tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10795890594572122182024-03-18T06:32:31.874-05:00Not Just Another Mother Blogger!Now with extra sauce!TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.comBlogger1718125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-66570770180464534212024-01-28T16:22:00.002-06:002024-01-28T16:22:25.657-06:00Get Ready to Get Older<p> Yes, it's 2024. I keep having to remind myself, which is funny, considering that I don't write checks these days. Yes, I am still working on my doctorate, but the end zone is in sight. Turns out that writing a doctoral thesis is more time consuming than previously thought. </p><p>But enough about me. </p><p>My parents are getting older. They're still spry, but they're slower these days. My mother-in-law, on the other hand, has not been so good. She spent about a month in the hospital with pneumonia, and long story short, she can no longer take care of herself. Or her dog. Luckily, a friend was able to find a new home for the dog. </p><p>This was unexpected, to say the least, and I have learned all sorts of new information. Mother-in-law wasn't always able to make decisions for herself, yet decisions had to be made. It would have been nice if plans had been made for this type of situation, but they weren't. That does not mean that someone my age cannot sit down and plan for them. </p><p>First of all, who has power of attorney for you? This is a very important document; it give permission for another person to make decisions for you when you are unconscious or otherwise incapacitated. It can be a document that is notarized, or it can be something you scrawl on the back of a takeout menu. The person with POA can be your spouse or another relative, and should ideally be aware of your wishes on a variety of topics, such as organ donation. </p><p>Next, what happens if you can no longer live independently? Some individuals choose to stay at home with a 24/7 caregiver, but let's be realistic, that will eat through the money pretty quickly. If you need to live in a nursing home, and you expect Medicare to pay for it, then you may want to talk to a lawyer or accountant and get everything set up BEFORE you get to that point. The latest trend here is group homes for seniors. Four elderly folk living in an actual home with a caregiver who lives in the home and cooks, cleans, hands out medications, etc. </p><p>Third, do you have a DNR? This is a document that says that you do not want any efforts made to resuscitate you should your heart stop. Do. Not. Resuscitate. Think about this one carefully, because sometimes the efforts to pull a person back from death can be worse. Talk to a physician about it, if you need to. Definitely make sure that you talk to your loved ones, so there's no brawls at the bedside. </p><p>Then, do you have a will? There are websites, books, etc., to help you with the language needed to write out your final wishes. If you want to donate your coin collection to the Smithsonian, this is where you put that. My husband had all sorts of issues when his uncle passed because there was no will and all of these unknown relatives showed up when it came time to sell the house. Don't do that to your family.</p><p>Finally, funeral plans. It is not morbid to think about this part of death. It does not hurt to look online. At least then you will have an idea about costs and other information to help you decide. There are people out there who will take advantage of your family when they are grieving your passing; help them out by making a few decisions for them. </p><p>Planning out these events while you are healthy will make sure that your wishes are clearly outlined and your family knows what you want in the event that you are no longer able to tell them. Things happen when you get older. Plan ahead.</p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-77114542061059615012022-12-30T19:41:00.000-06:002022-12-30T19:41:09.843-06:002022: The Year That Ran Away Very Fast<p> I woke up the other morning and realized that it is about to be 2022. Then I really woke up, because it is about to be 2023. Say that to yourself. I'll wait. </p><p>What happened to 2022? It seems as though we just began this year, and it is already over? I was going to do the usual, lose a bunch of weight and finish up my doctorate, finally clean my house, and travel the world. I was going to craft my little heart out, relax more, and be ridiculously happy. </p><p>Only none of those things happened. Instead, I slugged my way through a year that felt rushed, like there was a bouncer behind the curtain saying "Move along" over and over. Events that happened in January 2022 feel like they happened at least three years ago. Maybe it was that the pandemic seemed to be finished (it is not) or that life was getting back to some semblance of normal. Maybe it was the medication my doctor prescribed me for sleep (maybe?). Maybe the world just began to move at its former pace, but no one got the memo or we just put our fingers in our ears. Stuff happened, but it mostly did not register, because more stuff happened. </p><p>I got moved to a high school for the first time since 1994. I love it, of course, but it is a bit more fast paced now. Of course, there have been a number of security changes since the tragedy in Uvalde. I will get upset about that, but mostly angry. I firmly believe that if you kill something, you eat it. That is an established rule in our family. I think that this should be the rule of law in Texas. You get convicted of shooting someone? Here is your fork and a bib. I think that this would at least make a person pause before committing murder. Nobody needs these assault rifles in civilian life. </p><p>We found a kitten with a lot of health problems, who did not live very long. I had never seen a cat have a seizure before, so it was a shock to see the little precious go flying out of my husband's arms all the way over the coffee table. She was beautiful, and we named her Galadriel, but she succumbed to her illness after six happy months with us. It was a family decision. The vet we took her to allowed all of us to be in the room, and Larry got to hold her. I still miss that spunky kitty, and every other animal that has passed over the rainbow bridge. </p><p>My son started HIGH SCHOOL. I am still not over that. HIGH SCHOOL. He is enjoying himself, and informed me that he wants to get his drivers license when he turns 16. "But you just GOT to HIGH SCHOOL!!!" I told him, and then went into my room and cried in secret, as you do. Meanwhile, my boy is heading toward six feet while eating every item of food in the house. Typical boy. I am trying to let him make some decisions for himself, even if in my head I am explaining why his decision is not a good decision. The boy needs to find out for himself, and there is only one way that happens. I was a dork in high school, too. </p><p>We finally watched <i>Yellowstone</i>. By the end of the first episode, I turned to Larry and said, "Sopranos of the West." He agreed. Kevin Costner's character is Tony Soprano, that guy Rip is his consigliere, etc. The reservation people are a rival gang. All the dudes with the brand are made men. No sin to move a classic show like the <i>Sopranos</i> into Montana and call it something new, but they should have been more honest about it. </p><p>World Cup was very exciting--I picked Argentina to win, but since I am bad at gambling, I forgot to sign up or did not sign up correctly. But almost every game was a nail biter! Congratulations to Argentina for their heroic play. You can go ahead and brag until 2026. Messi and I share a birthday, so I take just a tiny bit of pride in his win. A teeny-tiny bit. I am so happy for him, and he deserves all of the accolades he gets. </p><p>And Donald Trump is still an idiot who deserves some slapping, and it looks like he might actually get it. I would volunteer. Maybe like that scene in <i>Airplane!</i>, we can have a line of citizens ready to slap waiting outside the courthouse. </p><p>Happy New Year! May 2023 slow down enough so that you can enjoy it! </p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-80996292565180695432022-02-27T15:26:00.001-06:002022-02-27T15:26:33.274-06:00Are the 80s back?<p>I feel as though the 1980s are repeating themselves, what with Russia acting the fool and trying to bully the rest of the world. War, particularly the nuclear kind, was one of the main topics of conversation when I was in high school, right next to what Mr. Stant was teaching in senior English. The entire era of the 80s was all about the bombs dropping, end of the world, so party hard NOW. Russia's at it again, it seems, and now my son is talking about Ukraine with his friends. More horrible decision appear to be heading our way, mostly in the form of higher gas prices. </p><p>Then I thought about all of the actual horrible decisions I made in the 1980s, including spiral perms and college Trash Can Punch. For the unenlightened, you buy a clean trash can and pour ALL of the alcohol in there, and throw in some Kool-aid for flavor. If I remember correctly, the concoction tastes like nuclear waste of some sort. The hangovers were ridiculously painful, and we all swore that we would NEVER drink that stuff again, just beer. That promise was never kept, because generally the punch was free and the beer was not. College was a time of frugality, after all. </p><p>Other aspects of the 80s appear to be showing up in stores, such as the Little House on the Prairie dresses. The show was all right, and maybe I had ONE dress that might have qualified as prairie-wear, but I looked as though I were dressed in a sack wearing it. Actually, I think the dress was made by Gunny Sak, so that makes sense. Not in the least bit attractive. And what is with all the long hair with a middle part? Is there some strange, poorly dressed cult out there that I don't know about? Not that there's anything wrong with that, I suppose. I just find it odd that women who are coming in to their own would enjoy looking like every other woman. </p><p>Thankfully, Cabbage Patch kids have NOT made a comeback. </p><p>My point is that maybe the 80s are better off in the past. It wasn't a horrible time, but I cringe now thinking about the decisions I made with my hair (like an accidental mullet), my fashion sense, and my social life. It was a darn good thing that there was no such thing as a smart phone back then. Perhaps everyone could just repeat the trends that were popular 100 years ago, instead of the 80s? How about if we repeat the trends of the 1920s. The Jazz Age, short haircuts, flappers, those cute little dresses with the fringe and the adorable hats? Those were the bee's knees! </p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-27158769640905345912021-11-26T12:11:00.001-06:002021-11-26T12:11:00.231-06:00Porn Alert<div>We were in Walmart looking for the drinks we usually offer to bring for the annual Thanksgiving hullabaloo. Just the usual beer, wine, soda, and tea. That means that Zane and I take our time and look around, since Dad isn't prodding us to hurry up before we spend more money. </div><div><br /></div>"Mom!! Come quick! There's PORN!!!"<div><br /></div><div>Really, what do YOU hear about while shopping with your kid? </div><div><br /></div><div>My first thought regarded the idea of porn in a Walmart as completely ridiculous, before I remembered the vibrators I had just seen in the pharmacy section. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-T_Fg6rHgI-Y/YZ6AN-EUx0I/AAAAAAAA7QE/ZpeluFBSvlgb0ChvDTFgBclz2ZtMyW82ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/1637777462872959-0.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
<img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-T_Fg6rHgI-Y/YZ6AN-EUx0I/AAAAAAAA7QE/ZpeluFBSvlgb0ChvDTFgBclz2ZtMyW82ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/1637777462872959-0.png" width="400" />
</a>That thought made me approach Zane cautiously, so as to respond appropriately. It doesn't do to completely freak out in front of a teenager; that is the entertainment that keeps on giving for years. </div><div>And indeed, there was porn. The word was right there on the cover of the magazine, there for all kids who can read to see. It was actually right at the four- to six-year old eye level. I'd just walked right past it, because the sexualization of guns in America gives me hives. </div><div><br /></div><div>But Zane did. And he wanted to know about the porn. Which wasn't really porn, just a word on the cover of a magazine designed to make the reader buy the magazine and take it home to peruse in the privacy of their own home. The word 'porn' is like the bell Pavlov used to get his dogs to salivate, particularly people who don't understand that they are being played. So my son and I had a lively discussion about propaganda and advertising and classical conditioning, and how they all play a role in capitalism. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'll probably get a phone call from the school on Monday. I am actually looking forward to explaining the entire situation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, dear Walmart, where I tend to shop often because you are less than a mile from my house, Please put all the gun magazines ABOVE waist level, so the babies are not exposed to such violent content. Thank you.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div></div>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-679435953477767882021-11-09T19:10:00.000-06:002021-11-09T19:10:10.328-06:00Be a Kindness...Ninja<p> I was all for the "Pay it Forward" movement. The idea that if someone did something for you, you did something for someone else, like pay for their Starbucks, is lovely. My son and I had fun secretly paying for the pizza ordered by the car behind us at Little Ceasar's one afternoon. I still enjoy doing that on occasion, but I've been a little disconcerted by the impression that kindness is a transaction. An exchange of goods or services. A crying student in my office who says, "But I was nice to him!" </p><p>I can see where the confusion came in, especially with all the pandemic isolation and political anger. Kindness, however, is not a transaction. It never has been. Kindness is an act of love. Love of people. Someone in need, and you help. Someone in pain, and you comfort. When you love someone, even your neighbor who likes to blare their music at the crack of dawn, it's unconditional. It's not about what they can do for you; it's about what you can do for them. When you give a blanket to a homeless person, it's an act of love. If you expect that homeless person to follow you about singing your praises, that's a transaction. </p><p>Back when dinosaurs walked the earth and electricity wasn't even a thing, kindness was how you created a community. People in a group would come together to help each other. That is simply what they did. No agenda, no transactional conversation, just...kindness. Neighbors would arrive from all over the area to help a farmer build a barn, and their wives and children would ride along to help It meant a lot for a farmer to take a day off of working their own fields to help build a barn. </p><p>Over the past two years, people have forgotten that they are part of a community. Part of a neighborhood. Part of a church. Part of a team. We have been isolated for so long that we began to focus on a "what is in it for me?" view of the world. Transactional. This behavior was encouraged by the anger and rage of the adults, and we all bear some responsibility for that when it comes to our children. I have had many conversations with my own child about this topic; he needed a reminder to be kind to everyone, even if they weren't kind back. </p><p>I decided that kindness isn't a transaction; it's a ninja. Ninjas do not expect anyone to give them anything back; mostly because they were assassins, but let's turn a negative into a positive. Be a ninja, who steps in quietly, makes another person feel loved, and then is gone, without any expectation of reward or adoration. Be a kindness ninja. </p><p>You can wear the fancy ninja outfit, if you want. </p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-85298176146443110332021-11-03T16:10:00.001-05:002021-11-03T16:10:00.235-05:00Booster Shot Random <p>Yes, I had a booster shot. No. I did not turn into a zombie and run amok among the populace. I got my shot, and except for some "I got punched in the shoulder" aches and pains, all was well. I didn't even feel sickly. From the shot, anyway. </p><p>I usually feel sickly most days right now. The stress gets me. I seem to absorb the stress of others, too, while I am at it. They feel better, I go home upset. I find that I am clenching my teeth way more at work, so I don't say what I really want to say. I have more in common with Roy Kent on Ted Lasso than is probably healthy, but that is what is going on in my head most days. I may be smiling at you, but in my head there are chairs being tossed. </p><p>My child has gone through FOUR pairs of shoes since August. He has also taken to kicking a soccer ball against the wall at odd times. Like when his father and I are watching a show that he specifically asked to watch. That is pretty odd. It's like he <i>wants</i> us to yell at him or something, just to check in. I can't blame him too much. When I was a kid I gauged parental feelings by how freaked out they were. Nobody freaking out equals everything is cool. The one time in my life that I completely lost my mind was when my dad said the words, "I think we should go to the emergency room." </p><p>My son is in a PowerPoint Ministry. Yes, the boy is sitting in a tiny, sweaty room in front of a computer during the Mass, and he pushes buttons so everyone knows what prayer we are on, or the words to whatever song we are supposed to be singing. You see, they removed all of the missals, and all of the song books from the church because of cooties, but people still need to follow along. Snoozing in church was never allowed, even if you were a kid. Except if you were a screaming baby--then EVERYONE wants that kid to fall asleep. NOW. But my teen seems to like to be in charge of the computer. He understands computers, at least, even if he doesn't understand girls yet. </p><p>Does anyone else have the ridiculous urge to find whatever baby is screaming on the other side of Walmart and help them so they stop crying? I am certainly not one of those who would just let a baby cry, but there are those sorts out there. I just never saw a point. It's a baby--they don't know your reasons from a hole in the ground. They just know that nobody is helping them, and that is just sad. Not even a year old, and people are letting you down. That is probably why there is so much anger out there now--somebody just left a baby crying for no good reason. </p><p>Okay, that is it. But I want you to do something for me. I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself something nice about your self to your self. Nobody else has to know. For example, I will occasionally tell my self that I have nice calves. It's just a little thing, but it makes me feel better to be kind to myself. Now you try it. </p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-11288533362246721432021-10-30T15:26:00.001-05:002021-10-30T15:26:40.900-05:00The Fine Art of Ghost Hunting<p>October is the spooky month, when the first report cards are sent home to terrify parents. The temperatures are dropping into comfortable-almost-chilly. And ghost hunting becomes the local past time, at least until it becomes too cold. Too cold for the people, I mean. Not the ghosts. I imagine that ghosts are beyond being irritated by mere temperatures. </p><p>"I feel sorry for famous ghosts," my son says. When he mentioned that, I had to agree. I watch a lot of ghost hunting shows. Ghost hunters are all over the place, demanding that Lizzie Borden "speak" or Wyatt Earp "turn on this flashlight" if he wants everyone to leave. Of course, no one ever actually leaves when a ghost says to leave. Why bother to ask? </p><p>I understand that people want to know about ghosts. I understand that somebody needs to capture the next big video of a ghost on camera. I believe that there are things that happen that I can't explain, but I'm not going to say that there is <u>no</u> explanation. But with ghost hunting, as in all things, there's a right way, and a very wrong way. </p><p>1. Be respectful. A very wise man once said that if you come before the king, you best come correct. That is true with ghosts. Most of these spirits are way older than the people "hunting" them. In their day, young whippersnappers were supposed to respect their elders. No sassing. Some of these ghosts that people are looking for were noblemen, and they don't care whether you believe in the monarchy. They expect to be treated as they were when they were alive, and they aren't going to spend the energy to appear to a bunch of disrespectful youngsters running amok in their house. </p><p>2. Speak their language. Hey, did you know that Germans who lived in Munich in the 1800s did not speak English? Yes. They spoke German. Yet here I am, watching these ghost hunting shows, and these guys are speaking English where English is not the language of the household. Even <i>Ghost Adventures</i>, where Zak has mentioned that he understands Spanish, does not have anyone asking questions in Spanish, only English. How can you coax a Spanish ghost out of hiding and onto camera? Speak Spanish to them! Otherwise they will just say, "Oh it's that crazy gringa again!" and go back to whatever ghosts do to pass the time. Also, because it's Dia de las Muertas soon, wouldn't it make sense to build an ofrenda with all the treats so the unattached ghosts have somewhere to feel loved? Or is that just me? </p><p>3. DO.NOT. POKE. THE. GHOSTS. Seriously. If you want to see a ghost, great, there's no reason to be a jerk about it. You don't have to be submissive, but aggressive is never a good idea when hunting things that you can't see. Emphasis on not being able to see what you are taunting. The attempt is made to provoke a reaction, I get it. However, since there's no way of actually knowing WHAT is in the room with you, why would anyone do that? You THINK it's a ghost, but it could be an interdimensional being who has had enough of your nonsense. Also, haven't you seen ANY horror films? The one who taunts, the one who rolls their eyes, is usually dead pretty quickly. Don't be that person. </p><p>4. Ghosts were people, not circus animals. Don't show up at their house expecting to see an episode of <i>Ghost Ninjas</i>. "Hey, if you're a ghost, go over and smack Shane upside the head, then go into the kitchen and make me some cookies." See number 1 above. Unless the ghost is of Julia Child, she's not about your cookie obsession. What would ghost cookies taste like, anyway? I guess they would be no calorie, but likely tasteless, but you would have to sit there and eat EVERY SINGLE ONE of those cookies, because Julia Child doesn't suffer fools. If she makes you some cookies, you WILL eat them and love them. </p><p>The main point of ghost hunting is to hang out with your weird friends and see what is out there in the dark. More power to all of you, I would be terrible at it. Newbies, perhaps read this post before you head to the Island of the Dolls in Mexico, and behave accordingly. Good hunting.</p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-61250184252688937402021-08-13T19:47:00.000-05:002021-08-13T19:47:08.411-05:00Back to School We Go--Mask Up<p>My tiny baby, my precious, IS IN THE EIGHTH GRADE. I am trying not to freak out about it, but it is difficult, because HE IS IN THE EIGHTH GRADE. In my head he is still little, even though he is about to hit 5'9". We have had to take all of his school pants back and get new ones, and I don't know if these new ones will make it to October. Zane is growing so fast that his bones actually hurt. At least that is what he tells me. Often. Teenagers like to complain, apparently. Who knew?</p><p>He starts school Monday, and it will be face-to-face. Zane insisted on getting the vaccine immediately when it was approved for his age group. He hasn't been back to school in person since March of 2020. He's going to have masks in his back pack, and the class he will be in is small. He seems to be more mature about the entire event than his parents. </p><p>I have been at work since July, but the kids start on Monday. I am not sure what my district was planning to do once the covid numbers began rising in Bexar County, but the Mayor of San Antonio and the County Judge got a temporary restraining order against the Governor of Texas in order to implement a mask mandate for the area. As of now, masks are required at schools. </p><p>Masks save lives. That is a fact that has been verified by research. No more arguing about that, no more conspiracy theories about that. </p><p>I confess that I am not a huge fan of masks. In the heat, I feel like I can't breathe sometimes, and it freaks me out. But I keep my mask on, because it is the right thing to do. I get tired of all the idiots who are hollering about their 'freedoms' and particularly all of these hateful and angry people who come to school board meetings to scream and threaten people who just want their children to be safe. </p><p>That is it. </p><p>Parents just want their children to be safe. I want my child to be safe. My neighbors want their children to be safe. My brother wants his child to be safe. Most parents want their children to be safe. That is to be commended, not jeered. And school is supposed to be a safe place. How does that happen if a school cannot even take steps to protect their students because a governor is trying to impress a tiny minority of idiots who just want to scream at people? Why is this such a hot button issue in the first place? Knock it off, you guys. </p><p> </p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-57688416790196851702021-02-14T18:55:00.002-06:002021-02-14T18:55:16.710-06:00It is Cold. Texas Cold.<p>Today, Texas is cold. Not the kind of cold you are thinking of...COLD. North Pole cold. Polar bear cold. There is ice on my car that has been there for TWO days. And it's not just here--the entire state is freezing. The coast is even closed. Hear that? THE GULF OF MEXICO IS CLOSED. </p><p>Good times.</p><p>It hasn't made it above 32 in the past three days, and that <i>never</i> happens here in San Antonio. I don't remember this kind of weather happening here since...1985. That winter we got a foot plus of snow, and since there wasn't a snow plow in sight, the entire city shut down. The northern portions of Texas are used to such events, so THEY have actual snowplows. San Antonio generally never gets below freezing more than a day or two every winter, and never for long. </p><p>My husband is excited about the idea of snow. My son is excited about the idea of snow. Me, not so much. It's really difficult to love snow when you've had to shovel it, or constantly scrape ice of your car. Oh, it is pretty to look at, transforming a landscape that looks relatively dull in the winter to a magical, pristine wonderland. Everything looks clean, at least until the dog gets out there, the kids have snow fights, and the exhaust from cars takes over. </p><p>I'll take pictures of the event, mostly from my warm house. I will get plenty of exercise running to "see" Larry and Zane play in the snow. I may go outside. </p><p>Maybe not. </p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-39767785630353767422021-02-12T16:00:00.001-06:002021-02-12T16:00:01.018-06:00Not Today, Satan<p>Lately I've taken to haunting the local Dollar Trees. My reason? Cheap crafts, of course! Where else can I find so many items that I can take home and look at while they collect dust? Just kidding--what else can a Covid-confined chica like myself do while remaining inside and solitary for 90% of her weekend? Get crafty! I've been watching YouTube videos, and I'm dangerous. At the Dollar Tree, I can fill my basket full of stickers, delightful wooden shapes, yarn, and random crazy stuff, safe in the knowledge that I will spend no more than fifty bucks, at the most. I've been sneaking over there at least once a week. I don't always buy stuff, but it is fun to look around. </p><p>This afternoon found me with a little time, and off to the Dollar Tree I went. I walked in and headed straight for some shadow boxes placed on an endcap. As I turned the corner to walk the aisle, I noticed music playing. That's nice, I thought. Then I realized that I was hearing the theme song from the movie <i>The Exorcist</i>. </p><p>What?</p><p>I looked around, because even though it was only a movie, something scary could pop right up. It was a ringtone on someone's phone. Whew! It was only a coincidence, my hitting the craft aisle to that tune. Or WAS it? Just in case, I said a few Hail Marys and held onto my St. Benedict medal a minute. No way was Satan, or whatever that demon in <i>the Exorcist</i> was called, going to keep me from duly enjoying my crafts. No sir. I picked up some cool stuff and headed home. Look what I made! </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-grRcn08xls0/YCMsdvHZquI/AAAAAAAA6Z4/lScKvtxtCDcQ6gcaZbqkAiRRpnKCatlpgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-grRcn08xls0/YCMsdvHZquI/AAAAAAAA6Z4/lScKvtxtCDcQ6gcaZbqkAiRRpnKCatlpgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Love.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-6087283151298837852021-02-11T18:10:00.003-06:002021-02-11T18:10:31.581-06:00Do NOT Use Genocide As An Argument<p>I was very disappointed to learn that actress Gina Carana was fired from <i>The Mandalorian</i>. I enjoy watching strong female characters. But I saw it coming. You can't tweet that Republicans are being treated like Jews in the Holocaust and not expect a significant response. Ms. Carano crossed the line. Even if her point was valid, it was negated by her use of one of history's most horrible events to make her point. </p><p>People seem to keep forgetting that there are rules for arguing a point. This rule is: <b>Never, ever use genocide to make your point</b>. Whatever that point might be, nobody wants to hear it when you throw genocide into the mix. The Holocaust, Armenia, Rwanda, etc., are such heinous events, so abhorrent to our sense of humanity, that they should only be spoken of in hushed tones of reverence, not tossed into common discourse. </p><p>It is already considered trite to compare someone to Hitler in political discourse, and most people tend to laugh at the unfortunate soul who heads in that direction. Genocide is different. Nobody should laugh at genocide, or treat it lightly. These events were the worst moments of our collective existence, and no human should forget that. People who do forget should be publicly shamed, but since she's a celebrity, Gina Carana will likely get a pass. </p><p>We can do better. </p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-26717964374707395302021-02-09T06:30:00.003-06:002021-02-09T06:30:05.289-06:00Just Another Tricky Day<p>Sometimes, it is hard to get out of bed. Sometimes I just don't want to get out of bed, of course, especially on cold mornings. Other times, I would rather go back to sleep and dream of Adam Driver. But the paycheck beckons. I don't go back to sleep, but I grumble about it all the way through the second cup. Adulting is hard.</p><p>Nowadays, this is completely about the pandemic. I am generally an adaptable sort, but all this has been too much for my brain. From the time I wake up, reality has shifted in so many little ways. Events have been cancelled. I worry. Other events have not been cancelled. I worry. People don't wear masks. I worry. People are ridiculously rude when you ask them to put on a mask. I worry. People I know test positive. I worry. Did I accidentally touch that door with my hands? I worry, and I wash my hands. </p><p>All that on TOP of all of the other stuff that I have to think about, such as how many pairs of shoes is my child going to outgrow in the next month, or whether I remembered to fill up the dog's water bowl. Whether I have any appointments today. Which students need to be pulled for evaluation, and is the giant sneeze guard still in the conference room so everyone is protected? Wait--I am wearing pants, right? </p><p>I thought that I was losing my faculties, but then I read an article that essentially said that this...is...normal. Normal as in, we are in a time of major stress. In times of major stress, the brain tends to drop the ball. Often. And then forgets that it even held a ball. There was a ball?</p><p>The point is that our brains are doing the best we can, just like we are. We can get upset about it, check ourselves in for an MRI, but at the end of the day we are in the middle of a ridiculously annoying pandemic that nobody really has any control over. I am going to try and focus on what I can control, like wearing pants. </p><p>Pants are good. </p><p><br /></p>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-216571133333438682021-02-07T10:29:00.000-06:002021-02-07T10:29:39.297-06:00The Times Are Finally ChangingI have always been very outspoken about the way men treat women in this world. It was of great interest to see and hear the "#MeToo" tag grabbing
the attention of the popular culture back in the day. Practically every single woman I
know has one of these stories, and some of those stories are just
horrifying. Most of them made me angry. In this day and age, old
men think that their behavior is okay, because they are men. <div><br></div><div>Times have changed. <br>
<br>
Women have been told to look pretty and smile, with the "or else" remaining unsaid. We are patronized, from the tone of voice to the occasional pat on the head. We are grabbed at, pulled at, and sometimes we are surrounded. My life has been one of harassment and abuse, just like every other
woman out there. I had to deal with catcalls, invitations to
"party", and demands that I smile. To paraphrase Oprah in <i>The Color Purple</i>, "a girl child ain't safe in a world full of men." </div><div><br></div><div>Times have changed.<br>
<br>
I grew up paying attention to everything, because
things could become
unsafe way too fast, and I am an anxious person. My teenage years and college were full of boys and men constantly telling me to "smile". Or complaining because I was smarter than they were, which just wasn't "attractive". Having to play "dumb" around men because it hurt their feelings when a girl corrected them in public left a bad taste in my mouth. When I finally got out of school and entered my chosen career, the superintendent of my school district made up a funny-not funny nickname for me and announced it at a district-wide meeting. I was expected to just smile and get over every little comment, every little pat on the head. If I would have made a big deal about it, I knew that I would not have had a job. <br>
<br>
That was just the way it was. Except now it is not.<br>
<br>
None of what was happening is pretty, or even decent. If men ever experienced a
fraction of what their wives, mother, sisters, and daughters have to go
through daily, in some cases, they would lay down and die. Women do not lay down and die, however. We are, at our core, survivors. <div><br></div><div>Now, maybe we can thrive. I have seen shoots of female greatness sprouting in the fields where we live, and I am inspired. All women can look to Vice President Kamala Harris for inspiration. Or Amanda Gorman. Or our mothers, who brought us into the world. Or our daughters, who will carry us into the future. <br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div></div>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-56987636751104815912021-01-27T16:34:00.001-06:002021-01-27T16:34:01.655-06:00Things I Have LearnedA comfy couch makes it impossible to stay mad. <div><br /></div><div>Family is not just about blood. It is about love. </div><div><br /></div><div>When you walk barefoot on the grass, a blade can get stuck in the bottom of your foot. <br />
<br />
Food can bridge many gaps, except a broken heart. </div><div><br /></div><div>Kittens are extremely food motivated.<br />
<br />
Resistance to evil is never futile. </div><div><br /></div><div>Never stop fighting for what you believe is right.<br />
<br />
Everyone needs someone to hold their hand, sometimes. <br />
<br />
Be in your own skin, not someone else's. It looks better on you.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are poisonous caterpillars in the world, but they still become butterflies.<br />
<br />Squirrels are fast learners. </div><div><br /></div><div>We all arrive at our destination with the help of others. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>What are some things that you have learned?</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-81117569582652779732021-01-20T19:12:00.001-06:002021-01-20T19:12:06.517-06:00Adulting 101: Fixing Up the HouseI hadn't received any more cancer bills in recent months, and we had finally had to put in new roof. We decided to do a little remodeling. Larry wanted to get rid of the carpet, since it was 15 years old. What about laminate flooring? I was fine with that. I wanted to paint. Off to Home Depot we went.<br />
<br />
Home Depot has the paint in the front of the store. They do this because they know that potential customers will be immediately distracted by the idea of painting a variety of colors all over their walls. And I was indeed distracted, my eyes aglow at the idea of Translucent Silk(TM) covering my walls. I reasoned with Larry that we hadn't painted the house since we moved in, and we were due. He was unconvinced, until I pointed to a big sign. PAINT SALE. That was all the convincing that Larry needed. We grabbed some paint chips to bring home to aid our selection. <br />
<br />
"But we are here for the flooring," he refocused me. So off we went, past the gorgeous fridges that beckoned us alluringly with their ice makers. We found the flooring and spent several minutes standing in front of a number of samples. Then we found a guy to talk to about the flooring, and we bothered him long enough to get an estimate as to cost. After a rather prolonged argument about color, we chose some samples, and took them home. The next day, Larry and I were back, our decisions made. We got the flooring ordered, installation set up, then purchased painting supplies. We felt very grown up. <div><br /></div><div>This is what homeowners do. When you live in an apartment, someone else takes care of the run of the mill things such as mowing the lawn, spraying for bugs, clear a clogged drain. When you own a home, there's nobody to take care of the field of grass growing in your back yard but you. And home ownership does not come with a lawn mower or a pack of llamas. Or rakes. Or those covers you have to buy to keep your outside pipes from bursting in a freeze. When the showers need to be caulked, or the toilet overflows and the water leaks downstairs into the pantry, you're the one who has to take care of it. Larry is much less likely to remove a finger while using power tools, so he gets the fun job. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is part of being an adult. You get to figure out what you need and purchase it or hire someone and pay them to do it. You become a problem solver by default. Your parents won't be there to take care of it. </div><div><br /></div><div>So probably a good idea to start practicing problem solving now. Start small, like choosing a coffee maker. Go from there. You can do it. </div><div><br /></div>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-48595959378781207302021-01-13T18:51:00.001-06:002021-01-13T18:51:01.905-06:00I Was A Sexist Pig<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> I grew up fighting to be treated as an equal to men. Not actually fighting, because that would be stupid. But I argued and cajoled and did whatever I could to be perceived as equal. I had quite a chip on my shoulder about it, as did a whole lot of women. My fight was with the world, and I was determined to be as good or better than any man. If women weren't supposed to be in the locker room, you better believe I was IN that locker room, naked people be damned. This behavior only increased when I went to college in Texas and realized that if I wanted to date anyone I would have to "look" the part and act as unintelligent as possible. This was not a good fit for me. If I could have persuaded somebody to let me be a bouncer at a honky-tonk dive, the movie <i>Roadhouse</i> would have looked very different. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PMjd1Xc6C3g/WqCI_QkiPOI/AAAAAAAA2EM/14KOSdJx8DU7DBZ_pSIi8xL1JRYR4YK5gCHMYCw/s1600/20180307_180151.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="318" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PMjd1Xc6C3g/WqCI_QkiPOI/AAAAAAAA2EM/14KOSdJx8DU7DBZ_pSIi8xL1JRYR4YK5gCHMYCw/w239-h318/20180307_180151.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And I bought this book. I found this in a box in a closet I never open, and I am embarrassed. I used to say things like "Men are idiots". I think I even patted one on the head and told him he was a good boy. Okay, not just the one. I thought it was funny then, but now it makes me cringe. Because I was so busy thinking about my own equality that I forgot to think about others. It makes me want to curl into a ball, that I behaved that way. Men are not dogs, or objects. They are people. If I want to be about equality for all, my actions should reflect that. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With age comes wisdom, thank goodness. Equality is not just about me. I try to treat others as I would like to be treated, but I don't demand it. The other day my son and I had a discussion about the term "drama queen", and why using it might not be okay anymore. Drama doesn't seem to have much to do with whether the person is male or female. Zane pointed out that I had referred to him as a drama queen when he was younger, and I apologized to him on the spot. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am a work in progress, but that doesn't mean I can't do better. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-71071046112654574232021-01-05T12:22:00.001-06:002021-01-05T12:22:00.473-06:00Put On Your Big Girl Panties<div>Some of Trump's supporters are hoping to have some of the votes from the Electoral College tossed out this week, because they do not want to face the very scary idea that someone else won the election. Change is scary and most people are terrified. They want things to stay the same, especially if their behavior and actions were dictated by the idol. Trump's toddler antics gave some people the idea that it was okay to be a jerk, and now there will be consequences, some severe consequences. </div><div><br /></div><div>The flag of the Confederacy was banned in several places, and statues to Confederate soldiers are coming down, or being moved. It has always seemed bizarre that statues of the losers of a war would mean so much to people that they are willing to do violence over it, but people are weird. The idea that a change is necessary is beyond the mental limits of some people, and those of us who have moved on need to understand that. We don't have to accept it, but we need to understand their fear of admitting mistakes and leaving the old ways behind. Old dogs can learn new tricks, and if they can't they get left behind. </div><div><br /></div><div>I actually feel sorry for these individuals. Putting faith in an idol like Trump, a dude from an 80s time capsule, does not seem like a good idea. Neither does worshiping a flag from more than a century ago. Idols have an expiration date. The trouble with presenting yourself as an idol is that eventually, people figure out that you're not "the" anymore. Once that shine wears off, it's time to go do something else. Nothing sacred about that. But admitting that somebody else won the election, participating in a new government that is not mired in hatred and narcissistic bigotry, just plain terrifies these men and women. I don't know, maybe Trump has naked pictures of Josh Hawley and he's not afraid to release them to the press. I think all of it is stupid and unproductive. </div><div><br /></div><div>The election is over, the people have spoken, PERIOD. End of story. Government servants elected by the people should do what the people have rightfully asked them to do. If they aren't willing to be the voice of the people they have no business in the legislature. Remember that golden idol the Jews made in the <i>Ten Commandments</i>, while Moses was getting the word from God? Nobody worships that cow anymore. It's time to say 'buh-bye' to Trump. Time to let that flag go and move on. Eat your pancakes. Change is here, whether you like it or not. </div><div><br /></div><div>Might as well put on your big girl panties and deal with it. </div><div><div>
<br />
<br /></div></div>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-23576867458137348742021-01-02T20:02:00.001-06:002021-01-02T20:02:37.757-06:00Dumpster Fire 2020: Slapworthy Edition<div>Yeah, yeah. I'm late. Sue me.</div><div><br /></div>2020 started out okay. January 1 was relatively peaceful. After that, it was like we had been pulled into every single catastrophe movie ever made. Fires. Floods. Earthquakes. Every day. I didn't even know such a thing as a firenado even existed, and so add that to the list of things that keep me up at night. Mother Nature seemed to be downright displeased. When she slaps, she slaps hard. My slaps aren't as crushing, but I still have a few. <div><br /></div><div><b>COVID19</b>. And then there was this little virus. Just one tiny little virus. Perfectly harmless, we were told. Just like having a cold. Drink some bleach, and walk it off, they said. I knew it was going to be bad. And it was worse. Every epidemiologist I talked to was completely freaked out, with good reason. This likely would have been over sooner, if it had been taken seriously. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Donald Trump</b>. He deserves a slap for every single person who has died in the last year from a disease he has never truly taken seriously. I know that very soon he won't be president, but still. There should be consequences for deliberate ignorance when you're in that position. He played golf while people died. He gets a slap. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Fox News</b>. These guys kissed Trump's backside daily for the past four years. It wasn't a network, it was a sarcophagus of sycophants. I was embarrassed for them, the way they kept bending everything to keep the toddler-in-chief happy. They also downplayed the threat the virus presented, and are in need of a slap. Considering that their main demographic is the very population dying from COVID19, maybe kicks in the butt are in order, too. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Me</b>. Yes, I deserve a slap, maybe two, for falling down on the blogging job. So many things have happened, including me trying to earn a doctorate, but that's no excuse. I will try to do better in 2021, but no promises, because school is kicking my butt so far. It's actually not the material that I have to learn, I am just not used to having to 'cite my sources' every thirty words. I'll get over it, eye on the prize and all that. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, here be kittens. The one with the righteous mustache is Bootsy Collins, and his sister is named Shadow. Rambunctious, but at least they amuse each other. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VQLUncrEhpA/X_ElEX-C32I/AAAAAAAA6Qo/tSSjjP2D-uoA2soD66vD_7jBkQ83QkxcgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/theWonderTwins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1781" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VQLUncrEhpA/X_ElEX-C32I/AAAAAAAA6Qo/tSSjjP2D-uoA2soD66vD_7jBkQ83QkxcgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/theWonderTwins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-83067605504514011232020-06-26T16:06:00.000-05:002020-06-26T16:06:10.088-05:00Can't You See That I'm Napping?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Re1tKB9_skg/XvZgdQFF-HI/AAAAAAAA5lQ/vEdp0V_ijFoozWse7x5ENMGMRugygu8OwCPcBGAsYHg/s1600/20190811_134821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Re1tKB9_skg/XvZgdQFF-HI/AAAAAAAA5lQ/vEdp0V_ijFoozWse7x5ENMGMRugygu8OwCPcBGAsYHg/s320/20190811_134821.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
It is warm.<br />
This blanket is soft, <br />
So comfortable. <br />
The smell of outside calls<br />
from the window,<br />
but this blanket is soft. <br />
I will chase butterflies<br />
another day.TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-12190397932904208262020-06-25T15:26:00.001-05:002020-06-25T15:26:24.330-05:00Adulting 101: Redirect Your AngerSince I am ensconced in my home these days, as are most of us, I have time to keep track of various "wars" on the interwebs. I don't normally participate, because a)nobody appears to be actually listening to anyone else; b)nobody seems to be actually speaking for themselves, just repeating what someone else told them; and c)there's a lot of poop-flinging. I am not a fan of the poop-flinging; if you can't make your case without resorting to name calling and whatnot, your argument is weak. But some people do derive enjoyment of the poop-flinging. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have noticed a trend. A ridiculous trend, where people are becoming angry at the wrong things. People are angry about having to wear a mask in public, even though it has been proven to save lives. People are angry about having to acknowledge that yes, a black man was killed in front of their eyes on television by a white police officer. People are angry that statues of people they never cared about in the first place are being moved. People are angry that they can no longer enjoy pancakes the way they used to. All of this anger seems to be directed toward a nebulous "other". It's all someone else's fault. Someone else has done this. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you choose not to wear a mask in public because it inconveniences you, and you take COVID19 home to a loved one, that's on you. It's not some nebulous "other"; YOU made a poor decision, and there is a consequence. If you are unhappy about pancakes, or statues, or a flag that was never official, ask your self what you're truly angry about. Maybe that anger is truly directed at yourself, for not noticing these issues? Maybe that anger is a defensive anger, reacting to anything that might upset your comfortable world. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The first reality that an adult must face is that nothing occurs in a vacuum. You are responsible, either by your actions or your inaction, for things around you. You are responsible for your behavior. You are responsible for your ignorance. You can deny that responsibility, but it still exists. Acknowledge it, like an adult. Then redirect that anger. Be angry about the lack of social justice. Be angry about income inequality. Be angry that there are children going to bed hungry. Then get off your butt and do something about it. </div>
TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-55516616473417560332020-06-23T12:21:00.000-05:002020-06-23T12:21:15.485-05:00The 2020 Dumpster FireHow is everyone? Everyone still standing? Nobody coughing? No fevers? Wearing masks? Sprayed for murder hornets?<br />
<br />
I am not going to say that I didn't expect some random virus to show up this year, because we have one show up every year, pretty much. I keep track. When we left school for our March spring break, I had a feeling that we wouldn't be back for a while. I am not sure where I got that feeling, but since the epidemiologists were freaking out, I knew it wasn't good. I fully expected the full force machinations of the CDC and the federal government to hit the 'speedy' button to get supplies, etc., out to the country to take care of business. Silly, idealistic me! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I thought that these organizations, whose actual job entails preparing for this VERY thing, could run without any sort of interference from those government entities who do NOT have such knowledge or experience. Donald Trump certainly wouldn't commandeer the whole apparatus to make himself look pretty, no he would not. He would. He did. That jerk took something that was not at all about him, and made it about him. I am not used to such behavior from a president. It would be funny, maybe, if so many people weren't dying in such a horrific way.<br />
<br />
Quarantine, lockdown, whatever you call it, is NOT for the weakminded. Who ever you live with is stuck with YOU, and vice versa. And one of the members of this household is probably going through the dreaded PUBERTY, since his voice is getting squeaky. There are adjustments to be made, whether it includes moving to a different floor for quiet time, or bed time, or whatever. While we were still working, Larry and I had our zoom meetings with students, parents, and teachers. Zane's schooling was also online, and when we all had meetings set up for the same time, it was a bit hectic, but we had a semblance of a schedule. Now that school is out, well...time has no meaning. So really, it is Summer as usual. We just can't go anywhere. <br />
<br />
But maybe that's okay. We're in the middle of tumultuous changes. George Floyd's horrific death. Rayshard Brooks' death. Murder hornets. Black Lives Matter Protests, even where no African Americans live. Asteroids rushing past our planet. Donald Trump. A tiny little virus seems less scary when put up against all that. <br />
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So hang in there. Do the best you can. If you have to go out, take precautions. Wash your hands, Wear your masks where you are supposed to. Take care of the people around you. These are hard times. We are all in this together!TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-76715148487261297072020-01-25T15:08:00.002-06:002020-01-25T15:08:43.723-06:002020 is Here. When Did That Happen?Somehow, I let an entire year go by without blogging. I had ideas, and I meant to get them down, but my computer seemed so far away. Life has a way of slipping by you when you're doing something else, I guess. I'll try to pay more attention this year.<br />
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In the meantime, the Orange Dude continues his aggravating destruction of our country. I generally am not a political type, but how can normally intelligent people not see what is happening? I know maybe one-tenth of what the lawyers and others know, and even I can see that something is fishy. It is really difficult for me not to be extremely rude to people who are rabid Trumpies, but I make the effort. I'm trying to be a nicer person, remember?<br />
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I worked with an elementary student this week. He informed me that he had made up a joke, and I was game to listen. <br />
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Kid: "What happened when the bear died?"<br />
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Me: "I don't know. What happened?"<br />
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Kid: "He was BEAR-ied!" <br />
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I laughed. I have always been a fan of word-play, and that was pretty good. <br />
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_________________<br />
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I am just going to say it: I like watching true crime. I'm listening to <i>Snapped</i> right now. I seem to spend a whole bunch of time, while watching these shows, criticizing the people in the books and shows. <br />
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"You cut up a body and left it RIGHT next to the roadside? ARE YOU <u>STUPID</u>?" <br />
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I am not sure when I started to do that, but I want to assure others that I have never engaged in any such shenanigans. That I know of. I don't think that I have an evil twin.<br />
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__________________<br />
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The Bloggess is opening a bookstore in my town. I'm very excited, because, books. Now I just have to find someone to go with me. I love bookstores, but they tend to suck me in to their embrace. I would probably live in one if I could figure out where to put all of my stuff. And if there was a kitchen. And a shower. Maybe a cat or three.<br />
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__________________<br />
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That's it for now. More later. Everyone have a wonderful week!<br />
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<br />TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-62299835070868730152019-01-03T03:30:00.000-06:002019-01-03T03:30:10.853-06:00Adulting 101: The Guilt of Resolutions<i>"What are your resolutions for the New Year?"</i><br />
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There is no question asked, every January, that strikes more fear in the hearts of adults. If you say that you don't "do" resolutions, you get a lecture about adults and goal setting. If you stammer out some sort of sentence that resembles a goal, then you get an interrogation regarding the best way to formulate a resolution, because yours is terrible. It's definitely a no-win, all around, especially if the person lecturing you is not the paragon of virtue they are pretending to be. <br />
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You know who you are. <br />
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When I first became an adult, and everyone started pestering me about resolutions, I was willing to give them a try. Create a grand goal toward the betterment of myself as a person? Count me in, fellow adults! I resolved to lose 47 pounds and be more tolerant of stupidity. Easy, right? Nope. Too lofty, I was told. Too unrealistic. Fine, I grumbled. I'll just lose the 47 pounds. Wait, now I actually have to DO this thing? <br />
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I started off the year on a good note, buying healthy food and setting up an exercise program. I was proud of myself. By January 5th, I'd skipped at least one workout and eaten half a dozen donuts that someone left at work. <br />
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That's when the guilt sets in. Tremendous guilt. Your brain castigates you for not having any will power: <i>Why can't you just walk away from the donuts? You didn't even let your coworkers get one! Shame! Shame! Shame! What is wrong with you, Fatty McThunderthighs? </i>If your brain is like mine, you may be able to rally your resolve for a few days longer. You may even make it to the end of the the month. Sooner or later, though, you've dropped all your resolutions and dissolved into a messy puddle of guilt and melted ice cream. I'm a terrible adult, I've told myself, wallowing in self-pity. <br />
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Why? Because someone <i>told</i> you that you <u><i>should</i></u>? Because some sort of artificial establishment of society says that I have to? Because you're an adult and that is what adults do? <br />
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No. The thing about being an adult is that YOU get to decide what works for YOU. Are you the goal setting type? That is wonderful! Go for it! Have a short attention span? Maybe set up some micro resolutions that can be met weekly or even daily. Tend to eat your feelings? Focus on eating more fruits and veggies instead. There's no guilt involved. It's a resolution, not an all-or-nothing scenario.<br />
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Failure will happen, yes. This is part of being an adult. If everyone reached their goal on the first day of January, there wouldn't be this billion dollar industry set up around resolutions. If you don't meet your goal today, you get to try again, and again, until you reach that goal or you decide to try something different. Get up, dust yourself off, and do your best. Don't worry about the top of the mountain, just focus on the climb. <br />
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One rock at a time, until you get there, however long it takes. That's what adults do. <br />
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TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-58305699420963557572018-12-09T21:49:00.001-06:002020-02-03T12:26:13.552-06:00Adulting 101: Making MistakesThere isn't an organism out there that hasn't made an oopsie. A boo boo. An error. A <i>faux pas</i>. Everybody makes mistakes. It's life. You pick yourself up and hope that you didn't break anything. Kids are expected to make mistakes. They fall down, bump their glass of milk over, or write their name for the first time on the wall in the hallway. Parents expect their kids to make mistakes, and if they don't, they have no business being parents. <div><br></div><div>I was paranoid when my son started walking, because his head size was at the 99th percentile. He was top heavy, at least until the rest of his body caught up. I expected him to fall, and I tried to be there to catch him, or just to give him an ice pack and hold him while he cried. Most of us would do anything to prevent our children from being hurt, but they eventually hit their head, or skin their knee. Or break one of their mother's special crystal glasses that are only for GUESTS. Or leave their mother's favorite stuffed animal, the one that she's had since she was 8 years old, on the floor for the dog to chew the eyes out. *sigh* </div><div><br></div><div>Mistakes are expected of children. We know they will make mistakes, and we are there to help them get over it. Mistakes are one of the ways kids learn. It's okay for them. We encourage them to try things, to fall down, and get back up.</div><div><br></div><div>Adults, not so much. Why is that? We don't all of a sudden become perfect when we hit eighteen, yet we expect ourselves to be. Who told us that?<br>
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That's a baldfaced lie. <br>
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Nobody is perfect. Even God created mosquitoes. <br>
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Did you make a mistake? Here's three things to do to make things better.<br>
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1. Own it. There's nothing more frustrating than someone who will not take responsibility for their actions. Some people will stare at a video of themselves committing an act, and will still flat out deny they did it. Why? If you did it, admit it. Yep, that was me who accidentally set your faux fur coat on fire. Heh. Who knew synthetic fur was so flammable? <br>
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2. Fix it. Would it kill you to apologize? Would your brain explode as the words left your mouth? Would it be the end of the world? No. No. And also, NO. Those idiots who insist that one should never apologize are wrong. Apologize, make amends, buy them a new faux fur. At least make an effort to repair whatever damage you've caused.<br>
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3. Forgive it. This is the most difficult part. Say that you screwed up, mea culpa, etc. Then move on. Forgive yourself. Don't dwell on some mistake you made in high school, when you accidentally called the handsomest boy in school the wrong name at an assembly. Why carry all that extra baggage around? Yet many of us remember these relatively minor events as if they're fresh, as if the mountain of mistakes should bury us. We deserve it. Self flagellation is not a good look on anyone. Let it go, as the song says. It will take effort, but will be worth it.</div></div><div><br></div><div>Now go adult. </div>TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1079589059457212218.post-51535152547805637292018-12-03T03:30:00.000-06:002018-12-03T03:30:05.405-06:00Adulting 101: Your Parents Are Google.Adulting is a verb right now. I'm pretty sure that this version of "adulting" is the equivalent of "manning up", or "putting on your big girl panties". Behaving in an appropriate manner in public, for example. Making the difficult decision about whether to eat or pay the electric bill. Talking to your children about sex without giggling. Figuring out which end to put the diaper on. Important, but life changing, information.<br />
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It used to be that kids learned these adulting secrets by watching their parents. When moms stayed at home, back before electricity, her children got to see her perform a variety of tasks, such as cooking, household management, and childcare. Dads, when they weren't at work, usually demonstrated basic lawn maintenance, the proper posture required for watching Sunday football, and how to change your own oil. Theoretically, your parents should be preparing you to be an adult. When you hit that magic age where you move out on your own, it is expected that you will be able to handle everything.<br />
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This is nothing but a baldfaced lie. <br />
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There are just too many concepts and ideas for parents to teach their children in a single lifetime. It's impossible to even anticipate all of the even remotely probable events that will happen in one lifetime. The reality is that, no matter how old you may be, you still need the older generation. I am in my 50s. People ask me stuff all the time, and I know the answers. If you have a child in need of special education, I'm the woman to ask. If you're interested in obscure facts or historical events, I'm the go-to. I know way more about serial killers than is probably normal. I can also tell you if you need to go see a doctor for various random ailments. Just don't ask me which settings on the washer will remove ring-around-the-collar. I don't even know what that is. <br />
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I STILL call my parents to ask them stuff. Just last night, I sent my mom a very important text: <br />
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<i>"Can you freeze ham*?"</i><br />
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I've called my mother many times, not to chat(we aren't a chatty family), but for many crises in my life: <br />
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<i>"The recipe calls for one egg, but when I cracked the egg, there were two yolks. What does that mean?" </i><br />
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<i>"How do I keep from setting the kitchen on fire?"</i><br />
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<i>"Can the baby eat strawberries/watermelon/broccoli/whatever, or is he too young?" </i><br />
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<i>"Is there a way to clean baby poop out of the tub, or do we have to move?"</i><br />
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My dad is not exempt from these calls or texts, either: <br />
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<i>"There's a snake over here, Dad. Looks rattlesnake-ish, but no rattle. Run, or pick it up and throw over the fence?"</i><br />
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<i>"Hey Dad, which wrench do I use to turn off the water to the house? And do you know a good plumber?"</i><br />
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If you think about it a moment, our parents are exactly what Google and other companies are trying to market. If Alexa not only told you the weather, but also reminded you to put on a jacket so you don't get sick, that would be my mom. Or your mom. We will always want to ask our parents for the answers, in most cases, even when we are supposed to be "adults". There's something comforting about being able to pick up the phone, and it is depressing to think that someday a parent won't be around to answer the phone or texts. Maybe Google will one day offer an option, where you can have your mom's voice answer you instead of Alexa. <br />
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Although MY mom's voice would also be telling me, unsolicited, that my house is a mess, and that I should dust the ceiling fans, fer cryin' out loud. Adulting is hard, but we don't always have to do it all alone. Call or text your parents. Ask them all those nagging questions about eggs, and ham, and home maintenance, that you think that you're supposed to know. Heck, even ask them what ring-around-the-collar is. It will make them feel needed, and you will learn something that may prove useful later, when your own children are calling to ask these same questions. <br />
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**For the twenty or so readers who are waiting for the answer, yes, you can freeze ham, and no, you don't have to double the recipe if there's two yolks in one egg. And Clorox cures a multitude of ills, apparently. <br />
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<span style="background-color: #444444;"></span><br />TMWHickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11099277984216556857noreply@blogger.com2