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Archive for April, 2006

Pearly gates and best friends

This story has been circulating in emails for awhile, but I received it recently and love it enough to post it here too. I haven’t discovered the author’s name.
~~~~~

A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight. When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, “Excuse me, where are we?”

“This is Heaven, sir,” the man answered.

“Wow! Would you happen to have some water?” the man asked.

“Of course, sir. Come right in, and I’ll have some ice water brought right up.”

The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

“Can my friend,” gesturing toward his dog, “come in, too?” the traveler asked.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t accept pets.”

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog. After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence.

As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

“Excuse me!” he called to the man. “Do you have any water?”

“Yeah, sure, there’s a pump over there, come on in.”

“How about my friend here?” the traveler gestured to the dog.

“There should be a bowl by the pump.”

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it. The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog. When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree.

“What do you call this place?” the traveler asked.

“This is Heaven,” he answered.

“Well, that’s confusing,” the traveler said. “The man down the road said that was Heaven, too.”

“Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That’s hell.”

“Doesn’t it make you mad for them to use your name like that?”

“No, we’re just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind.”

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I broke it


I fell this afternoon, sad tale of a curb, some decorative rocks, and me just putting a foot wrong and falling down, feeling a snap in my right foot. In the metatarsus or whatever you call that thing numbered “4″ in the diagram. Not the ankle, thank goodness; I broke that last year and it’s healed up just fine.

Thanks to my kind neighbor who helped me bring some things in from the car when I got home.

I then went to my HMO’s after-hours clinic, got x-rayed and put into a big black cami-boot, so thank heavens I can walk. After a very slow fashion at the moment. Follow up with the orthopedic dept, the “foot doctor”, next week. We got to know each other last summer over my ankle.

And yes, I did have a bone scan two months ago; my bone density is actually very good. I’m just clumsy.

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From my cousin the veterinarian, by email. Click on small photo above to enlarge.

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Butterfly

My friend Helen took this picture last fall at the Tucson Botanical Gardens’ butterfly exhibit. I like it, and she’s allowed me to share it here. It says “spring” to me.

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Fantasyland details

In real life, it’s a closeup of brushed aluminum finish on an interior building structural support post. I like the fantasyland thing better.

Reality land:

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DSCN1092
Originally uploaded by suz-at-large.

Shiny and yellow and big and strong. With funky arms and bolts and these three holes which may be there for some reason besides the designer’s fond memories of old Buick front side panels. Or maybe not.

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Airport animation

HT to Mamacita, here’s a fun animation, airport, created from airport sign symbols by iain anderson.

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Remembering roots


AltusCotton-1
Originally uploaded by suz-at-large.

I’ve never picked cotton. But pretty much everyone in the earlier generations of my dad’s family did – including my dad. They were farmers.

The original of this old postcard is framed and hangs on my office wall.

I put it there as a reminder that I have a well-paid job working indoors. With sick and vacation leave, weekends off, and health insurance. And a retirement plan.

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“Never be afraid to try something new. Remember that a lone amateur built the Ark. A large group of professionals built the Titanic.”

Yeah, but that amateur had a pretty good mentor, as I remember the story.

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. . . because I’m mailing this tomorrow. And I’m sure you got your whole tax return filed in plenty of time.

That’s OK, I’m glad to serve.

“If you can’t be a good example, then you’ll just have to be a horrible warning.” – Catherine Aird.

“There is nothing so annoying as a good example!” – Mark Twain.

See, I bet I made your day. Or at least a few minutes of it.

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Sunny day picture 2


NED03
Originally uploaded by suz-at-large.

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Originally uploaded by suz-at-large.

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The waiter rule

HT to Waiterrant for this story in USA Today. It’s about the “waiter rule.” CEOs say that you can tell a lot about a person by the way she/he treats the wait staff in a restaurant.

Obviously, subordinates and others are going to be on their respectful best-mannered behavior toward a CEO, so those displays of nice manners don’t give a CEO much to go by. Much more revealing is whether a guy will snap at a waiter or other service person, or act arrogant – in other words, the person’s behavior toward those perceived as somehow ranking below them in the order of things.

. . .It’s hard to get a dozen CEOs to agree about anything, but all interviewed agree with the Waiter Rule.

They acknowledge that CEOs live in a Lake Wobegon world where every dinner or lunch partner is above average in their deference. How others treat the CEO says nothing, they say. But how others treat the waiter is like a magical window into the soul.

And beware of anyone who pulls out the power card to say something like, “I could buy this place and fire you,” or “I know the owner and I could have you fired.” Those who say such things have revealed more about their character than about their wealth and power.

Whoever came up with the waiter observation “is bang spot on,” says BMW North America President Tom Purves, a native of Scotland, a citizen of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland, who lives in New York City with his Norwegian wife, Hilde, and works for a German company. That makes him qualified to speak on different cultures, and he says the waiter theory is true everywhere.

The CEO who came up with it, or at least first wrote it down, is Raytheon CEO Bill Swanson. He wrote a booklet of 33 short leadership observations called Swanson’s Unwritten Rules of Management. Raytheon has given away 250,000 of the books.

Among those 33 rules is only one that Swanson says never fails: “A person who is nice to you but rude to the waiter, or to others, is not a nice person.”

. . . “Watch out for people who have a situational value system, who can turn the charm on and off depending on the status of the person they are interacting with,” Swanson writes. “Be especially wary of those who are rude to people perceived to be in subordinate roles.”

The Waiter Rule also applies to the way people treat hotel maids, mailroom clerks, bellmen and security guards. Au Bon Pain co-founder Ron Shaich, now CEO of Panera Bread, says he was interviewing a candidate for general counsel in St. Louis. She was “sweet” to Shaich but turned “amazingly rude” to someone cleaning the tables, Shaich says. She didn’t get the job.

Shaich says any time candidates are being considered for executive positions at Panera Bread, he asks his assistant, Laura Parisi, how they treated her, because some applicants are “pushy, self-absorbed and rude” to her before she transfers the call to him.

Yessss….!!!!

Same principle works at the courthouse. There are the lawyers who behave toward the court staff with respect and courtesy, and the lawyers who just don’t get it. Like they are too important to spare any courtesy on mere docket clerks and bailiffs and court reporters. Guess which lawyers are likely to have a better experience in the courtroom? Heh, heh, heh. Do the ones who don’t get it, think the court staff never talk to the judge or vice versa? D’uh, who do ya think hires the courtroom staff, dude? Da judge, that’s who. And who do you think the judge talks to day in and day out when she’s not on the bench, and who’s walking in and out of the judge’s chambers as the court’s business gets done? The court staff, that’s who.

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Thought for today

“Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.”

That was in an email I received from a cousin today, at the end of a string of cute puppy and kitten pics, but with no attribution.

I’d love it if someone knows who should get credit for it.

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Mary Winter writes a column in the Spotlight section of the Rocky Mountain News (one of Denver’s two dailies). Today’s is titled My Own Personal Dog Day of Spring and it’s a gem.

You can read the whole thing online at http://tinyurl.com/opbvh – but without, I hope, violating any copyrights here are some excerpts:

Don’t want to get dressed, get wet or use soap.

Don’t want to worry about what’s for dinner.

. . . Don’t want to feign enthusiasm.

Don’t want to face the pile of papers on my desk . . .

I just want to be my dog today.

I want to stretch out on the east-facing wood deck as the sun pours over my body like a fresh batch of warm cement.

Today, I want a brain the size of a walnut.

I want to walk on four legs that don’t need to be shaved, stockinged or pedicured.

I want to dig a hole in the herb bed and bury my worries deeper than a worked-over hambone.

Today, my name is Daisy.

I wear a pink collar and have a corkscrew tail.

My hearing is so keen I can detect the garbage truck three blocks away. My nose is so highly evolved I can flush out a tennis ball in 2 feet of dead leaves from 20 yards.

My only job today is running security in the back yard, and by that I mean watching the squirrels skim power lines from the alley to the house to the garage, making sure they keep their mitts off my kibbles.

Squirrels are filthy thieves. I catch them in the garbage cans all the time.

At some point I’ll have to mix it up with the two cats from across the alley. They’ve never heard the term no loitering and think nothing of parking on our fence whenever the mood strikes them.

Then I’ll make my backyard rounds.

. . . I’ll swing by the compost pile and dig up some small amusement there, like an old avocado pit or a rotting potato.

. . . I’ll visit the concrete fish pond on the west side of the house. It doesn’t hold water for long, because it has a big crack, but it’s usually good for an inch-thick layer of decayed leaves and muck after a rain or snow.

If I’m lucky, I’ll find a soggy, smelly mess there, just enough to cover my paws so I can bring some into the house and share with it everyone.

Cleaning up my dirty prints won’t be my job, of course. When you’re a dog for a day, it’s just not in the contract.

Oh, umf, yes, I want that backyard gig so BAD today! And maybe a few scratches behind the ear.

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August sunset 05


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Random photo post

…or random photo of a post?

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She’s given permission for linking and quoting, so herewith are excerpts from author Poppy Z. Brite’s latest status report from NOLA, written from there for those “not from here.” Last month here I provided some other links for up to date information on life in that area.

It’s not a pretty picture, what Poppy says:

WHY NEW ORLEANS IS NOT OK, SEVEN MONTHS ON

. . . I present to you a baker’s dozen facts about life in the city seven months after the storm. Some are large, some small. I think many of them will surprise you.

1. Most of the city is still officially uninhabitable. We and most other current New Orleanians live in what is sometimes known as The Sliver By The River, a section between the Mississippi River and St. Charles Avenue that didn’t flood, as well as in the French Quarter and part of the Faubourg Marigny. In the “uninhabitable sections,” there are hundreds of people living clandestinely in their homes with no lights, power, or (in many cases) drinkable water. They cannot afford generators or the gasoline it takes to run them, or if they have generators, they can only run them for part of the day. They cook on camp stoves and light their homes with candles or oil lamps at night.

2. There is a minimal police presence, and most of it is concentrated in the Sliver. Homes in other parts of the city are still being looted, vandalized, and burned.

3. Many parts of the city have had no trash pickup — either FEMA or municipal — for weeks. Things improved for a while, but now there are nearly as many piles of debris and stinking garbage as there were right after the storm.

4. There are no street lights in many of the “uninhabited” sections, which makes for very dark nights for their residents.

5. Many of the stoplights, including some at large, busy intersections, still don’t work. They have become four-way stops (with small, hard-to-see stop signs propped up near the ground) and there are countless wrecks.

6. There is hardly any medical care in the city. As far as I know, only two hospitals and an emergency facility in the convention center are currently operating. Emergency room patients, even those having serious symptoms like chest pains, routinely wait eight hours or more to be seen by a doctor. We have, I believe, 600 hospital beds in a city whose population is approaching (and may have surpassed) 250,000.

7. Most grocery stores, many drugstores, and countless other important retail establishments are only open until 5, 6, or at best 8:00 PM because of the lack of staffing. This is only an inconvenience for me, a freelancer, but it’s crippling for people who work “normal” hours.

. . .

9. Cadaver dogs and youth volunteers gutting houses are still finding bodies in the Lower Ninth Ward. Of course these corpses are just skeletons by now — the other day they found a six-year-old girl with an older person, possibly a grandmother, located near her — and they may never be identified. The bodies are hidden under debris piles and collapsed houses. This is in the same section of town that some of the politicians are aching to bulldoze.

. . .

12. Many of the FEMA trailers — you know, the ones costing taxpayers $70,000 each — have been delivered to homeless New Orleanians but cannot be lived in because the city doesn’t have enough people to come out and do electrical inspections, and the trailers need a separate hookup instead of being hooked into the house’s power supply, and a dozen other damn fool things. . . .

13. A large percentage — I’ve heard figures ranging from 60 to 75% — of current New Orleanians are on some form of antidepressant or anti-anxiety drug. The lines at the pharmacy windows have become a running joke. When a visiting “expert” gave a Power Point presentation on post-traumatic stress disorder recently, the entire audience dissolved into hysterical laughter.

I’ve just read Simon Winchester’s A Crack in the Edge of the World, an undisciplined and apparently un-edited romp through plate tectonics and other aspects of geology, and a bit about the great 1906 California earthquake which hit San Francisco.

If you believe the subtitle (“America and the Great California Earthquake of 1906″), the San Francisco quake is the actual subject of the book. So much for truth in advertising. Unless of course the author considers the introductory “America and” his license to ramble and digress and repeat himself ad nauseam. Dare I suspect that the book was rushed to print to exploit the author’s prior best-selling successes, in time for the 100th anniversary – April 18 – of the quake? But now I digress. Oh dear. Back to my point, if I have one.

As Winchester’s book does mention, the fires which the earthquake set off raged for days and flattened a staggering amount of the city – undoubtedly the fires did more damage than the quake alone. Yes, kind of like the Katrina + levee collapse one-two punch that struck 99 years later, half a continent away.

Winchester’s book left me wanting to know more about the SF disaster, so I’m picking up a few more books to read. Thinking of NOLA and the Gulf Coast all the while.

How did the folks left living in San Francisco 100 years ago cope and go forward? I suppose with the same grit and creativity and sheer bloody stubbornness that the people in NOLA and the rest of the Katrina-ravaged U.S. Gulf Coast are finding in themselves right now. Day in and day out.

Beyond a tiny step in getting the word out, I don’t know what I can do to help.

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I checked out a library copy of Bald in the Land of Big Hair, by Joni Rodgers, and read it in one evening this week.

It’s one of the best books I’ve read lately. Several times I laughed out loud and wished I had someone there, even a dog, with whom to share some of the best lines.

From the author’s website, here’s a synopsis:

Joni Rodgers lives in Houston, Texas, where big hair is a God-given right. It’s prerequisite for a real estate license, as natural as Naugahyde, as important as Elvis. But at thirty-two, Joni was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and aggressive cancer of the immune system, and she lost her hair to chemotherapy. It’s no fun being a bald girl in the Big Hair Capitol of America, but Joni managed to hold onto her sanity and her sense of humor. With the same amazing ability to laugh at life (and herself) that helped her survive cancer, Joni now recounts her story-a deeply affecting tale of industrial-strength drugs, healing herbs, love, sex, prayer, kids, career, and the search for a wig that won’t make her look like Betty Rubble.

That about does it, except that it’s not a cancer-as-slapstick book by any means despite all those laughs. The author got very sick and might have died. All this happened while she had a husband and two small children. The emotional, physical and financial wreckage was grim, and this book doesn’t pull its punches in describing those things.

It also shines with tough spirituality, faith and love.

HT to Denise at Bag and Baggage, who mentioned the title.

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New toy

I have a new toy – the Cambridge SoundWorks Radio CD 740. This is more than an AM/FM radio; it plays CDs and has a clock and two alarms and a remote. It sounds as good as, IMHO better than, a Bose wave radio and costs significantly less.

This is the first radio I’ve had with the station/song information display and though the novelty will probably wear off in time it’s fun to look over and see what’s playing.

My next new toy will probably be an iPod, since I’ve discovered iTunes and have started burning my CDs into my iTunes library on my PC.

It’s fun to spend money on a toy. I mean, new furniture and window coverings and air conditioning are all very well but you just can’t play with them, know what I’m saying?

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A peregrine falcon has laid eggs in a nest atop the Kodak Building in Rochester, NY.

The rooftop nest is part of a program to protect this endangered species. Kodak has a videocam covering the nest with a live feed (well, refreshed every few minutes) to its website. Go here and see for yourself.

My sources tell me that the mom and dad birds take turns sitting on the eggs so you rarely see them together. The mom is called Mariah, and the dad is Kaver. Mariah has a little bit of white over her beak and Kaver doesn’t. That’s one way to tell them apart.

I happened to click on this morning when neither bird was there so I got to see the large eggs. Cool stuff.

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