Fears - Founded or Un-founded?

Sometimes I worry WAY to much..and can't sleep thinking about how unnatural it is that I worry so much..then I worry about myself...are you following?
Worrying about worrying is the worst.

I mean, I don't worry about BIG things like, whether I can pay my car payment every month or if the mole on the right shoulder that is rapidly changing color and symmetry, should be examined by a medical professional.

No, I worry about the expiration date on my toothpaste. I found a tube of toothpaste pressed way in the back of my drawer in the bathroom and I had used it for about 10 days when I realized it had an expiration date. It expired in 1993. I couldn't get a wink of sleep all night wondering if either:
A) my teeth would surely fall out AND probably at a most embarrassing moment when I am saying grace in front of 12 guests...
or
B) my entire biological system has been infected by CREST-ites...little toothpaste germs that are attacking my corpusles and molecules as we breathe.

Last week I weighed a package that I was mailing out and put on the appropriate postage and popped it into the mailbox.
Then, POW!
I realized that once I added the stamps, maybe the weight of the 5 stamps I had just adhered to the bundle would push the needed postage to a new amount! I didn't sleep for 2 nights until I found out that the recipient of the package had received it.

I am ultra concerned that Hugh O'Brien, 81 and former star of Wyatt Earp who just recently married for the first time, will have a stroke on his honeymoon.

I worry that if the creator of the funny Serta mattress commercials with the cute talking sheep ever gets caught sleeping on a posture-pedic, he'll be fired. (and probably won't be able to sleep too well himself)

Although it is 6 months away, I am already frantic about the outdoor Christmas decorations having enough lights on the plastic flamingo-elves.

Now I won't sleep tonight thinking this was kind of a silly blog.

WAIT! I just read that worrying gives one premature old-person lines. Now something REAL to worry about!

Creature Comforts

Today I scheduled a break at 11 a.m. to catch the first few minutes of The View.
Why would I do that you might ask? Why would anyone want to tune in to see 5..or..4...or now 3 women "discuss" the same things you and your best friends and family argue about on a regular basis?
Well, in my case, it is because in reading my daily CNN internet headlines, I saw that Star Jones announced that she was leaving her seat on the show.

It's really no surprise based upon soon-to-fill-a-chair Rosie O'Donnell's "sensitive" remarks about Star and her weight-loss tactics; audience opinions about her feminine husband, her begging for gifts for her engagement, and her overall attitude. But the news story made it sound like Star made this proclamation without anyone's knowledge.
So, naturally, I wanted to see the "fall-out" on today's program.

Star didn't happen to show up for this show even though, she was supposed to leave in the fall, she FELL BIG TIME from the network's (ABC) grace and got dumped early.

Yup...no week-long farewell tour like Merideth's sappy elongated goodbye. No month-long emotional and fun-loving clips from past shows like Charlie Gibson's SECOND departure from co-hosting Good Morning America..
No waving at the crowd as they pay tribute with a 10 minute standing ovation in 29 cities like tennis retiree Andre Agassi. Nope...just a pink slip and a 2 minute cryptic bye-bye.

But the one thing that she might hae been able to take with her, was the cushion from her chair. All the View gals have their own cushion on what looks to be an already comfortable chair. That always baffled me why they needed additional comfort as they are only IN those chairs about 57 minutes. I've heard them say they keep the air-conditioning at freezing to keep both show hosts and audience members awake...wouldn't it be cheaper to just sit on a nice hard chair? (maybe add a tack or two now and then when the guests are really boring?)

Here I am working at my desk in a hard wooden chair that is way too old and rickety to even qualify for antique status. I sit in this chair upwards to 10 hours/day with the only comfort being my own God-given cushion (which is way more than ample).

Guess I shouldn't complain...I don't have to answer to ABC OR Barbara Walters...and good luck to Rosie O'Donnell. I know one person who probably won't be tuning in to see how comfortably she sits in her chair.

Superstitious?

I guess I am what some might call just a little superstitious by default.…”De-fault” of my Mother! I grew up with my Mom spewing a multitude of no-no’s due to her superstitious up-bringing. One that I remember not-so-fondly was her insisting that no one “sing before you eat, or you’ll cry before you sleep”. My Dad would “press her buttons” by coming down the stairs in the morning singing his fool head off just to annoy her. She would immediately snap, “No singing before breakfast!“ Then he switched to whistling. That would only infuriate her more so he would start humming. Mom would throw a grape down our throats just so that would constitute breakfast so Dad’s musical influence would not effect our day.

If Mom saw a black cat about to cross the path of her car, she would literally stop the vehicle, and turn it around. One time it took us 2 hours to get to school due to our detours. I wonder if the President or his limo driver shared such feelings. That might result in a few motorcades making endless circles. That might annoy the dignitaries he was going to meet and result in some kinda war or at least a boycott of the regional berries.

I never did understand people thinking they have an effect over some televised sporting event played over 2000 miles away. If Ohio State scored while Mom was on a bathroom break, she, being a huge OSU fan, would rush to powder her nose every time they threw a pass into the end zone or attempted a field goal. Geez, I think she was surprised that the coach never personally called her to either thank her for her efforts in the win or chastise her for not flushing enough as it had to be fault that #84 fumbled at the 3 yard line.

One time I was playing in a golf tournament and in my rush to make my tee time, I had put on mis-matched socks. They were both white but the trim was blue on one foot and pink on the other. It didn’t bother me as I don’t really swing the club with my socks and I went on to win my match. Mom was SURE my victory belonged to Etonic, the sock manufacturer. From then on, every golf match I played in the next 23 years, I wore socks that didn’t match. (at least I had another pair of them at home if they got wet!). Of course, that made no sense at all as I would lose more than I won. But Mom theorized that could then be blamed on the fact that my opponent must have had a fresher rabbit foot or some other lucky charm and that I didn’t believe enough in my socks.

I must say that on occasion, we did have company arrive from the direction that my fork pointed when it fell off the table. And maybe once in a great wile,my nose itched and I kissed a fool. Now and then,it turned out that just at the moment when my ears were burning (from being out in the sun too long), my Aunt Margaret Mary had been talking about me (how I should let boys beat me at ping pong or I’d never find a man).

Ok, so yesterday I sang a little ditty before breakfast and I happened to see a sad movie later and cried like a newborn.
And I wore matching socks when I played shuffleboard and lost 27 games in a row....
Hmmm..maybe there IS something to this superstition stuff. Today I am off to buy a four-leaf clover and a horseshoe. If I see a black cat on the way to Walmart, I’ll reverse directions and go to K-Mart.

Life is about balance ~ but not for me

If one can teach an elephant to balance on a ball, why can't I balance my check book?

(Off topic - If we can send men to walk around on the moon, why can't the Reds learn to hold on to their National division lead?..or why can't we have lint-less dryers that don't eat socks?...or...
see, I always wanted to start a statement with "If we can send a man to the moon, why can't we...blah, blah, blah"...I'm over it now)

ok, back "on-topic"

If the reknown artists and truly admired talented individuals of the world had lived a balanced life nothing truly great would be created...well, that's according to my be-it-ever-so-humble-there's-no-place-like-home opinion.

It seems as though we strive to live a "balanced" life..a little work, a little entertainment, a little hobby, a little house cleaning, a little shopping...but if we tilt just a bit in any of those areas, we are labeled with a negative name..maybe it's "shopaholic" or "workaholic" or a "party-person" or a "couch potato" or "home-body".

If Mike Angelo hadn't had a passion to paint chapels constantly...morning, noon and night, would we know his name today? Maybe Harold Pumpkin would have been the artist's name that would be known in history for painting on his back.
Do you think Mr. Angelo's Mom told him he should balance his life with a little extra-curricular activity? Maybe he could take up line dancing, or take the garbage out a little more often or milk a few more cows to balance his existence?

How about Tommy Edison? If he had lead a balanced life, I might be blogging in the dark...hey! Maybe computers wouldn't exist! (whoops, I forgot, Al Gore invented them along with the internet)

My point (yes, I have one) is that maybe an unbalanced life isn't all that bad sometimes.
Maybe a passion for something can monopolize one's time and it's ok.

Maybe it's all right to go completely tunnel vision and take 15 days in a row to work on one projcct and barely come up for air until it's done.

Maybe sometimes we need to play like a kid for a longer period of time than society thinks is "appropriate"...

or maybe we simply do absolutely nothing for a while..because we need to.

and maybe I want to blog longer than the "commonly acceptable" 300-500 words and go no where in particular with my ramblings.

Ah, heck...I have never been known for my balanced life OR checkbook. Why the heck start now? And you know what? I'm not guilty...(by reason of...)

I gotta go now. I'm still trying to figure out the motivation of why that elephant does that balancing trick on the ball.

Does anyone think he's really enjoying attempting that balancing act?

Kids Having A Ball....we should learn from them

Have you waltzed through the toy section at Walmart lately?
I can't believe the jammed aisles and aisles of various toys, games and weapons.
And I won't even set foot in a store like "Toys 'R Us". Too many of these so-called "toys" resemble grown-up items of necessity. The kid lawn mowers can cut the grass closer than my 28 year old blade push mower. The miniature Betty Crocker ovens cook roasts faster than my 18 year-old microwave. The "fake-toy" machine guns and artillery wouldn't be allowed within 200 yards of downtown Detroit yet our little darlings look like theey are "packin' heat" in the name of fun.

The intricate toys that kids have to keep them occupied is so CRAZY! Just one of these child-distractors need more batteries than all 8 of my TV remotes and 12 clocks put together! I was 51 years old before I knew which end the batteries went into my flashlights the correct way. Now my 5 yr-old nephew can manage a phillips screw driver and can change every size batteries for the all residents of his electronic toy-chest with the deftness of the head mechanic on Bobby Rahal's pit crew.

Recently my baby-sitting prowess was called into action ~ watching my 1 yr-old and 5 yr-old nephews. They have more of the afore-mentioned toys than 2 aisles of K-Mart so I knew my job would be easy. Of course we all know that once children get bored
with their stash of toys, we can always rely on those Disney video tapes, right?
WRONG. After playing with 3 race tracks, 12 super heroes and watching 5 minutes of four different cartoon shows, I heard the two little words we all dread -
"I'm bored".

I decided to bring out the secret weapon...a BALL!
BINGO! For roughly 4 hours and 22 minutes, we played about 185 made-up games with the same ball. We rolled it everywhere, we bounced it off nearly every object within 2 miles,
We threw it, tossed it and juggled it until there was practically no more air in it.
When I stop to think about all the various balls that we still play with as adults, it makes sense that this is the one item that will withstand the test of a kid's attention...(don't we revere our spheres ~ golf balls, basketballs, raquet-balls, whiffle balls, baseballs, bowling balls, tennis balls, soccer balls, mothballs, footballs, bocci balls, handballs, ping-pong balls, meatballs, volleyballs, softballs, ~ well, I think you get the idea)

We are all kids at heart. But I actually think I was the one who had the most fun that day.

I guess out of self-preservation, our super hero toy-makers ignore how fun the simplicity of a ball is. I suppose we could find a way to need batteries in them.

I know one thing...the phrase "Having a ball" has taken on new meaning.

Big Sister Is Watching You!

Have you ever felt like you could do nothing right?
Like no matter where you go...or what you say, someone is there to correct you?
I gave a store clerk a dollar too much and as she returned it, I thought, "Oh, she must think I'm stupid".

I had to call my computer server company to figure out a problem that I perceived to be HUGE, only to learn that the solution was be so embarrassingly simple, a 5 year old could have figured it out. So simple, in fact, that I am sure he told 345 of his fellow-workers about the blond-haired dummy on that last phone call.
(hmmm..maybe that's better than the grey-haired old biddy?)

I accidentally used the tablespoon measurement for a teaspoon measurement of sugar in a delicate recipe and I was sure that the Martha Stuart police would discover and put me under "house arrest"...(since Martha kinda knows about such things).

Oh, how I wish I were a kid again with no responsibilities. Or, wait...do I?

I'm having a flashback of my mean grown-up neighbors across the street. When I was young they constantly were criticizing and yelling at their kids every day for things that they also did sometimes "accidentally".

I think I'll go have a cool-aid and count the worms on the sidewalk....enjoy a few minutes of the day and then return to accidentally switching checks and envelopes to two creditors. I may end up with a library of unwanted Crafts and AutoWorld journals since my house payment went to $19.00 magazine subscription bill.

"Shell" shocked

I had s scrambled egg for breakfast. I couldn't finish it even though it was joined by bits of bacon and potato and chives.
Why did I feel guilty about eating an egg?
I feel like maybe a Mother Hen is clucking herself a new feather over losing the best egg of her crate.
Do you think they get attached to their young shell creatures like regular sparrows do?

We recently observed a Mother bird of some kind (I can't tell the difference between a robin and a batman...er, I mean, a finch)....sitting on top of her eggs in a nest that would make Donald Trump's best New York high rise look flimsy. Imagine how much time she took to bring one branch, one mouthful of dirt, one piece of straw from the neighbors new garden hat...one at a time over days and days...to build this estate for the nurturing of her offsprings. She then patiently sits on the eggs until the birdlings decide they are ready to meet the world.
Then the Mother guards them fiercely like they are Liz Taylor's diamonds...but sometimes she flies away for a short time to..uh..to go bird bowling, or maybe instead of a pedicure she gets a "beak-acure" (who knows what the heck she does)..but then her male mate comes in for his "shift". He stands guard as deligently as the Mom does...only he is carrying a pack of tiny cigars to give out at the first sign of the babies "cracking open".

It really is fascinating to see the caring and protection that members of the animal kingdom do naturally. Our natural instinct is to want them to go elsewhere so we don't catch the fantasy bird flu.

Maybe I am over-thinking this egg-eating dilema...I obviously had no problem eating other living creatures. Maybe I'll think about it over lunch...hmmm..guess I'll avoid "Chik-a-filet"..but probably just for today.

The Waiting Room Blues

Don't you get nervous when someone starts out a sentence by saying, "I don't mean to complain but..."? You just KNOW that the next 20 minutes is not going to be fun and games.
Maybe in my case of describing my latest uncomfortable experience, it would be better if I just charged right to the point and said, "I hate waiting rooms at Doctors offices!"
I recently took my niece, Annie and her new-born to the infant's first pediatrician appointment. The Doctor's office asked them to arrive 30 minutes early to complete "new patient" paperwork. We had to leave at 6:45 a.m. (yes, as in MORNING)for a 7:45 appointment. This made no sense to me since her other two children are already patients. Wouldn't it be reasonable that the only change on their records is the name of the new little darling they are going to coo over?
O.K. So, we arrive bleary-eyed at our scheduled time. The waiting room is as big as a grade school cafeteria as they have 5 different specialties here. There were nine windows from which to choose to check in. Above two of them signs hung reading, Happy 1 and Happy 2. Of course, no one was at those windows. (It actually reminded me of a race track's betting windows but that's another story).

Annie returns from checking in with only ONE page with THREE highlighted areas to be completed. It took her all of about 45 seconds ~ and only THAT LONG because I interrupted her 4 times to grouse about coming in 30 minutes early for that!??!

We only waited 10 minutes past her appointed time before she was called back to the Doctor's office. I breathed a premature sigh of relief thinking that surely they would return in 15 minutes and I can go home and go back to bed. After all, we HAD to be one of the first appointments at 7:45 a.m. and how long can one take to look over an 8 pound baby?

OVER AN HOUR later I have counted all 92 seats in the waiting room. I have watched (TEN times) the 12" TV that kept a 4-minute video loop playing a boring narrative about the wonderful medical facilities that we were lucky enough to enjoy.
I have read through all of the six tattered magazines that were lying around. I was lucky in that one Reader's Digest was only 5 months old. Three of the magazines were totally written in Spanish and I almost flunked that launguage in high school. I can only remember "Ciera la boca" (shut the mouth).
I did read a Mechanics Made Easy magazine that was published in 1998 that described how I could have fixed the problem I had with my 1997 Chevy that I sold a eight years ago.
Finally, just as I had finished playing my 15th game of solitaire in the children's area (with a deck of 34 cards), Annie comes out carrying her little Parker Elisabeth Murphy, followed by the Doctor, himself. He apologized to me personally for taking so long but he had never seen such a beautiful baby. He had to show her off to all the other patients and then ushered her over to the personnel of the neighboring departments. As he continued to gush over her he looked up at me, then paused and looked down at Parker...then looked back at me and observed, "Actually, she has your beautiful eyes. You can tell that you are related!"

I just sighed...and with a tear in my eye I said,
"and you have a perfectly wonderful waiting room."

Happy Birthday Sean!

Happy Birthday to my nephew, Sean Michael Murphy ~
age...let's just say mid-30's.
He has done quite well for himself.
He has a good job where he is in the minority of people who "make a difference".
He has a bride who he picked out special for me so I could have a sister/daughter/best friend.

He managed to sire 3 of the cutest children this side of fantasy island.
He made my dreams come true by moving 7 minutes from the house (although the house next door with the pool would have been just a tad bit better).
He has a sense of humor that on a good day, Letterman wishes he had.
(I didn't say WHICH Letterman!)
He has a golf stroke that on his best day, couldn't beat me at Putt-Putt.

"They" say we should all love our relatives. That's easy...but sometimes the "liking" our relatives is the hard part.
But I also LIKE this one enormously!
Happy Birthday, Sean!

The Youngest Graduation

Yup..that's my great-nephew Griffin receiving his first of many (we pray) diplomas.
He was more interested in not losing his tassle than anything else.
They celebrated and sang and whooped it up like it was their college commencement..not their pre-school graduation!

The pomp and circumstance included everything but having V-P Cheney deliver remarks.
I think they all went out after the ceremony and celebrated with libations..root beer ~ and hopefully the next day they didn't have a hangover.
Of course, they had to be in bed by 8 p.m.



Strange night when they introduced this class of 2019.
Somehow it made me feel older than my years.

Finally! A Baby Girl for the Murphy's!

Congratulations to Sean and Anniebelle Murphy, and big brothers Griffin & Cooper ~
on the "final addition"...
PARKER ELISABETH MURPHY
6/3/06 5:25 a.m.
8 LBS., 6 OZ 20" tall

















May her brothers protect her, her family provide love, support, and forgiveness when needed; may her friends stay loyal ~
and may her innocence stay pure..at least until Prom night.

Welcome, Parker!
You have already been loved for nearly nine months ~ and this is only the beginning!

There are wonderful, treasured events in your future ~
(per my $8.99 Magic 8-ball)

Perfect Job

It takes some people 2 years...some 30 years..and some never get it.

Their perfect job.

Imagine if you could do anything in the whole world as an occupation..what would it be?

And if you don't have that job, why not?
What could be better than springing out of bed and every nerve in your body being electrified by the thought of going to work that day.
What is stopping you? REALLY...

Can you imagine coming home every night basking in the glow of enjoying a day doing exactly what interests and excites you.

Take Roger Clemsns...the 43 year old baseball pitcher who is tossing the ball with his son in the minor leagues this week. He is getting paid to play a game...and being paid a pretty couple of pennies too!

He only has to play about every 4 or 5 days...
He doesn't have to worry about dressing in expensive GQ suits...his play clothes are provided for him at work. He doesn't even have to get them dry-cleaned...they do that for him.
What other employment provides everything including shoes, socks and supoprt underwear?
He arrives at his "office" wearing sweats and a smile.
No brief-case..nothing.

He doesn't have to know the latest in computer technology. He just has to throw a baseball. And even then he only has to be in a real game every 4 or 5 days...tossing the sphere only about 100 times for that day ~ taking about 60 - 90 minutes. His income for that effort? Roughly $67,000 per throw based on $12 million dollars for 15 weeks. ($670,000/game.)

He isn't pressured to hit the ball when he's up to bat..in fact in 21 seasons, he's only had a few hits and no home runs.

Roger had retired from his job...actually a few times, I think. But he can't stay away from his passion. He started out in 1984 making a mere $140,000...but he kept at it and now came out of retirement to play with his kid ~ and cash a $825,000 check each week. Hmmm..I wonder if he has to wait until payday to go grocery shopping?

By the way, his temporary team-mate son who is in the Minor League A farm club for The Houston Astros, has recently returned from nursing a broken pinky finger. His third time up to bat in practice against his Dad...he managed to hit a home run.
Even at 43, Mr. Clemens knows how to be a Dad....a very wealthy Dad with a perfect job.

Go pursue your dreams...Roger makes it look pretty easy.

Or at least get your kid to start throwing the baseball early.

Spring Cleaning Surprises

I have been spring cleaning this house for 10 months now...it started as a "fall clean-up" in September. I've been living in the same house for 12 years and I had stacks of boxes and garbage bags that hadn't been opened since my departure from college in 1973.
(I say that because I don't want to admit there are a few items from grade school among the various articles of past interests)

Why did I keep all those mystery items? Memories? Well, if that were the case, wouldn't I remember why the heck I saved the stuff? When I gathererd the nerve to start opening one box at a time, I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone, peering in on someone else's life and their belongings.
"Wow...this person must have taken swim lessons..I see a polliwog and turtle badge."
"Gee..this picture makes me wonder why she would ever think of wearing her hair that way at THAT prom..and who is the guy? ~ nope, no recollection of this nervous looking fella wearing a waiter's uniform. Hey! Maybe he WAS a waiter and he was just passing by and she paid him to pose with her."

I found pictures of friends that I've lost contact with and could still freeze-frame the great times we had together...whether it be my first fishing experience in a little pond in Hilliard, Ohio or my first camping in the back-yard while it rained both outside AND inside the tent.

Some of the resurrected harvest turned out to be true treasures. Like the audio cassette that my Mom made for me during the opening of Christmas presents one year when I couldn't make it home from Boston. I had a flash-back of listening to that tape a week later in Boston, tearing up as I heard the usual funny chatter and jokes about the goofy presents being opened....and swearing that I would never miss Christmas again with my family.


Well, I am still S & S....sorting and saving. It feels good to throw out the junk and move on.. make room for new memories. But to reminisce about the good old days is good now and then, don't you think?

Yep, I still have some boxes and bags of gems that I couldn't part with...and will re-visit in another 12 years.

Still, I will never miss Christmas with my family again....unless I get an all-expense paid trip to Ireland.