POLITICAL CORRECTNESS

Some of the terms that have been 'modified' over the years make sense. I love adding the 'handicapped' to whatever the disability is - I got accustomed to 'visitor' rather than 'tourist' in Hawaii (at Target, it's 'guest' rather than 'customer') - black rather than colored (although African-American is just a few too many syllables) - Native American instead of Indian (the drawback there is that Native Americans call themselves Indians, not Native Americans).

But why in the world are telephone poles no longer telephone but UTILITY poles. I think they've always carried electricity and wiring of all sorts of other things rather than exclusively telephone wire.

More importantly - WHO CARES? Is there an activist group on behalf of telephone phones? Have they been discriminated against by being called telephone poles? Do little telephone poles grow up with poor images because they are called telephone poles? Have there been studies that prove being called a telephone pole lowers your IQ by sixteen points, and stunts your growth (well, actually, that one might really matter)?

Tomorrow I am overseeing the chainsaw massacre - wait, that doesn't sound good - how about surveying the environmentally incorrect butchery... nope, can't do that either ... the carnage of a (now I'm on track) UTILITY pole - in fact, four of them.

I have acquired (doesn't that verb always sound ominous - you don't acquire toys or plastic duckies or french fries - you only acquire stolen rifles or illegal chemicals or rat poison) four poles, but they have to be cut down to at least 20 foot lengths to be transported (at least by the one guy I found who will do it).

So the other guy is someone who knows HOW to run an actual chainsaw, HAS one, and is willing to come down after work to CUT the poles for me. He is a nice, extremely quiet guy... who right now just happens to be going through a divorce...

Wait a minute, oh my gosh, I SHOULD be worried about this - I'm going to be the lead story on CNN tomorrow night! ARRRGGGHHH!

DIRTY JOBS

I love the show "Dirty Jobs". Part of it is, of course, that I think Mike Rowe is kinda hot (love that 'rugged' look) (and why is it that men look sexy with incredibly deep 'laugh-lines', and we females don't think that WE do?)

And since I have had more than my share of FILTHY DISGUSTING employment (and yes, being a mom is #1 on that list), somehow I receive great joy from seeing someone with a television crew (and probably a hair and make-up person) who is paid a respectable SALARY for shoveling muck or inseminating a dairy cow or crawling around sewer pipes.

Plus I am living such a CLEAN LIFE right now. I am not working a full-time job, so I can do incredible things like vacuum and get the trash out and clean the cat's box EVERY day, and it is AMAZING how much nicer that is to live in/with.

Well, it also helps that I only have one other part-time adult (loosely defined) living in this house - and FeBreze plugs in just about every outlet - and the two dogs are both indoor dogs....

Golly, I think my house should be CLEANER. I'm getting the Simple Green out right this minute.

WHY AM I BEING PUNISHED?

I was taught first by my dad's example. He was always willing to help people out of holes they had dug themselves into, even when they would turn right around again with their shovel and begin again. I have sheltered more than a few stray persons, and have always tried to volunteer to help without any ulterior motive in mind.

BUT WHY OH WHY MUST I ALSO GET CALLED ON TO TEACH LITTLE KIDS?!?!?!?

I am fine with adult classes (that way I just play moderator and let the class teach it), and teenagers (because they already know it all) and even kids at about... well, eight or nine years old.

But six-year olds - especially THREE BOYS - rough and tumble, hitting and pinching each other, and TWO them convinced that Star Wars light-sabers were the answer to every problem. And one, yes, I am biased, sweet little girl who ended up resorting to violence simply to defend herself from the boys.

I'm too old for this - next time I am going to find out IN ADVANCE what age I am being asked to teach, and if it's under ten, JUST SAY NO.

DREAMS THWARTED ONCE AGAIN

Isn't that a cool word, 'thwarted'? Sounds like a group of short people with a nose wart; or maybe a rare type of root found only on islands that begin with the letter "Q" on the third Thursday in March... after 11:00 a.m.

I somehow had the distant image in the back of my mind (I really need to clean back there; it's getting so I can't get through a thought without stumbling over memories or crushed packages of Herr's Potato Chips) of taking some striking but candid shots of my dog and cat sleeping. Since after 7 p.m., both of them crash on the floor right around my computer, ready to be tripped over by me, but I, of course like all mothers everything, think they are simply adorable. Tonight especially I wanted to share all this beauty and feline/canine camaraderie via the Internet/blog.

However, I have discovered that whatever Cannon software that was on my old computer is NOT on my new computer. After wandering to numerous website discussing downloading drivers (that's what I am when I get behind the wheel of my truck, right?) and purchasing programs... I'm almost frightened to read my email right now.

So imagine in your head a soft, slightly blurred photo of a German Shepherd/Border Collie curled up right next to an extremely long-haired tabby with white socks (I mean, white around his paws - we've tried real socks, and he hates them - and nylons just run every time). With perfect north-facing window lighting on that same third Thursday in March.

Sigh... aren't they just soo cute?

38 POINTS OVERALL

And I hate to disappoint all my fans, but I did
NOT sketch this - all credit needs to go to ....
er... I can't seem to find the site again. But someone
had posted sketches of Jim, Michael and Dwight -
and this one was priceless. Geesh, wish I DID
draw this well. I'll keep looking for the site so
I can give credit to whateverhisorhernameis.

A CHOKE ON CREATIVE CREATIONS

I realized today why I am struggling against my church calling. I have had to re-create the entire sacrament meeting bulletin from scratch due to the unexpected demise of my computer (please see the obituary in a previous post).

And it suddenly occurred to me (yes, I am a bit slow) that after struggling for months to get the correct, most readable format and layout (this after many nights arm-wrestling with Print Shop graphics... and losing... BADLY), now that I have it all set up - I'm kinda bored with it.

However, our congregation is not fond of varying styles every week. Since we have three wards that meet in one building, there is already enough 'wait, is this our bulletin or the other ward's?" I am not the only one who finds comfort in familiar surroundings, people, hymnals - and for many, the bulletin seems to be one of those well-known customs.

So as much as I would love to insert subtle jokes (Hymn 146: Gently Raise the Sacred Screams - Bro. Richardson, First Comforter - Closing Prayer by Ima Pig), I don't think it would be favorably received.

I am just going to have to satisfy my creative urges by changing background colors (although they will be copied into black & white), fonts (it is amazing how different letterings can communicate), and perhaps slight modifications of... do you think I could get away with subliminal messages like "EAT POPCORN FOR DINNER"?

We will just have to do a survery next week of what people have this Sunday for dinner, right?

ANGELS IN THE ARCHITECTURE

Reading back over my previous blogs, I have been struck (ouch! that hurt!) by the freedom with which the words flowed (flew?) from my fingertips. And since I am reading a book concerning ego's self-centered need to be noticed, be ahead, and always be in charge, I am wondering how much of this blog is my ego's selfish need for public expression, groping for external recognition to justify it's high sense of self-worth.

Yes, that must be it. My fumbling need for solid proof of my own self-identity and the proof and security that comes from reading the weekly statistics that show absolute verification that ...

Wait a minute. That report proves that my daughter occasionally looks at my rantings and ravings... but really not anyone else.

Hmm. Guess it's not ego then. I'm really just talking to myself.