I was angry when I went to bed and jumped right back into it when I woke up. This is not good, you should never go to bed angry, but how am I supposed to make up to a tv show??
Here's the deal. KGAN news had a segment about "taste testing brand name pet foods vs. store brands." WHAT!! DUH!! Dogs will eat anything. They eat poop. They eat that festering pile of old deer carcass in the back yard. They will eat rat poison too, does this mean we should let them?
When you are sitting at a news desk, you kind of have some authority. You need to especially practice responsible journalism. Some people only get their information from you and don't use their own brain power to research and to discern if what you say is accurate, they just take you at your word. "I saw on the news that its ok to feed Fido cheap food because he will eat it." By doing this ridiculous piece, they were doing a HUGE disservice to their viewers! They can't even do their own research and ask just one professional about the difference between cheap food and the brand names? They can't even look into why one is better than the other?
If you put a pile of candy and chips and pop in front of a child and a pile of fruits and veggies, which one is he going to eat. The junk food of course. Does this mean that it is good for him? Does this mean that it is ok to feed him a diet of cookies and sugar because it is cheaper than quality, nutrient rich food?
The benefits of a high quality pet food are so enormous that there is no question as to the difference between crappy food and good food.
1) by eating a quality diet filled with real meat, veggies and vitamins, a dog will flourish and live a longer, healthier life just like a person would. Look at the bag. Read the ingredients. The first ingredient should be real meat, not by-products or meal. By eating a balanced diet, they will get sick less often and it will help prevent more trips to the vet, therefore more money to the vet. A balanced diet will give them all the correct nutrients they need.
2) they will be able to process and USE more of the good food than the crappy food that contains fillers and bulk that they will not be able to use and it comes right back out as feces. When they have a food that is all fillers they have to eat more food to get more nutrients out of it, therefore, you have to BUY more food. If given a complete diet and a quality food free of fillers, dyes and preservatives, they will eat LESS to get what they need out of it. This also will produce LESS feces, less gas.
3) there are lots of harmful colors, dyes, preservatives in less quality foods. Those colorful pieces aren't in there for Fido, they are meant to appeal to the owner. Many dogs are allergic to fake dyes and colors, some of them are even toxic. Fido doesn't care if his kibble is red, yellow and green so it looks like veggies and fruit...he only cares that you love him and feed him. There are already so many things in his environment that he can react to, don't give him more.
4) proper nutrients will give Fido a healthier, shinier coat. They will not only look nicer, feel softer, but they will SHED less! Crappy diets result in more hair loss, more dry itchy skin. You want less shedding, feed him a good diet.
So if you care about Fido and want him to have a longer, healthier life, less trips to the vet, less poop, less shedding, why wouldn't you give him a high quality diet? Price. Ok, you don't have to get the most expensive one. There are many QUALITY diets that won't break the bank. READ the LABEL - look at the ingredients. You don't want colors, dyes, fillers like corn. You do want real meats, veggies, foods you can pronounce.
I feel very strongly about this subject. I often see consumers in Walmart with bags of crap in their cart and I have to hold myself back not to go up to them start telling them how bad that stuff is. Many people aren't trying to cheat Fido, they just DON'T KNOW. They aren't informed of the differences between quality and crap food. KGAN would have done a MUCH MUCH better piece had they done this research and reported on the differences between name brands and store brands rather than just doing a worthless taste test. DUH. I'd eat junk food all day too if I thought I could be healthy while doing it. Ignorance of the subject only hurts Fido.
BTW, I did post on KGAN's facebook and website last night as I was yelling at the tv. No response.
My beloved nephews are the light of my life, as is my husband and dog.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Bidet Bliss
Last evening, my girls and I went to the movie Cars 2. (it was very enjoyable although not really geared toward kids, but it was quite an exciting road trip but very exhausting) I thought this was going to be the highlight of my evening, until we went to a restaurant where I had my first bidet experience. Everyone should get one of these babies.
So, we went to the local Japanese eatery to eat some monkey brains. (side note: no actual monkeys were killed to provide us with this treat, it was stuffed mushrooms but it does trouble me some that someone who named them does know what monkey brains do look like). Anywho, I remembered the last time my friend and I were there she commented that the toilet seat was warmed. Hmmm...since then I had regretted not checking this out.
When we were munching, my dining companion went to the bathroom and when she returned she commented on the warm seat as well, so of course I had to scurry in and investigate this phenomenon. There were a lot of buttons. (notice that the word buttons starts with the word "butt" and these were next to your butt...hmmm...)
I love buttons...they can do so many things. Well, I think the potty here should have a warning on the door "do not use toilet unless you have your reading glasses on, pushing the wrong button could result in undesired effects."
See there were lots of buttons with tiny print on them. There was the one that said "bidet". Got it. There was one that said "massage" and one that said "pulse". Ok you can control the water that way. There were buttons for the temperature of the water, and the temperature of the seat. Awesome. BUTT there was one button that scared me a bit. If someone of a somewhat more advanced age were to sit on said potty and not have their their readers on, they might not be able to decipher this one and I would hate to have them accidentally push it. I could read it and my finger stayed as far away from it as it could. It said "enema." I am NOT kidding. Who in their right mind would want that service? Especially in a public restaurant?? I'm a bit worried that some half blind or unsuspecting lady would be all atwitter at the big strip of buttons (as I often am when I encounter a bank of blinking, or glowing buttons just waiting to be pushed) and full of ignorance, push the enema button. Shudder.
Would we hear a scream from the bathroom? Or perhaps she just wouldn't be able to rejoin her party for quite a bit of time because she accidentally started a big job that she now is forced to finish?? Ooops, once certain flights are launched, there isn't any returning to the runway till your destination is reached, if you get my drift. Oh and where was the air filter button??
If I hadn't had my friends awaiting me back at my table I might have spent an inordinate amount of time in there. That thing was awesome. I only tinkled, and the light spray of warm water on my bum was quite pleasant, but I shudder to wonder how it would perform if I had had to leave a somewhat heavier load. I am pretty sure that little trickle of water wouldn't do much for the clean up area. Then there was a button that said "dryer". This was a nice stream of warm air to dry my netheregions. This also did not quite do it for me, kinda like those air dryers for your hands, only you can't just give up and wipe your butt on your pants now can you? Thank goodness they still had good old toilet paper available! I still did my paperwork despite the high tech drying button.
I did not see any button for music. I have seen this available on-line when I saw the world's most expensive toilet on yahoo once. You could program your music preferences into it and then when you were getting the job done your soundtrack would play for you. Hmmm... interesting. I would of course need certain ones for number 1 and certain ones for number 2. Different kinds of inspiration are needed you know. Although I tend to read while on the porcelain throne. I have been known to finish whole novels - never say I'm not multi-tasking! There should be a complete library on the other side - oh I know - there should be a pop-up nook loaded with a variety of choices. Oh wait, not in a public restroom. They don't really want to encourage you to stay that long.
I wonder if they would notice if I came back every day to take my daily constitutional there....
So, we went to the local Japanese eatery to eat some monkey brains. (side note: no actual monkeys were killed to provide us with this treat, it was stuffed mushrooms but it does trouble me some that someone who named them does know what monkey brains do look like). Anywho, I remembered the last time my friend and I were there she commented that the toilet seat was warmed. Hmmm...since then I had regretted not checking this out.
When we were munching, my dining companion went to the bathroom and when she returned she commented on the warm seat as well, so of course I had to scurry in and investigate this phenomenon. There were a lot of buttons. (notice that the word buttons starts with the word "butt" and these were next to your butt...hmmm...)
I love buttons...they can do so many things. Well, I think the potty here should have a warning on the door "do not use toilet unless you have your reading glasses on, pushing the wrong button could result in undesired effects."
See there were lots of buttons with tiny print on them. There was the one that said "bidet". Got it. There was one that said "massage" and one that said "pulse". Ok you can control the water that way. There were buttons for the temperature of the water, and the temperature of the seat. Awesome. BUTT there was one button that scared me a bit. If someone of a somewhat more advanced age were to sit on said potty and not have their their readers on, they might not be able to decipher this one and I would hate to have them accidentally push it. I could read it and my finger stayed as far away from it as it could. It said "enema." I am NOT kidding. Who in their right mind would want that service? Especially in a public restaurant?? I'm a bit worried that some half blind or unsuspecting lady would be all atwitter at the big strip of buttons (as I often am when I encounter a bank of blinking, or glowing buttons just waiting to be pushed) and full of ignorance, push the enema button. Shudder.
Would we hear a scream from the bathroom? Or perhaps she just wouldn't be able to rejoin her party for quite a bit of time because she accidentally started a big job that she now is forced to finish?? Ooops, once certain flights are launched, there isn't any returning to the runway till your destination is reached, if you get my drift. Oh and where was the air filter button??
If I hadn't had my friends awaiting me back at my table I might have spent an inordinate amount of time in there. That thing was awesome. I only tinkled, and the light spray of warm water on my bum was quite pleasant, but I shudder to wonder how it would perform if I had had to leave a somewhat heavier load. I am pretty sure that little trickle of water wouldn't do much for the clean up area. Then there was a button that said "dryer". This was a nice stream of warm air to dry my netheregions. This also did not quite do it for me, kinda like those air dryers for your hands, only you can't just give up and wipe your butt on your pants now can you? Thank goodness they still had good old toilet paper available! I still did my paperwork despite the high tech drying button.
I did not see any button for music. I have seen this available on-line when I saw the world's most expensive toilet on yahoo once. You could program your music preferences into it and then when you were getting the job done your soundtrack would play for you. Hmmm... interesting. I would of course need certain ones for number 1 and certain ones for number 2. Different kinds of inspiration are needed you know. Although I tend to read while on the porcelain throne. I have been known to finish whole novels - never say I'm not multi-tasking! There should be a complete library on the other side - oh I know - there should be a pop-up nook loaded with a variety of choices. Oh wait, not in a public restroom. They don't really want to encourage you to stay that long.
I wonder if they would notice if I came back every day to take my daily constitutional there....
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Small Towns
I grew up in a very small town. A lot of people will say they did too. No...I'm not talking about a small city, with a few thousand people, I'm talking about a tiny little hovel with 300 people. I'm not exaggerating, I never in a million trillion years ever exaggerate. We maxed out at 300 at best. We had to change the sign when someone died. We never had to when someone moved in, because that never happened.
My class had 8 people in it. Yep. Four girls, four boys. Two were twins. None of the other 3 girls lived in town, so I was the only one that didn't ride the bus. I lived one block from school. My mom was the secretary, so I couldn't do anything bad or she'd find out about it before I even got in trouble for it. BUT even if she wasn't on the premises, she would have heard all about it for sure. Basically sports were the measure of a person's worth. Sportsmen were gods and goddesses. If you were good at Football or Basketball, you were it. If not, you were worthless. I wasn't even on the scale! LOL.
If you sneezed and there was a speck of blood in it, the lady two houses down would call the lady next to her and tell her that you had lost a ton of blood and were being rushed to the ER. That lady would call the other lady across the street and tell her that you were in the ER and barely clinging to life and in need of a blood donation. That lady would call the neighbor guy and tell him that you were in dire need of a kidney transplant and you were offering millions of dollars for someone to donate one. It would go off in various directions from there. It would develop a life of its own and some would have you dead, some would not even have a shred of something correct left in it. Men were NOT immune to this either. Men are sometimes worse than women at spreading dreadful lies and gossip. They have coffee three times a day at the local eatery just like the women do and they can't even talk about sewing and cooking. One can only ruminate on the state of the corn and the high price of gas for so long until they make something up to impress each other.
If Matilda knew you had sneezed but you didn't call her and tell her, she'd just make it up. "I know something happened over there, I am pretty sure I saw blood and the ambulance. She must be almost dead....or some old ladies even felt they had the right to know what was going on.
My father still lives in the house I grew up in. Smack dab in the middle of town. He is in the thick of things when it comes to gossip himself, but when he was starting to date my now step-mom, she came the first time to visit him and parked her car in front of his house. Nosey Nora across the street honed in on the strange car and had the nerve to call my dad! She insisted she had to know who that car belonged to and why is parked in front of his house? I'm not sure what Dad said, but if I had answered the phone I would have said something like "oh that's my lesbian lover who gave me the Clap and she told me she got it from you." Good thing I wasn't around that day.
I have come to despise such invasive and hurtful gossip. They don't even keep the story straight, it just morphs into a saga all its own and the more juicy, corrupt, and hateful they can make it, the better. These idiots need hobbies, they need a life. When my parents got divorced, you can just imagine the stories that flew about town with such speed and such utter filth I was nauseated.
So, coming from a tiny hovel of 300 old gossipy geezers, I was THRILLED to move to a city of 9,000 people for college!! I was amazed at how you could live in a place where you might not even know who your neighbor was, let alone who their parents were and where they worked and what they ate for supper. There was a Walmart, Pizza Hut, and Dairy Queen within walking distance!! What else could a person want? Our closest of any of those was a half hour drive away when I was growing up.
I could even walk down the street without anybody peering out from behind their curtains to see who I was and make up where I was going! Wow. This was great. Nobody even cared what I did or whom I might have done it with. I could wear what I wanted without anyone critiquing it, go out without doing my hair without an alarm going off, and I could be me.
When you only have 3 other girls in your class, and you are not exactly like them, you feel alone in the world. I never met another person like myself until college. The day I met another girl who felt exactly like I did with my mother and the divorce, I sobbed. I had found someone else who knew what I had gone through. I had felt like I was abnormal, weird, odd. Now I KNOW I am a little odd, but I'm ok with it...giggle.
I just wasn't the same as anyone else in my school. (we did join with a neighboring school in HS, but our graduating class was 35 people so still slim pickins) I was ok just the way I was, as were they, we were just different. Different
In college you can and are encouraged to explore who you really are, what you like and what you don't like. How you really want to dress, it may not be how the other girls are all dressed, you might want to try something new. It was mind boggling.
I now live in a HUGE city of about 8,000 and I am so happy! I would never go back to any small hovel again. I don't even enjoy going back to visit very much. All those beady little eyes peering out at you and making up lies about you to each other. I feel so sad for those kids from my school who never left that environment. But as long as I don't have to go back there, I'm good!!
My class had 8 people in it. Yep. Four girls, four boys. Two were twins. None of the other 3 girls lived in town, so I was the only one that didn't ride the bus. I lived one block from school. My mom was the secretary, so I couldn't do anything bad or she'd find out about it before I even got in trouble for it. BUT even if she wasn't on the premises, she would have heard all about it for sure. Basically sports were the measure of a person's worth. Sportsmen were gods and goddesses. If you were good at Football or Basketball, you were it. If not, you were worthless. I wasn't even on the scale! LOL.
If you sneezed and there was a speck of blood in it, the lady two houses down would call the lady next to her and tell her that you had lost a ton of blood and were being rushed to the ER. That lady would call the other lady across the street and tell her that you were in the ER and barely clinging to life and in need of a blood donation. That lady would call the neighbor guy and tell him that you were in dire need of a kidney transplant and you were offering millions of dollars for someone to donate one. It would go off in various directions from there. It would develop a life of its own and some would have you dead, some would not even have a shred of something correct left in it. Men were NOT immune to this either. Men are sometimes worse than women at spreading dreadful lies and gossip. They have coffee three times a day at the local eatery just like the women do and they can't even talk about sewing and cooking. One can only ruminate on the state of the corn and the high price of gas for so long until they make something up to impress each other.
If Matilda knew you had sneezed but you didn't call her and tell her, she'd just make it up. "I know something happened over there, I am pretty sure I saw blood and the ambulance. She must be almost dead....or some old ladies even felt they had the right to know what was going on.
My father still lives in the house I grew up in. Smack dab in the middle of town. He is in the thick of things when it comes to gossip himself, but when he was starting to date my now step-mom, she came the first time to visit him and parked her car in front of his house. Nosey Nora across the street honed in on the strange car and had the nerve to call my dad! She insisted she had to know who that car belonged to and why is parked in front of his house? I'm not sure what Dad said, but if I had answered the phone I would have said something like "oh that's my lesbian lover who gave me the Clap and she told me she got it from you." Good thing I wasn't around that day.
I have come to despise such invasive and hurtful gossip. They don't even keep the story straight, it just morphs into a saga all its own and the more juicy, corrupt, and hateful they can make it, the better. These idiots need hobbies, they need a life. When my parents got divorced, you can just imagine the stories that flew about town with such speed and such utter filth I was nauseated.
So, coming from a tiny hovel of 300 old gossipy geezers, I was THRILLED to move to a city of 9,000 people for college!! I was amazed at how you could live in a place where you might not even know who your neighbor was, let alone who their parents were and where they worked and what they ate for supper. There was a Walmart, Pizza Hut, and Dairy Queen within walking distance!! What else could a person want? Our closest of any of those was a half hour drive away when I was growing up.
I could even walk down the street without anybody peering out from behind their curtains to see who I was and make up where I was going! Wow. This was great. Nobody even cared what I did or whom I might have done it with. I could wear what I wanted without anyone critiquing it, go out without doing my hair without an alarm going off, and I could be me.
When you only have 3 other girls in your class, and you are not exactly like them, you feel alone in the world. I never met another person like myself until college. The day I met another girl who felt exactly like I did with my mother and the divorce, I sobbed. I had found someone else who knew what I had gone through. I had felt like I was abnormal, weird, odd. Now I KNOW I am a little odd, but I'm ok with it...giggle.
I just wasn't the same as anyone else in my school. (we did join with a neighboring school in HS, but our graduating class was 35 people so still slim pickins) I was ok just the way I was, as were they, we were just different. Different
In college you can and are encouraged to explore who you really are, what you like and what you don't like. How you really want to dress, it may not be how the other girls are all dressed, you might want to try something new. It was mind boggling.
I now live in a HUGE city of about 8,000 and I am so happy! I would never go back to any small hovel again. I don't even enjoy going back to visit very much. All those beady little eyes peering out at you and making up lies about you to each other. I feel so sad for those kids from my school who never left that environment. But as long as I don't have to go back there, I'm good!!
Friday, June 24, 2011
Totally in Love
I have the bestest nephews ever! I have been so blessed with sweetness I cannot even tell you. My 3 1/2 year old nephew is the light of my heart. He is so excited to see me when I come, and sad to see me go. We have so much fun and he knows he's my little sweetie. I want to be the auntie that he knows will be there for him no matter what....he can tell me anything and I will help him and keep his secrets and pray for him, and wipe his tears, share his joys, and get him stuff his parents can't afford. Nothing bad, just stuff Mommy and Daddy would like to get him but they can't afford it, cause they have two kids. Enter Auntie Kathy and she can make it happen.
I have nightmares sometimes. You know the snakes in your hair, or the guy chasing you in slow motion. But the worst ones are when I dream that my brother and his wife break up. I love my nephews so much that I would be devastated for them if something would happen to their parents. Having been there, I know the pain and the unfixable anguish of your parents divorcing and ripping the family apart. I never want that for my boys. I want their parents to be happy and I pray for that every night when I pray for my boys health and happiness. As that is all intertwined.
I understand how you can love someone so much you wouldn't even hesitate to die for them. I love my parents very very much, but I know they wouldn't want me to die for them, they would want to go first, and have me follow many years later as nature intended. I would give my life without hesitation for my boys. Given the chance, I wouldn't need to even think about it, take me not them. I wouldn't want to live in a world without them anyway. I would also give myself in place of their parents. I want a mom and a dad for them. My brother and his wife are much more important to their well being and their happiness than I. So, I would also not hesitate to trade my life for theirs either, as they are much more important for my boys.
If some evil monster were to hurt one of my boys, I understand how parents can't stand it and kill the evil that did that to their kid. You hurt my boys, I want to hurt you...I see how it would be so hard NOT to go after the devil - but then I couldn't be there for them, but it would be very very hard not to hunt them down and take them out.
Sometimes I dream about playing with my boys. We are running and swimming and sliding and racing down the road. I think he will like theatre like his auntie and we can go to shows and then I can watch him star in all the school plays. I will go watch all his races, as I'm sure he will share Daddy's love of racing. Maybe he will be a writer like me. He will ask me to edit his beautiful and thoughtful essays. Maybe he will be an artist or an inventor. He could invent things and let me try them out! I'm sure whatever he does, he will be awesome at it. I will support him and encourage him and remind him he can do anything he wants. If he can dream it, he can do it!!
Now my newest little boy, he is just 3 months old - I don't know much about him yet, but I do know his smile is enough to light up the room!! He smiles all the time!! He is a good cuddler too. Maybe he will be my fellow animal lover. We can go to the zoo and he can come to work with me to see the puppies and the kitties. He grows so fast, every time I see him he is so big!!!
My greatest blessing are little boys that I never knew I could love so intensely, so fervently, with such passion and protectiveness. I'm so glad its not up to me to raise them right, I'd only screw that up, but I get to love them with such complete unconditional love that I'm so lucky. I also get to go home and sleep in a nice quiet house and recover till the next visit!!!
ME: how did you get that scratch on your face?
3 yr old nephew: A lion bit me
ME: Really? Did a lion really bite you?
3 yr old nephew: No....it was an elephant.
I have nightmares sometimes. You know the snakes in your hair, or the guy chasing you in slow motion. But the worst ones are when I dream that my brother and his wife break up. I love my nephews so much that I would be devastated for them if something would happen to their parents. Having been there, I know the pain and the unfixable anguish of your parents divorcing and ripping the family apart. I never want that for my boys. I want their parents to be happy and I pray for that every night when I pray for my boys health and happiness. As that is all intertwined.
I understand how you can love someone so much you wouldn't even hesitate to die for them. I love my parents very very much, but I know they wouldn't want me to die for them, they would want to go first, and have me follow many years later as nature intended. I would give my life without hesitation for my boys. Given the chance, I wouldn't need to even think about it, take me not them. I wouldn't want to live in a world without them anyway. I would also give myself in place of their parents. I want a mom and a dad for them. My brother and his wife are much more important to their well being and their happiness than I. So, I would also not hesitate to trade my life for theirs either, as they are much more important for my boys.
If some evil monster were to hurt one of my boys, I understand how parents can't stand it and kill the evil that did that to their kid. You hurt my boys, I want to hurt you...I see how it would be so hard NOT to go after the devil - but then I couldn't be there for them, but it would be very very hard not to hunt them down and take them out.
Sometimes I dream about playing with my boys. We are running and swimming and sliding and racing down the road. I think he will like theatre like his auntie and we can go to shows and then I can watch him star in all the school plays. I will go watch all his races, as I'm sure he will share Daddy's love of racing. Maybe he will be a writer like me. He will ask me to edit his beautiful and thoughtful essays. Maybe he will be an artist or an inventor. He could invent things and let me try them out! I'm sure whatever he does, he will be awesome at it. I will support him and encourage him and remind him he can do anything he wants. If he can dream it, he can do it!!
Now my newest little boy, he is just 3 months old - I don't know much about him yet, but I do know his smile is enough to light up the room!! He smiles all the time!! He is a good cuddler too. Maybe he will be my fellow animal lover. We can go to the zoo and he can come to work with me to see the puppies and the kitties. He grows so fast, every time I see him he is so big!!!
My greatest blessing are little boys that I never knew I could love so intensely, so fervently, with such passion and protectiveness. I'm so glad its not up to me to raise them right, I'd only screw that up, but I get to love them with such complete unconditional love that I'm so lucky. I also get to go home and sleep in a nice quiet house and recover till the next visit!!!
ME: how did you get that scratch on your face?
3 yr old nephew: A lion bit me
ME: Really? Did a lion really bite you?
3 yr old nephew: No....it was an elephant.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Athletically Challenged
I am severely athletically challenged. I am not exaggerating. I do not have one iota of athletic ability in me. When God was deciding how to design me, for some reason in his infinite wisdom decided I didn't need one drop of athleticism in my entire make up. Someday I will be able to ask him about this, and just what the deal is with that, but until then, I have to cope with my lack of ability in this area.
God didn't see it fit to give me any coordination, speed, agility, or that ability to hit the softball with a bat. None. Didn't get any of that. To this day, I don't believe I have ever hit a softball with a bat. I couldn't even hit a tee ball on a tee (I am NOT lying). Even if by some miracle (divine intervention would be needed) I would hit the ball, I'd never make it safely to 1st base. I am slower than Yertle the Turtle. Any race - I'm the one lagging a few laps behind, the one everyone feels sorry for...ohhh look at her, at least she's still -- well, no...she's down....oh how sad...get her some water....
In PE (the worst class ever) when we were told to run laps, I'd just run until everyone else was done. So if everybody else ran their allotted 10, I probably did about 6. When they stopped, so did I. Otherwise we'd be there till next week and I'd be the only out there. My high school PE teacher hated me, I'm sure. He'd yell at me to run faster and I'd say, "you cant make me run." I didn't either, it was more of a fast walking jog.
PE - pretty much hell on earth. For a kid like me, before I was able to reconcile my condition with who I was as a person and realize my talents lay far far FAR away from a gym, it was very emotionally hard for me. By high school I didn't give a rip, but before that, being the last one picked is hard enough, but for me it was "we HAVE to have HER again...we had HER last time, you guys take her, no you, no you...." they would fight over who was STUCK with me. No lie.
I would like to take aside the guy who invented volleyball and explain to him just how terrible he made my PE classes. Because of his little invention, I suffered many hours of volleyball hell...I was the girl who just prayed not to get hit by that stupid ball. There is no way I was ever going to hit that torture device with my arms. At that time I tipped the scales at like 90 pounds, so my twigs that passed for arms were very tiny and very weak. If by some divine intervention (again) I might actually get the despised ball to hit my wrist where you are supposed to meet with the ball, I NEVER could wack that thing hard enough to get it to actually go anywhere....wack...immediately drop to the floor with thud. That was only like the 3 times in my life my wrist would actually come in contact with said ball, usually that ball was no where NEAR my wrist. I was just relieved it didn't wack me in the head. Again.
Lets see, basketball was a joke. I would be stuck on a team, and nobody would ever throw the ball to me (like I could catch it...lol) so I would stand there looking like a doofus with nothing to do. Nobody worried about guarding me either. Never had to worry about me making any points. My PE teacher would yell at me to get moving...umm...where? If that divine intervention would ever show up and I would actually get the ball in my hands - forget about getting it into the hoop. Yea right. I don't think I made my first basket until like college...no lie. You think I'm making these things up? Nope. That is how sad my affliction is...its real.
If we were to play dodge ball where the little foam balls are placed in the middle of the gym, everyone runs up to get them and you try to hit the other guys with a ball to get them out - I would walk up to the balls and wait for someone to get me out and sit down. I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a ball, no way was I ever going to get someone out, I was on my way out soon enough, so might as well get it over with and sit down. Again, my PE teacher would yell at me I had to try harder, and I'd say "I tried, they got me out fair and square." Take that one PE teacher!
You name the sport, I SUCKED at it. I was the worst player ever. Even if I would be trying my hardest, it is like even more embarrassing cause I still fell on my face. I was the worlds worst cheerleader (when there are only 5 girls who show up to try-outs you get in). I actually did try pretty hard in this area. Honestly I only did it cause two of my best friends were doing it and they talked me into it and I thought it would be cool to get thrown up in the air. It was.
I practiced for hours at home, trying to get the motions to the cheers right. This action and this word and do this with your feet and clap. I am the most uncoordinated person ever, and this required a lot of that. Ooops
I think I called in sick the night we had to perform that one....either that or I've blocked it out because I can't stand to recall such horrible nightmares.
I don't understand running. Why? It sucks. Why would you run on purpose? I only run if someone is after me (but get real he's gonna catch me) or if I have to go to the bathroom really bad. Otherwise...I don't understand the notion. Marathons? Those people have to have something wrong with them...sane people don't do that do they?
I will never understand people who love sports...but then again they will never understand me...but I'd rather have a brain and excel in academics than at being able to throw a ball into a hoop...but that's just me.
God didn't see it fit to give me any coordination, speed, agility, or that ability to hit the softball with a bat. None. Didn't get any of that. To this day, I don't believe I have ever hit a softball with a bat. I couldn't even hit a tee ball on a tee (I am NOT lying). Even if by some miracle (divine intervention would be needed) I would hit the ball, I'd never make it safely to 1st base. I am slower than Yertle the Turtle. Any race - I'm the one lagging a few laps behind, the one everyone feels sorry for...ohhh look at her, at least she's still -- well, no...she's down....oh how sad...get her some water....
In PE (the worst class ever) when we were told to run laps, I'd just run until everyone else was done. So if everybody else ran their allotted 10, I probably did about 6. When they stopped, so did I. Otherwise we'd be there till next week and I'd be the only out there. My high school PE teacher hated me, I'm sure. He'd yell at me to run faster and I'd say, "you cant make me run." I didn't either, it was more of a fast walking jog.
PE - pretty much hell on earth. For a kid like me, before I was able to reconcile my condition with who I was as a person and realize my talents lay far far FAR away from a gym, it was very emotionally hard for me. By high school I didn't give a rip, but before that, being the last one picked is hard enough, but for me it was "we HAVE to have HER again...we had HER last time, you guys take her, no you, no you...." they would fight over who was STUCK with me. No lie.
I would like to take aside the guy who invented volleyball and explain to him just how terrible he made my PE classes. Because of his little invention, I suffered many hours of volleyball hell...I was the girl who just prayed not to get hit by that stupid ball. There is no way I was ever going to hit that torture device with my arms. At that time I tipped the scales at like 90 pounds, so my twigs that passed for arms were very tiny and very weak. If by some divine intervention (again) I might actually get the despised ball to hit my wrist where you are supposed to meet with the ball, I NEVER could wack that thing hard enough to get it to actually go anywhere....wack...immediately drop to the floor with thud. That was only like the 3 times in my life my wrist would actually come in contact with said ball, usually that ball was no where NEAR my wrist. I was just relieved it didn't wack me in the head. Again.
Lets see, basketball was a joke. I would be stuck on a team, and nobody would ever throw the ball to me (like I could catch it...lol) so I would stand there looking like a doofus with nothing to do. Nobody worried about guarding me either. Never had to worry about me making any points. My PE teacher would yell at me to get moving...umm...where? If that divine intervention would ever show up and I would actually get the ball in my hands - forget about getting it into the hoop. Yea right. I don't think I made my first basket until like college...no lie. You think I'm making these things up? Nope. That is how sad my affliction is...its real.
If we were to play dodge ball where the little foam balls are placed in the middle of the gym, everyone runs up to get them and you try to hit the other guys with a ball to get them out - I would walk up to the balls and wait for someone to get me out and sit down. I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a ball, no way was I ever going to get someone out, I was on my way out soon enough, so might as well get it over with and sit down. Again, my PE teacher would yell at me I had to try harder, and I'd say "I tried, they got me out fair and square." Take that one PE teacher!
You name the sport, I SUCKED at it. I was the worst player ever. Even if I would be trying my hardest, it is like even more embarrassing cause I still fell on my face. I was the worlds worst cheerleader (when there are only 5 girls who show up to try-outs you get in). I actually did try pretty hard in this area. Honestly I only did it cause two of my best friends were doing it and they talked me into it and I thought it would be cool to get thrown up in the air. It was.
I practiced for hours at home, trying to get the motions to the cheers right. This action and this word and do this with your feet and clap. I am the most uncoordinated person ever, and this required a lot of that. Ooops
I think I called in sick the night we had to perform that one....either that or I've blocked it out because I can't stand to recall such horrible nightmares.
I don't understand running. Why? It sucks. Why would you run on purpose? I only run if someone is after me (but get real he's gonna catch me) or if I have to go to the bathroom really bad. Otherwise...I don't understand the notion. Marathons? Those people have to have something wrong with them...sane people don't do that do they?
I will never understand people who love sports...but then again they will never understand me...but I'd rather have a brain and excel in academics than at being able to throw a ball into a hoop...but that's just me.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Pen to Paper
I'm a writer. I savor the feeling of a pen clutched in my hand, the nib scratching on paper, the feel of the pen in my fingers, imparting my words onto the paper. I love pens...the ink dribbling out onto the paper, putting the words that are tumbling out of my thoughts onto something permanent. You can't erase ink. Its forever.
I love paper. The feel of it, the smell of it (much better in a book with ink on it). I love the stark nakedness of a pure white sheet of paper in front of me...the promise it holds that I can fill it with whatever I choose. The possibilities of what I could put on that paper abound!
I have been forced to type, forced to jump onto the computer-run society train. It is much faster to type something, hit a button and send it quicker than lightening to the recipient. BUT - the prose loses some of its character, some of what makes it yours in the typing. I am doing the sendee a huge favor though, as I have such atrocious handwriting, they might not be able to read it is as well if I did hand write it. I feel like my thoughts are coming so fast I cannot write them all out as fast as I can think them...and I find I can also type faster than I can write.
I still have a love of the written word...the ink on the page...the words wet with authenticity. My curl of the c, my crossing of the t....it makes me feel good.
I also love books. Books have been my greatest pleasure for as long as I can recall. I can learn, escape, laugh, and cry in a book. A good book makes me happy, a GREAT book can catapult me into a state of pure ecstasy, lost a million miles away, living with the characters, loving them, hating them with an authenticity that makes me want to know more. When I am forced to turn that last page, put that book down and my journey has ended with that author, I am often a bit sad...and looking for a sequel!
In my hardest times, every one of them, I can remember escaping with a book. When life gets too hard to bear, to tough to think about one more minute...I can open a book and let my thoughts journey to a place where I don't have to think about myself, don't have to worry about my loved ones, or focus on the here and now. I can get lost somewhere else and I can get a break for a bit. This has saved my sanity more times than I can even count. A brief respite, a break to let my heart rest before it bursts open with the pain or ache.
I love the physical feel of a book. I want that book in my hands...the feel of the cover, the pages. I want to put my nose in the pages and smell that inky smell. The best ones are the old books with the really old musty papery inky smell...love that!! I want to turn each page, I want to savor the words as my eyes rove the pages, drinking in the wonderful story that I have become entrenched in. Nothing can replace that physicality of a book in my hands. I will never bow to the ever popular Nook, or Kindle. Whatever the newest craze of electronic book may be. I can't see myself holding yet another electronic device and reading from yet another screen and scrolling through the pages. I dearly love libraries and I pray they will remain for a long time to come. Books are more than just words - books are pages bonded together, ink applied to the page, magic coming alive through the beauty of words....such a joy!!!!
Someday I will have my own book. The cover will read "By Kathryn Ann Klatt Riehle....." and it will have all of MY words in it....my thoughts, my ideas. I hope others can derive some escape through my words someday...and I can give back some of that joy....
I love paper. The feel of it, the smell of it (much better in a book with ink on it). I love the stark nakedness of a pure white sheet of paper in front of me...the promise it holds that I can fill it with whatever I choose. The possibilities of what I could put on that paper abound!
I have been forced to type, forced to jump onto the computer-run society train. It is much faster to type something, hit a button and send it quicker than lightening to the recipient. BUT - the prose loses some of its character, some of what makes it yours in the typing. I am doing the sendee a huge favor though, as I have such atrocious handwriting, they might not be able to read it is as well if I did hand write it. I feel like my thoughts are coming so fast I cannot write them all out as fast as I can think them...and I find I can also type faster than I can write.
I still have a love of the written word...the ink on the page...the words wet with authenticity. My curl of the c, my crossing of the t....it makes me feel good.
I also love books. Books have been my greatest pleasure for as long as I can recall. I can learn, escape, laugh, and cry in a book. A good book makes me happy, a GREAT book can catapult me into a state of pure ecstasy, lost a million miles away, living with the characters, loving them, hating them with an authenticity that makes me want to know more. When I am forced to turn that last page, put that book down and my journey has ended with that author, I am often a bit sad...and looking for a sequel!
In my hardest times, every one of them, I can remember escaping with a book. When life gets too hard to bear, to tough to think about one more minute...I can open a book and let my thoughts journey to a place where I don't have to think about myself, don't have to worry about my loved ones, or focus on the here and now. I can get lost somewhere else and I can get a break for a bit. This has saved my sanity more times than I can even count. A brief respite, a break to let my heart rest before it bursts open with the pain or ache.
I love the physical feel of a book. I want that book in my hands...the feel of the cover, the pages. I want to put my nose in the pages and smell that inky smell. The best ones are the old books with the really old musty papery inky smell...love that!! I want to turn each page, I want to savor the words as my eyes rove the pages, drinking in the wonderful story that I have become entrenched in. Nothing can replace that physicality of a book in my hands. I will never bow to the ever popular Nook, or Kindle. Whatever the newest craze of electronic book may be. I can't see myself holding yet another electronic device and reading from yet another screen and scrolling through the pages. I dearly love libraries and I pray they will remain for a long time to come. Books are more than just words - books are pages bonded together, ink applied to the page, magic coming alive through the beauty of words....such a joy!!!!
Someday I will have my own book. The cover will read "By Kathryn Ann Klatt Riehle....." and it will have all of MY words in it....my thoughts, my ideas. I hope others can derive some escape through my words someday...and I can give back some of that joy....
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Puppy Love
There is not much in the world that is cuter than a basket of little puppies snuggled up with each other. My heart melts at such things....their tiny little bodies all rolly polly and twisted up with each other...their precious little paws curled up and tiny eyelids squeezed shut. I just want to snuggle up with them, their warmth and their love enveloping me and my tired soul.
One rough little tongue on my cheek, a whiff of puppy breath....and I'm smiling. I'm warm and gooshy inside. Soft fuzzy puppy fur on my face, tiny little paws on my arm...little whimpers of love. Those big brown eyes, softly gazing up into my own....full of trust. Full of pure, unmarred, perfect love.
Soft round pudgy body splayed out on my chest...tiny heart beating against mine. Puppy dreams frolicking in her little head, her paws twitching. Heaven...pure joy.
One rough little tongue on my cheek, a whiff of puppy breath....and I'm smiling. I'm warm and gooshy inside. Soft fuzzy puppy fur on my face, tiny little paws on my arm...little whimpers of love. Those big brown eyes, softly gazing up into my own....full of trust. Full of pure, unmarred, perfect love.
Soft round pudgy body splayed out on my chest...tiny heart beating against mine. Puppy dreams frolicking in her little head, her paws twitching. Heaven...pure joy.
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