Sneaky Foods

I think we've all had the experience of the sight or smell of a certain food bringing on a flood of memories. I recently had that experience with Doritos. Yes, Doritos. When I was in elementary school and my sister was in Junior High, our parents worked during the day. And although our they left us a list of chores to do each morning, we somehow managed to enjoy our summers.

One fond memory I have is of my sister and I riding our bikes to Fred's Market, a little corner store with over-priced convenience items. I would buy a large bag of Cheese Doritos and my sister would by a bag of Taco Doritos. It didn't matter that it was 100 degrees outside and we'd be dripping sweat when we got home. If we had a few dollars, we'd ride. Then we'd eat the whole bag (the calories didn't catch up with me until years later) while watching the twelve channels on our wood-encased console television. Sometimes we'd trade, chip-for-chip. Before Mom and Dad got home from work, we'd hide all the evidence.

Over the years, Doritos quit making the taco flavored chips. But a few months ago, when Doritos were on sale, guess what? I found a bag of them. Doritos is now putting two flavors into one bag, so I had to buy the taco flavored with some other newer flavor (was it ranch?). What great memories it brought back. And no, I didn't share them with my sister. Maybe I'll write the Doritos company and suggest they put cheese flavored with taco flavored; it is a winning combination. Just ask me and my sister!

What are your favorite food memories? ~Karen

When I Die

A few celebreties have died this week. I'm not one to watch every single moment of CNN or even my local news. But this week it was hard to avoid. What I noticed is that with each person, people used the same language to describe them. It started and ended something like this, "Mr. Smith died at the age of 57." That got me to thinking. When I die, I don't want anyone to say, "Karen Alaniz died at the age of 101."

I want them to say, "Karen Alaniz LIVED for 101 years." Isn't that what it's about...the years you LIVED? ~Karen

Graduation Contraband

My son graduated from High School a week ago. It seems like just yesterday. My daughter graduated in 2003. To understand graduation at Wa-Hi, you have to get a picture of the school. It is an open campus; students must go outside to go to classes (in most cases). There were 578 graduation candidates on the program this year. Each graduate is issued 6 tickets. Needless to say, it's a HUGE graduation. And it's outside.

When Dani graduated, apparently many of her classmates smuggled in contraband. And apparently this wasn't the first class to do so. Teachers and staff were highly trained in handling the paraphernalia-hiding students. What was it they smuggled in? Beach balls. Yeah. Beach balls. I'm not kidding. One after another, a beach ball flew into the air, hit by each person it dared land on. Soon there were about 20 balls flying over the graduating class, and at times into the crowd. I watched a few of the teachers. They looked determined as they watched those beach balls. Gradually, the number of balls decreased.

Had the seniors decided to stop the terrible distraction? Had a parent confiscated it? Had they simply fallen into the creek that runs through the campus? No. I watched in dismay as one teacher and then another caught a ball and stabbed it with something, deflating it instantly. But slowly, defiantly, another ball floated into the air. And then another. Those seniors would not be held down.

The whole incident came back to me as my son got dressed in his gown at home, five years later. I asked him if they had been warned not to take beach balls to graduation. "No," he said (he's a senior of few words). Further interrogation revealed that the school was taking a new approach. Each senior was given a beach ball and they were highly trained as to when exactly in the ceremony they could inflate and toss it. I suppose an entire staff meeting was devoted to this; maybe even several. I'm a "retired" teacher, but come on, my tax-payer dollars at work! But what's more disconcerting is that the very seniors who stood and gave speeches about High School teaching them independence, teaching them to be thinkers and doers, were the same ones who waited robot-like for permission to toss a beach ball. Please! The Principal even laughed lamely and said, 'Don't worry seniors. You'll get to use that beach ball soon." Oh brother. What are they...five years old?

I say, "Seniors Revolt! Be wild. Be crazy. Take your destiny into your own hands and send it sailing into the air."

My youngest child will graduate in 2013. I can only hope that by then, the school staff will have more important things to do than deflate beach balls. But we'll see. By then, it's entirely possible that the seniors will show their joy in more sinister ways- like with confetti and steamers. ~K

$100 Worth of Pleasure

My mom and I went to Seattle to visit my sisters recently. We were getting ready to go Christmas shopping at University Village when she announced that she wanted to give each of us $100 to get something for ourselves. It was truly a surprise because her offer broke the rules. You see, after years of giving every person in the family a present, we had decided to draw names instead. So her offer, though generous, could be deamed by the Holiday-Police, as cheating. But oh well. Who am I to argue with a hundred dollars?

Usually one to think things to death, I was pleased and surprised with myself for making decisions very quickly. I decided to get something that I wouldn't buy for myself. And now, back at home, with my new treasures, I think it's interesting to look at the choices I made. Here they are;

1. A bottle of perfume from Brighton, called "Live."
2. A bracelet from Chico's that has words like "Dream Big" and "Peace" on it.
3. A silver oval necklace with swirls on it.
4. The book, "Eat, Pray, Love."

As I look at the things that bring me pleasure, I think it says a lot about me. Now it's your turn. What would you buy with $100? What brings you pleasure? And no, you can't give the money away...and you can't pay bills with it. You must choose something completely impractical!

My sister took a picture of my mom and I after she bought the bracelet for me. The look on our faces is one of pure joy. Though the money was nice, the joy of spending an afternoon together really was...priceless. ~Karen

Strange New (?) Syndrome

As the weather changed, and winter crept into our house, my teenage son has developed a strange syndrome. A syndrome, by definition is a cluster of symptoms. Despite extensive research, I have been, thus far, unable to settle upon a diagnosis. So let me give you a list of symptoms and you can tell me if you know what it is;

• inability to lay head on pillow before midnight


• inability to close eyes before midnight


• profound hearing loss between 6 and 7am


• inability to hear very loud noises (ie alarm) between 6 and 7am despite tendency to blast said-noises from stereo at all other hours

Any ideas? I just can't figure it out. What worries me most is the early morning hearing loss. I mean, this kid sets his alarm clock so that everyone in the house hears it. It bleeps and blares and practically shatters glass. His room is at a completely different part of the house from mine, and it wakes ME up. But go into his room, with fingers firmly plugged into your ears and you will see something quite disturbing. He is sound asleep. If it weren't for the racket seeping into your ears, you'd compare it to walking into a sleeping baby's room. So sweet, so peaceful, so...LOUD! But I do have good news to report. Though I haven't found a diagnosis, I have found a cure.

The cure came in the form of a cell phone. My son bought one a few months ago. And the other day when his alarm had awoken the neighborhood and continued on for a half-hour, I picked up my home phone and called his cell phone. To my complete surprise, he picked up right away.

"It's time to get up." I said.

"Mom," he said. "Why are you CALLING me?"

Apparently amnesia is associated with this syndrome as well

Happy Thanksgiving

Somewhere between preparing three...yes three...turkeys, setting the table, mopping the floor, loading and unloading dishes, and cleaning and re-cleaning counters, I had a thought. I know, amazing I could think at all. I thought about how strange it all is. We prepare this fabulous meal and then clean the kitchen so that it looks as if we secretly brought take-out food in the back door. Why do we go so crazy cleaning? Why do we spend all that time preparing a meal and then try to make our kitchen appear as if it had never been used at all? Weird, right?

Yeah...weird.

A few years ago, I realized that when I had company over, I spent all my time in the kitchen BEFORE dinner, preparing. I then enjoyed my time DURING the meal. And then I spent all my time AFTER the meal cleaning up. By the time I rejoined my company, they were ready to LEAVE (or lying on the sofa in a turkey-induced coma). So now I do it differently. After the meal, I put a few things away but I don't stress about it. In fact, if it weren't for my sister, the dishes would be saved for when my guests left or maybe even for the next morning. And me? I simply enjoy the day, like everyone else does. We laugh. We share. We talk. We have dessert and then start all over, building happy memories one at a time. Ten years from now, I can guarantee you that no one will say, "I sure enjoyed the way Karen did the dishes right after dinner." But they just might be able to share a special memory - one which I was a part of.

As we begin yet another holiday season, lets be cognizant of the things we do just because they were always done that way. Lets build new traditions and lets tear down destructive ones. Lets start a revolution! Who's with me?

Karen

What's Your Motto?

Four years ago, I prayed a simple prayer, "God, give me a word." It was New Years Eve and it had been a particularly difficult year. Physical and financial problems persisted relentlessly. And it seemed that every single member of my family was experiencing some kind of difficulty. So I prayed.

I wasn't asking for much. I was asking for a single word, just one. God could save his books, chapters and paragraphs for someone who had the time to read them. He didn't even have to speak in complete sentences. All he had to do was give me one itsy-bitsy little word. New Years morning I awoke with a word in my head. You know how if you set your clock radio to go off in the morning, then whatever song you wake up to, plays in your head the rest of the day? It was like that. It was as if this word had been rolling around in my little brain all night. And when I awoke, there it was. What was this fabulous word? Do! Yep, that was it. And funny thing is, it actually made sense to me.

After a series of events in my life, my thinking had become limited and so had my actions. I felt limited by my physical problems and limited financially too. The word "Do" helped me jump the hurdle from powerlessness to powerFULness. The following year, I got a new word, and the year after that, I got two words together. But this past New Years...nuthin'. No word came to mind. So I've gone through the year without my motivational words...until yesterday.

My daughter came by and gave me the words. She didn't know I'd been searching for them. She had made me a burlap bag lined with recycled fabric. But the best part was that it had words stitched on it. (see photo) On one side in swooping letters was the word, "Live" and on the other side, in the same swooping letters was the word, "Life."

Live life! Could it be more perfect? It's time to live a little...no wait...it's time to live alot.

So what's your motto?

~Karen

nanowrimo word count- 2,200

Endless Material

One of my articles was just published on the Triad Cycling website. Go check it out if you want; http://www.triadcycling.com/. It's under the "road cycling" area (I believe), and entitled, "My New Bike." I find that it is so fun to find new things to write about. I've always loved bike riding and when physical problems took that away from me, I was very disappointed. But then I discovered that my riding days weren't over afterall. In this article, I wrote about my early biking days; the article (part one of three) ends with plans for a trip to try out a few specialized bikes.

I am beginning to see possible articles in the most unusual and sometimes seemingly mundane and common experiences. I think that when we hear of a call for articles, we think, "If only I'd overcome illness, gone through a terrible ordeal or had an extraordinary experience...then I'd have something great to write about." But what I am learning is that it's not about the experience-it's about the way you approach it. If you are a great writer (and I know that you are!), you could make the experience of eating a bowl of cereal into a great story. If you are a great writer, you can write just as movingly about your backyard as a trip to Europe. And if you are a great writer, you can write a great story about being healthy all your life and make it as miraculous as a triumph over disease story. It's all about perspective.



I'm still learning. What are some common subjects that you could tackle? Please do share!

photo: my dad and I on "tadpole" bikes


Karen

Purple Cows and Purple Lies

I know I've talked about truth in blogging, but I just have to talk about truth in general today. Do you know what schema is? I do and if a person can have an overactive schema, to the point of insanity, that's me. In case you are new to the is whole schema business, let me explain.

For every bit of information that we encounter, our brain looks for links to something that already exists. For example, a few summers ago I was getting ready to peel potatos. My schema for potatos is far reaching; french fries, potato salad, buying potatoes at Safeway, mashed potatoes at Grandma's house etc. My schema for peeling potatoes was simple; my experience told me that all I had to do was reach in the brown plastic bag, grab a dirt-sprinkled potato, wash it and so forth. But this time, when I reached in the bag, I didn't just feel the dirt-sprinkled potato. As I wrapped my fingers around it, I felt something that had a little "give" in the palm of my hand. So after pulling the potato from the bag, I turned it over. I jumped, yelped and shook my hand furiously, dropping the potato. What caused such a frantic moment? A potato bug. In all my years of experience, I'd never encountered a potato bug ON a potato. So now my schema for "potato" had a new brain-link. Now when I take a potato from the bag, I do so differently because my schema has changed. Get it? Did that make sense?

OK...so now that you (maybe) understand schema, you will understand why when I read the word purple and cow together today it made me think of something familiar.

When our kids were small, the trip to the beach was excruciatingly painful. Potty breaks, snack breaks, wiggle breaks, kids who were too tired to sleep; it all added up to a rather miserable trip to the coast, but once we got there, the rewards were great as we all enjoyed the sand and sea. Tillamook, Oregon is a short distance from our destination. And Tillamook is, of course Cow Country. So with our kids at their crankiest, having been on the road for nine hours and in the car for seven, we came up with a little white lie that was actually purple.

"I'll give a dollar to the first one to spot a purple cow." I'd say, interrupting their whining.

Suddenly the car was quiet as they squinted and pressed their noses to the window.

Once they spotted the ocean, they forgot about the challenge until the next year. Every year it was the same and somehow they never spotted the elusive purple cow, though they came close a few times.

One year, my son who was about ten, and far beyond the age of understanding true-cow-color, said, "Mom, is there really such a thing as a purple cow?" So apparently lies in small doses are tolerated quite well by little people. What a fun memory though. Some day I hope to have grandchildren that I can lie to. But until then, I'll have no fun at all...and that's the truth.

Grandma's Diary

A couple of years ago my Dad shared his mother's diary with me. I guess it's because I like to write and all. I eagerly opened it. It is a five-year diary so on each page you will find entries from five different years; 1946 to 1950. I opened it with anticipation. I'd never met my Grandma Ruby; she'd died before I was born. So I was excited to learn about her from these words that transcended death.

"January 1, 1946- Dad worked all day. I washed and cleaned house. Snow."

OK so not the most exciting entry. And some things never change like washing and cleaning. I kept reading.

"April 21, 1946- Arose at 5:30. Dad to [town] with J Broughton. Breakfast at church. Cold. Cousins for dinner."

Other than the fact that she ate her cousins for dinner, nothing earth shattering there.

Though no one entry gave me much information about my grandma, I did begin to get a picture of what she was like, what her life was like, what the times were like. Family and friends were an important part of her life. She often had them over to dinner, and went to town with them. She enjoyed going to the movies and going to town to visit friends. It was a big deal to get a new pair of shoes or a jacket. She often reported on the temperature and the weather. Her idea of a beautiful day, however, wasn't dependent on warmth. She often commented on a beautiful day that was actually very cold. That's a lot like me. I love a rainy day, and often wonder why rain is synonomous with bad and sunshine with good.

For whatever reason, my grandmother kept a diary. So encouraged by my grandmothers words, I too got a five-year diary. And it wasn't easy to find one either. Apparently it's something that people don't buy anymore, let alone write in. But a five-year-diary is perfect really. With so little space to write in, one must get to the point quickly.

So with my little diary in hand, I began making some of the same observations my grandmother did. And I also added to it. I included tiny pictures and momentos like the ticket stub from a movie. I don't know who will ever want to read my diary, but I am making sure that there is something for them to read. And like my grandmother, I sometimes go long periods of days even a month, without writing in it. But still...someday when I am long gone, I will be able to give a gift through time...just like my Grandma Ruby did for me.

Old Experiences-New Eyes

I went on an adventure today. I walked my dog to the campus of our local liberal arts college. It is a beautiful old college with breath-taking grounds. I'd forgotten that. I drive by all the time. But driving isn't the same. I brought my camera along and took a couple of photos. When you have a camera in your hand, you begin to see things differently. You are looking for something to take a picture of. I saw things I'd passed by often. I took pictures of common things that are always there, but which have become so much a background of my life, that I didn't see them anymore.

So on my quest to have new experiences, I've learned that looking at things with new eyes also creates a new experience. And I plan to have many more of them!

Write Now,

Karen

Armpit-to-Armpit

Do I write about stupid things? Yeah...don't answer that. It's one of those questions. Well, here's what I'm thinking today, and this is a terribly important philosophical question. And I really need help with it.

What does armpit-to-armpit mean? No really. That is my honest to god...need an answer right now...question. I signed up for Nanowrimo, right? Yeah. So the last time I did nanowrimo, I wanted to order the t-shirt but half-way through the month they sold out. Bummer. I wanted that shirt. So this year, I was not going to be taken by surprise. I ordered early.

Now first of all, you have to know something about me. I don't order clothing by mail. I'm terrible at sending things back if they don't fit so I just don't order stuff. (Books are another story...love Powells!) But this nanowrimo 2007 t-shirt isn't available at K-Mart, so I had no choice.

The measurements said "armpit to armpit." So I measured, armpit-to-armpit. I put the measuring tape at the front edge of my armpit (stop here if this is too graphic) and stretched it to the other front edge of armpit. Then I looked on the little chart and found my size. I fit perfectly to one of them. It was a one size larger than my usual size, but then they mentioned shrinkage so I figured it was right.

Well, apparently I was wrong. I need to go back to math class or seamstress class or something. The t-shirt was more than just a tad big. It was huge, and now remember that I am terrible at sending things back. Plus, if I send it back there is the possiblity they'll be out of the size that will fit me. So back to the armpit question.

Was I supposed to measure from the middle of my armpits? From the back of my armpits? The only thing that would make sense is if I were to start at one armpit, pass the second one, go around my back and back to where I started. Then the measurements would fit. There just has to be a better way to do this. There are just too many variables.

So here I am...stuck with a really cool, and motivational t-shirt that is very, very large. Hey...just like my dreams. What's the difference between a very large nanowrimo t-shirt and your dreams? One you hope to grow into and one you pray you won't.

Karen

Meaningless Questions

"How are you?"

How many times do you hear that question. Probably hundreds of times a year. It's usually said with a handshake or in passing in a public place. How are you? "How are you" has become the "Hi." of this generation. And it's another of my pet peeves. But I do have a solution. Yes, it's true...I've been giving this one waaaaaaay to much think-time. And I've come up with a solution.

The next time someone asks you how you are, be honest. That's all you have to do. The scene would look something like this;

Susan: (in passing) How are you?

Kathy: I'm terrible. (runs to catch up with Susan who is trying to make her get-away) It all started when I got up this morning and discovered my dog had experienced intestinal problems during the night. Then we didn't have milk for breakfast so I had to send Junior to school with no breakfast, which prompted an investigation of our family life. Well later that night, as I was driving to the store for more milk, I got pulled over and the policewoman happened to be a former classmate, one that I accidentally locked in her locker years ago. So I ended up in jail and with only one phone call to make. I called my husband of course, and when he answered, he started telling me about his horrible day at work. I keep trying to get a word in and he finally says "You always interrupt when I'm trying to talk to you" and hangs up. And then...

Susan: (slowly backs away)

So you see...problem solved. You can bet that Susan won't be asking Kathy how she is anymore. Mission accomplished.

Tomorrow: Another meaningless question

Karen

Adventures in Salmon

So if you read my last post, you know that I'm trying to, um...try new things. I'm attempting to expand my world that has become way too predictable. So for my birthday I was invited out to lunch...to a place of my choosing. I was very excited about the restaurant I chose. It has good food, good atmosphere and a wonderful patio. Well, that's what I thought anyway. It was, shall we say, not what I thought. I was sadly disappointed.



Then I was invited to a salmon feed. I am not a fish person. Seafood just isn't my thing. Fish and chips is the closest I get to a meal from the sea. Still, I'd promised myself that I would take new opportunities, so I said "yes." The salmon feed is in a town of about 1,000 people, and is a 20-minute drive from my hometown. Being the aspiring photographer that I am, I brought my camera along. We'd heard about the long lines so we arrived a half-hour early.



My father and I walked across the sawdust floor of the barn to see just how this salmon is cooked. A team of about twenty men took turns at the barbecue. The mood was jovial as we waited. This was the best that country life has to offer. The salmon was brought in fresh that day and cooked over a long hand-made barbeque. The fish was pressed between chicken wire on a square frame of wood. Two men and one turn of the special contraptions ensured that the salmon was cooked "just so."



We made our way back to get in line and luckily my husband and mother saved us a spot. The line already stretched from one end of the barn to the other and far beyond. Our plates filled, we found a seat at a long table. One bite and I knew-this was the best seafood I'd ever had. It was tender and had that smoked flavor.



And the experience...it was fabulous. Stepping beyond my normal everyday routine is definitely worth it. But be warned: Sometimes your experience is a dud. But perhaps the bigger warning should be this: Be careful, you just might discover that jumping out of your nicely wrapped box, leads to something more. It's addictive. Do it once and you'll find yourself looking for new adventures in everything around you. And that was the point, now wasn't it!



Find something new to do, then come back here and tell us all about it! Make life happen!



Karen

Three People Away

I recently learned that we are truly creatures of habit. One stat given was that the average person wears 20% of their clothes 80% of the time. Crap! I hate to admit it, but this is very true of me. I have my favorite jeans, my favorite shirts and I wear them to death. In fact this summer, while vacationing, the tiny hole that had worn on both back pockets, um...well...turned into a gaping hole. I had worn them almost everyday at the beach. I took them off one night and was horrified to see the long rips along my rear end. I asked my daughter about it and she informed me that it had been that way the whole vacation. She thought I was just being cool. Luckily, each undergarment displayed that week was a cute striped or floral version. Oh my!

Here's another one. No matter how many great resteraunts there are in your fair town, statistically speaking, you only frequent three to five of them. OK...so that one fits me too. And the worst part is just which resteraunts they are. I am highly influenced by my children, so McDonalds, Taco Bell and Dominos are on our list. Sad, I know.

I've also heard it said that you are only three people away from the person who has the ability to change your life. That could be three people away from an agent or an editor. So with my newfound knowledge, I decided to do something about it. My daughter wanted to take me out for my birthday, but instead of going to an old standby, I insisted on going to a resteraunt I'd never been to. I also accepted an invitation to a salmon feed, which I went to tonight.

Since I just celebrated a birthday (pretty slick how I just snuck that in AGAIN huh?), and I often pick a theme for the new birthday year, I've decided on one that will easily take all year. I'm going to purpose myself to create new experiences. I'm going to spend the year looking for opportunities to bust out of my comfortable little box. How about you? Is there something you could do to increase your chances of meeting those three people who will change your life? There are no guarantees of course, well except for this one; if you keep doing what you've always done, you'll keep getting what you've always gotten.

Write Now,
Karen

Tree House

This one is a tad crazy. I mean, what if there's a thunderstorm and you hear a creaking branch. Yikes! However, it could be fun. Perhaps this place would only work for people who write...uh...well I don't know. Maybe it's just for those who like to live dangerously, live on the edge (ha ha!). I'm not sure I'd want to go there, let alone try to write there...talk about distracting! My distractingly chaotic family life is looking mighty good right now. -Karen

Time to get a Bigger Blanket

Do you ever hear an expression so much that you want to scream? "Just want to be sure we're all on the same page." is my personal favorite. When I was teaching, a know-it-all teacher or administrator used that phrase all the time. Are we so lacking in creativity that we must repeat it a zillion times? And what does it mean anyway? Well...as I studied the particular people who used this phrase (sneaky huh?), I came to a conclusion. They used it to manipulate those of us who were not on "their page." In other words, does anyone ever challenge a statement like that?



"I just want to be sure we're all on the same page." Says person #1



"Why?" Says person #2. "What makes you think I want to be on your page." Says person #2 "Maybe your page stinks. Maybe your page should be ripped from the book and burned. Maybe you need to open to a new page in my book.



No. I've never heard anyone say that. So needless to say, I hate that expression. Here's another one. "We need to think outside the box." Yeah right. Whose box are we talking about? Who decides what is ok to suggest outside said box? I wanna know.



And my dog agrees with me.



Every morning I make my bed and then spread out her special blanket on one corner. She's always just stayed on her little corner of the bed. I mean it's not so small-it's a good 1/4 of the bed. She should be happy with that, right. Well, recently she's been testing her limits. At first it was just a paw over on my cream-colored quilt. Then two paws. When she leaned way off her blanket, I scolded her and told her to go back to her blanket. She obliged...until I left the room. Then she stretched out again. No matter how many times I made her move, she only ended up back on my quilt. What to do...what to do?



This morning, after once again making her move back to her blanket, I stood there to watch. She eyed me. I eyed her. She curled up into a neat ball on the blanket. I watched some more. She still eye-balled me. When she fell (apparently) asleep, I tiptoed out of the room. I watched from the other room, where I could see her paws but she couldn't see me. Sure enough, in one swoop, she stretched out nearly all the way across the bed. And then it came to me.



She was thinking "outside the blanket." And she'd discovered that she quite liked it. She was comfortable on the blanket before. But now that she'd experienced something more, she didn't want to go back.



Is it time to expand your blanket?



Photo: Togo livin' life beyond the blanket.



Write Now,



Karen

Today's Post

Due to unexpected circumstances, I will not be posting today. Oh wait-this is a post. So I guess I lied. Sorry. That happens sometimes. I just say something, figure out it's a lie and then feel compelled to confess. And then what do I do? I just go about my merry way until I lie again. But really- due to unexpected circumstances, I will not be posting today.

Karen

Fashion Statement

OK...So I was at the store today and I saw this girl who was wearing a t-shirt I liked. It was made of a thin material and had green lettering on the white fabric. It said, "Green is good." I like that. Green is good...green is good. Yes...green is good. And since I am becoming more and more interested in living green, I just had to comment on her shirt.

"I like your shirt." I said.

"Thanks." She said a bit bewildered as I am apparently old in her eyes.

"Where'd you get it?" I asked.

"At Macy's." She said trying to figure out how to get away from said-old person.

"Really?" I said. "So are you an environmentalist?"

"Uh." She said.

"An environmentalist." I said. "You know, are you into saving the environment and stuff (trying to throw in a teenish-term) like that."

"Uh." She said. "I don't think so."

And that was the end of our not-so-intelligent conversation.

I don't think so? I don't think so. How do you answer a question like that with, I don't think so? Oh brother.

So here's my advice. Fashion is fashion but if you have printed words displayed across your being, you'd better be sure you know what they mean. This girl was proudly saying something to the world but didn't have a clue what it was.

What if I went around with t-shirt that said, "tax accountant"? Wouldn't you expect that I would get people asking me tax questions all the time? Of course you would. Sheesh.

And that's my rant for the day.

So what t-shirt would you proudly and honestly wear? Writer? Encourager? Keeper of Secrets?

-Karen

Hello New Friend

My new friend's name is Compaq. Yeah-strange I know. But that's what she wants to be called. I met her this morning at Staples and brought her home. She was so excited that she nearly jumped out of her box. She's lighter and slimmer than her predecessor. And she's lightning fast too.

My computer guy came over to help me transfer programs from my dear friend Toshiba to my new friend Compaq. It was awkward for all of us. (well-not the computer guy because he just doesn't understand the dynamics of our relationship) Toshiba bowed her head and I think I saw a tear squeeze out of her port. It took three minutes to upload files from her and only seconds to download them to Compaq. But still, she did so with grace. But I knew...yes I knew. It was painful to watch as she tried to retain her dignity. Then something amazing happened.

We were almost finished when I asked my computer guy about "Word." You see, editors all ask for articles to be sent as Word Documents. So he checked with Compaq. She didn't have it. Toshiba smiled slightly, but not in an obvious way. Compaq bowed her head. Now it was she that felt defeated. After some talking, Computer-guy explaining the new 2007 version of Word, it was apparent...I didn't want it. I wanted the old Word...the one that Toshiba had given me freely for so many years. Toshiba shrugged her backspace as if to say, "I tried to tell you."

It seems that age has its virtues, and one of those is a word-processing program that I not only want...I need. And so I walk off into the sunset...alone...stuck between two worlds. Toshiba is on one side and Compaq the other. Neither is perfect...and yet...both have their place, in my heart and in my life. How will this story end? I don't know. Can we ever truly live happily ever after or is life just a story book in which we must write out own ending? I don't know...I don't know if I'll ever know.

Do you know?

-Karen