CLINTON, WALKER, BUSH, SANTORUM, RUBIO, HUCKABEE AND EVEN TRUMP! Why shouldn't BARNETT throw her hat (doesn't own one) into the ring, I ask? Hell, I fall in the same age range, I know as much if not more about politics than any of these bumpsters, and I can orate far better than any of them!
To be honest, I believe my motivations for such a high honor are less than honorable though! I want to be president so I can live in the White House, sleep in the bed where ultimate power sleeps, eat meals prepared by famous culinary geniuses, walk across the front lawn in my barefeet, and jet across the world to meet Heads of State, shake hands and accept luxurious gifts from them, and return home feeling completely satisfied with my day's efforts.
I want my hubby, children, and grandchildren to brag about me constantly. I want my neighbors green with envy, my friends friendlier than ever before, and my enemies wishing my hair would fall out!
I want to make life-changing decisions for millions of folks on a whim, and never give a second thought to the horrible consequences that follow. I want to tell people how much I care about their troubles and promise to correct everyone of them in a matter of months. And of course, I want all of these snooks to believe every word I say!
No matter how many 'mistakes' I make, I want the populace to forgive and forget, and revere me for my courage. I want to select people for government positions that will agree with me on every decision I make, and be willing to lie to protect my credibility should the situation ever go south.
When my exemplary service is over, I want monuments erected in my honor, and a library built containing every word I've uttered, and every sentence I've written. I want a lifetime pension, Secret Service protection by the most handsome of men, and the undying respect of every man, woman, and child on the planet.
You may think I should be ashamed of myself for not being more like the politicians I've mentioned at the top of my post, but I'm not. They may have lofty ambitions, promise to fight for the poor and downtrodden, and seek justice for all. They may be better qualified for the job. They may have years and years of experience in Washington.
I know I'm the underdog, but that won't stop me from becoming part of the political scene.And why should it? I can spin unbelievable tales with the best of them. I can tell you what you want to hear, and then do exactly the opposite. I can surround myself with like-minded yes-men and yes-women to further my self-serving agenda along. I do have what it takes to lead our Nation into utter chaos!
BARNETT FOR PRESIDENT 2016! I'm all in. Are you with me? I certainly would appreciate your vote, you dummies!
Monday, June 15, 2015
Monday, June 1, 2015
Listen To Your Body! It Knows You Better Than Anyone!
As I was coming in through the side door on Saturday, my right leg gave way, I fell to the floor and could not get up. After trying two or three times, I realized the leg couldn't and wouldn't hold my weight. Luckily my hubby was in the room, and helped me to the recliner. I was in a great deal of pain and had a hard time positioning myself to at least alleviate some of it. I asked Barry to fill a bag with ice, and get me a pillow to use as a prop. He broached the subject of going to the ER, but I flatly refused. "How about seeing an orthepedic?" he asked. Again my answer was a definite, "No!"
You see the same thing happened to me playing basketball during my freshman year in high school, only it was my left leg that failed me. It was 1959, and back then the doctor said it was a sprain, rest it for a few days and everything would return to normal. But after thr ee months, I was still dragging that leg around relying on my right one to do all the work. When I came home for summer vacation, my Baba took one look at me, grabbed her purse and insisted I follow her down the avenue. Although it took us some time, we finally made it to our destination. The name on the door said, 'Ann Hook, Chiropractor.' I'd never even seen the word, chiropractor' before, so I had no clue what I was in for. We had to walk up two flights of stairs, and believe me, that wasn't easy. The hallway was dark and silent. I started to feel a little uneasy, but I had complete faith in my grandmother.
Ann Hook, who was my Baba's friend and fellow church lady, opened the door to her office and immediately started a conversation. The two women talked about quilting, recipes, and church functions. Without so much as a greeting, the chiropractor instructed me to lay down on a skinny cot located against the wall. I did as I was told, assuming she'd examine my leg to see what was what. However, Mrs. Hook simply went to the end of the bed, and while still chatting with Baba, she took my left foot in hand and roughly jerked it sideways. For an instant, I felt a surging pain, then nothing. I was then told to stand up, and when I did, I was totally shocked. My left leg was straight! I could bend it, and amazingly I could walk normally without pain. I still had no idea what a 'chiropractor' did, but believed their services were nothing less than miraculous. When Baba asked what was owed, Ann Hook waved her hand which indicated she expected nothing in the way of compensation, hugged my grandmother, and promised to be at the next quilting session. We left her office, walked back up the avenue and returned home in a lot less time than it had taken for us to get there.
Over the years, that knee 'went out' often, but a quick visit to Mrs. Hook's office and all was made well again. In time I could manipulate it back into place myself. It's been many years since it has given me any trouble at all.
I immediately recognized what had happened to me on Saturday. A week prior I'd been doing work outside and had constantly placed my right leg in an awkward position when transplanting bushes. I believe I dislocated my knee because I experienced discomfort and trouble walking after the job was completed. I hobbled around for the next few days, then as I stepped into the doorway, the knee of its own volition, shifted back into place causing excruciating pain and rendering me helpless. Because I didn't enlist the skilled talents of a chiropractor, the joint did the best it could under the circumstances.
I have been icing the right knee down, keeping it supported with an ace bandage, using a walker to get around, and believe I'll be ready to go it alone very soon. Funny how your past provides you with certain knowledge and wisdom that stays in your mind for a lifetime. Without realizing it, you can bring whatever you need to the fore when the occasion presents itself.
I have been in tune with my body ever since my first chiropractic visit. I don't usually rely on physicians to tell me what is physically wrong, my body does that for me. By listening to it, I understand its message, and act accordingly.
Don't get me wrong, there are times when seeing a doctor is imperative to your well-being. But I've found that most of the time, if you become quiet, your body will reveal the problem, and offer advice on how to return to good health.
Listen to your body, it's been with you from the beginning and has stored up a treasurer chest of knowledge you can delve into to find answers to the healing you seek.
Ann Hook, who was my Baba's friend and fellow church lady, opened the door to her office and immediately started a conversation. The two women talked about quilting, recipes, and church functions. Without so much as a greeting, the chiropractor instructed me to lay down on a skinny cot located against the wall. I did as I was told, assuming she'd examine my leg to see what was what. However, Mrs. Hook simply went to the end of the bed, and while still chatting with Baba, she took my left foot in hand and roughly jerked it sideways. For an instant, I felt a surging pain, then nothing. I was then told to stand up, and when I did, I was totally shocked. My left leg was straight! I could bend it, and amazingly I could walk normally without pain. I still had no idea what a 'chiropractor' did, but believed their services were nothing less than miraculous. When Baba asked what was owed, Ann Hook waved her hand which indicated she expected nothing in the way of compensation, hugged my grandmother, and promised to be at the next quilting session. We left her office, walked back up the avenue and returned home in a lot less time than it had taken for us to get there.
Over the years, that knee 'went out' often, but a quick visit to Mrs. Hook's office and all was made well again. In time I could manipulate it back into place myself. It's been many years since it has given me any trouble at all.
I immediately recognized what had happened to me on Saturday. A week prior I'd been doing work outside and had constantly placed my right leg in an awkward position when transplanting bushes. I believe I dislocated my knee because I experienced discomfort and trouble walking after the job was completed. I hobbled around for the next few days, then as I stepped into the doorway, the knee of its own volition, shifted back into place causing excruciating pain and rendering me helpless. Because I didn't enlist the skilled talents of a chiropractor, the joint did the best it could under the circumstances.
I have been icing the right knee down, keeping it supported with an ace bandage, using a walker to get around, and believe I'll be ready to go it alone very soon. Funny how your past provides you with certain knowledge and wisdom that stays in your mind for a lifetime. Without realizing it, you can bring whatever you need to the fore when the occasion presents itself.
I have been in tune with my body ever since my first chiropractic visit. I don't usually rely on physicians to tell me what is physically wrong, my body does that for me. By listening to it, I understand its message, and act accordingly.
Don't get me wrong, there are times when seeing a doctor is imperative to your well-being. But I've found that most of the time, if you become quiet, your body will reveal the problem, and offer advice on how to return to good health.
Listen to your body, it's been with you from the beginning and has stored up a treasurer chest of knowledge you can delve into to find answers to the healing you seek.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Being Free, What A Glorious Feeling!
On this Memorial Day in 2015, take a minute or two and contemplate the notion of being 'free.' Whenever I hear the word, I automatically image being on the wings of an eagle, soaring high above the earth. The air is so pure up here, the view is absolutely amazing so much so that it takes my breath away. While gliding from cloud to cloud, I think I hear the melodic voices of angels. There are million of spirits that have been released from their bodies passing by. Their weighless abandon is refreshing. I find myself wishing that I, too, could be set free from my bodily constraints.
Then returning home from my 'freedom flight,' my thoughts turn to the men and women who fought so valiantly for our country, and gave their lives to let 'freedom ring.' These folks were firm believers in that what they were doing mattered, not just for the resolution of the war-at-hand, but for the years and years of peace that would follow, allowing not only their families, but all families in the U.S. to live without threat or fear of retaliation. Their sacrifice made it possible for all of us to grow and prosper. Because they gave their lives, we continue to be free to get an education, secure a meaningful career, start a family, choose when to retire, and live in peace and harmony until our own spirts are set free.
About five years ago, the husband of a dear friend of mine died. Gene had served in Vietnam. Many of his wartime buddies attended his funeral. As we gathered at the burial place to say one last good-bye, the veterans stood in the back of the group, with heads lowered and tears in their eyes. After placing a rose on the coffin, my legs guided me to the line of service men. My heart was filled with such admiration for warriors I'd never met, yet felt bound to with unbreakable ties. As I thanked them for their unselfish heroics, each one looked at me but said nothing. No words were needed because their faces conveyed that no matter how much they suffered, they fought so that you and I could be free. The only thing I managed was to hug these brave souls and cry with them.
We owe our veterans of war everything, not just a yearly parade or a flag placed at their gravesites. To those who are still with us, they are entitled to the respect and admiration of a nation. They deserve the best medical care available, a comfortable place to call home, and a job worthy of their time and talent. To those who have passed, they are also entitled to our respect and admiration. They deserve to be interred in a place of honor, their families provided for, and their memory never forgotten.
We are free, able to soar, able to experience that which leaves us breathless, able to hear the voices of angels, able to look forward to the day our spirits will be set free.
What a glorious feeling, being free! Show your gratitude today and everyday to those who made our freedom possible.
Then returning home from my 'freedom flight,' my thoughts turn to the men and women who fought so valiantly for our country, and gave their lives to let 'freedom ring.' These folks were firm believers in that what they were doing mattered, not just for the resolution of the war-at-hand, but for the years and years of peace that would follow, allowing not only their families, but all families in the U.S. to live without threat or fear of retaliation. Their sacrifice made it possible for all of us to grow and prosper. Because they gave their lives, we continue to be free to get an education, secure a meaningful career, start a family, choose when to retire, and live in peace and harmony until our own spirts are set free.
About five years ago, the husband of a dear friend of mine died. Gene had served in Vietnam. Many of his wartime buddies attended his funeral. As we gathered at the burial place to say one last good-bye, the veterans stood in the back of the group, with heads lowered and tears in their eyes. After placing a rose on the coffin, my legs guided me to the line of service men. My heart was filled with such admiration for warriors I'd never met, yet felt bound to with unbreakable ties. As I thanked them for their unselfish heroics, each one looked at me but said nothing. No words were needed because their faces conveyed that no matter how much they suffered, they fought so that you and I could be free. The only thing I managed was to hug these brave souls and cry with them.
We owe our veterans of war everything, not just a yearly parade or a flag placed at their gravesites. To those who are still with us, they are entitled to the respect and admiration of a nation. They deserve the best medical care available, a comfortable place to call home, and a job worthy of their time and talent. To those who have passed, they are also entitled to our respect and admiration. They deserve to be interred in a place of honor, their families provided for, and their memory never forgotten.
We are free, able to soar, able to experience that which leaves us breathless, able to hear the voices of angels, able to look forward to the day our spirits will be set free.
What a glorious feeling, being free! Show your gratitude today and everyday to those who made our freedom possible.
Monday, May 18, 2015
With Plants and Newborns, There Are No Guarantees!
The planting season is in full swing, and I've definitely hitched my wagon to it again. The three hostas my sister-in-law gave me are now enjoying the rick soil under the plum tree. The petunias, geraniums, and those spiky things are bordering the shrubs in front of the house. Since two of my heather bushes were severely damaged over the winter, they need to be replaced. I haven't decided whether to subplant them with dwarf hydrangeas or mimi shrubs. Most likely it will be the hydrangeas, but I could change my mind at the last minute.
The thing about planting is that although your heart is in the right place, you never know exactly what the outcome will be. Digging the hole twice the size of the base, filling it with water, adding nutritional soil, and making sure the plant is lowered to the specified mark should result in lush growth, an abundance of healthy greenery, and a cascade of beautiful flowers. Right?
Well, over the last forty years, my outcomes have been varied to say the least. Many times, after fulfilling all the requirements, I've been rewarded with lush growth, healthy greenery, and beautiful flowers. But, more than I care to admit, after having done everything that is outlined on the planting instructions card, my efforts have resulted in straggly growth, yellowish leaves, and a few deformed buds.
Why I ask myself that if I've followed procedures to the T each and every time, are the end results so uncertain? I know there are many factors that are out of my control. For instance, BUGS! One of my hydrangea bushes was absolutely gorgeous last spring, while the other's leaves began curling as soon as they appeared. By the time I noticed what was happening, most of the foliage had been destroyed. My husband decided spraying vinegar on it would revive its growth, but only served to add to the poor plant's health problems. In the end, flowers of pink adorned the first bush, while brown, brittle lifeless leaves withered on the second one and produced nada in the way of floral beauties.
Another deciding factor of how well plants do is the amount of water they receive on a weekly basis. Most instructions call for watering every other day. It is usually advised that application should be at the base of the plant rather than on its leaves. Whatever the specifics are, I'm on it. Yet when the plants fail to thrive, I'm told that either I watered too much, or too little. Sometimes you just can't win no matter what you do!
Success in raising plants is comparable to raising children. You can read all the books in the world, take care of yourself throughout your pregnancy, give birth in a fine facility at the hands of a well-qualified obstetrician, prepare a nursery fit for a king or queen, breast feed or bottle feed with the best available formula, and devise a schedule resulting in long naps and a full night's sleep.
You would think that with all that preparation, your baby would be a dream come true from the get-go. Well think again! Some infants will be exactly that, an absolute pleasure. But, for most of them, their nights will be days and their days will be nights. Feeding will be spotty at best since your baby will fall asleep at exactly the same time the nipple or bottle is presented. The moment you head for the nursery to place him or her in the crib, their eyes and mouth will pop open at the same time. You will repeat this process again and again hoping for a positive outcome, but nine times out of ten, you'll be disappointed. The schedule you've carefully devised may as well be burned at the stake since that's about all it's good for right now.
Will this unruly being ever become the healthy, flowering human you've planned for? In time you'll begin to see promising buds indicative of growth and development. Don't get me wrong though, there will be times when his or her strides will be short-lived, regressing to former negative behavior. Their adherence to schedule will be spotty. Showering them with all the hugs and kisses in the world might have little to no effect on them for a while.
But there is no need for despair. As months pass, as long as you've checked for bugs, and made sure your hubby didn't accidental fill the bottles with vinegar instead of formula, your new addition to the family will become the most beautiful rose in your garden. I promise!
The thing about planting is that although your heart is in the right place, you never know exactly what the outcome will be. Digging the hole twice the size of the base, filling it with water, adding nutritional soil, and making sure the plant is lowered to the specified mark should result in lush growth, an abundance of healthy greenery, and a cascade of beautiful flowers. Right?
Well, over the last forty years, my outcomes have been varied to say the least. Many times, after fulfilling all the requirements, I've been rewarded with lush growth, healthy greenery, and beautiful flowers. But, more than I care to admit, after having done everything that is outlined on the planting instructions card, my efforts have resulted in straggly growth, yellowish leaves, and a few deformed buds.
Why I ask myself that if I've followed procedures to the T each and every time, are the end results so uncertain? I know there are many factors that are out of my control. For instance, BUGS! One of my hydrangea bushes was absolutely gorgeous last spring, while the other's leaves began curling as soon as they appeared. By the time I noticed what was happening, most of the foliage had been destroyed. My husband decided spraying vinegar on it would revive its growth, but only served to add to the poor plant's health problems. In the end, flowers of pink adorned the first bush, while brown, brittle lifeless leaves withered on the second one and produced nada in the way of floral beauties.
Another deciding factor of how well plants do is the amount of water they receive on a weekly basis. Most instructions call for watering every other day. It is usually advised that application should be at the base of the plant rather than on its leaves. Whatever the specifics are, I'm on it. Yet when the plants fail to thrive, I'm told that either I watered too much, or too little. Sometimes you just can't win no matter what you do!
Success in raising plants is comparable to raising children. You can read all the books in the world, take care of yourself throughout your pregnancy, give birth in a fine facility at the hands of a well-qualified obstetrician, prepare a nursery fit for a king or queen, breast feed or bottle feed with the best available formula, and devise a schedule resulting in long naps and a full night's sleep.
You would think that with all that preparation, your baby would be a dream come true from the get-go. Well think again! Some infants will be exactly that, an absolute pleasure. But, for most of them, their nights will be days and their days will be nights. Feeding will be spotty at best since your baby will fall asleep at exactly the same time the nipple or bottle is presented. The moment you head for the nursery to place him or her in the crib, their eyes and mouth will pop open at the same time. You will repeat this process again and again hoping for a positive outcome, but nine times out of ten, you'll be disappointed. The schedule you've carefully devised may as well be burned at the stake since that's about all it's good for right now.
Will this unruly being ever become the healthy, flowering human you've planned for? In time you'll begin to see promising buds indicative of growth and development. Don't get me wrong though, there will be times when his or her strides will be short-lived, regressing to former negative behavior. Their adherence to schedule will be spotty. Showering them with all the hugs and kisses in the world might have little to no effect on them for a while.
But there is no need for despair. As months pass, as long as you've checked for bugs, and made sure your hubby didn't accidental fill the bottles with vinegar instead of formula, your new addition to the family will become the most beautiful rose in your garden. I promise!
Monday, May 11, 2015
Dreams Really Do Come True!
In 1954 when I was ten years old, I asked my mother if I could play the trumpet. Mom let out a resounding 'no' because back then 'girls didn't play the trumpet' according to her. But I loved the sounds of the brass horn, and the way I felt when hearing its strong, piercing, pleading voice. In the end, I chose the accordion, but dropped it after a year. The 'squeeze box' was no match for the trumpet as far as I was concerned.
My one and only granddaughter, Brenna, is a third grader at a private school in Cleveland, Ohio. In fourth grade, every student is required to choose an instrument and play it for two years. Afterwards they can elect to pick another one, join the choir, or opt out of the music program altogether. About a month ago, Brenna called to say she'd made her choice for next year, it was the trumpet. And when she begins her lessons, she'll be ten! Funny how what goes around comes around, wouldn't you say?
Yesterday was Mother's Day. Since I was visiting two of my children and their families in the South last week, I was gifted with dinner, flowers, and great company early. So naturally I wasn't expecting much on the actual day, but boy was I surprised! Hubby and I went to eleven o'clock Mass, sat in our usual back seat and visited with the folks that have also claimed the back seat as their own, and awaited the beginning of the service. As the priest and servers paraded down the aisle, the amazing sound of trumpets filled the church. Two teenage girls proudly stood to the side of the altar, calling all in attendance to celebrate the Eucharist. My heart leapt for joy realizing that girls do play the trumpet, and eloquently I might add.
The sisters (I found out) accompanied the choir in every song throughout the service, and just when I didn't think things could get any better, it did! Towards the end of Mass as we sat in meditation, one of the girls stepped to the front and again raised the brass horn to her lips. The entire congregation was mesmerized as 'Ave Maria' floated over, around, and through us. I'd never heard my favorite religious song done on my favorite musical instrument before. It was a magical moment for me, one I will never forget for so many reasons. As tears filled my eyes, I returned to the day I'd pleaded with my mother for a chance to play the trumpet and whispered, 'yes, mom, girls do play the trumpet!' It wasn't that I wanted to be right, because in those days a girl playing a brass instrument was rare, but I was celebrating the fact that we'd come such a long way since then. Having these two teens masterfully sounding the trumpet gave testament to the power of change no matter how many years go by before that change happens.
Perhaps this experience can be trumped, pun intended, when my one and only granddaughter, Brenna, will be standing tall in front of the altar, playing Ave Maria on the trumpet with her Grammy in the back seat beaming with pride and knowing sometimes it takes a while, but dreams really do come true!
My one and only granddaughter, Brenna, is a third grader at a private school in Cleveland, Ohio. In fourth grade, every student is required to choose an instrument and play it for two years. Afterwards they can elect to pick another one, join the choir, or opt out of the music program altogether. About a month ago, Brenna called to say she'd made her choice for next year, it was the trumpet. And when she begins her lessons, she'll be ten! Funny how what goes around comes around, wouldn't you say?
Yesterday was Mother's Day. Since I was visiting two of my children and their families in the South last week, I was gifted with dinner, flowers, and great company early. So naturally I wasn't expecting much on the actual day, but boy was I surprised! Hubby and I went to eleven o'clock Mass, sat in our usual back seat and visited with the folks that have also claimed the back seat as their own, and awaited the beginning of the service. As the priest and servers paraded down the aisle, the amazing sound of trumpets filled the church. Two teenage girls proudly stood to the side of the altar, calling all in attendance to celebrate the Eucharist. My heart leapt for joy realizing that girls do play the trumpet, and eloquently I might add.
The sisters (I found out) accompanied the choir in every song throughout the service, and just when I didn't think things could get any better, it did! Towards the end of Mass as we sat in meditation, one of the girls stepped to the front and again raised the brass horn to her lips. The entire congregation was mesmerized as 'Ave Maria' floated over, around, and through us. I'd never heard my favorite religious song done on my favorite musical instrument before. It was a magical moment for me, one I will never forget for so many reasons. As tears filled my eyes, I returned to the day I'd pleaded with my mother for a chance to play the trumpet and whispered, 'yes, mom, girls do play the trumpet!' It wasn't that I wanted to be right, because in those days a girl playing a brass instrument was rare, but I was celebrating the fact that we'd come such a long way since then. Having these two teens masterfully sounding the trumpet gave testament to the power of change no matter how many years go by before that change happens.
Perhaps this experience can be trumped, pun intended, when my one and only granddaughter, Brenna, will be standing tall in front of the altar, playing Ave Maria on the trumpet with her Grammy in the back seat beaming with pride and knowing sometimes it takes a while, but dreams really do come true!
Monday, April 27, 2015
PURPOSE AND POSITIVE ATTITUDE
Reading the local newspaper every morning of my adult life has had its benefits. I've scanned countless articles about keeping fit, both physically and mentally. I've seen a gazillion ads on weight loss. I understand a lot of people have been cured of devastating illnesses by simply using laughter as a daily medicine.
At my age, fitness and weight loss are not easily attained, and, if by the grace of God they are, maintaining these milestones are next to impossible. I try my best, but when a person's knees won't cooperate, and her desire for ice cream has never abated since childhood, reaching certain goals most-likely won't ever happen now.
But because I have a glorious, and oftentimes weird sense of humor, my chances of warding off life-threatening illnessses are pretty good. My ability to see the 'funny side' in even the worst of conditions helps my body and mind tremendously. By choosing to not take everything so seriously, myself included, the weight of the world is less burdensome.
Today I read a study done in Sweden and Finland regarding positive attitude in the elderly. It showed that people over 85 who remained busy and had purpose in their lives lived more than five years longer than their sedintary, sour counterparts. Hey, at this point I'll do whatever is necessary for extra minutes on this wonderul earth!
Positive attitude is a choice! We all have aches and pains, we all experience devastation and loss. We all could very easily give in to the woes of the world and surrender. But choosing to be positive amid the many negatives we face every day, gives us the opportunity one more time to celebrate the little things we usually take for granted.
I find waking up every morning a huge accomplishment at age 70. What's even more astounding is that I can walk down the steps, take my dog out, fetch the paper (I do the fetching), brew the coffee, and then settle down for an hour of quiet alone time.
Since I started my writing career only 3 years ago, I'm busier than ever before. In the beginning, on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, from nine o'clock until about noon, I pounded away on my computer keyboard, formulating hilarious tales for my seven grandchildren. Once I completed a book for each of them, I turned my cites to writing chapter books for tweens and teens. These stories are based upon growing up in the Fifties, and depict actual events in the lives of me and my brother, Dan.
A host of family characters are included with my Baba's house being the center of our existence. Recalling those times and typing them out for others to appreciate is such a rewarding experience.
I'm always eager to get started, and can easily spend six to eight hours at it before needing a break.
Talk about having a purpose! You betcha!
Along with my writing, I look forward to visiting my children and their families, two in the Carolinas, and one in Ohio. What gives me great pleasure is that they are very happy to see, hubby, me and our twelve year old dog, Shadow, and welcome us with open arms. We are always on the go when visiting, so much so that busy doesn't even begin to describe it. Going to parks, ballgames, hockey rinks, swimming pools, festivals, and church are only a few of the activities lined up when we're with them. They never take into account that we're older now, and simply expect our participation. And because the see us as capable, functioning people, we act accordingly.
Purpose and positive attitude, yep, the last time I looked, I've got a ton of both of them. If that study has any validity at all, I'm sure to make 100!
Monday, April 20, 2015
Oklahoma City Bombing
I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing on April 19, 1995,when I heard about the horrific devastation in Oklahoma. I was in my office talking on the phone when one of my staff informed me that a building out West had exploded in which a daycare was housed. Facts were scarce, but it was believed that a number of children had died in the blast.
As director of a bustling preschool twenty minutes outside of Pittsburgh, the news was extremely personal. After saying a prayer for those who had perished, all I could think of was what if such a catastrophe ever happened here? If I were to be spared, what immediate actions would I undertake to save as many lives as I could? Where would I start?
My first inclination would be to dial 911, but what if the lines were inoperable? I know getting the children and staff out would be my top priority, but since I'd never devised an evacuation plan other than posting an escape route in each classroom, would that be possible?
Hearing the screams and crys of the little ones entrusted to my care would be unbearable, yet I would need to provide my charges with a soothing environment, and assurance that everything would be all right. How would I accomplish this objective and sincerely mean it?
Having required everybody employed at the school to have CPR training, would we as a group jump into action, utilizing our skills on whomever was in distress? Would we remember the techniques? Would we have the courage to even initiate them if we did indeed remember them?
And what about the severely injured? Would we have the know-how to deal with uncontrollable bleeding, head truama, limb amputation, and crushed organs? Unless there were medical professionals available, my answer would be a definite 'no.' We would do what common sense would dictate, but unfortunately our efforts would result in few positive outcomes.
Thankfully during my tenure, nothing like the Oklahoma tragedy ever happened at our beloved preschool. Our children and staff enjoyed a safe, happy environment where learning to share and a few scraped knees were the only emergencies we faced on a daily basis.
After the inexplicable actions of Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols on that sorrowful day, my view of a preschool director's responsibilities drastically changed. If it could happen in Oklahoma, it could happen anywhere. I no longer walked through our facility with the same care-free spirit I'd had before April 19th. Over the next five years, there always lurked a nagging fear in the back of my mind, that things weren't exactly as they appeared. Previously I had embraced a false sense of security, but now I knew better. We are only as safe as the people that come into our lives are morally grounded and mentally sane.
Yesterday I prayed for the victims and families impacted by the Oklahoma City bombing, and again realized that we are all potential targets of similar devastation. We can simply hope that we will be spared such pain throughout our lifetime, and be strong enough to live each day with happiness in our hearts and a zest for living that nobody can rob us of, even when they inflict the most hideous of brutalization.
As director of a bustling preschool twenty minutes outside of Pittsburgh, the news was extremely personal. After saying a prayer for those who had perished, all I could think of was what if such a catastrophe ever happened here? If I were to be spared, what immediate actions would I undertake to save as many lives as I could? Where would I start?
My first inclination would be to dial 911, but what if the lines were inoperable? I know getting the children and staff out would be my top priority, but since I'd never devised an evacuation plan other than posting an escape route in each classroom, would that be possible?
Hearing the screams and crys of the little ones entrusted to my care would be unbearable, yet I would need to provide my charges with a soothing environment, and assurance that everything would be all right. How would I accomplish this objective and sincerely mean it?
Having required everybody employed at the school to have CPR training, would we as a group jump into action, utilizing our skills on whomever was in distress? Would we remember the techniques? Would we have the courage to even initiate them if we did indeed remember them?
And what about the severely injured? Would we have the know-how to deal with uncontrollable bleeding, head truama, limb amputation, and crushed organs? Unless there were medical professionals available, my answer would be a definite 'no.' We would do what common sense would dictate, but unfortunately our efforts would result in few positive outcomes.
Thankfully during my tenure, nothing like the Oklahoma tragedy ever happened at our beloved preschool. Our children and staff enjoyed a safe, happy environment where learning to share and a few scraped knees were the only emergencies we faced on a daily basis.
After the inexplicable actions of Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols on that sorrowful day, my view of a preschool director's responsibilities drastically changed. If it could happen in Oklahoma, it could happen anywhere. I no longer walked through our facility with the same care-free spirit I'd had before April 19th. Over the next five years, there always lurked a nagging fear in the back of my mind, that things weren't exactly as they appeared. Previously I had embraced a false sense of security, but now I knew better. We are only as safe as the people that come into our lives are morally grounded and mentally sane.
Yesterday I prayed for the victims and families impacted by the Oklahoma City bombing, and again realized that we are all potential targets of similar devastation. We can simply hope that we will be spared such pain throughout our lifetime, and be strong enough to live each day with happiness in our hearts and a zest for living that nobody can rob us of, even when they inflict the most hideous of brutalization.
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