Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Our club's founding president has suggested I be a renegade and change this year's closing motto to "Don't stop believing," the well known lyrics to the Journey song of the same name. When I found out the motto this year is "The future of Rotary is in your hands" I admit that I liked "Don't stop believing" better.
Don't stop believing is a better motto for our club. When I was a founding member some 12 or more years ago, I was fresh out of college and I thought it was a great thing to put on my resume. I never considered that a decade later I would return to the club and become President in a year and a half. But more importantly, I never considered the things this club would keep accomplishing – the maintaining of a diverse and loyal membership and some strong civic programs. We have in our membership real estate agents, farmers, bankers, government employees that represent the county to a variety of audiences in the fields of economic growth and convention and tourism, and several other membership fields. This diversity in such a modest sized club is very impressive. Just as impressive is our senior scholarship program and our own version of "No 3rd grader left behind" with our yearly dictionary drive. Plus we have a yearly food pantry drive and other drives to benefit deserving recipients. For over 12 years, the membership has kept believing in itself and the good that it can do in this community
Before this Rotary year began, I shared with the membership my dream for a successful year. It is my hope and goal for the membership to take seriously our individual commitments to the program and bring a wealth of speakers. I hope for a hands-on volunteer program. By necessity, I've had to add a fundraiser to my personal list, by membership agreement we are planning a membership drive this year, and by request of District we added a news letter. So far, I'm a home run on 2 out of 5 programs. And I'm thrilled with the success. This is the second newsletter of the year, and we have had some great programs.
Each of us has a belief in something. Perhaps a belief in a powerful and loving God, who can't really be seen or understood. Perhaps a belief in a loving spouse or partner who looks forward your coming home from work each night. Or perhaps it's a belief that if you keep trying and keep working, that the children will grow up strong and smart, the crops will grow, the bills will get paid and in general, everything will be just a little better than it was before.
I share that belief in my life in general, and in our Rotary club. We've got a strong foundation, and with a little work, the year will be even better.
Don't stop believing
Club Rotary President
Friday, July 17, 2009
The buffet has homemade chicken strips. And one pan of cobbler, so if you get there and the cobbler's out, you need to take a bowl right then. Don't wait. That cracks me up.
Have a good weekend!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed. Some days nobody dies at all.
Now and then, every once in a very long while, every day in a million days when the wind stands fair and the Doctor comes to call . . . everybody lives." ~ Song
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
And that's when it happened. My toes squished on the little throw down rug in the hallway, under that little silver rolling shelf. The area is set up for a washing machine, but I don't own one. So I've just got a little utility shelf there. The one I worked so hard on about a month back to clean up and throw away old stuff. Anyway, my toes aren't supposed to squish on the rug. So I knew something was wrong. Sigh.
I get to trying to figure it out. I pull the shelf out, I pat the walls and open the cabinets. There's no leak, none anywhere. And more odd, some of the stuff on the shelf is soaking wet, other stuff, mainly the top shelf, bone dry. It's just not making sense to me. I start taking things off the rolling shelf and my tool box, closed and latched, is FULL of water. Dingy brown water. And I still can't find any container of mine that has opened and leaked, and I can't find any leak in the wall or ceiling.
I've called the property management co. and gotten the answering service, and a minute later they call back with Chris. I happen to know Chris because he is that crazy D.J. that my old landlord let throw a lawn party the last year I was there. That landlord used him for maintenance work around there and he was a total cutie. Much more cute without his beard, but still cute. (He also has a great story about living in a haunted house on Central and having a roommate RUN out of the house, fall down on the lawn and NEVER go back in the house again. Chris had to move the guys stuff out for him.) So anyway, Chris calls back and about that moment, water comes POURING out of one of the washing machines pipes in the wall. Soapy, warm water. Lots of it. Lots and lots.
Chris says he is sending someone over, which annoys me to no end because. . . . well because I always thought he was hot and I want to look at him. I figure I'm missing dinner, I've got a washing machine's worth of water in my floor, ruined stuff, a dozen towels in the floor, and the least I could do is get a look at Chris.
(and in the mean time I've run upstairs and gotten them to turn their washer off. They seem like real nice folks).
So about a half hour later, there's this TOTAL HOTTIE coming out of the work van. Tall glass of water. Nice cheek bones, brown hair, Carrhart work pants (I go weak in the knees for Carrhart pants). Really, makes Chris look kind of like the plain brother in comparison.
Aside from looking good, which was rolling off him in waves, he really didn't do anything at all. He said they would come back today to auger out the pipes, the drain pipe must have gotten stopped up somewhere lower than where their pipe connects to mine (though MyFella said there SHOULD have been a cap to prevent backflow to me). He went upstairs to do what I already did, which was ask them not to run the washing machine. (I wanted to be annoyed at his lack of doing anything coupled with him actually doing what I've already done – but since that square jaw and brown hair was talking to me, I forgave him.)
So then I had some serious o.c.d. and cleanliness issues rolling through my head. My floor in that hallway was covered with someone else's dirty wash water. My possessions in the hallway were soaked. Including all my tools. So there was some serious time spent with Windex and the Wet Jet Swiffer last night wiping off the stuff that was salvageable. Throwing other stuff away. I tossed those towels onto the bushes outside, nothing else I could think of to do with them.
Then looking at all my tools floating in a bath of someone else's dirty water just about sent me over the edge. Plus I know water leads to rust. I was just unhappy. Dirty water rust on my tools (what's left since I think Joe from the old apartment "acquired" a bunch of them, but that's years ago now). So I get a bucket of hot soapy water, dip them all in it, dip them in rinse water, lay them out to dry on a towel on the coffee table, then sit down and spend an hour spraying them down with WD-40 and rubbing them good. I couldn't think of anything else to put on them because the only oil I have is cooking oil. So I'm putting WD-40 down on my pipe wrench, my hatchet, my hammers, my screw drivers, etc. The blade on the hatchet already discolored, so I was none too happy about it. The pipe wrench, turns out, was stiff enough that I think it was already trying to rust up before the water bath. So it got lots of WD-40 and I opened it up completely.
The tool boxes got a good washing and drying, and eventually laid all the freshly oiled tools back in them. This time with room to spare because some old junk that was in them I just threw away.
And after all of this, late at night, MyFella calls and I tell him what's going on. This morning I mention that I want to rub down the hatchet again but want to be careful with Jamie at the house this weekend, so I had closed up the tool boxes and put them under the coffee table. After all of this, you know what his main comment is?
"Why do you own a hatchet?"
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
I have slept in that bed many times. Over many years. I lived there for darned near 30 years. I have my own toothbrush and stick of deodorant there.
But somehow, I still get up and spend the day at work thinking, "I can't wait to get home tonight" like I've been somewhere on an overnight trip.
Makes no sense.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Ah, enough of the memory and longing for a time gone by. Here's the good part - Said by a friend I probably haven't seen in a decade or more, who happens to look HOT. Great butt, big package, flat tummy, firm chest. I wanted to love him and hate him at the same time. His FB photo's had implied he'd held on to his hottiness. But up close, he has. He's got some weird issue with his hair. But still, he's hot. (Yes, I know he's got a flat tummy and firm chest because in my consumate gayness, I managed to cop a feel during a hug. So there.)
His sister, too. Gorgeous, like always.
Back to the memories:
Way, way back in the day, I had a bestest pal around town, a girl pal. I can pin point the exact moment I met her. Well, I can recall how we met, she says she knows what day. But anyway, after about 10 years of hanging tight, she and I had a falling out.
I thought she would call. I thought she would show up for my college graduation. I thought I would hear from her any day. It was ten years later that I came home to my first apartment in Memphis, pushed the answering machine button*, and heard her voice say "Happy Birthday." I kid you not, I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor.
Anyway, since then, we've tried to talk and keep in touch. Sometimes we do so much as spend a weekend sending texts trying to figure out if we'll see each other, only to not see each other. Then two years ago she called and said, "I made you dance with me twenty years ago, I'm making you do it again" so I was her date to her high school reunion. Though we've talked since, we hadn't seen each other since.
Then her father died this week in a tragic accident. Sudden, unexpected vehicle accident.
I was torn over what to do, when to go home, how much to "be there" for her. I mean, I knew I would be there for the visitation and the funeral. And once there was a time I would have been by her side throughout. But that time was long since over. Long since.
There was a moment standing beside her last night when it felt like I could take my old place again. No one else was standing there. I would wipe away years with a blink of the eye.
Then the moment passed, and I knew so had our time. At least in that way, the way it was, or to sing the Karen Carpenter song, "the way we were." **
But, as funerals do, they bring together old faces and I've seen old friends. There's the comment "Why do people only do this at funerals?" I considered staying for the luncheon, I knew there wasn't anything going on at work. But I think somewhere deep inside, I just felt like the time had passed. I did what any good former best friend/pseudo boyfriend would do. I quietly went away.
She asked me to go to the family lunch at the church afterwards. I could have. It might have even been nice. But that's not what happened, not quite what felt. . . right?
Anyway, in spite of the circumstances, it was good to see old friends. And better to see one in particular who is gor-geous and a total hottie. It felt good when he said, "You look exactly the same" even though I know it's a lie.
It was good to remember "the way we were" even if it was only for a brief moment.