Defining Success

Try not to become a man of success but rather try to become a man of value.
- Albert Einstein

A conversation this morning led me to wonder how people define success.

Apparently in today's society, it is all about the money. If you have it, you're successful, if you don't, you're not.

Ostensibly that also includes the things that people can see to indicate success. If you have millions of dollars but drive an old clunker and live in a little house, most people will not consider you a success. Or so it seems.

In the Roanoke Times today, there is a story about a man who lived unpretentiously but left $50 million. No one knew him when he lived, but now that his finances are known, he is a success. (I can't find the story online but it was in the Virginia section.)

Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success.
If you love what you are doing, you will be successful. - Albert Schweitzer

All of my life, I have judged success not on material things but on happiness. If someone is happy, I think she is successful.

Most artists are successful people, but they aren't necessarily wealthy. Art is not valued in this country so it is a hard field in which to earn money.

But the value of creating - to do it is to be successful, whether you sell it or not. To create is to succeed, don't you think?

How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in life you will have been all of these. - George Washington
Carver

You can be successful in many ways. I experienced a time in my life that left me beaten and downtrodden. I did not stay down. I consider that a success, even though my hard work to feel better gave me no material possessions.

It did bring me peace of mind. Isn't that success?

I long to accomplish a great and noble tasks, but it is my chief duty to accomplish humble tasks as though they were great and noble. The world is moved along, not only by the mighty shoves of its heroes, but also by the
aggregate of the tiny pushes of each honest worker. - Helen Keller

I have always worked. I began working when I was 15 and haven't stopped. I have not always worked full time but I have always had income of my own. I have never depended entirely on my husband for anything.Even when I was very ill and had six surgeries in as many years, I worked.

I also put myself through Hollins University. It took me eight years but I am the only one in my family with a B.A.
Is that not a success?

Those who try to do something and fail are infinitely better than those
who try nothing and succeed. - Lloyd Jones

The person I was speaking with today called someone "white trash" - and they didn't mean it in a way that indicated success. It reminded me of a conversation I have several years ago with my brother.

He called me "white trash."

When I asked him why he would lay such a title upon me, he said it was because I lived in a small house and could not have children.

My house is 1,560 square feet. My husband and I built it with our own two hands. We paid about a third for this place than it otherwise would have cost. We hauled the wood and nailed the nails. We (and I really mean my husband, he did most of it) put in the plumbing, the wiring ... everything.

It is our house through sweat and through dollars.

It is dwarfed by my brother's large 3,500 square feet house (which my father actually paid for). Compared to the monster homes in Ashley Plantation, I do indeed live in a little bungalow.

But it's a clean bungalow, filled with nice furniture. It's spacious enough for the two of us.

And as for the children, yes, my inability to conceive is a failure. My ability - and my husband's ability - to move forward in spite of this terrible blow, when we both wanted a baby so very desperately, is a success.

The secret of joy in work is contained in one word - excellence. To know how to do something well is to enjoy it. - Pearl S. Buck

My work does not earn me very much money. Writing is difficult and let's face it, it just isn't the greatest paying job.

But I do it well. I have a wall lined with awards. My name is known to about 30,000 people.

I serve as chairman of a government board, thanks to an appointment by a supervisor; I water-witched the well for the local circuit court judge. I hob-nob with county officials, know several sheriffs on a first-name basis; if you want to play Kevin Bacon, I'm just three degrees from some very high-ranking people.

But I don't drive a Lexus or live in a mansion. I don't have money to burn and frugality is part of my daily practice. And for those reasons, I suppose, I am not a success.

But only if you use the world's definition.

By my own, I'm not doing a bad job.

Tree Frog

A Murder of Crows

An Anniversary

Yesterday evening at dusk my husband and I stopped by the cemetery. I wanted to replace the flowers at my mother's grave.

I had been angry with her for the last year; ridiculous, I know, since she's been dead for seven years. But in my anger I had not visited the cemetery.




I replaced the flowers on one side of the tombstone with bright plastic fall mums. The old flowers looked faded and worn; apparently no one has been there for some time. My father probably hasn't been up there since the funeral, based on comments I've heard from my sister-in-law. She used to take my nephew by regularly because he missed his Nana, but perhaps he's out grown that.

Today would have been my parents 45th wedding anniversary, if my mother had lived - and my parents had stayed married. Most likely they would have been divorced. Their divorce was four days away from being finalized when my mother passed away.

Their marriage was stormy. They married because my mother was pregnant with me, and neither ever forgave me for (a) being born and (b) not being a boy if I had to be born. My brother was born three years later.

They fought verbally and physically. Most of my memories involve tears. There must have been good, pleasant times but they have always been overshadowed by the bad. When I do remember good times, they stand out starkly in comparison to the rest, like snapshots that belong to some other family.

I did not consider theirs a happy marriage and as soon as I was old enough to understand what "divorce" meant, I wished they would get one.

It wasn't until 1995 - and I'd been (very happily) married for 12 years myself by that time - that my father left my mother for another woman. My mother had been telling me he slept around on her for many years.

Despite everything, she loved him, and each time she'd file papers he'd come back and sweet talk her, and she'd forgive him. Then he'd leave again. He never filed for divorce; I think he didn't want to make a property division. It wasn't until my mother knew she was dying that she attempted a divorce in earnest, and I honestly think that was for my benefit. She knew my father would never give me anything.

So Happy Anniversary, Mom. Dad's remarried and I still don't speak to him. You haven't sent a message to me from beyond in several years. I hope that means you're happy. I know you were never happy when you were alive.

I am sorry about that.


(The photo was taken in 2006.)

On Your Feet

During the months I have been dealing with pain in my feet (plantar fasciitis and a heel spur) I have had many people tell me what I do for a living.

"You must be a nurse" seems to be the predominant guess from shoe clerks and snake oil salesmen who profess to be able to help.

The second-most frequent guess is "You must be a teacher."

They usually look crestfallen when I tell them I am neither. This happened to me Friday when I stopped by The Healthy Foot to pick up a pair of inserts for my sneakers.

It made me think about these poor people on their feet all day. All they have are mass market shoes to put on their worn tootsies. Not shoes made to fit them but shoes made to fit anybody.

The list of people who are on their feet a lot must be pretty long. Store clerks, mail carriers, policemen (who walk the streets), assembly line persons, and of course nurses and teachers are just a few of the careers that require healthy feet.

My husband is on his feet a lot for two of his three jobs - farming and septic tank installation (firefighting being the third job; he's on his feet there, also, when he's actually on a call). He wears a size 13 shoe and has toes that are longer than my fingers. His feet used to cramp up on him; once so badly I had to take him to the emergency room. He also had a bout with a heel spur several years ago. But he hasn't complained of his feet in a long time.

My nephew on my husband's side of the family has feet that are now in size 16 shoes and he's still growing. I can use his sandals for snow shoes. I imagine when his big feet hurt, everything about him hurts.

My feet are size 7 and my toes are short and stubby. I have always thought my feet very ugly and consequently I generally ignored them. I was always told I had flat feet and would one day have trouble out of them, and I suppose that day has come. I will not take my feet for granted again, I think, regardless of what I think they look like.

To all the people who have to stand up all day, my shoes are off to you.

Peace Globes

Mimi over at Mimi Writes has declared November 7 as another "peace globe" event.

Instructions about how to get your globe can be found here.

Go get one and decorate it and show everyone how much you want peace. It will never happen but it is a pleasant idea.

I have participated in this event several times, and it is fun to see how other people decorate their globe. Plus it's nice to feel like you're part of something for a while.

November 7, by the way, is the day after election day in the United States. Everyone please vote on November 6, even if you think it is a waste of time. While I suspect most elections these days are fixed, the effort shows you care. And if enough people actually do vote, it might skew the messed up machines enough to make somebody notice.

Post Op Report

The stitches on my lip came out today. That was a rather painful, even with a topical numbing agent, but fortunately all over and done.

I have what looks like a little crater missing from my lip, but the doctor assures me it will fill in and in a few months I'll never even know what happened.

He treated this as a mucocele, which is a damaged salivia gland, because that is what he thought it was. But the biopsy came back as a fibroma, which he described as a collection of scar tissue.

This makes me suspect that the digging into my lip to remove the salivia gland was unnecessary and that really all that needed to be removed was the lumpy thing.

In any event, it's over with, and I suspect aside from a little discomfort today from the pulling of the stitches all is well.

Now I just have to wait for the bills to come in and see what the insurance did and didn't pay.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen ways to improve your day:

1. Smile. Even if you don't feel like it and would rather pout, make your face smile. If you're talking on the phone, smile so that you sound like you're enjoying the conversation.

2. Laugh. Laugh at yourself. Laugh with your friends. Buy a joke book if you have to. Recall the funniest thing that ever happened to you and grin and grin about it.

3. Daydream. Spend a few minutes outside of yourself. Think about your dream vacation in Hawaii or Belgium or wherever. Imagine you're there, hear the sounds, feel the breeze. Think about the shoes you'd buy to wear; whatever turns you on.

4. Buy yourself a present. It could just be a pack of chewing gum, but note when you make that purchase that it is for yourself and don't just buy it out of habit. Tell yourself you deserve this, by golly. You're worth a pack of gum.

5. Stay in the present. Forget your worries and stop thinking of the past. For just a minute, feel the air around you. Hear the sounds of your workplace or home, see the colors of the room, feel the air you're breathing as it passes through your nose. If you're eating something, focus on how it tastes, its texture, how much you like having it in your mouth.

6. Brush your hair and/or reapply makeup. Straighten your clothes. If you look your best, you feel your best. Heck, you might want to go all-out and take a shower and start all over again if you're having a really bad day.

7. Read a book or magazine. Reading can take you out of yourself for a while. When you stop, you often have a new perspective.

8. Find a friend and have lunch. You can turn it into a b*tch session if you need to, but you might just find the companionship is the balm you seek.

9. Praise someone else. Telling other people that they've done a good job, or look nice, or have a nice smile or a pleasing voice or whatever can make you feel special, too.

10. Do something nice for someone else. I am constantly amazed at the reaction I get from people if I let them get in front of me when I am in line at the grocery store. I do this all the time if someone has fewer items than I and I've never had someone be ungrateful. This is a relatively simply act of kindness - actually it's just good manners - so think how the world might be if we all went out of way to be mannerly to one another.

11. Relive a good memory. Maybe it's the day your husband proposed. Maybe the birth of your child. Maybe the day you were promoted. Whatever it is, recall it with great satisfaction. Remember that you have this memory because people care about you and because you deserve things.

12. Finish the task. Sometimes it is the things hanging over my head that loom like dark clouds. I put them off and shove them away because something about them bothers me or is unpleasant. But if I buckle down and get to it, then when it's over with the sun shines and all is well. This is hard for me to do but it does work.

13. Have a hug. I don't care what kind of mood I am in, if I can get a hug from my husband or a friend or even a stranger, everything is better. We go through life with our shells surrounding us, afraid to touch each other, and it is so sad. I think we need a great hug-out day so that we can all get the Touch Vitamin we so desperately need. So here's a cyber-hug to you! {{{{{{YOU}}}}}}

A Day in the Life

5:42 a.m.

Wake up and listen to husband banging around in the bathroom as he prepares for work. Remove night splint from left foot. Stretch toes on both feet in hopes of keeping plantar fasciitis pain at bay.

6:00 a.m.

Put feet into Crocs as advised by podiatrist who said "never let your bare feet touch the floor." Shuffle into kitchen to discover husband making his breakfast and utilizing microwave. Forgo cup of hot tea in favor of hot water from the spigot. Sip with straw because of mouth pain from last week's oral surgery.

6:15 a.m.

Check e-mail. Discover in newsletter from Microsoft that an upgrade is required to MS Outlook because of time change. Attempt to make upgrade, but discover I have to know exactly what version of XP I use. Realize that to find that out I need to change my display because the DPI is set large so I can actually read what is on the screen.

Kiss husband goodbye. Make cup of green tea. Finally figure out how to change DPI back to normal sized. Download the MS stuff and cross fingers. Seems to have worked. Put screen back to large DPI thing. Check e-mails, read blogs.

Look at clock and realize it's nearly 8 a.m. Go get dressed.

9:00 a.m.

Settle in with bowl of soggy Rice Crispies, eaten with soy milk and a baby spoon (because of mouth surgery). Read the Roanoke Times like every morning.

9:10 a.m.

Oral surgeon's office calls, says bump in mouth was a fibroma. Is this different than a mucocele? Who knows. Make a mental note to ask the surgeon on Friday.

9:30 a.m.

Leave to interview a daycare provider for story in newspaper. Go down dirt driveway (1/4 mile) and remember that I forgot to take Tylenol. Actually, I forgot to take any of my morning medication. Drive back up driveway in cloud of dust. Take meds, check on curling iron while I'm at it. Return to car.

10:00 a.m.

Arrive on time for interview. Acknowledge that I do indeed have a fat lip and stitches in my mouth. Do interview, grateful one person likes to talk and I don't have to ask too many questions. Take pictures. Little boys are enthralled by fat lip and black space where stitches are visible. They follow me around like puppy dogs and offer me dump trucks if I will smile.

11:10 a.m.

Complete interview. Drive to newspaper office, visit editor. Allow him to download photos so I don't have to upload them. Discuss other articles.

12:00 p.m.

Arrive home, eat lunch consisting of chicken w/ rice soup (using little spoon, sigh). Read newspaper. Note that VDGIF may cancel hunting season because of drought and fear of forest fires. Talk to husband on phone; he has meetings all afternoon. Check e-mail, download photos to my own computer so I can write cut-lines.

1:00 p.m.

Decide I better go to grocery store while I have the energy. Take a different route to vary routine. At entrance to supermarket, realize I forgot to stop by bank and by the recycling center to dump off old newspapers. Also should not have turned into supermarket because I need to go get gas before I get groceries and must go through dreaded Exit 150 to reach Citgo station. Leave supermarket.

1:30 p.m.

Get gas and go to CVS for medication to clean out mouth. Even though I am brushing my teeth three times a day, I fear the stitches and ensuing healing scab might create an offensive odor and I want to prevent that.

1:40 p.m.

Wonder how I ever thought I would get back home by 2 p.m. Decide to stop and rinse off dust from car. Go to bank. Drive to supermarket and realize in parking lot that I forgot to stop by recycling bin again and tell myself to do that on the way home. Bebop into supermarket with canvas totes in hand because I want to be part of the solution, not part of the problem, and not bring home those aggravating plastic bags. Note I am the only one in the store carrying canvas totes and feel superior.

2:30 p.m.

Check out and pay $71 for enough groceries to fill two totes. Note in head that this is about six hours worth of work for me. Remember good ol' days when I paid $0.85 for a loaf of bread and a $1 for a quart of milk. Wonder if I am imagining those prices.

2:55 p.m.

Nearly home. At mailbox, realize I forgot to stop at recycling bin again. Decide to do that tomorrow.

3:00 p.m.

Note that car is dirty already from dusty driveway. Unload groceries. Realize I am out of freezer bags and add that to the list for next trip. Put stuff away. Stare at chicken. Review "buy one get one free" and price tag. Check receipt and try to figure out how much I paid per pound for four pounds of chicken. Discover I cannot figure out what I actually paid for the chicken in totality, much less per pound. Get calculator, add, subtract, multiply and divide to no avail. Look at watch. Give up. Freeze half the chicken, prepare other half for baking.

Consider calling friend who cooks to ask if there is a way to keep top of skinless chicken breasts from browning too much in oven. Decide she would laugh at me and do not make call. Determine to set oven timer to turn chicken over and to not overcook like last time.

3:15 p.m.

Note that left foot with heel spur, which hasn't hurt for several days (probably because I've been off it and on pain medication because of my mouth surgery), is aching a lot. Note also that little ball in sock of right foot is grinding into little toe. Remove socks and shoes and put on Crocs. Take another Tylenol. Wonder if I should rethink my policy of eschewing western medicine as much as possible. Wonder if I have rethought it and don't realize it.

3:30 p.m.

Decide I deserve something and fix a bowl of chocolate "dairy free" soy dessert. Only have one spoon of chocolate dessert left so add french vanilla "soy dream" dessert to bowl. Stir to make it all look like chocolate. Eat with baby spoon.

3:40 p.m.

Stare at computer screen. Think of article from very long meeting last night that I need to write. Read e-mail, respond. Read article about Republicans picking on 12 year old boy with health problems and scratch head with WTF attitude. Read article about NBC purchasing Oxygen. Read article about newspapers declining and think, that's what I said.

4:00 p.m.

Check chicken. It isn't too brown on top and I am happy. Decide to write blog entry and then get to work on articles. Know I will write into the night and work late to make up for day's dawdling. I am back in the zone.

Administrative

Made a few updates to my bloggers link list. If you're on the "blogs I read" and should be on the "local bloggers link" let me know. By local I mean anywhere in SW VA.

About Your Electric Rates

Power firm agrees to record pollution cleanup

American Electric Power to invest $4.6 billion to clear Northeast air

One of the nation’s largest power generators on Tuesday said it had agreed
to end a years-long federal lawsuit by investing $4.6 billion to reduce
pollution that has eaten away at Northeast mountain ranges and national
landmarks. ...

****

A reminder for those of us on Appalachian Power, a subsidiary of AEP: they are seeking another rate increase. Care to guess why? See above for at least one reason....

Not that I am unhappy that American Electric has been forced to admit its acid rain is endangering the environment; that's a good thing. But I would like to see the fines paid and the problem fixed at the expense of the CEO's and shareholder's profits, not at the expense of what little money I have in my wallet. They are making a profit; that's the money they should delve into first. When the profits are gone, then they can come knock at my door.

You can submit your comments about the rate increases to the SCC at:
http://www.scc.virginia.gov/caseinfo.htm

The deadline for one of the three rate increase proposals is October 31, so don't delay too long.

Newspapers Decline

Today in The Roanoke Times, a writer in the Letter to the Editors section chastised the paper for recycling "old news."

The person wrote:

The seemingly silent gutting of talent at The Roanoke Times is starting to show the effects of what happens when you throw years and years of experience out the window just to put a few more coins in your pocket.

I agree with this person. Over the years I have watched the daily paper decline further and further into an abyss that seems to be of its own making. The talented writers have left and the few remaining writers with ability are apparently noosed to the point of being unable to write the stories that need to be written.

Anyone with access to the Internet who reads the headlines knows that some stories take days to make it into the Roanoke Times. Maybe they figure no one reads online and print editions? I read both, and increasingly the stuff in the print edition is moot.

Which might be okay if the paper's online edition was doing great things, but it isn't. I don't like the paper's online edition at all. I have always found it difficult to navigate, for one thing. For another, the news isn't any better there.

By better I don't mean "sappy" or "cheerful." I mean, news. Roanoke has crime (every city does) but to read the daily paper you wouldn't know about it. They don't run a list of warrants or arrests or anything so that people have some idea of the many times guns go off.

Because I am married to a public servant, I know that guns go off much more than reported. And they aren't target shooting. Who knows how many DUIs there are on a weekend. Even just a total would be interesting.

The city has about 100,000 people, but from the dullness of the paper you'd think no one does anything worth writing about. Features are minimal. On the front page today there is a huge article about e-cycling. Okay, this is news, sort of, but front page? Maybe front page of the Virginia section.

I don't believe reporters beat the streets anymore. They work the phones. They attend meetings. But they don't get out and meet people. Here is an example: I was at a meeting recently with another reporter from a rival paper and during a break, I worked the room. Everybody in that place knew someone from the local weekly was there.

Nobody knew the other reporter was there, as that person never moved from his chair.

I'm not even a staff reporter, I'm a stringer writing on assignment. But I take it seriously when I'm representing a paper or magazine.

Newspapers whine about their decline, but I believe they've brought it on themselves. They've forgotten what the Fourth Estate is all about, and care only about profit in the shareholder's pocket. Newspaper reporters are supposed to hound the city council, uncover the muck, sift through the lies and untruths until the bare facts remain.

This doesn't happen anymore, and not only in Roanoke. This is going on in most large papers, and I think it will be to their detriment.

In the future, I think the newspapers that survive will be local papers with targeted local markets offering news about your community that you're not going to get elsewhere.

That's the trouble with the print edition of the Times these days; a lot of what you see is information you can find elsewhere.

Bring back the reporters, folks, and the originality. Show some courage, and report real news.

Books: Sam's Letters to Jennifer

Sam's Letters to Jennifer
By James Patterson
Copyright 2004
Audiobook
Read by Anne Heche and Jane Alexander

This is a love story in all respects. The love of Jennifer for two men, and the love of Sam (Samantha, her grandmother) for Jennifer and for a man not Jennifer's grandfather.

Jennifer, a newspaper columnist, has lost her husband. Then her grandmother falls into a coma and she goes to her. She finds a bunch of letters her grandmother had been writing to her. Over the course of the summer, Jennifer reads the letters and meets Brenden, another man whom she falls in love with. Brenden has a secret, though.

3 stars

Surgery

Yesterday I had my oral surgery to remove the mucocele from my lower lip. I first learned what this was on September 11, when I made a trip to the dentist.

I saw the oral surgeon a week later, and he said he thought it should be removed because I would chew on it and it would become infected. And indeed I have bitten it several times in the ensuing two weeks.

However, the oral surgeon also assured me when I first saw him that the surgery would not cause any disfigurement of my lip. At the most, he said, I might have a slight "pucker" that he said no one would notice.

Looking in the mirror, I am not at all convinced he knew what he was talking about, because it looks like half of my lower lip is gone.


I took the picture in the mirror; my husband can't handle the camera to do any better (he tried). I am dismayed at what I see and I am also in a good bit of pain. There are a number of stitches there; I don't know how many. He initially said it would take only one stitch but I know there are at least three.

Had I had any inclination I could be disfigured, I most certainly would not have allowed this.

You Can't Go Home Again

Hollins University

It took me eight years to obtain my four-year degree from Hollins College, now Hollins University. I started in 1985 and received my diploma in 1993. It was still called Hollins College then.

I was ill for much of the time I was at school. I had three major surgeries in six years, each requiring me to drop out of a semester. I was also working full time and going to school part time. It was not easy.



During that period I was unhappy with my work (I was a legal secretary), with my inability to have children, with life in general. I found great refuge in my classes at Hollins.

When I attended my classes, mostly held in Pleasant's Hall (above), I was most content. Hollins and its professors helped me find courage, self esteem, grit and determination, and a new lease on life.



When I went to the Hollins campus, I felt welcomed. The place was a magical balm. I could walk anywhere and feel inspired. The old buildings reverberated with history; the grass seemed to call out to me, the professors knew me and, if they didn't like me, at least had the courtesy not to let me know it.

I continued to feel this even after I graduated. I would go back for poetry readings, or just to visit an old professor. Sometimes I went just to walk around.

I always left feeling calm and sure and grateful for my time at the college.



That changed with the new millennium, and for a long time now I have not felt welcome on campus. I have not felt inspired or happy or glad to be visiting.

I attempted to return to work on my Master's in 2004 - I'm only about four classes short of finishing - but there was no joy. It felt wrong. I loved the creative writing class I took, thought highly of my professor, but the rest of the campus felt plain and ugly.

Where has the magic gone?

I don't know, but I honestly trace my feelings of unease to the construction of the new library in 1999. The library is a magnificent structure (it is visible behind the chapel in the photo above) and I enjoy the library when I visit. But it doesn't feel like Hollins. It feels new and institutional.

The campus has undergone many other renovations since then, including a new arts studio where the old library used to be.

I visited Hollins Tuesday and took photos. I also visited the new hall for the English Department, now called something I can't even remember. The faculty used to be in Bradley and I was pretty sure the creative remnants of past students, like Lee Smith, Jill McCorkle and Annie Dillard, were floundering about the hallway, waiting for some fool like me to pick up a thread and run with it.

As I left campus earlier this week, I knew with certainty that Hollins is no longer the magical place it once was for me. I hope that for those younger that it still may be, but I suspect that the cynicism of this new age, this time of fear-mongering and class warfare, has sent the magic scurrying far away.

I also know that if I ever do return to finish up my Master's, which seems doubtful at this time, it will be only for degree and not for the magical experience that learning there once was.

I doubt I ever again feel like the fairies dance at Hollins, their wings feeling the wind currents, their hearts happy while they twirl to make it all right.

A New Food Allergy?

Yesterday, immediately after drinking a smoothie consisting of protein powder, blueberries, kiwi and flax seed, my throat and tongue felt like I had eaten a cactus.

I have eaten all of the foods separately all my life and never experienced such a reaction. The protein powder, which is soy based, is relatively new for me; however, I'm at the bottom of my first can of the stuff. Also, I have been drinking soy milk for years.

Obviously, though, one (or maybe the combination?) of those foods did not sit well with me. The only way to figure out which it might have been is to eat them singularly and see what happens.

My throat is a little better this morning; I took an antihistimine last night night.

Thursday Thirteen

Things I love about my life:

1. My husband

2. My words (ability to write)

3. My friends

4. My family

5. The sunrise

6. The sunset

7. The deer in the field

8. The ability to sleep late sometimes

9. My books

10. My camera

11. My computer

12. My work

13. My bed!

A Question of Style

This is a writer thing, but the Chicago Manual of Style has a Q&A that is updated monthly.

The questions are generally worth a smile and the answers are often priceless.

Check it out. If you like it, sign up for the notice so you'll remember to check for new questions and answers every month.

The Food Chain

Last month we took a trip to Harrisonburg. We took a wrong turn and found ourselves off the main thoroughfare (US 11 and I-81).

Rounding a corner, the ground was suddenly white.

A stench wafted across the road as well. It was a warm day, about 85 degrees.

We were beside the Cargill plant. I had never heard of them, but apparently they are a major food processor.



The white turkeys (for it was white feathers littering the ground) were in crates, apparently awaiting slaughter.

I am not one of those people who cry when they think an animal has been hurt or abused, but even my heart broke at the site of these birds.



We have millions of people to feed and I realize that it is not an easy task. I don't know if things can be done any better than they are; my husband and I are small farmers, not a big corporate business. Our cows roam free across the pastures and only are penned when they need their shots or they're on their way to market. After they have left us, I think they generally are slaughtered. They are probably penned up for a while before they are turned into hamburger.

I doubt these birds have had much freedom; I suspect they've been cooped up in tiny cages all along.

Large fans blew air on the birds. I suppose this was so they could breath or maybe it was simply to keep the meat from spoiling quickly in the heat.

I would not want to live close to such a place. I don't think I could bear it. I'm pretty sure it would make me stop eating turkey.

The Visitor

Around 2:30 p.m. today, a movement near the window caught my eye. I watched the small doe - a fawn, really, for the spots were still visible - as she meandered in front of my window.

Then she settled down about 10 feet from me. We were separated only by a pane of glass.