is a sort of homage to our 1986 production of "Marat/Sade" and told me some kids were looking at the pictures and asking the date of that production. When he told them, they said they hadn't even been born. I cringed again.

Kim told me that the age we are there in those pictures is how he always thinks of us.

Yeah, guess what: Most times it's how I think of me, too.

I'll always be 20. Kim will always be 40. Except for when I'm even younger, or slightly older. But basically, I feel about 20.

I guess a lot of my figuring out who I am happened in college. I don't know how to explain it. What makes it especially difficult is I'm not sure I've figured out who I am, even twenty years later.

Apparently not having enough overlay going on in my brain, I decided to go see Lois Anne, Kim's wife and the newspaper advisor, who now has an office over in Curry Library.

She wasn't in, so I left a note. Then I decided to go to Jewell Hall to take a picture of the view from the hill (see STILL:Life for that one), but before I got there, Dr. Geilker passed me, and I said, "Hello, Dr. Geilker," just like it was 1990 or something, and walked on by.

It hit me that while I have this story I love to tell about a day in Dr. Geilker's class, and while he's a main character in it, I've never really gotten his take on it.

It was my 5th year. Fall, I believe. Yes, it was the autumn of 1989. I had gone to Jewell for four years and three summers prior to this, but still I didn't have all the credits I needed for my teaching certificate (in fact, I went back to Jewell to get the certificate when I realized the summer before that I wouldn't be able to get a great job with just a Communications degree... and while I was there, I finished my theatre emphasis).

I had given up on the English part of my degree (I had started as a triple major: Communication with Emphasis in Theatre, English, and Education... the idea being I could teach speech, theatre and English to high school students--and here I am today, teaching math to 7th grade kids. Go ahead! Make plans! Life's just gonna do what it wants anyway!) early on in my college career. It wasn't until the beginning of my senior year that I found out I took the wrong science class (or something like that) and couldn't get my teaching certificate. Then I got a bad grade in Theatre History, and dropped the Theatre Emphasis. So I got my diploma with just a Communication degree. B.A., no emphasis.

So, when I went back for the teaching certificate, I had to take Physics, some sort of Poli Sci class, and some other class the nature of which is currently escaping me. And I took Theatre History to get that emphasis I so wanted. I had student teaching and all that to deal with second semester.

Now, to understand this tale, you need to know a few things. First, my older brother Todd was always having me read things that were beyond my grade level. And one day I either picked up one of his books or he had me read it, and this whole book was a sort of "FAQ of Science" for older kids.

The question was: "What would happen if the earth suddenly stopped spinning?"

The first few sentences of the answer explained that if the earth suddenly stopped spinning, we'd all be thrown off.

I didn't read any further. I used this information to piece together that gravity happened because the earth was spinning.

I obviously didn't do much to analyze this theory. And it was never challenged, because I didn't take physics in high school. I mean, once you have a theory about why gravity happens, all you really care about is that it DOES happen. You don't think about the why.

That is, until Dr. Geilker says, "Gravity is a force. We don't know why it happens, but it does."

I was sitting in the front row. Pretty much everyone in the class was a freshman. I very calmly (not) yelled, "No way! Seriously? Gravity just HAPPENS?"

Nobody knew that I was dealing with a little cognitive dissonance. Nobody knew that in my mind I was having to rearrange stuff I hadn't thought about for years.In fact, I have often wondered if Dr. Geilker thought I was pulling his leg, since my reaction to learning that gravity is just a force was so huge.

And you know most of the people in there thought I was an idiot. I don't blame them.

But I had a huge reaction to this news. A really inappropriately huge reaction. And I still laugh remembering it, and imagining what I must have seemed like to all the people around me who knew for years that gravity just happens.

So I turned and saw that he had gone into Curry. I followed him in and introduced myself. He seemed to remember me (not that I think he has no memory, it's just as a teacher I know how hard it is to remember former students, and also I only had the one class with him) and I told him the story. His take on it (at least his take now--I'm fairly sure he doesn't even remember that day in class, because to him it would have just been a normal day made slightly odd by the strange guy in the front row) was to tell me that in his astronomy class he spends the first few weeks going over the history of astronomy, and how for centuries we viewed the universe as earth-centered, and he always ends up with students telling people at the end of the semester that Dr. Geilker teaches that the sun goes around the earth.

So I think he was telling me that I could have been a lot dumber.

Anyway, that over, I went back to take my picture from the front of Jewell Hall, then I visited the Union, which is massively different now, and then I checked to see if Lois Anne was back in her office, and then I left the campus.

I did drive by all my old apartments. That was odd, too.

Here's what I figured out: I may not have done all I wished I could have done, but I'm not dead yet, and I'm doing well enough.

To which Jhoneric said when I called him later, "Oh yeah, you got to work at kinko's, and..."

Shut up.

Okay, So I AM Cursing The Darkness...

Blah.

That sums it up.

Okay, sorry about that last post. I typed it up, then was going to spell-check and edit it, because I just sorta threw it all out there and wanted to fix it up, but my computer froze on me.

Luckily, blogger.com saves every however-many seconds, and when I logged on the next night, there it was. However, I was too tired to do more than publish it.

Not my best rant, is all I'm sayin'.

But I meant well. And as per Andy's comment, yeah, I get the glass-half-full thing, but what with the situation that made me start thinking about the need for mentors, I guess I had "the horrible future of the road hopefully avoided" on my mind more than "the great future of the rode hopefully taken".

Well, and it's more than that. I guess with what I do or maybe it's just how I'm wired, I think more about stopping the horrible and figure someone better at living life will do the "starting something wonderful" part.

I mean, looking at my life, I'm thinking I'm WAY more skilled at knowing where the stupid choices get you than I am at knowing how to do things in a way that make sense.

So let me be the mess standing there saying, "Turn around! Bridge out! Abandon hope all ye who continue down this path!"

And so on.

Okay, that went a lot darker than I meant it to. Lighten it up a bit and you hopefully get the idea.

While I'm on the topic of Comments, let me first say "Hey" to Chris! I was really amazed that you read this, Chris, and thrilled that you commented! Go over to my website and find a link to my e-mail an drop me a line! I'd love to know what's going on in your life.

And also on the topic of Comments, let me second say, "Are there no mentoring programs other people are aware of? I was really hoping a link or two would crop up in that last post's comment."

There, I've said it.

Anyway, tonight I'm thinking about what a horrible place this world can be, and how I am SO not equipped to manage very well in it. Or, I'm thinking about how I'm wired in such a way that I more often wait around to be of use to someone than think about what I want to do or be and work toward that. Or, I'm thinking that this is all wrong, and if I could just figure out where I took the wrong turn, it'd just be a matter of back-tracking and adjusting... but who has a time machine? Oh yeah, and I'm thinking that decades-long apathy doesn't lead anywhere good.

Also, I'm thinking about this thing that happened to me this summer, where I thought... or felt, I guess... that things were going to be better--

And let me stop that thought to say that, yes, they are better, but the stupid hopeful part of me thought that meant "better" in that life would be better, not that I'd be much better equipped to say, "Well, what happens is what happens, and I'll deal with it when it comes." Which is nice and all, seriously, but stupid hopeful me just thought things would be... you know... BETTER.

Anyway, I felt like I had a life-changing experience... and now I'm wondering if the big change was that to completely make it out of the frying pan I'm gonna have to drop into the fire and make my way around the... okay, now I'm wondering if there's a word that means "the stuff you've put in the fire so that it keeps burning" (and don't say "fuel", because I'm looking for a word more... um... fancy than that), be it logs, or paper, or whatever. Well, whatever it's called, I imagine there's now all this fire and stuff that's on fire that I have to work around to get out of the general vicinity of the frying pan.

Well, now I've gone and painted it much more dire than I meant to.

I just mean--in case people haven't been paying attention to the world around them--that this world can be difficult and disappointing at times.

Blah blah blah.

Here are some joyful things:

Kids who are 12 years old will go out of their way to make sure nobody sees their class photo, but if you suggest to them they should put a paper bag over their head, they act all insulted.

Just when you think life is boring and awful, there's the sky, full of blue and whatever other colors go with the time of day, and--more often than not, it seems--a bunch of REALLY cool clouds. Also, there's often some cool sun action in there as well.

Grades are done for the first quarter! I've got my plans done for second quarter!

[INSERT PHONE CALL HERE]

Okay, how strange is that? I'm sitting here trying to focus on the joy, and struggling to come up with some really great joyful thing to end with... and I get a joyful phone call.

This world is a trip.

Cleveland

Yes, I'll share more about Denver some day. I truly will. I'll also tell the stories alluded to in one of the earlier posts (about my last day at PJs, and so on).

But, as you may or may not be aware, there was another school shooting today.

Statistically speaking, we're doing okay here. Again, that's strictly statistically speaking. And by "we", I mean public schools in America. The friends and family members of those shot, and the friends and family members of the kid who did the shooting probably aren't doing so okay, non-statistically speaking.

I mean to say this doesn't mean the school near your home isn't the safest place for a kid to be. Schools are safe, trust me. It's just a school being safe doesn't make the news.

But, back to the horror that is any school shooting...

I have a suggestion for you if you hear about these things (or see them on the news) and wonder what's wrong with the world--or, more importanly, if you feel like you should do something.

Ready? Here it comes: volunteer to be a mentor.

There are so many programs out there to give adults the opportunity to mentor a kid, I'm not sure where to begin. In the Kansas City area, we have Youth Friends. There are Big Brother/Big Sister programs just about everywhere. You can do a search for "volunteer, mentor, youth" and the name of the city or state where you live to find programs in your area.

I don't have any solid numbers handy at the moment, but trust me when I say there are a lot of kids out there who need another adult in their lives. At our school alone, we're needing mentors for another fifteen kids or so. There are ridiculously huge numbers of children and young adults who could benefit greatly from just a little attention.

There are kids out there (and not just a few) who have parents they seldom see. (That's not to judge the parents who are working two jobs or a night job to provide for their family, mind you.) Many kids today don't have that sense of community, or a sense of belonging. They don't have a decent number of trustworthy adults in their lives. And it's not like you have to be all that great of a human being to do a great job at being a mentor. You just have to be A human being... someone with a heart that can listen and make conversation over lunch. Nothing fancy required, honest.

If you could dedicate an hour a week to hanging out with a kid, you wouldn't believe the difference it could make.

So go volunteer. The down side to volunteering to be a mentor is also the up side: you may never know what horrible future you may have helped a young person avoid.

Denver

I'm in Denver as I type this. Ten-hour drives are for the birds.

If you're looking for the post related to the poll that ends this Saturday, you need to scroll down to the next one.

Anyway, I made it to Denver. I'm hanging with Sarah when I can, singing when I'm supposed to, and spending the other time trying not to think too much about that drive back to Kansas City.

As I was driving to the first event this morning, I had to reflect that it wouldn't suck to have mountains to look at every day as you drove to work.

Then I thought, "Yeah, but I bet after a while you'd forget they were there. Or, worse yet, maybe you'd come to resent them for some reason."

This led me to start writing a story in my head about someone who, as he drove to work every day, would look at a mountain top and imagine there was someone there who didn't have all the worries he had. He would imagine if he had this guy's life, he'd be so much happier. The guy becomes obsessed with the idea, and one day, after receiving one more piece of disturbing news to make his life more difficult, he sorta snaps and decides he's gonna go to that mountain top and tell this ideal-life guy off (having gone just insane enough to forget that he made the guy up in the first place).

So he pulls off at the next exit, and begins figuring out how to make sure he goes to the right mountain top (because he is sure he must go to the specific one that is the source of his anger).

At this point, my story became fuzzy, due to a need to research how he would go about figuring out how to get to that specific mountain top. But, in the preliminary version, this bitter and angry man gets to the right mountain top, and of course there's nobody there. There's no cabin (because he'd imagined this guy lives in a very nice cabin, and looks down at the folks on the highway, thinking, "I'm so glad I don't have that sort of life"); no sign of human life at all.

I didn't have anywhere to go with it after that, and traffic drew my attention away from the story. As I think of it now, I think the guy should decide to leave his life behind and live on the mountain until he could find some sort of sane way of living. But that's just this version of it. I'm sure if I sat down and wrote it, the story would go some completely different direction. I'm not saying I have a story that goes anywhere. I just wanted to give you a glimpse into what my brain is like on a morning drive.

Then, as I was typing this entry and specifically the part about how nice it would be to see the mountains every day going to work, I realized that on good days (when I have a good and restful evening the night before, anyway), I like to get to school by 6:00 in the morning. So how often would I get to see the mountains on my way in to work in the morning? Well, there it is.

Anyway, I'm going to nap now. Did I mention that 10 hour drive yesterday, and how much it wore me out?

Am I Insane?

First, a recap of the last poll:

Which closest matches your theory as to why I had disappeared?
You're a jerk who doesn't return e-mail. 0%
You were dead and nobody sent me funeral arrangement info. 0%
You were gone? Oh. Welcome back, I guess. 0%
You were attacked by bears or aliens or clarinets or something. 33%
You were busy getting ready for school and finishing that Pre-Algebra curriculum. 66% (Although it should read 67%... who does the math for these things? My students?)

Okay, now let's get back to topic:

Am I insane?

I'm not one of those folks that buys into the whole, "Insane people don't think they're insane" thing. I think there are plenty of insane people who know they're insane.

And I'm not poking fun at the insane here. I'm really starting to wonder.

I mean, here's something I don't bring up to people, but am willing to share online with the world: I've been seeing things out of the corner of my eye. Or the corners of my eyes... I don't think these "things" favor one eye over the other.

Nothing specific, mind you. Well, nothing more specific than the message light on the phone at school, which was the first false thing I realized I was seeing out of the corner of my eye. I sometimes see the message light flashing out of the corner of my eye, but then I stare at it, and it doesn't flash at all (I have to stare, because there were times that it WAS flashing and I'd glance, look away, see the flash again... rinse, repeat).

Then, there was this whole crazy thing with the Encyclopedia "Yearbooks" at the first of the year. Although there ended up being a rational explanation as to why I'd look at a book and it would say 1985 as clear as day, then several minutes later it said 1986 or 1984, the feeling of "Oh man, I'm going insane" was not unfamiliar to me at that time.

I keep seeing movement out of the corner of my eye when nothing is moving. When I'm home alone, it's very disturbing. Especially when it's accompanied by a voice.

I kid. No voice.

Well, I mean, barring the ongoing dialogue between the different parts of my brain, which sometimes seeps out into the real world in the form of conversations with myself, which is a whole other insane thing.

Also, let's reflect on how I have the financial planning skills of a milk truck. I mean, isn't the definition of insanity (or the popular t-shirt version) doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?

Oh, and if you knew the story behind the potato-chip picture over on STILL: Life, you'd be voting "he's TRULY insane" on that poll over there.

Or, maybe I'm just bored. I have all the free time on my hands, so I can see how I'd get bored.

I kid.

Okay, I'm done worrying about it. You people vote on it (hopefully more than three of you this time) and I'm going to type some more, updating folks on my life.

I don't deliver pizza any more. There's a great story about it, and I'll post that some day before I die, if I'm lucky... or if you're lucky... or if someone has some sort of luck. Whichever applies.

I'm the interim choir director at the church right now. It's an odd feeling, directing a choir. I mean for me. I doubt your average Joe Choirdirector has the same feeling. For me, it's a mix between the "People are looking at me" I felt back when I would pitch on our Khoury League team, and the "People are looking at me" I feel onstage. That is to say, it's a mixed bag, based on my feelings of inadequacy. But I'm enjoying it. It's just an odd feeling.

I'm going to Denver this weekend to sing. Also, I get to visit my college chum Sarah, and meet her family. I haven't seen her in a coon's age... almost literally, there. Come to think of it, I don't know if I've seen her in even more than 16 years.

However, I'm driving to Denver, and that gives me odd feelings of dread. I don't know why. The car is practically new. But, if this is some psychic thing, let me take this chance to say I love you all dearly, and my will is under my mattress.

Okay, I'm tired. I'm driving ten hours tomorrow. My laundry is about done. I'm gonna add a link over on my other blog, then hit the hay.

I'm Just Gonna Tell It Here And Be Done With It

First, in case you haven't read the post below, walk fund-raising:

Ruth & Kathy, Breast Cancer: Here
Leigh, PKD: Here
Debbie, Alzheimers: Here

And no comments asking when I'm going to participate in a walk. It ain't gonna happen until I first am able to walk a mile in another person's body.

So I have this dream to recount, and I can't figure out who to recount it to... as it's the sort of dream that might inspire people to feel they need to comment or say something of comfort or otherwise voice something that feels somewhat obligatory.

Thus, I've opted to just share it here, to get the sharing part out of my system, and then go take a nap.

Last night I dreamt that through some plot device now lost to the dreamer, I'd travelled back in time some vague-yet-small amount. Somewhere around ten years or so, I guess.

Anyway, I was in the middle of whatever it was I was supposed to be doing when I suddenly realized that Patsy was alive and in her right mind, and I could go see her again.

So, I pick up the mobile phone--which I think some lucid part of me realized shouldn't work, as it was the past and the phone number hadn't been activated... and might not have even worked if it had been--and I called Mom.

She didn't know it was me from the future, and I just asked her if she was going to be home for a while so I could come visit.

On the way to the house (I don't know where I started... it seemed to be some mix of Center, Kansas City, and maybe some Los Angeles in there), I ran into all kinds of difficulties. At one point I had to climb up onto an overpass, only to find the overpass had flooded, and for reasons not made clear to my lucid brain, I had to avoid the water. So I was jumping from car to car, eventually climbing on top of what I believed to be a train, even though it makes no sense having a train on the highway.

In the course of all this, I got on the phone again, and somehow I was jostled and the phone hit my chin and a piece of it broke off.

This is the strange part.

Okay, one of the stranger strange parts.

My lucid brain, which was apparently less lucid than it should be, as it was buying into this dream, thought "If I wake up and my phone is broken, I'll know I really went back in time, and this was God giving me a chance to see Mom one more time, as she was."

So much for "lucid", right?

So I got to the house (this happened off-camera... I just suddenly was there, and I don't even remember if it was the old house or the current one), and there was Patsy. I made such a noise of joy/grief/anguish/jubilation that I am 100% positive I actually made that noise out loud in my sleep. (To clarify, the grief/anguish parts of the noise were coming from the lucid brain in me.)

And that noise, I think, is what woke me up.

I didn't check my phone, because lucid brain was having nothing to do with that, instead just clearing it's throat and making tut-tut noises while not making eye-contact with any other part of my brain.

Okay, I'm off to nap...

Walkers

No, not Texas Rangers, or a herd of that thing I used to get around when I had a broken leg...

I just wanted to link to some people participating in different fundraising walks.

Ruth and Kathy are finishing their walk today. They've made their goal, but if you want to give, go here and follow the links to their walk sites... or read the latest newsletter... or watch the video again...

My friend Leigh is walking in the Walk for PKD. To read more about PKD and her walk, click here.

Debbie, who I have only spoken to via e-mail since... I don't remember the last time we talked in person, actually. It might have been in the 80s. Anyway, I've known her since seventh grade... where was I? Oh yeah, Debbie is walking in the Alzheimer's Association Memory Walk in St. Louis. Click here to visit her walk page.

Oh, and that lack of memory joke in the last paragraph wasn't meant to be a bad Alzheimer's joke.

Where Have You Been?

Don't ask!

Okay, the short version is: Pre-Algebra Curriculum. Although that isn't an answer to the posted question, it explains why I've been so computer-shy these last... um... 50 days or so.

Every time I'd sit down to do ANYTHING at the computer, I'd be reminded that this curriculum mess isn't fixed yet.

As for the mess, seriously, don't ask. We can leave it at "It's done now" and move on. I will say that it got so bad that when I finished Thursday night/Friday morning at 12:15, I seriously considered going out for a drink or ten.

Anyway, on top of the "not posting" mess, I'm also having a "what the heck is going on with my e-mail mess", which involves me not being able to successfully send e-mails abou 95% of the time.

So, after this, I'm going to pop over to a blog or two to explain that this explanation is here, and them I'm going to go out for a drink or ten. I kid. I'm actually going to... I don't know what I'm going to do.

My website is updated to July, finally. I hope to update it to August sometime mid-week, and finally be in September next weekend.

Oh, the poem is posted, and the results from the 2nd poll are as follows:

People who have known me for less than a year: 0/7 (0%)
People who have known me a year or over, but less than five years: 1/7 (14%)
People who have known me over five years, but less than twenty years: 2/7 (28%)
People who have known me twenty or more years: 4/7 (28%)
People who don't know me: 0/7 (0%)

The lesson here is that only seven people who read this thing take part in the polls... and that's assuming somebody didn't take the poll more than once.

Anyway, the poll should be changed now (unless you read this in the five minutes after I post it... in which case, come back in ten minutes).

I have thoughts to post which I will post later. And news to post which I will post later.

Later!

Finally, That Poem

ODE TO THAT FEELING OF MY FEET LEAVING MY WORK SHOES AND GOING INTO MY SANDALS

How can I do justice to the feeling of bliss
Inspired by the simple act of stepping out
Of shoes (whose painful nature others might dismiss)
Into sandals? I suppose I could simply shout
From the nearest mountain top, or perhaps a hill,
But the words I'd shout escape me. It's late, as well.
This peacefulness accompanied by no small thrill
Is not unlike, after twenty-five years of Hell
Finding, right beside you, where it's been all along
The tallest, coolest glass of water, just for you.
And, as you slowly drink it down, you hear a song
Played in your head say, "Through these years you always knew
That right beside you, waiting for your open eyes
Was peace, and joy, and love. But you kept your head turned,
Letting what you couldn't help work toward your demise.
I've been waiting here, while inside you this fire burned.
But now, you see. And, home at last, you find relief.
And now, you see that darkest night has led to dawn.
And now, you know that all along you had belief
That all would be well when you had your sandals on."

Copyright 2007, Mark Travis Riggs

Thinking of Dining Out?

Sorry for the radio-silence... but I'm crazy busy right now, and I'm only breaking it for a second here to remind (or tell for the first time) that Ruth & Kathy's two-day fundraiser via all KC area Uno Chicago Grill restaurants is tomorrow and Thursday. Read the info here: http://kathyruth3day.tripod.com/fundraising.html.

You'll need to bring a certificate, which you can get by clicking the link at the bottom of the page I've linked to in the last paragraph.

I tried sending out an e-mail this morning, but apparently something majorly messed up over at my ISP. They say they're working on it.

I'm back to this fun all-nighter I think I'm about to have to pull. Ta.

Wait, There's A Journey?

First, the poll has closed, and it looks like 5 were for it, 1 against it, and 2 voting for free will.

I'm not sure whether I should be thrilled or upset that 8 people voted. I'll go with thrilled, as I can't think of who the 8 would be (did one of you vote twice?).

Second, I realize that as a first personal reaction to what I said in that last post, job one will be to get the plank out of my own eye. So begins the process of me identifying who I may have shooed (or even thought needed to be shooed).

I'll have the poem finished within the week! Now vote in the new poll!

Should They Stay or Should They Go?

First: Don't forget to take the poll found at the right, if you haven't already taken it. Details in the post below.

Second... a warning: Christ may be mentioned often in this post. Read it if you dare, person that I'm thinking of (and I know you know who you are).

When I was thirteen (I don't know if this is an actual thirteen, because really it's a "somewhere around thirteen," which includes thirteen; it's just that, barring the lengthy explanation, it's quicker to say/type "thirteen") I was asked to leave Christ alone. I was told Christ did not want me hanging around. I was told that I was making the place look bad. In short (too late), I was told, "Get out. Christ don't like your kind 'round here."

Nobody actually said that to me. I think it's very seldom said. Like good Christian works, I think bad Christian works most often happen with deeds, not words... or at least bad Christian works don't happen with words directly spoken to the person they are meant for.

But, from a young age I had no problem with addition, and I could add two twos to get four. I certainly wasn't going to admit I belonged to a group being told "go away". I just began my slow walk away from the table where the eternal Lord's Supper is being continuously served.

I picture me with my head down, not wanting to look back, for fear Christ would be scowling at me because I wasn't going away fast enough--but that's because I have a touch of the dramatic and everything must either be envisioned as a stage play or a film. Or a scene from a book, maybe. Notice I didn't say "a good book", as I'm not sure if this would make a good story.

I didn't have it in me to hate God or Christ just yet. I still had enough fear in me, and the anger had not yet built up. But, the thing is, if you are told Christ doesn't want you around (at least when you're young... and I think it's true if you're older too--especially if you didn't have much of a religious upbringing, or didn't have one that stressed the unconditional love of God), after a while, you start to quietly think something along the lines of, "Oh yeah? Well, f**k him, then!"

Yeah, at first you think it with the f**k and the initial letter of "him" in capital letters. But, with time, they go to lower case. Lower case for the first four letters doesn't mean you're less angry. It means you're more accepting of your anger, and you're more committed to it.

And so it was with me.

And the lower-case "h"? That's there because after a while you find yourself singing "Oh how I hate Jesus, because he first hated me." And you never capitalize the initial "h" of the him you hate.

And so it was with me.

After some time, you just write the whole thing off as a fairy tale, and get irritated with anyone who believes as you used to (or, put another way, still gets to sit at that table you were sent away from). You get to carry around a large Army duffel bag full of anger, and hate, and fear.

And so it was with me.

My anger solidified itself into disbelief in the whole thing when a classmate died. I figured it made more sense to not believe in a God that would allow one of the loved ones to die instead of getting rid of a hated one. It didn't help that I was silently hoping to be gotten rid of. Living without your spiritual anchor is no cup of tea.

And life went on. And on. My anger, combined with my humor, became my "thing". I happily avoided anyone wearing a cross, and made fun of anyone seen walking into a church. More hate and anger and fear for the duffel bag.

Life goes on. Tolerance sneaks in. The anger/hate/fear more often stays in the bag, only needing a slight release every other... I don't know... twelve hours or so.

At least, so it was with me.

Now, if you're lucky--or maybe, if you're able to take advantage of the chance you are given to turn and see Christ beside you, silently waiting for you to realize He has never left your side from the moment you stepped away from the table--you may have a string of events help you realize it wasn't God or Christ that sent you away.

It wasn't God or Christ who said those hateful things.

Seeing that, you may be able to look back at your life and see all the times He has been there, silently holding you, prodding your conscience, helping you up when you thought you couldn't stand anything else.

He has been there listening to your non-stop prayer of anger, you realize.

If you're lucky. If you take advantage of the opportunity that may arise.

And so it was with me.

However, these opportunities are like pennies on the sidewalk. Easy to miss, and not always able to generate the motivation to stop and make the little effort needed to take them. Looking back, I know I've walked by many such metaphorical pennies.

I do, however, tend to pick up any non-metaphorical penny I find on the ground. I don't hold to the whole "tails up is bad luck" thing.

My point (and yes, there actually is one here) is this: Not everybody looks beside them or behind them to see that it wasn't Christ who shooed them away like unwelcome dogs at a barbecue.

And, believe me, there are still people being shooed away. They are being shooed away right now. Somewhere on this planet--in this country, even--I can almost guarantee you someone is feeling that they have been (probably indirectly, mind you) told they are not welcome at that table as you read this. I'm not talking about any particular group of people here (unless you want to label the group as "those being shooed away"). I think you could think of more than three "groups" of people being shooed away from the table, if you tried.

So, the big choices are: Either you are okay with people being told they are not worthy of Christ's love, or you actively make sure everybody knows they are welcome at this table and that Christ's love is for them as well.

Inaction denotes acceptance of the former.

Should they stay? Should they go?

If you accept the latter of the two big choices given--that is, if you believe Christ's love is for everyone, is your congregation actively making sure everyone knows they are welcome at the table?

If not, do you have it in you to start working toward change within your congregation? Or would your efforts be better used in a congregation of like-minded people?

Should you stay? Should you go?

I don't mean to imply either your staying with your congregation or going away to another is the better choice. I'm honestly asking--if you agree the choices are either welcoming someone to stay with Christ or being okay with the fact they're shooed away, and if you feel welcoming is the way to go--how and where can you best be a welcoming force?

If you are of the opinion that there are people Christ doesn't love, and who are not welcome at the table, I don't really have a lot to say to you. I don't mean that I don't want to talk with you, but I'm not sure what I could say to you to change your mind on the topic, and there's nigh unto nothing (the "nigh unto" being there because I have a hard time saying "nothing", and "never" and so on) you can say to change my mind on the topic.

I know this isn't standard fare for my non-blog. It's just something that's been floating around in my head for a couple of days. Last night I discussed it with friends, and I'm wondering if this is something I need to be repeatedly asking everyone sitting at the table with me: Should we be letting those people be shooed away?

Take My Survey!

First of all, I've had a pretty great day!

Yes, I'm shocked about that, too. Actually, not really all that shocked. But... well, I'm sure there's some word in some dictionary that means what I'm feeling, but I don't know what it is.

Anyway, I closed at P.J. tonight, and when I opened the passenger door and kicked off my shoes and stepped into my sandals, I thought, "Oh man, I love that feeling. I should write a poem about how much I love that feeling. Or, maybe write an "Ode To That Feeling Of My Feet Leaving My Work Shoes And Going Into My Sandals""

Well, the title is over at the left of this post... I could have let you read it there. Duh.

And then I thought it would be fun to use my surveymonkey account to make a survey about it, and let people vote on whether or not I should do this, and maybe let them vote (should they choose I SHOULD do this) on whether or not I use some sort of standard form with a recognizable rhyme scheme, or maybe be more free-form about it.

Which seemed like a very cool idea at the time, but apparently my computer and/or surveymonkey.com (and if there was a place to bet on it, my money would be on my computer being the problem) decided it was not to be.

Luckily, I can at least ask the first part of the question, and now I have!

So please, respond! You have until midnight Friday!

When I Last Added A Post (A Few Thousand Years Back)...

Well, the weekend went differently than expected... which is to say I wasn't expecting anything in particular, except that I wasn't sure what was going to happen, and that translated to I expected new experiences, but not much beyond that.

And, as I plan to be processing the weekend until the day I die, I'll just leave it at that for now.

Well, except to say that saying it was a very good weekend is an understatement.

How was your weekend?

In Case Publishers' Clearinghouse Comes Looking For Me:

I'm going to be out of communications range until Sunday afternoon.

If you need me, practice patience.

If it's some sort of emergency, do what I would do if you were out of communications range and I absolutely had to get in contact with you: go all Nancy Drew. Or Hardy Boy. Or Bobsey Twin. And I don't know if that's how you spell "Bobsey". I haven't read any of aforementioned series. Really, I go more Encyclopedia Brown than anything, but it sounds funnier to say I'm going all Nancy Drew.

Well, it sounds funnier to me, anyway.

See you Sunday!

P.S.: Picked up the car today! Seriously!

Okay, Seriously...

The strangest thing happened today. I'm not sure what to make of it. I don't know if I should take it as a sign of impending doom, or that there's always hope, or that maybe life can turn on a dime to a positive direction, or what.

Plan... I don't even know what letter I'm at now. Plan Double-Z (just to be safe) fell through yesterday--that's Plan Double-Z in my list of plans to get wheels. I took thirty seconds or so to be morbidly depressed about it, then decided to just do something insane.

Often I get mailings from credit card companies, car companies, loan companies, and other sorts of send-mailings-out sorts of companies, and they serve the purpose of providing clutter until such a time I think to throw them away. A day or two ago I got one from this car dealership. Actually, I got two from two car dealerships. One looked slightly more reputable than the other, but my thought was that even if either was reputable, I'm sure my credit is so awful that I'd never have a chance.

Well, after my thirty seconds of morbid depression, I got giddy and decided as joke I'd take the slightly-more-reputable-looking flier and see about getting a car. They apparently have lots of older-model cars (so sayeth the flier) that they are making incredible deals and giving credit to any yahoo that shows up--or they're pre-approving any yahoo, but that doesn't mean that yahoo's credit has been accept (or so sayeth the fine print).

So, I vowed to go to the car loan website the following morning (that would be this morning) and enter in all the information. It would at least kill some time, as I've reached the end of Season Five of the X-Files, and don't have the movie, and thus am in a holding pattern where that show is concerned.

I filled out this relatively simple online form, and then went on to check school e-mail and otherwise kill time online.

At 1:30, my home phone rang a few times. My caller ID downstairs doesn't work (or the phone that had caller ID doesn't, rather) and I didn't want to run upstairs to see who it was. I figured if it was important, they'd leave a message.

The phone rang again just a few minutes later, so curiosity got the best of me and I went upstairs to see what was going on.

As it turned out, it was just coincidence. The first phone call had nothing to do with the second. The second phone call was someone from the dealership saying he needed to talk with me.

I called the place and asked for the guy, and he was all like, "I think we can work something out for you."

Seriously, I said, "Seriously?" And imagine that in the most disbelieving tone I can muster.

So he walked me through what I needed to bring to the dealership (after much gnashing of teeth on my part because I couldn't find anything to write with), and I scheduled an appointment for 6:30.

I called Ruth, told her I think something is rotten in Denmark, but what the heck, I'll try anyway, and asked if she could give me a ride.

I made some phone calls and got the papers he needed to see all in one folder, showered and made myself all purty-full, and had time to read a chunk of the book I'm currently reading.

We got to the dealership, and I was shocked at how legitimate the place looked. I bought my truck from a less-than-legit place several years ago, and I expected this place to look like that. Ruth didn't admit to it until later, but she was wondering where the cars I could get were hiding. I was wondering the same thing.

Ruth went off to run some errands, and I went into the office, where I figured the other shoe would drop any time.

There were about five times I thought for sure the other shoe was on the way to the floor, but it didn't happen.

The sales guy asked me what I'd like to put down, and what I'd like my payments to be. I shared, and I kept trying to emphasize "I need something that works, and won't die for at least a year."

I realize I must have sounded pathetic, but this is where I am right now. Surely he can deal.

So he goes to get an idea of what fits into my budget. I expect it to be something older, maybe a little on the worn side, but mostly running well (as he'd gone into a lengthy spiel about how they do this x-number of checks system on every car, blahdy blahdy blah).

Then he's gone for a way long time (and I keep thinking "ah, he's off getting hit in the head by that other shoe, which he will then bring in to me so he can drop it on the floor in front of me").

Finally, I see him. He's in the parking lot in what appears to be a not-old-at-all and really nice car.

So I start re-evaluating this shoe thing. Obviously this shoe is gonna come from somewhere I hadn't anticipated. Perhaps in the form of a too-high monthly payment. Or, at the last minute, some manager comes up and says, "Oh, you're THAT Mark Riggs; please leave now" (and that thought stuck with me for most of the rest of my time at the dealership).

So, salesman guy (I have his card somewhere, but I don't know where right now, and plus I'm in a rush) comes back, has me come outside, and shows me the car.

I don't know what he expected me to do. I'm wearing my most-guarded of my guarded looks, as I know there is a shoe full of potential energy just hanging in the air somewhere.

I looked at it, said "hmm" and "mm-hmm" and "oh" and generally said I thought it was a fine vehicle.

Dig this: 2006. That's the year of the car.

So, he's pausing for me to say something or just take it all in, and I'm thinking he's getting ready to say, "Well, it was totalled three times, and it will need to have the EVERYTHING replaced over the course of the next year," or maybe, "Well, this is what I'd LIKE to get you in, but the payments will be $500+ dollars," or perhaps even, "I just wanted to show you what you can get once you finally build up some credit!" Or, again, maybe the manager would show up and announce they figured out which Mark Riggs I am.

None of those things happened, and he seemed to be expecting some sort of sentence from me, so I lamely examined the sun visor on the driver side, made some comment about it seeming to be a great car, and asked if that slot that was obviously for Compact Discs meant it also had a CD player (he hadn't mentioned that when he mentioned AM/FM radio... not that it would have been a deal breaker, I just felt he expected some comments and/or questions from me).

That whole car bit was very awkward, now that I think about it. I didn't know what were were supposed to do next, and he didn't seem to be ready to move me in the direction of the next step, and even once we were out of the car, it was odd.

Maybe he thought at my age this should be old hat to me. And maybe it should. Whatever.

So, next we go into the main building, where his office is (I'd gone into the Used Cars building originally, because: duh), and we go to someone else's office, because his was being used. He walks me through papers, and says somebody was going to talk to me about the financing, but that they have found someone who would provide the loan (which made my eyes dart around, looking for that shoe again) and they're seeing if they can get others to provide better loans. And on and on and on.

Then he takes me back to the "lounge". The wait here seemed the longest, probably because I'd seen a nice car and hoped I could be driving it one day, whereas before I'd seen the car, the shoe dropping didn't mean that much different than every day life.

Ruth sent me a text to make sure I was alive, so I called her and told her what was going on. I'd already called her from the other building, but at that time I hadn't seen the car. I don't know that I said much to Ruth about the car, as I felt that might encourage the shoe to go from having potential energy to kinetic.

Salesman guy comes back to ask me some questions about my other car, and still no shoe.

He leaves. I'm too tense to even get up to get the remote and turn away from the quasi-baseball that was on the television. I did turn the pages of some entertainment magazine repeatedly.

Salesman guy came back and said finance guy was ready to see me. This was it. The last chance for someone to say, "We didn't realize you were THAT Mark Riggs; get out."

No such thing. The car payments were slightly higher than I'd like, so there was my shoe, but it was more of a kid size 3 than the combat boot I was expecting.

So tomorrow I'll be picking up a 2006 Chevy Cobalt. There's a pic over on STILL: Life if you want to see it.

I went out to Ruth's car, got in, and pointed out the car I'm getting. I could tell she was surprised, as well.

The ride home I put my hands on my cheeks and said, "Seriously, I got that car" about eight times. I got my phone out and couldn't figure out who to tell.

So I have a nice newer car. Newer than I've ever had. Tricia says I must put it in writing here that I will take great care of it. Jhoneric said something similar, but with cuss words. And so it shall be.

Now I can get back to work. Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, I'll make it to my September 28th payday in decent shape, and all will be... well, if not well, it will be more tolerable than usual.

HOORAY! Seriously.

And Now: Another Rant

I SERIOUSLY despise this VISA ad campaign where the world is this well-oiled machine that can only be screwed up by somebody having the audacity to pay with cash.

First, ain't no well-oiled machine up in here.

Second, shut up, VISA. You're just bein' stupid because when I pay with cash you ain't makin' no money up in here. So there.

Seriously. Hate. Those. Commercials.

So, next time you see one, you can think, "If Mark's watching this, I bet he's cringing!"

Title Lost!

Okay, I've gotten all the pictures back up over at STILL: Life, but, as I mentioned before, the titles of some of them escape me. I don't know how to find a good search engine that might still have a cached version of those pages (July and August's archives) so I can't get the titles exactly right from that potential source. Any help from you folks out in Readershipville would be greatly appreciated.

The first post was July 4, 2006. I know it was something about Dora succumbing to peer pressure, but I don't know how I worded it, or if there was more to it. (Part of the problem with my memory here is that I remember titles I originally rejected for some... and thus am worried that the titles I don't feel "sure" about are rejected titles.)

Anyway, any picture from July 4, 2006 to August 11, 2006 entitled "Title Lost" is a picture I need help with. Any help?

Oh, and I've changed the look a little. You like?