Relative Perspectives

OK, so the kitten’s name is now Gizmo - yes, he is named after a Gremlin.  And he is a terrorizing Gremlin but we couldn’t remember the name of the bad one.  From his perspectives, the name Gizmo works just as well as any other, relative to not having learned what a name is yet anyway. (Now there’s a sentence to drive the proof readers crazy.)

They say that writing is 10% putting pen to paper and 90% editing.  Ain’t it the truth!  The last article I wrote had about 35 revisions.  I have to thank everyone who helped with the finished product though.  With all your suggestions and ideas it is a much better article than when I first wrote it.  Franklin Covey would call that Synergy.  I call it amazing!

As far as homework goes, I’m keeping up.  Having two less credit hours than last semester is proving to be a little less stressful.  I’m still concerned about the lack of oxygen to my brain.   It’s the memory that suffers.  And of course it has to be the fault of the medicine - it can’t have anything to do with age.  : )

That’s about it for today - living with three cats and a chihuahua can be exhausting.

Peace

I’m going to quit letting Mishka go outside.  She must be spreading the news that the two women who live in the corner apartment are pushovers for cute cats.  Just put on a sad face, mew a weak little innocent “meeeeewwww” and voila!  - food and shelter for life.  (No James, it won’t work for students!)

You guessed it - we have yet another small furry friend in our home.  Bubba can’t figure out why the majority of us can’t bark.  Mishka is just new enough that she isn’t making any waves in case she’s the first one to get booted.  And Haddie isn’t speaking to anyone - how dare we let another fur-lined critter in the door.

For the time being, this one is called Toupe (pronounced Too-Pay).  He can’t be much more than 6 or 7 weeks old.  He is white with a gray-ish black top-notch that sits on the  back part of his head - thus the name.  We’re thinking he might belong to someone around here but, if he does,  why aren’t they taking good care of him?  From our perspectives, he isn’t old enough to leave out wandering the streets.  This hood is overrun with gangs of big tom cats and mean ferral mamas, not to mention the relative horrors that befall a kitten with no street smarts.

I don’t think I have ever seen this many forsaken animals before.  Is it a sign of the economy?  People can’t afford to feed them so they just let them loose and hope they can fend for themselves?  It seems a little cruel to me - but then again, there’s always people like us who don’t know how to say no to a critter in need.    Sigh .  .  .

This morning as I watched the steam rise from my nuked cup of yesterday’s coffee, I thought how nice it is that the steam warned me of the extreme temperature of the liquid within.  It very likely would burn my mouth.  Wouldn’t it be nice if sin would steam?

Imagine - every time you were about to succumb to temptation, steam would appear.  Professors would know that your dog did not eat your homework because the minute the lie left your lips, steam would rise from your head.  IRS would know the meal you deducted was not for business because of steam escaping from the envelope.  The person on the other end of the phone would know you weren’t really busy because steam would pour out of his phone.

I have a friend who says sin is like a big mud puddle to a kid all dressed up for church.  The child circles the puddle just for fun.  Pretty soon he wants to see just how close he can get to the water without touching it.  Then he wants to see how far in the water his shoes can go without letting water inside.  Next he wants to see if he can jump over it - or how close to the water on the other side he can get when jumping over it.  Closer and closer the puddle draws him in.  Just like sin.  Pretty soon he is all the way in it - and there’s no way to hide it.

Maybe if the mud puddle was steaming it would warn him to stay away?  Just wondering.

When I was a young wife and mother I kept a spotless home.  You could eat off my floor.  The military could do a white-glove sweep and I’d pass with flying colors.  That could have been our home on the front cover of “Better Homes and Gardens.” Today, my living space is more likely to attract the back cover of “Adequate Apartments and Weed Patches.”

I share an apartment with my daughter, Kathy, and fortunately for me, she likes to keep a nice neat house.  All of the furniture and accessories in the living room, dining room and her bedroom are hers - and they are very nice - and she keeps them that way.  Everything I brought with me for college fits in a bedroom and bathroom.  My room is not un-kept,  it’s just that making it beautiful is not my first priority.  At this time it is “House Practical”.  I have grandson art all over one wall, Bible maps and posters on another, a bulging bookshelf filling another wall and backpacks, coats and clothes hanging on various hooks in the closet and on the doors.

As for gardens, Kathy has the green thumb.  Our back patio is covered in tall climbing Kiwi plants, broad spreading rhubarb and feathery ferns and tall spindly grasses.  Kathy has known since she was young that I am not a farmer - I am a rancher.  She can grow all the plants and bushes she wants but she will have to weed them herself.  I’ll feed the animals, clean barns, dig ditches and build fences, but I most definitely am allergic to weed pulling.  : )

At the moment we don’t have any ranch animals - or barns - or fences, or land to dig ditches in, so I have a lot more time to devote to homework.  The Lord watches over us and provides all that we need.  I’m at the age where there are far more important things to do than worry about impressing someone with “house beautiful”  -   clean and tidy, and practical, will suffice for today.   Tomorrow will take care of itself.

My best friend and I are once again the same age.   She is a year older for an entire four months, which is only right because she is also smarter, prettier, thinner, wiser, funnier, more musical, energetic, clever, talented, patient, and a better listener, worker, gardener, singer - you know this could go on and on.  Just suffice it to say that we’ve known each other for over 57 years and it is only fitting that she gets to be older.  : )

My daughter Kathy made this a very special day: she got me my Harley Davidson, my Gypsy Vanner, took me to dinner for BBQ ribs and is just this very minute cutting a chocolate cake and spooning out Moose Tracks ice cream.

The whipped cream and cherry on top of my special-day Sundae included talking with my son and his family on the phone.  It just doesn’t get any better than this.  : )  Thank you to everyone!

Alas, the weekend is over and it’s back to school tomorrow.  This weekend’s perspectives are now only relative to sweet, SWEET memories.

God bless.

Remembering:  Something I used to do when I was young.

How is it I can sing an entire 1960’s hymn that I haven’t heard in 20 years, yet struggle to remember the one Scripture I memorized last night?

Experts say that everything is more easily remembered by the amount of personal emotion that is attached to it.  That stands to reason.  So what they are saying is that the reason I can sing that 1960’s tune so readily is because I sang it every Sunday in church during my raging teen-age emotional years.

If this is true, and since I am now at the age of experiencing frequent change-of-life power surges and exponential emotional upheaval, I should be able to put God’s Word to that 1960’s melody and memorize like crazy!

What a discovery.  If my new perspectives on memorization are correct, relative to the calculations of this new information,  I should have the entire New Testament memorized by the end of the semester.  Wish me luck!

Hope you all are well and happy.  God’s peace be with you.

I  L O V E  working on papers!  Digging through resource books, uncovering exciting new gems of information to write about.  This entire afternoon was just such a treasure hunt.  A two page paper is due next week - with ten sources-consulted required.  What an adventure!  My papers tend to go from Arial 12 pt font, to Arial 11 pt. font, and end at the minimum font accepted, 10 pt. font.  There is SO much information out there.  : )

When I’m engrossed in my paper writing, there is little else that catches my attention. Even the cats can’t distract me when they jump up on my computer keyboard for a pet.  Kathy is very considerate when I get involved in homework.  She is quiet and waits until I take a break to ask questions or inquire if I’m hungry or thirsty.  She also reminds me when I should probably get up and stretch for a minute or two.  Today she was extremely quiet.  The quiet actually disturbed me.

I glanced over my shoulder to see what she was up to - she was sewing.  Now in my world, sew is a four letter word, if you know what I mean.  Being in Sodom and Gomorrah would be more bearable on Judgment Day then my having to sew something.  Then I remembered what she said to me one day last semester.  She said “I’d rather walk on needles then have to write a research paper!”

So which one is the gift?  And which one is the curse?  Our perspectives are relative.  I truly respect that she likes to sew - and I’m truly grateful that I don’t have to!!  She promised not to ever ask me to sew something and I promised never to ask her to write something.  Isn’t it great how this works?  Curse or gift, sharing is nice.

Peace

It is so much fun getting to know teachers: learning their teaching styles and techniques, categorizing their humor scale (dry, witty, hysterical), and figuring out exactly what it is they want by way of homework and assignments.  I try to take introductions slowly.  Then I quietly throw out something wacky for consideration and wait for a reaction.  My perspectives on building a student/teacher relationship are relative to a teacher’s sense of humor.  I mean, even God has a sense of humor - right?  Just look at us!

Case in point: I can make a comment in one class and get dead-pan results from the teacher - then make the same comment in another class and be rewarded with laughter and camaraderie.   In fact, the teacher who is on the same wave length as I am adds comments to my comments expanding the conversation into exhilarating hysteria.  The waves ripple out to others who are feeling similar vibes and soon an entire group of  people are sharing and laughing.  What joy!

OK, so school is not just for laughing.  And some teachers just aren’t into external jubilation.  But isn’t it nice to be able to build teaching/learning relationships while laughing?  It may be important to admit that it’s probably a good thing that not everyone reaches the same level of tom-foolery.  Whatever the case, I certainly admire the teachers here and look forward to getting to know them, even the really serious ones.  They are the cream-of-the-crop and I am enjoying this learning experience - even if I can’t convince some of them to smile.

Our garbage truck comes by the apartment complex every Monday, so, this being Wednesday, the sound of a huge truck in the parking lot just jerked my study-plug right out of the socket.  There was a fire truck right outside my back door and  not 15 feet from my bedroom wall, billows of smoke poured out of the complex dumpster.

We have an idea as to who  may have set the fire.  A few weeks ago, we stopped an eight year-old boy from lighting his sack of garbage on fire before throwing it into the dumpster.    Now, I’m not usually one to come to a hasty conclusion, but the fire this afternoon is far too coincidental.  The public school system hasn’t started up yet and I’m sure this young boy has far too much spare time on his hands.

On the bright side, our dumpster doesn’t smell like garbage anymore.  It just smells like smoke.  Just the same, we would much rather the trash be burned somewhere else, far from our home.   I wonder if the fire department has some kind of program to help young, budding pyromaniacs curb their obsessions?  I might check on that tomorrow after school.

My first class this morning let out at 10:30 and my next class wasn’t due to start until 11:30.  Hey, I thought,  maybe I could just wait out the hour in the 11:30 class classroom.  I peeked in the door to find one of my favorite teachers standing  at the front, and about five students scattered around the room.

“Is this a class?”

” Yes!”

” Interesting - can I join you?”

“Yes!”

As is this fine professor’s modus operandi, we went out to sit in the shade at one of the school’s picnic tables and he graciously included me in this, the first of his classes.  It was more an introductory class - going through the syllabus, getting a feel for the uniqueness of the group.  I inquired about perhaps joining this fine band of students - and the teacher exhibited a willingness to discuss it.  It is very tempting, but, alas, my cup runneth over and I’ll be lucky to fulfill the obligations already on my plate.   Maybe next year.

The importance of organization and priority setting has been reaffirmed as syllabi and homework assignments are handed out.   (Yes, I did have to check with Webster on the plural form of syllabus, again.)

Lots of  warm and fuzzy feelings going around school all day today - friends reuniting from last semester.  All summer I worried about one special schoolmate who happens to be in the National Guard.  There was talk about deployment this summer.  Thank God she is here safe and sound, and back in classes.

It is hard to keep a rein on perspectives - relative to attending school for four years and to having that degree and setting off into the world to serve God wholeheartedly.  What is that saying?  Oh, bloom where you are planted.  OK - I have to remember that we’re here to gather tools.  God will give us the work.   I didn’t say that; Robert Browning did, and I agree with him.

Peace.  : )