Back to Nature, Ahhhhh...

Bill and the kids survived their day of tourist-mania and Grandpa Bud came to visit on Monday. Yesterday morning, I took two half-asleep grown children off to the dentist for cleanings and checkups. There are wisdom teeth extractions in both their futures, but Juli will wait until she marries Kerne and gets a dental plan, and Alex will find a dentist and oral surgeon when he returns to Seattle.

We played Settlers of Catan (a diabolically vindictive board game) in the morning, where we each won one game. The grudge match will be settled today.

We spent the afternoon on the far ridge, marvelling at the greenery, staying out of the poison ivy (which has sprung up with a vengence this week), taking pictures and hiking up steep slopes.

My city kids managed very well:

We saw no snakes, which pleased me. We also saw many new natural wonders:



And I got a chance to be with my favorite people in the whole world:

Tomorrow, we send Alex to Florida to pick up his ride on the nuclear sub with Jared Fuller, and Juli goes home to Seattle. I plan to take to my bed with a cold cloth on my head.

Tourism Run Amok

Today, Bill and the kids are going to the Tourist Mecca of Sevierville, Pigeon Forge & Gatlinburg--a twenty-plus mile stretch of eight-lane highway, cluttered with every possible establishment frantically designed to Hoover every speck of money out of tourista pockets. I've been. No thanks.

Just the sight of this kind of rampant landscape blight really depresses me. Is it the go-karts, parachute jumps, bungee-leapings, autopias, tramways, Mr. Bouncy-Bounces, roller-blade parks, hang-glidings? Is it the wall-to-wall dinner theatres, comedy clubs, teddy bear emporiums, pancake houses (We Can Seat 2000 of you Right Now!), Sharks of the Smokies, Ripley's Believe-It-or-Not, wax museums, acres of Christmas shops, wineries, breweries, fast food, slow food, drive-by lattes, snow cones, gelato, cotton candy, souvenir shops, shoe outlets, candy outlets, sporting goods outlets, dollar stores, wedding chapels, cabin rentals, time-shares, Country Music Extravaganzas, Dollywood? All I know is that this is not what I call a relaxing experience. I get heart flutters just thinking about going down there and seeing what humans have done to supposedly entertain themselves.

There are such places all over this country--Niagara Falls, Hwy 1 in Florida or Maine, the Black Hills in South Dakota (spewing out along the highway all the way to Mt. Rushmore). Orlando. I honestly think that this is the worst though, right here in East TN. Tourist Hell.

I don't begrudge them the experience or the trip. I think everyone who wants to see it should go. But I plan on curling up with a book and my dog, and having a relaxing day.

Daughter Juliana Engaged to be Married

Juli informs us that she and her long-time innamorata, Kerne Fahey, are to be married this year. Juli has tentatively decided on the Winter Solstice, December 21 for the wedding date.

As you can see, she looks quite happy about this!

She and Kerne have known each other since 2001, when they met in Annapolis, MD at St. John's College. They reside in Seattle, where the wedding will take place. Kerne has requested that they be married "someplace up high," so acrophobes are not invited, presumably.

Juli designed their rings and had them made by Bruce Boone, an artist who works in titanium. (http://www.booneti.com/) Her stone is a hexagonal, lab-created ruby with 91 facets, designed and cut by Precision Gems (http://www.precisiongem.com/). Kerne's ring is also made in brushed titanium, but without a stone. Here is her ring:

We are very excited for Juli & Kerne, and wish them continued happiness as they begin their stressful wedding-planning process! They both have very definite ideas of how they want things to be, and we look forward to sharing their special day with them, however loony or untraditional it sounds to us right now. This should be quite an experience for everyone!

Baby Ducks!

Bill discovered a mama wood duck with 5 baby ducklings on the pond yesterday!


We have concerns: We know there is a turtle lurking somewhere about, and wood ducks are notoriously shy and skittish. But the babies can't fly yet, so mama is stuck trying to protect them. We didn't want to disturb her, but had to get a picture.


This morning on our walk, we only saw this one loner duckling:

We heard a "plop" and then saw this guy. Maybe Mama is keeping them in the tree above the water? Maybe the turtle or other predator got all but one last night?

We will continue to look for them quietly and hope this one isn't an orphan. In any event, having this family here is wonderful!

What a torturous day!

First the good news: We found Juli at the airport without further mishap. We had a big family breakfast at Shoney's. We got to Chattanooga on time and found the storefront where the TWIC cards were being administered.


From there, things went seriously downhill. Yesterday was the second day this "center" was open, consequently, no one knew anything about doing their boondoggle government jobs with anything resembling efficiency or minimal competency. The appointments that everyone signed up for online were calibrated in Central Time--never mind that Chattanooga is really on EDT. Appointments that were slated for 15 minutes each were actually taking about 30 minutes to complete. No one knew who was coming or when. The staff of two was about 3 hours behind schedule. The "office" was a large, bare-floored room filled with multitudes of angry transportation workers sweating (no A/C) in rickety folding chairs, waiting. And waiting. We went to the mall for an hour. We went back to the TWIC office. We had a picnic on the median strip of grass. We went in the office and glared at the woman at the desk (I brought the dog inside too, just itching for her say something about that!) Bill was highly embarrassed, and I think, increasingly fearful that I was going to blow my stack at this very nice, but thoroughly incompetent woman. He got directions to a nearby park on the Tennessee River, and the kids, dog and I went there for a couple of hours. The kids read. Echo ate grass. I knitted a scarf. Bill was finally done with his business around 3 pm.

Then we started the long trek home, via Sweetwater and The Lost Sea caverns. We arrived just in time for the 4:30 tour. Bill babysat the dog in the shade, while Juli, Alex and I explored the caves. It was very fun, and deliciously cool underground. Our tour was small, just one other family of four, so we had plenty of time to poke into corners and ask all our questions. It was also very dark:

Then, back in the car for more driving, more driving. Bill was feeling perky again by the time we got to Sevierville, and wanted to stop for still MORE fun at the Smoky Mountain Knife Works. I put the big kabosh on that idea--by this time, it was 7 pm and they weren't open anyway! We finally got home to La Casa Redondo after 8--hot, tired and very, very hungry.

Some of us were more annoyed than others:

Juli made a huge salad, Alex made garlic bread, I cooked pasta, and we sat down to a family dinner at last around 9 pm. Ridiculous!

Echo did so much panting yesterday, it's amazing that she's breathing at all this morning.

I have half a mind to write my elected officials and tell them what their latest Homeland Security nonsense has wrought on this American family. Like they care...

Herod's Census

Well, we're off (once again!) to try and get our daughter at the Knoxville airport this morning.

Bill also has an appointment in Chattanooga this afternoon to apply for his new TWIC card, the "Transportation Worker's Identification Card," yet another document to prove who he is, pay for, and carry, along with his passport, Z-Card, and Merchant Mariner's license. This one has to be applied for and picked up (6-8 weeks later) in person, at a designated facility. Our choices were Huntington, WV, Nashville or Chattanooga. Homeland Security is all about the inconvenient, that's for sure. Bill likens it to traveling to Bethlehem for Herod's Census.

We decided to combine the trips today, since Knoxville is almost halfway to Chattanooga. So we're packing up dog and Alex too, and will make it a family trip, hopefully stopping at The Lost Sea (www.thelostsea.com) on the way home.

A full day ahead, and it's just started. (But maybe this time, we'll be able to collect our daughter).

Well, that was dumb!

Bill & I were up before dawn, and at the Knoxville Airport on time. When Juli didn't show, I called her:

Juli: "Good Morning!"
Me: "Hey, where are you, we're here to pick you up!"
Juli: "Uh, I'm at work."
Me: "Weren't you supposed to be on a plane this morning?"
Juli: "Don't think so--I'm getting on a plane tonight..."
Me: "Never mind, see ya tomorrow..."

I have no excuse. I was at the airport on the wrong day.

Boy, do I feel dumb.

Another FABULOUS day in East TN

I woke up this morning to another gorgeous sunlight-filled morning.

Ray and Elaine are headed north to Vermont today, after buying another investment house in Rogersville yesterday. It's been fun having their company, but Juli is due in tomorrow morning and the house is a little crowded as it is. Alex and I are going to Bean Station to pick up his laptop from Steve, the computer doctor.

I want to spend some time down at the pond, gathering more mulch from the piles the electric company left, and bring it up to the place by the house where I want to do more gardening.

So, another beautiful day to just putter and enjoy. Life is good.

Busy Day

I had a very busy day, but I can't say that I accomplished much.

I took a walk and fed the fish down at the pond. I checked to see if there was any mulch left from when the electric company trimmed trees 2 years ago. I washed the dog's muddy feet. I made cinnamon rolls for breakfast, hot dogs for the boys for lunch, had coffee with Shirley, Elaine and Ray, made a potato salad and chicken and brownies for dinner ahead of time so I wouldn't have to fuss tonight. Bill drove me to my doctor's appointment in Kingsport, and then we came home and I took a nap.

And before you know it, the sun was down and it's time to go to bed again.

Perhaps I will be able to be more productive tomorrow?

Seeking meaning in random events?

One of the questions I still ask myself is "why me?" A BC site I occasionally go to is Y-me.org, so I don't think I'm unique. When you're smacked upside your head with a cancer diagnosis, and make it through to the other side of treatment, you're left with a sense that at the very least, it all should mean something profound. What is the point of going through all of this if it doesn't have a positive outcome, a mind-changing perspective, or life-altering repercussions?

This is definitely human rationalization, not objective fact. No matter how this happened or why it happened to me, I'm left with the obvious outward changes and naturally want the mental universe to balance out. I contemplate what has changed inside, but am left feeling a bit hollow and superficial. Surely I must have gleaned some new insight, gained something significant to add to my character or world view?

Shouldn't I be kinder, gentler, more filled with humility, more seeking of grace? Shouldn't I be soldiering on with a renewed appreciation of optimism and gratitude? Shouldn't I be looking at life with renewed zest, and a passionate, energetic determination to commit to living the rest of my life with the volume turned all the way up? On one level, perhaps I am, but the response I'm noticing lately is the impulse to cover over the trauma with some emotional scar tissue and just try to go back to "normal," whatever that was. It is so easy, so tempting, to want to slip back into the amnesiac life of before: Trusting. Oblivious. Nothing bad can happen to me.

I think I desperately want this to have changed me in some significant way, because if it's just a random occurrence that I randomly survived, then it could just as easily happen again (when I'm back to my unconscious, non-vigilant self?), or worse, happen to someone else I care about. This line of thinking is intolerable right now. I'm just now moving beyond the physical pain and frustrating inabilities, and still trying to get a grip on the torque wrench that will adjust the mental attitudes to something I can live with from now on.

But if it just happened without reason or purpose, and I haven't learned anything new, then... what do I do now?

Aesthetic Sensibilities and Living With What Is

I was always fairly modest about my body, truthfully because I was just not very comfortable in my own form for a very long time. You'd never find me in a wet T-shirt competition or a bare-chested Mardi Gras video, even in my twenties when I looked really awesome and didn't know it. (Maybe that's a testament to my good sense rather than a poor body image?) The progress of years and gravity are rarely kind to any of us, but they give us perspective on how we didn't appreciate what we had when we had it. My bad body image was an illusion, I know that now. Do any of us see ourselves objectively? Or are we always too fat, too short, too top-heavy, too flawed in our own minds, comparing ourselves to some mental ideal that can never be attained?

I got better as I got older, and despite getting fatter and flabbier. The body didn't seem to matter so much, so long as it functioned efficiently, was strong enough to do what I wanted and didn't hurt too much when I got up in the morning. My husband seemed to like the way I looked, whether I was svelte or pudgy. My kids didn't care what I looked like. My girlfriends were all battling sags and pounds too. Looks don't last, even in the most ideal of us.

But because we are women, we still want to feel attractive, no matter what our shape, age or circumstance. It's a mild shock, inevitable but still sad, when you discover sometime in your forties that no one is checking you out anymore. As a middle-aged woman, you no longer appear on the radar of random men. As annoying as it was in your twenties, when the construction workers stop whistling in your forties, there's a twinge of visceral regret. That time is over.

Now, I'm relatively okay with my physical shell of fifty-five. I find I am relatively comfortable with who I am and how I look, even with the surgical horrors that were visited upon me last year. That is, as long as I don't have to be reflected in someone else's eyes. On one level I can take it, this scarred up version of me in the mirror. As long as I'm by myself (and I don't linger in front of that mirror). But add a subjective viewer to the picture, and I become shy and embarrassed about the way it looks. Almost as if I am to blame for the fact that I am so "damaged" now. Even as I try to rationalize that it doesn't look that bad.

On an objective scale, this is not even close to the female form in an artist's vision. This is not a picture of the aesthetic beauty of the human body. This is downright gruesome, if I'm telling a factual truth. But this is what I've got, and this is what was necessary, to save my life. Whatever mental-clenching I'm doing when I view this vessel, I have to remember to be grateful that I'm alive, and hopefully will be for years to come.

But there is also truth in realizing that we don't see objectively when we look at the people we love. Bill thinks his beard is "terribly gray," and he is "bald" on the top of his head. The fact is that after 25 years, he is just as attractive to me as he was in his twenties. I don't see "gray" or "bald" when I look at him--I see Bill, the man I love. The flaws are out of focus, dismissed in the light of love of the total package.

So why would it be so incomprehensible to me to think that when he looks at me, he sees me through a lens clouded with his own subjectivity? Not the scars or the outrages that surgeries have inflicted or the embarrassment I feel under his gaze. Just me. Alive.

It is scary to be this vulnerable, this unsure about my attractiveness to my husband. There is a temptation to become overly sensitive and project my own insecurities onto him, making him responsible for making me feel better about how I look on a constant basis. But I instinctively recoil from this--knowing him as I do, I think he would find this extremely annoying.

Better to become militantly defiant: This is how it is now, and everybody is just going to have to get over the boo-hoos about it. Especially me, since I seem to be the only one around here obsessing over it.

Father & Son Projects

In the hours that they are both awake at the same time, Bill and Alex are doing projects together. This just pleases me so much--I get to sit on the couch or at the computer, and listen and watch as they do all the work! My only responsibility is to make sure the meals and snacks keep coming, and not nag when one or the other (or both) fall asleep on the couch midday.

The big one was putting together the futon bed I purchased from Sportsman's Guide, in anticipation of having a whole house full of people this week.

The operation actually went pretty smoothly. They had the right number of parts, and there were no arguments, just an honest exchange of ideas. They worked out a division of labor that seemed to suit them both. A minimum of tools and no first aid were required, and now we have an extra bed!

























My handsome son now wears glasses. When I remarked that I thought they made him look great, he said he has noticed, all of a sudden, girls are checking him out. His friend Doug said, "No Alex, they've always been looking, you just couldn't see them looking at you until you got the glasses!"

Echo is happy to have Alex around again. Alex likes both dogs and cats, and the animals know it and gravitate toward him. They spend a fair amount of time just hanging out together on the couch.

Bill and I finished out the day with our own project--we fired up the wood chipper and made mulch for the garden bed he dug out for me yesterday. Tomorrow it is predicted to rain, so I will plant peas and beans and give them a good start!

Sleeping Alex and Snoring Thoughts

I'd like to post a pic of our son, Alex, but he is still sleeping! He spent most of yesterday on planes, and arrived in Knoxville around 4:30 pm, looking very tired. This was because he decided there was no point in going to sleep the night before, since he had to be on a 6 am flight to Houston. Ah, the energy and illogic of youth!

I remember the kind of thinking that leads to skipping sleep--how efficient life could be, if I could just stay up all night! Now, sleep is the best part of the day, something to really look forward to. Ten o'clock comes with enough yawning to populate an entire Serengeti plain of lazy daddy-lions. I sleep soundly and deeply until just before dawn, and get up with the sun. I also now sleep on my back, something I was never able to do before the chest surgeries, no matter how tired I was. Okay, once I slept on my back for about 3 hours after Juli was born, after 20 hours of labor. But that's the only time I ever remember being able to do that.

I wonder if I snore in this position? When Bill sleeps on his back, he sometimes makes enough noise to rattle the furniture in our shaky house. I usually have to punch him to make him roll over and stop the racket. We used to curl up like puppies in a pile. Now I imagine we look like side-by-side sarcophagi--my arms propped up by throw-pillows and hands folded over midriff, while Bill's arms are up behind his head, hands clasped behind his neck. If we're doing any snoring, at least there's no one awake to hear it.

My dad used to make so much noise while sleeping that our old dog, Loki, would greet the morning with reddened eyes and exhausted demeanor. It was pitiful--Dad literally kept the dog up all night with his sonorous snoring.

Now, typing away up in the loft, about 10 feet away from my sleeping son, it doesn't appear that anything interrupted his slumber last night or this morning. I think we can put the whole snoring issue to bed for now...

Happy Birthday Juliana!

A quarter of a century ago (!) today, our daughter Juliana made her appearance on this earth. After 18 hours of labor at home (yes dear, I suffered terribly, to bring you into this world!), the midwife packed us into my parents' car and we all went zooming to the ER. At first, the doc on call said to prep me for surgery (at which point a nurse waved some ammonia salts under Bill's nose so he wouldn't buckle), but then they decided to give me one more chance to push her posterior-positioned body out on my own. Dehydrated from a day of contractions and vomiting (no one ever told me that there was a possibility I would be throwing up all through labor, a little known and never-discussed side effect, thank you very much!), I was all pooped out. But with one last chance to avoid the dreaded C-section, we huffed and we puffed and we blew her out, just before midnight:

She grew into a lovely and engaging child:

Although, come to think of it, she didn't sleep much and was downright scary in her intellect. But we all survived and she has grown into a delightful young woman:


So, happiest of birthdays to you, dearest daughter. I'm glad we got to share your life for a little while.

Tax Due Day

When I was born back in the Pleistocene Era (1953), March 15, my birthday, was Tax Due Day. I wonder--did my parents file early or were they doing labor AND rushing around with last minute forms the day I was born?

Sometime in the early 1960s the whole system had become so cumbersome, they pushed it forward to April 15, to give employers more time to crank out the W-2s, the IRS workers more time to process the paper, and "the peoples" presumably more time to fuss and fret over the increasingly complex tax code.

Tax Freedom Day (the day the average person stops paying all their various government taxes and starts earning for himself) is April 23 this year, a three-day improvement over 2007.
http://www.taxfoundation.org/taxfreedomday/

I remember reading a socio-historical analysis about a decade ago about the changing attitudes Americans have had about the income tax. The author's thesis was that back during the Depression and World War II, paying taxes was something of a patriotic duty, a freely undertaken obligation towards our fellow citizens, a tithe to be proud of, rather than an odious chore or a rebellious rant against government excesses. (Of course, the total percentage burden of combined taxes was significantly less than it is today). We also forget that the general world-view back in the 1930s was that socialist principles would eventually triumph over capitalist principles, and we would all march together toward a glorious future of redistributed wealth and classless equality. Right. That worked out really well, didn't it?

I can't complain. (Well, I can and do, but what good does it do?) Our stunning medical expenses this year, coupled with the fact that Bill only worked 4 months in 2008, has made our tax-burden surprising small. I'm just pleased as punch that the darn things are done, and that Bill made it home in time to sign the papers so I can send them off today. And now I don't have to think about it for another 8 months. I'm happy.

The sun is shining, my husband is asleep (still!) in his own home at last, and our son arrives tomorrow for a two-week visit!

And the taxes are DONE! All good things to celebrate!

Back From the Future

Bill just called from Detroit. Having successfully navigated the time travel thing to the Eastern Daylight Zone, now all he has to do is finish transiting the distance from Michigan to Tennessee.

Yippee!

Oh where, oh where?

I made an attempt to understand the International Date Line this morning. Having not heard anything from Bill (is he on the plane, is he back on the boat, Where in the World is Carmen San Diego aka Bill Plemitscher?), I decided to try to figure out if he's presently on a plane yet.

He is 13 hours ahead of Tennessee, so he's actually in the future, wherever he is. If he's in the air, he is there tonight, traveling backwards in time, toward meeting me this afternoon. Am I the only one who is having a hard time with this?

I shot off an email to his company, asking if he was indeed relieved of duty yesterday (meaning: today), and if he is on the plane. We shall see if I get a response. They probably have no idea where he is either.

I saved a few chores to keep me busy today--vacuuming the stairs and the loft, and cleaning the bathroom sink. I bought myself a Swiffer Wet-Jet and did the kitchen and bathroom floors yesterday. Wow! What a great thing. I'll never mop again. Swoosh, and the floor is done! I should be on a commercial, I love this thing so much. Maybe I'll clean floors more often now.
Not likely, but we can hope.

The lettuce almost got zapped last night, due to my ditziness. I went to take Echo out for her last trip before bed, and luckily spotted four pots of lettuce shivering by the door. They looked grateful when I put them inside, saving them from this morning's frosty dawn. The good news is that this unseasonable freeze is temporary. We should be back up in the sunny seventies by the time Alex comes in on Wednesday.

In the meantime, where is my husband? The only thing I'm sure of is that he's somewhere ahead of me in the space-time continuum.

Just bug bites after all -- WHEW!

After 3 days of taking the antibiotics, I no longer have swollen lymph nodes in my neck. I'm now willing to bet that it was indeed a reaction to the bug bites, not a harbinger of Mr. Nasty-Cancer.

It took some self-discipline to avoid touching the darn things, worrying them like a stone in my pocket. I allowed myself one feel per day, in the morning. This morning, I can't feel them at all. All those panic-monger feelings can go home now--Move along, these are not the droids you're looking for.

It's downright COLD out there this morning! They weren't kidding about a radical temp change. The plants are inside now, the furnace is chugging away for the first time in days, and it's supposedly going down to 29 degrees tonight. Nothing to be done about that.

Bill sent a quick email saying that his relief is still not there, the rumor being that he was grounded by fog in South Carolina, not by AA. He'd better hurry up, because I've got taxes that Bill needs to sign. That, and I'd kind of like my husband home now please?

The coffee table is clean--but where's Bill?

I finally "hit bottom" on the coffee table project. It took 3 days and much procrastinating, but here it is:

I should have taken a picture of the "before," but it was just too daunting (also, highly embarrassing). Note the sandals underneath still need to find a home.

This old, scarred coffee table has a lot of memories. It was given to us by Jim and Neva Hahns, who grew tired of its massive size and heavy weight, just about the time we moved into a big empty house when Bill started college. It seats 12 small children around the perimeter at a birthday party, holds four months worth of household clutter (as I have just witnessed), and provides a handy place to prop your feet while watching TV. It's also great for standing on to change lightbulbs. It is the one thing my children will fight over when I die. Since they live 2000 miles away, I say whomever is willing to pay the freight charge for shipping it, wins. It's a beast, and we all love it, just because of where it has been with us.

Now that the table is cleared (and cleaned and oiled!), where's Bill? He called last night, all set for his flight tomorrow. But this morning's email brought disappointment: George, the officer who is set to relieve Bill, did not appear. (I suspect he had an American Airlines flight?). So now Bill is scheduled to take the same flight, but on Monday instead of tomorrow.

This gives me more time to putter, and procrastinate even further. In the meantime, we are expecting a return to winter--real freezing weather over the next two days. All the veggies I planted will have to be brought inside, and I worry about the fruit trees down by the pond:

(Clockwise from upper left): Pear, Apple, and Black Cherry blossoms, all getting ready to be killed by the coming frost. If I were more ambitious, I could probably find some plastic to throw over the pear and apple trees, but the cherry is almost 30 ft. high, and I don't feel up to getting on a ladder in any case. I'm going to have to invoke the weather-gods and plead for 33 degrees or higher, instead of the dreaded 32. I may get cherry jam and apple pie and wine-poached pears this summer--or not. I'm just going to have to trust Nature to do whatever it is going to do.

So today, I will wash floors and vacuum, and try to keep my giddiness at bay until I know that he is on a plane for sure. Then there's the daily dog-walking to keep me occupied:

And there's the grocery shopping, the gas-getting, the beer-chilling. I can probably drag out the coming-home preparations for one more day...

Weird Stuff that I'm only now finding out about...

For more than 6 months now, it's been all about me and my personal drama of breast cancer. The world however, has been marching on without me, and this morning I decided to go cruising the internet for weird stuff I might have missed. Is this a sign that I'm starting to re-enter the Land of Normal?

I offer the following:

1. The Dvorak Keyboard, (or Howdja Like to Learn to Type All Over Again?)

I once knew about the Dvorak Keyboard, but I forgot about it so completely that it's like I'm discovering this for the first time. Old mechanical typewriters used the QWERTY keyboard to prevent jam-ups of the keys. I learned to type on a giant Royal Manual in 7th grade, and I used my Smith Corona Classic 12 all through high school and college, and even through most of Bill's college, though in his senior year when I faced four simultaneous papers of his, waiting to be typed, I was seduced by an electronic typewriter that could run on a power cord or even batteries (about 12 D-cells, as I recall--not very economical). I was a very fast typist, even on a manual; I could really tangle those keys when I got on a roll.

But August Dvorak decided there had to be a faster and easier way than QWERTY, and in 1936, he invented the keyboard that bears his name. To find out more of its Right-Thing-at-the-Wrong-Time tortured history, and why the Dvorak is so much better for the computer age, read here: http://www.dvorak-keyboard.com/

This is the Dvorak layout--it looks very strange, doesn't it?

Strange or not, if you're a 50 wpm typist on a QWERTY, studies show you can become a 100 wpm keyboarder with Dvorak. That's 100% improvement, and all I'd have to do is reprogram my brain to ignore 40 years of training and relearn my typing skills! Wow, this could be as challenging (or more) as learning Spanish!

As an extra-added bonus, most high-end keyboards include a dual-function to accommodate both QWERTY & Dvorak layouts simultaneously:

And sitting on your desk, being all ergonomic, reducing the chance of repetitive stress injuries, and looking all high-tech is this:

I want one, in the worst way. I don't know why, but I want it right now! Just think of the possibilities for new skills, faster typing, and incredible frustration! Re-grooving my synapses could be just what I need right now. Please send me this immediately.

2. The No-Complaining Bracelet

You have probably heard of this, but like I said, I was busy last year. I missed this completely, probably because I was complaining about my sad state of affairs at the time.

http://www.columbiatribune.com/2007/Apr/20070429News008.asp

More than 5 MILLION of these things have been sent out free of charge and Rev. Bowen's book is just flying off the shelves. I've got to be impressed by the principle of "Gratitude Without the Attitude," since I really do believe in counting the blessings, rather than railing at the fates (though you'll notice I give both equal time, since complaining almost always makes better copy than waxing ecstatic). Okay, maybe not so equal time. I'm trying.

I was especially interested in the FAQ on the church's website, notably the section on "How Do I Know If I'm Complaining?" [insert a big "DUH" here]. Rev. Bowen's response:

To "Complain" is defined as "to express pain, grief, or discontent." Surely, it makes sense to express pain, grief or discontent occasionally but most people do so constantly. In so doing, they are talking and thinking about what they do not want in their life and, thereby, attracting more pain, grief and discontent. Instead, think and talk about what you are grateful for. Talk about what you DO want and not what you DON'T want.

Blogger Princess Peg summarizes for the rest of us:

To Complain IS:

• To be a big, fat baby whiner
• Causing others grief due to one's own self-centeredness
• "Discussing" others' faults - with distinct relish
• To express dismay and disillusionment at the complete dysfunction of the world around oneself

I'm pretty sure I don't want one of these bracelets (there's that silicone-"ick"-thing-around-the-wrist-action), but I admire the sentiment. Please do not send me one. I'll work on the attitude, I promise.

So there I have my plan of action for self-improvement. If I can learn to type Dvorak at 100 wpm and shut up already with the kvetching, I think I will be just about perfect.