A Blog Award

Alice Audrey over at Alice's Restaurant gave me this blog award, for which I thank her.

Alice is a Thursday Thirteen participant and so we visit one another weekly.

I truly have no idea what an "Honest Scrap" award is. Am I a scrapper in my writing? Do I hammer home my points (based on the visual in the award). Do I have thick arm muscles?

There are rules about these things, and here are the ones for this award:

Honest Scrap

You are supposed to nominate seven other bloggers for it, who can then do with it
what they will. The other portion of your assignment is to blog ten little known and interesting facts about yourself.

I am just going to say if you think you're an honest scrapper and you'd like this award, please take it! Instead of nominating anyone I am simply going to shout out to some of my favorite blogs. There's June over at Spatter, Colleen over at Loose Leaf Notes, Amy at Virginia Scribe, Becky at Peevish Pen, Diane at Blue Ridge Gal, Ginger at landuvmilknhoney, Beth at Blue Ridge Blue Collar Girl, and Lenora at Journal of Days. Check any of them out if you're looking for interesting reading.

Now for the important part. Those 10 facts.

1. My hair is brown and gray. I started going gray in my 20s. I do not call the color "gray" when I speak of it but instead consider it a "soft white." You know, like a light bulb.

2. My eyes are hazel. Sometimes they are blue. Sometimes they are green. Sometimes they are gray. Once someone told my eyes looked like cracked ice.

3. I have a scar on my chest that is 4 inches long (I just measured it). When I was in school, I used to be sure my gym teacher saw the scar. Then, if I didn't feel like running or whatever, I would simply lay my hands over my chest and say I didn't feel well. I was always automatically excused. I knew they thought I'd had some kind of heart surgery even though I would never lie and call it that. It wasn't heart surgery. I had a huge mole removed from my chest when I was five years old. If they'd asked I would have told them but they never did.

4. I would be better off today if I hadn't lain out of gym class so often when I was younger. This is a fact.

5. I knew from the first grade that I would be a writer.

6. In the second grade I was the best reader but the teacher would not give me an A because I did not read with inflection in my voice. She embarrassed me in front of the class by telling me this was why I did not get a better grade, and then demonstrated it by reading in a monotone and making the class laugh.

7. I used to chew my fingernails very badly. Now I just keep them clipped back very short. Occasionally, particularly when I am reading, I might still take a chomp.

8. I grind my teeth at night.

9. I once started to write a book on Mary Johnston but when I went to do the research, I discovered I was severely allergic to the boxes of her papers at the University of Virginia Library. I abandoned the project.

10. I do not have a favorite book or a favorite author.

INTJ

According to the testing, I'm an INTJ in Myers Briggs. By one little point.

I wrote yesterday about my anticipation of the test results, suspecting that mine might have changed a letter. I was right. I tested as an INTP 20 years ago. I'm thinking that since I am INTJ by one point, I probably have a lot of the characteristics of an INTP, too.

The facilitator said personalities don't change, but that the test results might change based on what you are doing at the time you take the test. If you're sick or under stress or not thinking clearly for some reason, the test results may not be completely accurate.

Reading through the handout material that came along with my test, I think I may be beginning to realize where some of my questions about my life fall, and why they are there in the first place.

I may be living a little in opposition to my personality type (even if it is an INTP). I think with a few adjustments I can get things back on track.

This information says that an INTJ "must be ever improving. When thwarted in the quest, they can become critical and often depressed over the seeming stagnation."

And "ambitious plans may go unfulfilled if the INTJ falls into the trap of being seduced by the intellectual excitement of the plan without ever getting to the actual hands-on accomplishment. Such a dilemma sets them up for self-criticism, which leads, in turn to frustration and depression."

"The workplace is one more "system" that can be organized and improved. As such, assignments are undertaken with that underlying expectation. When improvements are not forthcoming, the INTJ may be subject to self-criticism."

This page offers up other traits of INTJs and suggests possible career paths (writing is not among them though it is in the materials I received in class). This page , which I am printing out, is probably a better one and it does list "writer" among the career paths.

Famous INTJs include Dwight Eisenhower, Alan Greenspan, Ulysses S. Grant, Stephen Hawking, John Maynard Keynes, Ayn Rand, Isaac Asimov, Lewis Carroll, Cormac McCarthy, Thomas Jefferson, and Sir Isaac Newton.

LIfe Planning

Last week I started a six-week non-credit seminar at Hollins University called "Life Planning." The idea is to figure out where you're going.

The seminar will give women (including me) tools to assess current strengths and abilities, develop personal short and long-term goals, and create strategies for change.

The Myers Briggs assessment is a big part of this. This test sorts folks out into 16 different personality types.

Tonight we get the results of the online testing and I am curious to see if it tells me I am still an INTP. That is what I was 20 years ago, when I took the test. That means I am introverted, intuitive, thinking and perceptive. Or at least I was then. Maybe I have changed? Maybe as I have strode into mid-life, I am now more of a judging and feeling type of person.

Here is the official description of an INTP:

INTP
Seek to develop logical explanations for everything that interests them. Theoretical and abstract, interested more in ideas than in social interaction. Quiet, contained, flexible, and adaptable. Have unusual ability to focus in depth to solve problems in their area of interest. Skeptical, sometimes critical, always analytical.

Does that sound like me?

Or does this sound more like me?

INTJ
Have original minds and great drive for implementing their ideas and achieving their goals. Quickly see patterns in external events and develop long-range explanatory perspectives. When committed, organize a job and carry it through. Skeptical and independent, have high standards of competence and performance – for themselves and others.

According to the FREE test on this site, I am now an INTJ.

This is what it says:

Qualitative analysis of your type formula

You are: very expressed introvert
distinctively expressed intuitive personality
moderately expressed thinking personality
moderately expressed judging personality

Or am I something else altogether?

We shall see tonight!

My car broke its finger

A while back, as I climbed into my Toyota Camry,* I heard something snap.

I looked down and pieces of the light switch on the left side of the steering column had broken. I think I either hit it with the telephone book that I was holding (I had just pulled my mail from the box and was heading back up our long driveway) or it caught in my coat.

I called it a broken finger. Poor car!





In any event, this was a major problem because I could not turn on the headlights. That meant no driving on rainy days or in the dark.

The car was long out of warranty. I stood in the driveway wondering what I should do. It was about 2:30 p.m. on a Thursday and my husband was at work. He's the go-to guy for automotive repair.

I went home and called the automotive place we dealt with. Dave said to bring it right over and he'd take a look at it.

My hope was that perhaps he could tape the parts back together so that the headlights burned all the time, but he could not. In fact, trying to make the headlights turn on by replacing the switch resulted in lights flashing and an electric shock to the fingers. Yowza!

So Dave ordered a whole new light switch assembly.

Four days later, I dropped off the car. In about six hours, I picked it back up again.

My car had a new finger, and I was out about $400.

And I still don't know how I broke the darned switch.



* My Camry is not involved in recent recalls. It is too old.

A Creator

Becky over at Peevish Pen recently put a link to a personality color test. I love to take those kinds of things - you just never know when something will tell you that magic something that will send you off in a new direction - so I headed over there.

I wasn't surprised when I turned out to be a Creator just like Becky. We are, after all, in the same field (we're writers) and at least wave at one another from similar circles.

My second-best choice was different, though. Here's what the test said about me:

You're a CREATOR
Key Words: Nonconforming, Impulsive, Expressive, Romantic, Intuitive, Sensitive, and Emotional

These original types place a high value on aesthetic qualities and have a great need for self-expression. They enjoy working independently, being creative, using their imagination, and constantly learning something new. Fields of interest are art, drama, music, and writing or places where they can express, assemble, or implement creative ideas.

CREATOR OCCUPATIONS

Suggested careers are Advertising Executive, Architect, Web Designer, Creative Director, Public Relations, Fine or Commercial Artist, Interior Decorator, Lawyer, Librarian, Musician, Reporter, Art Teacher, Broadcaster, Technical Writer, English Teacher, Architect, Photographer, Medical Illustrator, Corporate Trainer, Author, Editor, Landscape Architect, Exhibit Builder, and Package Designer.

CREATOR WORKPLACES

Consider workplaces where you can create and improve beauty and aesthetic qualities. Unstructured, flexible organizations that allow self-expression work best with your free-spirited nature.

Suggested Creator workplaces are advertising, public relations, and interior decorating firms; artistic studios, theaters and concert halls; institutions that teach crafts, universities, music, and dance schools. Other workplaces to consider are art institutes, museums, libraries, and galleries.

2nd BEST OCCUPATIONAL CATEGORY

You're an ORGANIZER

Key Words: Self-Control, Practical, Self-Contained, Orderly, Systematic, Precise, and Accurate
These conservative appearing, plotting-types enjoy organizing, data systems, accounting, detail, and accuracy. They often enjoy mathematics and data management activities such as accounting and investment management. Persistence and patience allows them to do detailed paperwork, operate office machines, write business reports, and make charts and graphs.

*****

I am not sure how those two different personality aspects go together, and truthfully I do not consider myself that well organized as stated in the second best category. I am detail-oriented but I hate math. But if this is true, maybe this is why I have such difficulty in terms of career. I am two very different people!

If you want to see what you are, here's the link to the test.

No lights

This morning, as I lay snoozing, the power went out.

That meant that the air purifier, which we run at night to cleanse the air and to make a nice humming noise so things like the refrigerator turning on won't wake me, turned off.

I struggled awake.

My husband was in the shower. I learned this when I heard him curse. Groggily I reached beside me for the flashlight that I always keep on my bedside table. I flipped it on and hurried in to him. I placed the light on the counter so he could see to get the lather off and climb out of the tub.

I was still half asleep as I moved through darkness and went for the other flashlights in the living room.

I am not much of a morning person.

The minutes ticked by. I thought the power would return any moment, but after about five minutes I realized it would be out a while.

My husband dressed. He had to go to Lynchburg to a class today and needed to leave. His father uses an oxygen machine and so he hurried over there (they live across the street) to make sure that his dad could get the generator hooked up.

Then he came back and quickly started our generator. He showed me how to turn it off and on ("Come on, wake up!" he barked at me at one point as I tried to focus) and then he left.

With the generator running, I was able to plug in the electric tea kettle and boil water. We also could hook up the water pump so that we had cold water for drinking and flushing the toilets. What we didn't have was hot water for long showers or the ability to wash clothes or heat the house unless I built a fire in the fireplace.

Because we still had a little water in the hot water tank, I hurried through a lukewarm shower and dressed. I had my morning tea and then instead of my usual egg I had instant oatmeal for breakfast.

Then I realized that one of the toilets had stopped up. I unstopped that with a plunger and flushed a few times to make sure it would work.

I waited a few minutes for the water tank to fill back up. In the meantime, I managed to get the garage door up and back the car out (the garage door uses electricity and I wanted it free in case of an emergency with my in-laws). Then I flipped the switch on the generator to the "off" position to save gasoline.

The dead silence of a house without power was incredible. Total stillness. No furnace ran, no dishwasher hummed, no electrical outlets buzzed. The only sound I heard was the wind roaring around the corners of the house.

I put on a sweater, picked up the newspaper and began to read. And then just like that, the house roared back to life.

The power was out for about two hours. It's amazing how dependent upon electricity we all are.

Just listen to it hum.

Boots

The day of our first snow, way back in December when it dumped about 20 inches here, I was out and about and arrived home just as the first flakes fell.

I went to find my snow boots but they were not where I thought they were in the garage. After much searching, I called my husband (who has managed to be at work during every snowfall this year) and asked him if he had seen my boots.

"I threw them away. They had dry-rotted," he told me.

Oops.

I went through that first snow with no boots. Tennis shoes are a poor substitute, I must say.

Five days after the first snow, when I could finally get the car out, I went in search of boots.

There were no boots to be had. The stores were sold out. Apparently everyone had needed boots.

For weeks I looked but still no boots. Finally, after Christmas, my husband took me to Southern States in Troutville.

There we found a pair of mud boots.



They slipped over my sneakers and at least gave me a little protection from the snow.



However, they are a pain to pull off and on over a shoe. I started to put an old pair of tennis shoes down in the mud boot, so I'd just have to pull my foot in and out, but then had a great idea. I used a pair of fake Crocs instead. They work great! I just leave them in the boot. Now I don't have to worry about my foot slipping out and I don't have to do anything but slip my foot into the boot and into the plastic shoe, shove my pants down inside it, and snap it shut.



I always knew these plastic shoes had to be good for something!

Ugly Snow

After the snow has been around a while, it starts looking pretty ugly.



A big pile of dirty snow by the driveway.



Piles of snow in the backyard. My husband scooped away some of it, pushing it into the yard, because we are expecting more snow and there is no where to put it.



Mounds of dirty snow and a driveway still slick with ice.



See how it is all piled up? It will be here until March!



Poor deer are having to find their grass where they can. They will be skinny in the spring and could have sickly fawns from lack of food this winter.

Flames

Yesterday, my husband started a fire in the fireplace.

We haven't burned wood in the house since we painted and installed new carpeting in 2005. The fireplace will heat practically the whole house but it makes a huge mess.

It is also very labor intensive.

First, there is that whole chopping wood thing. That falls on my husband's shoulders, and while those shoulders are broad and his arms strong, he is no longer a young man. While 50 might be the new 40, he's still 50.

Second, I am allergic to woodsmoke. I am also allergic to a lot of the wood itself. When we have a fire, a sinus infection is generally not far behind. I downed a 24-hour allergy med in hopes of keeping said sinus infection at bay.

Third, the mess. The fireplace insert lets a good deal of smoke back into the house, which stains the walls and ceiling. Wood chips get into the carpeting. Bugs crawl out of the logs. If you're a clean freak, a wood-burning heating device is not necessarily the best heat source.

But cold is cold, and 10 degree F with 40 mph winds is frigid indeed. Besides, the light bill for December was very high.

Fortunately the wood pile, stacked with pre-cut logs, has been sitting behind the outbuilding for many years. So there was no need to trudge through the fields and the woods and the remaining snow and ice, except for what is left in the yard, for fuel. Instead he was able to fire up the tractor, hook a trailer to it, and haul a big load from the woodpile to the house, a distance of about 50 yards, without breaking into much of a sweat.

Building a fire on a cold hearth is no easy task, but with some old newspapers and relatively dry kindling, soon there was a blaze. The blowers on the wood stove insert cut on after about an hour, and the house slowly began to warm.

Today I have lifted my bottom from my chair every hour or so to go and stoke the fire. I throw in a log, hit it with the poker, and watch it flare. The thermostat in the hall has hit a toasty 70 degrees and best of all the furnace isn't cutting on.

My office and the bedroom, both in the front part of the house, are not as warm as the living room but they are comfortable enough. Wood heat feels warmer than what the heat pump and furnace sends out, so the chill has lessened considerably. My old bones aren't feeling the cold like they were this past weekend, anyway.

Fireplaces have heated humanity for thousands of years. I have done nothing new. Watching the flames dance makes me feel a part of something greater than myself. The hearth calls. I answer.

Looking Back

So we're near the end of another year. What happened to it?

Lots of things went on in the last 365 days, some of which were not exactly welcome but which have positive sides if I look for them.

Losing my main writing client tops my list of changes. I miss writing steadily for the newspaper; I miss the contact with people I respected. I miss the income, too, but I miss the actual work of it more.

However, losing that single steady client did force me to reevaluate and refocus. I gained a number of publishing credits because I sought out new publications, and that was all to the good. I also entered the Sherwood Anderson Contest and won it, and I don't think I would have made that entry had I continued as I was with the local newspaper.

We also lost the renter in the little house my mother left me. This took up a great deal of time; every time I showed the house - and I am pretty sure I showed it more than 50 times - it took at least an hour of my time. We finally this month found someone to live in the place, so it came out okay in the end.

It also afforded me an opportunity to move forward in my relationship with my father. We have been estranged for 10 years but his property is next to this little house. We are still not the Brady Bunch and probably never will be but we are at least speaking now. So this is a positive for the year.

The biggest positive is my husband's promotion, which happened this month, too. I am very excited for him and quite proud.

I also lost 15 pounds, but I don't think anyone can really tell it. I still have a lot of weight to lose and a long way to go. However, I am working on it. As a related issue, I developed a problem with my blood pressure which I am still trying to get under control. Hopefully in 2010 I will get a grip on that.

What other stuff did I do? Let's see:

- read 56 books.
- published 188 articles with my byline, which is still a decent number of stories. Not the 300 I have had published in previous years, but still a significant count.
- held a workshop on the business of freelancing which was successful.
- attended more meetings of the Roanoke Pen Women.
- attended the Roanoke Regional Writer's Conference (which is held in January and I'll go again in 2010).
- vacationed in Myrtle Beach with my husband.

And that's pretty much 2009. See ya, old year! Welcome, 2010!

Is That Grandma?

So this morning I joined the legions of folks at Kroger, but I was just there to get a prescription from the pharmacy, not bread and milk. We can get by with what we have in the freezer but I do need my blood pressure meds.

The reason for the impromptu trip was weather. We are expecting a major snow event. The last big 'un, which was in 1993, left us without electricity and stuck in the house for about a week.

The next 24 hours are supposed to bring us a foot or more of snow.

Anyway, I hit the tail-end of a rather long line and was quickly joined by a mother with a small girl. The child was aged 3, or so she promptly informed everyone within hearing distance.

I smiled at her and made a little small talk with the mom, then turned around to face the front of the line. "Mama, is that Grandma?" the little girl said, giving a hesitant tug on my coat as she asked.

Yikes.

I turned around, hoping I wasn't glaring but I might have been. I had never been mistaken for a GRANDMA before. "No, that's not Grandma, but she does wear her hair a lot like that so I can see how you might have made that mistake," the mother, who was maybe 30, said.

Okay, so maybe the soft white in my hair does glisten a lot like tinsel these days, and yes, maybe I am really old enough to actually be somebody's grandmother, had we had children. Maybe I dress rather conservative and neatly. But I have pretty good skin for my age, with only a wrinkle here and there. I get out and do things.

I am not a grandma.

You can't be hip and be a grandma. I am hip, aren't I?

Aren't I?

Anyone?

No Reason for Not Posting

It is unlike me not to post in several days, and I am not sure why I haven't been writing.

So let's have a quick update.

A week ago I had lunch with Di from Blue Ridge Gal; we ran into each other at the Daleville Post Office and then on impulse headed to Bellacino's for a bite. I had my usual 1/4 sandwich while Di went for some kind of nacho thing. I had great fun talking and chatting; it was a like a little party with just the two of us.

Blogging friends are cool, anyway.

Tuesday, my Aunt Jennifer and I headed north. Our destinations were the Green Valley Book Fair in Mount Crawford and The Cheese Shop in Stuarts Draft.

My Aunt Jennifer is my mother's brother's wife. She is a nurse. In July, she began a round of surgeries that included her knees and in November her hands for carpal tunnel or something. She has been rather housebound so I thought an outing might do her good.

Anyway, the Green Valley Book Fair is one of my favorite stops, because, well, there are books! Lots of them. I could have spent all of my Christmas money there but I was good and did not. I did purchase a number of items for presents, however.

The Cheese Shop has great spices at extremely reasonable prices; they offer a lot of candy, too, or things with which to make candy, and many other unusual cooking and baking ingredients that aren't readily found in Roanoke. In particular, they carry McCutcheon's Apple Butter, which is my husband's favorite but which I can't find locally (if anyone knows of a store in Roanoke that carries it, do tell!). I purchased 5 quarts so hopefully he will be stocked up for a little while with his favorite breakfast treat.

Thursday night my friend B. had her annual "soup night," which is a party where she serves soup. Leek soup and chili, to be exact, and it is a big hit with most of Fincastle. This was her last party in her old home; after Christmas she will be moving a few blocks away into a brand-spanking new house that she and her husband are building. I am sure it was a bittersweet event for her. For the rest of us it was finger-lickin' good.

After we returned home from the party and began settling in for the night, we received a phone call. My husband's Aunt Nancy, in from Georgia, was in distress. She has been staying with his Aunt Jenny, whom regular readers will recall has pancreatic cancer and had surgery in November. (As an update, she seems to be doing very well; chemo and radiation therapy in the near future, it seems).

Anyway, as I was in a state of undress the husband raced up the hill to check on his aunt and he made the determination to call the rescue squad. She was having difficulty breathing.

When he came back home, I was ready to go to the hospital with him but he told me to stay home because he wanted someone around in case Aunt Jenny and Uncle Bill needed something. One of the cousins was supposed to come and stay with them but had not yet arrived as I understood it. So I dug in for a long wait.

Anyway, the long and short of it is that the doctors could not determine what had happened to Aunt Nancy and the husband returned home with her around 3:30 a.m. I was up, because of course I was worried. It was a long night.

Friday I treated myself to a much-needed massage; I was pretty useless from that and the lack of sleep.

Saturday B. and I stepped out on the town. We went to IHOP in Roanoke for breakfast (I had eggs and pancakes; yum, yum!) and then hit the stores. We went to Staples, Target, Barnes & Noble, Dicks Sporting Goods, Applebys (for gift certificates), Supershoes, and Gander Mountain. Whew!

Yesterday we rested, except I made two batches of fudge. Somewhere in there I did my Christmas cards and wrapped presents, too.

And while I still don't know why I haven't been posting, maybe this is an indication that the little mini-writing-drought is over.

Decking the Halls 2009

We put up decorations and the Christmas tree up on Wednesday night, just prior to our annual tradition of watching Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer. It isn't Christmas without Rudolph around here.



The angel watches over our household during the holy days. We purchased her at Myrtle Beach about 10 years ago. We remember the reason for the season.



But it's also a good time for fun. I collect Santa Mouse and my mother-in-law gave me these. They were very old; she's had them a long time.



Members of the stuffed animal section of my Santa Mouse collection.



Some of my sitty-around items.



This is the tree! It has a firefighter's theme this year. I can't imagine why.

December 2009 Snow

The snow started yesterday around 7:15 a.m. and poured here all day, sometimes in large, huge flakes, until about 3:45 p.m.

It warmed up during that time and so what could have been five or six inches ended up leaving us about 2.5 inches on the ground.

Now it feels like Christmas!



During the early morning yesterday as the snow fell heavily



Birds, finding the air too heavy for flying, flocked around my house.



They rested in the poplar trees we planted 23 years ago (which are now dying from the top down, so sad!)



The warm November had confused some of the flora and fauna, and my marigolds were still showcasing color when the snows fell.



Early morning Sunday sunrise showed off the beginning of a new day.

9:15 a.m.

Recently, around 9:15 a.m., something has emitted a small beep.

Beep.

A little electronic sound. Nothing remarkable, really.

Except I don't know where it's coming from. It's like an alien has moved into my home. I know it's there because I hear it. But I don't know why or its reason for being.

Beep.

Maybe this tiny noise goes off at other times, but at 9:15 a.m. on some mornings (not every morning) I am reading the newspaper at the table, having finished my breakfast. Husband has left and the house is quiet save maybe for the hum of the refrigerator or furnace. And then I hear it.

Beep.

I look up from the paper, perplexed. The sound seems to come from behind me, but there is nothing behind me but my curio cabinets. And my glassware does not beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

A Close Shave - For Women Only

This morning when I went to shave my legs, I discovered I was out of razors.

You ladies know the kind. Cheap, disposable single blades that used to cost a $1.19 for two dozen and now cost about triple that for 20. We use each disposable until it's rusty and then get a new one. If we're lucky a whole bag will last several months. Maybe even a year if the blades don't rust.

My husband now uses a Gillette Mach 3 razor, generally, but he complains about the cost of the blades. And they are terribly expensive. So the last time we were in Sams Club, he bought a big box of Bic Comfort 3 razors. They were cheaper than the others and he declared they would last just as long.

So I dug one of those out of the box and went for it.

My gosh. I had no idea I could actually enjoy shaving my legs. Who knew a razor made such a difference? That thing glided up my calf and in behind my knee without so much as nick or a whimper and left everything so silky smooth - even with soap for my shaving lather - that it was almost sexy. My legs purred, I swear.

Quality does make a difference sometimes, doesn't it? I can only imagine what this might feel like if I actually spring for some shaving lotion.

It will be really hard going back to the drugstore brand when this razor gets dull.

Making Changes

First I decided to stop reading fiction. I made this decision while we were at the beach and I was ravenously devouring books.

During this period I was also thinking about what I would like to write. I thought I might return to my fantasy novel, and then I read a fantasy by someone else that touched on some of the themes of my book. I thought she did it better than I ever would, and my decision wavered.

So I thought, I shall not read any fiction for awhile. I have stories in me, I just know I do, but maybe they are drowning in other people's thoughts. Maybe if I don't read fiction for a while (the time was not specified) I would clear my head and find some kernel in my brains that I could develop into my own story.

But a reader cannot simply NOT read, so after we returned home on September 5, I turned to nonfiction. I have read a lot of magazines, blogs, online newspapers, etc. and listened to nonfiction books on tape in the car. Sometimes I think maybe I'd better take up counted cross stitch or something because TV at night is certainly very bad, but I haven't done that - yet.

On September 10 I decided it was time to do something about my weight. I am obese, which is just another word for fat. How I got here is a long story, one that began in 1983 when I started on birth control pills when I married. That put on 10 pounds; then our efforts to have a baby failed, which made me depressed, and that combined with the infertility drugs added more pounds, then after six surgeries came the hysterectomy at the tender age of 29 and the Premarin, which added even MORE pounds (I no longer take that but still take a plant-based estrogen called Estrace, though in tiny amounts, which I suspect doesn't help).

And of course I never learned to exercise and eat properly growing up; my mother did not fix us breakfast or attend to the food groups; my grandmother thought macaroni and cheese was one of the basic requirements of life, and no one in my family exercised. So it's a family thing; my brother, my aunt, my uncles, we all struggle with our weight. Genetics and poor familial habits, I guess.

So anyway, September found me not reading fiction and dieting. I have lost four pounds (which is sometimes five but I seem to keep regaining that one). One of the first nonfiction books I listened to was one of Dr. Atkins' books, because I know from past experience that limiting my carbs works a lot better than, say, a low fat diet, at least for me.

My exercise habits, alas, have suffered. I need to be walking every day if only for my blood pressure, which has decided to climb back up in spite of my medication and the loss of four little pounds. I have found it difficult to exercise for two reasons: my feet still trouble me (I have plantar fasciitis and a heel spur) and some mornings my chest hurts. I have a hiatal hernia and am pretty sure that is the chest pain but I have enough of a hypochondriac in me that it makes me anxious because of course I worry that it is my heart hurting. And who can exercise if you worry that if you start to sweat you will drop over dead? Which might be alright if I thought someone would find me quickly but that is not the case. It could be many hours before I am missed.

Another reason for my lack of exercise, though, is this blasted computer. This blog. Facebook. All of the great things to read online.

For at least a decade (maybe longer), I have turned the alarm off at 6 a.m., climbed from my bed, put on my robe, and stumbled into my office beside the bedroom and turned on the computer. Then I go make my morning decaf tea with a little drop of honey and return to the computer to read my email. For a few years (yes, really, years) I did this and then exercised, because if I don't exercise first thing I simply don't do it.

But in the last several months (probably since I lost my main client, but I am not sure of that) I have instead found myself reading things on the computer, writing a blog entry (as I am doing this morning), piddling on Facebook, or simply playing Spider Solitaire until I look at the clock and think, golly, I need to get a bath and get dressed or I will never get anything done today. And then I think, oh, I haven't exercised, I will do it at 4 p.m. or 5 p.m. or whatever, and of course I rarely do.

So it is time for another change. This is the last morning I stumble to the computer. Instead my plan is to keep away from the computer until after I've showered, which will occur after I've walked on the treadmill or done some other exercise. This is necessary for my overall health and well being and it is time I stop dilly-dallying around with something so vital and take care of it. Otherwise I will not live to see 50 and that's only four years away.

Having said that, if you see me online before 8 a.m. from now on, please gently remind me I am supposed to be doing something else, won't you?

Changing the Rules

Back in September, I went before the county Planning Commission to talk about an ordinance change they were proposing.

I had urged county officials to take a look at the county's home occupation ordinance. It had come to my attention through my work with the newspaper that this ordinance essentially made criminals out of folks who were doing eBay or other Internet businesses out of their home.

In other words, it was against the county's ordinances to sell stuff, even online. Even if you never bothered a single person because you carried your stuff to the post office, or better yet, just drop shipped it and never saw the product, you were still breaking the county's law.

About the time I was suggesting to county officials that they change this, a friend applied for a permit to sell over the Internet and was denied. I helped her contact her county supervisor to complain and she set about officially making the request for changes. It is always better if a citizen other than a representative of the press can be involved.

Anyway, it took county officials about five months to review the ordinance and offer up suggested changes. By this time I was no longer writing much for the local paper so I wasn't able to follow the story for my readers. However, being a self-employed business person who works from home I had a keen interest in any changes the county might want to make to this particular ordinance.

Some of the suggested changes did not suit me; they seemed punitive or unfair or unclear, so I wrote up a list of things that I thought were wrong and offered suggestions of my own and trotted off to the public hearing.

A few other folks talked but offered no solutions to their complaints and were vague about what they thought was wrong with the ordinance. My list was fairly long and was, frankly, a reworking of the entire offered document. I offered a solution to every objection. My changes were so many that the Planning Commission took no action but instead scheduled a work session on my proposed changes. They met two nights later.

The planning staff offered up a new version of the document at the work session. This one addressed just about every issue and concern I had raised, either by changing wording, clarifying, or eliminating various sentences.

In particular, the section about Internet business was stronger and more clear, as was a section on allowed personal services (such as, say, a beauty parlor or a tutor or dare I say, a writer?). At least now a person could sell on eBay without being convicted of a misdemeanor if caught. Although that person needs to have a home occupation permit and a business per county ordinances if they are to be legal.

The Planning Commission approved this document, and it went to a second public hearing before the Board of Supervisors a few day later. It passed without much ado and no additional changes.

Which goes to show, one person can indeed have an impact and an influence on important things.

Deer don't like cats

Yesterday afternoon I saw a black cat in the back yard.

I always pay attention to black cats; I know it is silly but I always believe it to be a sign from my mother. Whether it is a good sign or a bad sign I don't know, but I usually perceive it as a warning to be on my toes.



The cat vanished to one side of the house. A few minutes later I looked up and saw a small buck, a doe and two smaller deers, this year's fawns, I think. browsing and eating the acorns that have fallen amongst the gravel in the driveway.

The buck suddenly dashed to the side of the house and I moved to see what had sent him running in that direction.



He started chasing the cat; he was quickly joined by the doe. The two fawns stopped eating and stamped their feet.



The cat raced around the house and vanished into the nearby field.

I did not know deer don't like cats, but my husband said he has seen them chase cats like that before.

I know they're just things, but...

Woe.

Just a few hours ago, I headed out to run an errand for my husband. He was in the midst of trying to stop the air flow in our leaking windows (which need replaced after 25 years) and required some additional items for this massive weather-stripping project.

I hustled to apply my make up on and comb my hair so I could drive to Daleville and back. I had a number of activities to take care of myself, and my lengthy to-do list was on my mind.

I raised the garage door and began backing out.

I glanced in the rear view mirror just in time to see something there that shouldn't have been, but not quickly enough.

CRUNCH.

I stopped the Camry immediately; the door was at the garage door entrance and it was all I could do to slip out. I called out my husband's name as I exited the car.

My husband's motorcycle, his most precious baby, lay on its side in the gravel driveway.

He came running from the front of the house and dropped to his knees beside it, looking crushed. My heart broke because he loves his motorcycle. I had ruined it.

I helped him lift the bike; we found a broken signal light, a broken clutch thing, scratches.

My Camry sustained damage on the back bumper, which is a solid piece that goes all the way around the car. The driver's side is completely staved in and the whole bumper will have to be replaced.

Several thousand dollars in damage, all because he didn't put the motorcycle away and I didn't see it when I backed up. The Camry has a spoiler on it and I have trouble seeing things that are low to the ground behind it. What caught my eye just before I hit the bike was a reflection on the side mirror, I think.

I accept the blame for not looking, though surely he has just a little responsibility for leaving it out and in the driveway, doesn't he?

Insurance will fix the car with a deductible. My husband says the motorcycle's damage is not bad enough to submit to the insurance company.

What an unlucky start to the day.