I just paid $80 to fill my tank.

The truth is, I stopped pumping when it hit $80. I was nowhere near a full tank, let alone topping it off. Psychologically, I just couldn't add the last gallon or so.

Gratitude post #4: I am grateful for being in a financial situation where this bill annoys me and makes me indignant instead of crippling me. Of course, that includes the gratitude to my parents for teaching me about delayed gratification, the long line of teachers and mentors that helped make me marketable, myself for not giving into temptation and the spendthrift opportunities, my husband for being an excellent money-manager and also coming from a background of delayed gratification, and Aesop for his story "The Ant and the Grasshopper."

I'd also like to thank the Academy....Oh, um, that's something else....

Hot Flashes: Don't Mess with Me

lunch buffets and bathrooms

So I'm really concentrating on the things in my life for which I am grateful. I guess I could say an education--I mean, I was gonna write "grateful for" but I didn't because I would have ended my sentence with a preposition, and thankfully (and perhaps gratefully) I have an education.

Wow. That was really random and rambling. It's also not what I am noting in my grateful post today. Nope.

I am grateful for living in a country where I can have goofy posts like the above, and ranting angry posts about things that annoy me, and everything in between. I am grateful that while many view this as a culture of excess, that I was able to not only work hard, but get rewarded for that hard work with a decent job that has adequate wages that enable me to indulge in some excesses sometimes.

Today, I am really really really grateful for indoor plumbing. It's a rather long route to get to that, but thanks to my awesome job (today, it's awesome, check tomorrow for a possible change) a textbook company lauded the staff with a delicious lunch/book fair. Ha! Nobody really looked at the books, but we ate like beasts! Somehow, I drank a whole lot of sweet tea. I don't even like sweet tea, so there's probably a post in that about group behavior.

Anyway, I drank an awful lot of sweet tea.

Post #3 I am grateful for indoor plumbing.

The Gratitude Experiment

I posted at Rosary Army's Monday Musings my intention to follow through with a project for the next 30 days, to make a daily post about something for which I am grateful. You can read my original post on the topic here.

I got the idea from Bonnie Gillespie's blog, but it seems to be a meme that is making its way around in different forms. For example, Franciscat is twittering a variation on Thursdays, so there you go. What are you grateful for?

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Post #2: I am grateful for my family, near and far, and the pains we all take to stay close. I love you all!

Dearest Laura

Are you baiting me?

I admit to laughing out loud, literally, not in acronyms. You are right, I would definitely have a stroke. My brother, who travels quite a bit, sent me a picture of a similar bar in Singapore. Singapore!

I guess all it takes to get a murderous psycopath on the road to international iconic hero is have a picture taken and published in Life magazine. Woe is me.

Digging Che is kind of like saying Hitler's gas chambers were a humane solution to a "social problem." Ignorance is a dangerous condition.

Let me just say, Al Gore hasn't cornered the market on the phrase "inconvenient truth."

Let's stick with normal folks---haven't forgotten I owe you a coffee at the best coffee house ever.

Baccalaureate

oh so clever

First saw it on Father Roderick's blog, and tickled me enough to pass it on.

paper towels and electrical tape

That's what Jonathan used to close his finger when he fileted it while working in the garage. He didn't want to be bothered with the wound while he was finishing his task. Naturally, his father looked over at it and declared it was just a flesh wound, and they continued with their mission.

Men. I don't get them.

I like them; I just don't get them.

Before you call Family Services, or my mother calls incredulous and worried, all is well. I made him remove the makeshift foolishness, and he cleaned it up and used a more conventional bandage. Three hours later, the wound looks like it is already fusing. Amazing.

Pop comes through again

Having taken to heart the limitation on the number of emails that I will accept from him before unceremoniously creating a new Pop Spam folder where his stuff automatically dumps, he has recently sent a number (always fewer than three) of most excellent comic commentaries, cartoons, and otherwise entertaining and engaging forwards.

Today he turned me on to a blog from Cuba. In Cuba! And the posts are...well, I'm amazed by their boldness. There's even a poll on what Raul's next move might be...allowing travel outside of Cuba or free internet access (not as in cost-free, as in ALLOWED open internet use). What a country.

If only the world really knew the depths of the oppression and violation of human rights going on a mere 90 miles off the coast of the United States. I tell you, my on-going mission is to rip apart the stupid people I see wearing those damn Che t-shirts glorifying a racist assassin. Dummies.

This nostalgic moment brought to you by...a shower

Admittedly, showering is a good thing. In fact, I recommend it daily. It's just one of those things that we don't talk about, but better be doing. Of course, since this is my blog, I've decided to share my shower story with you although it isn't necessarily an endorsement for you sharing your shower stories on the net (or in the comments, but hey, we all crave comment love).

Yesterday I got home relatively early from work, and since my schedule was somewhat altered already, decided to take a shower in the late afternoon instead of the usual late at night before bed (TMI? I'm just having a post-modern moment of awareness of discourse--I mean, is it necessary to share my hygiene schedule?).

Anyway, here I am freshly scrubbed and dressed up in my finest jeans and t-shirt, when I decide to go outside. The sun was still pretty bright, there was a soft wind with a hint of honeysuckle in the air, and BAMM, just like that, I was transported to my childhood, circa 1967 or '68.

My mom used to bathe me in the late afternoon and then I was allowed to go outside while she prepared dinner. All I was allowed to do was visit with the other kids because I couldn't get dirty again, but it was okay--I don't imagine that I was outside for very long before I was called back in. Nevertheless, the feeling of being outside in the fresh air, with the sun shining warmly, was oddly comforting, and that's the feeling that came back to me in the afternoon.

Usually it's a smell or taste that brings the blast from the past, but this time the combination of the warm sun and the cool breeze brought back memories of playing in the dirt with my friends.

I hate to admit it, but I had the urge to go make some mud pies.

my state-of-mind is evidently in another state

I have one of those long lists of things to do that is once again overwhelming me. I can't treat it like the laundry, either, because unlike going out and buying new underwear, there are just some things that must be done. Period. It happens twice a year: at Christmas and end of the school year. There's something about all the activities that pile together, and while I naturally enjoy going to the concerts, and awards, and special productions, the hours spent away from the regular schedule accumulate and I get behind.

So here I am gamely picking my way through things that should have been done and prioritizing according to imminent implosions. I finally have it under control. Sort of.

Okay, well, at least I have a system.

Part of the plan includes jamming the earbuds into my ears and tuning out the world while I slog through papers, submissions, writing, you name it.

Here's the thing. I worked diligently through a pile of stuff, and just realized that I had left the mp3 player on repeat song. I heard the same song by Celia Cruz maybe 40 times!

Hmmm. I don't know what that says about Celia's music, or my powers of observation.