Oy! The Pressure!

I feel so much pressure to write a blog...a blog about something...anything! A witty blog. An informative blog. A blog that will inspire and require an introspective glance. But...I got nothing.

My mind is full of deadlines and obligations. It is rattled with worry over a million different things. It is chock-full of tasks eagerly awaiting the check mark of completion.

I got a bit sidelined when my husband calmly told me he thought he might have broken his hand. What? Might have broken? A popping sound? A snap? That can't be good. The x-rays proved that is wasn't good and it won't be for a few more weeks until he has surgery. He is a good sport and is ambling around as best he can. But, for the self-employed autobody painter and designer, a broken hand is a broken link in the "I do work, you pay me" chain.

About the same time the hand snapped, my paycheck was dinged. That well that went dry has to be paid for and the 401K I borrowed from is gathering its money back. For the next five years my paycheck will be lighter...a lot lighter. Lighter is good if you are on a diet...I am not. I am a lean, mean, coupon-cutting, sale-shopping machine these days!

So that is a brief glimpse at why my wit is zapped; my thoughts are jumbled; my mind is taxed. I am sure my new, amplified, cost-conscious life will provide fodder for future blogs because, after all, the best things in life - and to write about - are free!

Well, that's embarassing!

We all have moments that leave us searching for a hole to scurry into. Those times when we truly wish the Earth would suck us up and leave no trace. I have had plenty of such moments...pleeeeeenty! I am anything but graceful. Try as I might to stand talk and act polished, I still find myself in embarrassing moments.

FLYING and FALLING OBJECTS

I have been struck by bird and bird poo. By the poo twice. Once smack dab on the top of my head. Once on my shoulder. Neither pleasant. I think the poo on the head was much more traumatic because it was actually touching my skin...not my clothes, but actually creeping into the follicles on my head. Being somewhat germ-phobic, this literally put me on the outer limits of my sanity.

And, yes, I have been struck by a bird. While dressed in a elegant black dress as part of a wedding party I was struck by a just released symbol of love...the white dove. Proof of the assault came with the wedding photos where I am pictured diligently holding my bouquet while my face is a mix of surprise and horror. You can see my head bent sightly forward from the force and the dove actually pushing off with wildly frantic flapping wings.

I was also struck by an acorn once...in the head...in a huge park...with hundreds of other people. That acorn wheedled its way through the crowd and found my head to drop on. I remember hearing the knock, feeling the smart, seeing the acorn drop to my lap, and looking at my husband as he burst into laughter. I looked around to see other smirks and wondered why that thing had to hit me.

I have been the falling object many of times. I have fallen on the job, at home, at a clothing store. I have fallen while running, while walking, and once I toppled over from a dead stand still. I have fallen on asphalt, on dirt, on concrete, on a huge pile of boxed chocolates, in a moss-laden gutter, and on tile. I have fallen against stairs, cars, chairs, and tables. I have fallen over dogs, children, and my own feet. I have fallen off of motorcycles, bicycles, and scooters. I have even fallen from the sky on a number of occasions. I fall...a lot. When I showed up to my own bridal shower on crutches my mother pursed her lips and gave me a firm scolding because, obviously, I was doing something I shouldn't have been doing and don't I know how clumsy I am?

Also, under the category of flying object I can add the underwire of my bra. While talking to our vet about the health of my dogs I once had my underwire literally fly out of my sleeve and fall in a clatter to the floor. The vet was curious to see what the UFO could be but I had reactions of lightening and I whipped the crescent up and stuffed it into my purse. The vet stared at me curiously but proceed with his diagnosis. The underwire must have been ready to give for it to fly with such force. I am thankful it struck neither human nor animal.

OUT OF THE MOUTH

Some of the worst offenses are those made verbally. I am horrible with names. I no longer even like to address people by their names for fear I will, yet again, have them wrong. Once, on a first date, I called my date the name of his roommate. And, when I worked for a non-profit organization, I spoke candidly to the major founder. When I relayed this great conversation to my boss he doubled-over laughing hysterically. Apparently, the major founder was dead and had been such for a long time. I was just talking to some random guy that looked a lot like the framed photo on the wall. Those moments are the worst!

APPEARANCES

These are really rotten moments because you so often don't realize what a buffoon you look like. I once had my boss ask me what was caught on the front collar on my shirt. As I reach up and fingered it, I realized it was the tag. That's right, I wore my shirt to work backwards.

In another moment of bra drama, as I was flirting with a guy back in my single days I lifted my arm to make a gesture and the guy grabbed and tugged at something under my sleeve. "What's this?" he giggled. It was my bra strap. The thing had come unhinged and was dangling out my sleeve.

Boogers and zits and chives in the teeth are horrible to spy in the rearview mirror of the car. I can't count the number of times I have chatted and cajoled only to head back to the car to find a big black chive between my front teeth. Why don't people tell me these things?

I am sure my world holds more embarrassment for me. It holds far more than I have shared here! I just hope it goes easy on me...like, no more falling on 150 boxes of See's candy in a straight, tight denim skirt that would leave me wallowing like a turtle on its back. Yea, no more of that!

Fres-YES!

I have endured the looks, the comments, the eye rolls. The sorrowful gestures that say, "I am so sorry you live in Fresno." The worst was the pity I received from a woman while passing through Barstow, California. She sadly nodded her head and clucked her tongue as she said, "Oh, you live in Fresno? I am so sorry for you." I couldn't help but lean forward and whisper, "You know you live in Barstow, right?"

I will declare here and now, without shame and downcast eyes, that I unabashedly LOVE Fresno! While I now live on the outskirts of town, I still consider Fresno my home. I have lived here since 1987 and now I am raising my own family in this amazing place.

Everyone hears and focuses on the negative media that Fresno receives. Yes, the city certainly has its fair share of problems. But, what about the good parts of Fresno? Yes, there are indeed good parts...oodles of them!

Fresno is centrally located in this grand state of California. We sit with the beautiful Sierras on one side and the rolling Pacific Ocean less than three hours away on the other side. We have repeatedly satisfied my husband's craving for fresh clam chowder with  day trips to Pismo Beach and we love to spend winter days playing with our children in the Sierra snow just west of our home.

Yosemite National Park sits grandly in our backyard attracting visitors from all over the world. No less than five times have I gotten up early to hike Half Dome and been back to sleep in my own bed that night. I marvel at the sheer beauty found in the park. It is breathtaking and inspiring. I don't think one can visit Yosemite and doubt God's existence.

Fresno offers more beauty found in the great agricultural landscape. I relish traveling home from business trips to be greeted by the fragrant smell of orange blossoms. The rich, citrus smell is the smell of home to me. It is comfort and security. A seasonal trip through the Fresno Blossom Trail is an amazing trip for one's senses. From the incredible beauty and colors found in the Almond, Plum, Peach, Nectarine, Apricot, Citrus and Apple blossoms to the incredible sweet and savory smells to the buzzing of hundreds of dutifully busy bees.

Fresno offers an array of great places to shop and there are numerous places to treat your palate to any number of cultural cuisines. Fresno offers the best Mexican food I have ever tasted. While some towns boast Taco Bell as true Mexican cuisine, Fresnans know that has nothing on Sal's, Javiar's, Mexicatessen, or Casa Corona.

One thing I truly love about Fresno is the small town feel it has managed to maintain while growing steadily in population. I love running into friends in random places. From the Woodward Park Library to SaveMart to The Shops at Riverpark, my husband and I always seem to encounter the friendly face of someone we know.

Fresno may not sit at the top of a list of the best places to live, but for me, it truly is the only place I can imagine raising my family. My kids are learning good, solid values not only from me and my husband, but from the community that surrounds them. They are seeing the rewards of hard work and the joys of a more simple life. They don't require 8-lane highways and skyscrapers dotting the skyline. They enjoy trips to the movie theater and swim lessons. They love picking fruit from our own trees and adventures to the coast and mountains.

Fresno offers many of the perks of a metropolitan city without the congestion and delays. Fresnans appreciate a less-intense lifestyle than the larger cities to the north and south of us. To me, Fresno is home.  To those who pity me because I live in Fresno I say Fres-YES!

See 'em, but don't hear 'em

There are people who still subscribe to the notion that children should be seen and not heard. While I admit that my children are adorable to view, I think of what I would miss if they were never heard.

I likely would never puzzle over why the sky is blue and not pink. I might not question the differences between a one-hump camel verses the two-hump variety. And, I might never be curious enough to dig a hole in my backyard in hopes of finding a real dinosaur bone.

I understand that children can be loud and down-right obnoxious at times. And, I freely admit that I am able to tune them out while others cringe and claw at themselves in sheer agony at the piercing screams and giggles of childhood. I believe this is a trait of parenthood. We train ourselves to listen for sounds outside the normal and drown out the rest. If my children are quiet, my senses immediately perk up. I can tell the difference between a shriek of annoyance at a sibling and a shriek of pain due to falling. The sound of children is part of being a parent. And, though I ask my children to bring the noise level down a notch at times, I would never beckon them to be completely silent.

If children were seen and not heard we would see the chocolate smeared on their faces but would never hear about the yummiest chocolate chip cookie they ever ate. We would see the sadness in their eyes but never realize it was because their "bestest" friend in the whole world wanted to play with someone else at recess that day. We would see that their clothes don't match but never know it was because they chose to wear all their favorite clothes together regardless of color. We would see the dinosaurs in piles in holes in the backyard but never learn that it was the grandest imaginary fossil treasure.

I don't want my children to be spit polished and tucked in. I don't want them wearing sweater vests with nary a hair out of place. I don't want them to sit quietly and never wonder or be curious. I love that my children need to have their dirty feet scrubbed in the tub each night. I love that they have actually tasted mud pies. I delight in their laughter and marvel at their profound questions. And, yes I love their bright eyes and genuine smiles. Those things are all part of the marvelous package of childhood. Let's let children be children because childhood is short enough as it is. Let's see children and hear them too...we will surely learn a thing or two.

Dry Hole

Living where we do comes with the knowledge - or fear - that there will come a time when the well will run dry. For me, that fear was realized on Saturday afternoon. As I watered our little makeshift garden I noticed our water pressure was low. I mentally noted it, but wasn't concerned by it. It was later when I asked my son to start his bath that the universe paused a moment. I was fussing with the kitchen sink and wondering if the faucet was plugged when my son came in all smiles and giggles telling me how the water was only trickling into the tub. My world slammed to a halt and I felt my blood run cold. I called...rather...I hollered for my husband and together we tromped out to the pump.

The pump was humming along but no water was being pulled up into the tank. The pressure rested at 15%. I pleaded with myself to not pass out. At that moment, I could only think of the hefty price tag we were facing. Wells don't come cheap and in these difficult economic times we are financially strapped.

After my initial breakdown where fear collided with tears, my husband and I were able to plan for the worst. Hoping that just the pump motor was bad, but sensing the whole well was dry, we took steps to pull a loan out against my 401K. On a Saturday night at 9pm, there is not much one can do. But taking a few steps towards a resolution along with an Ambien at least provided for some sleep.

Now, here is where I get to be extremely grateful. I called our pump company at 8am sharp on Monday morning. A crew arrived and by 9:30 we knew the pump motor was shot. Still waiting on a verdict on the water level, I contacted my 401K provider. After hearing my plight, a representative faxed me the paperwork to sign for tan emergency loan against my retirement fund. By 11am I had the paperwork signed and faxed to my fund manager and the loan was approved. It was moments later that my husband called to let me know that the well was indeed dry.

I choked down this information with a bit of ease since we would have the funds to cover the expense. I arrived home just prior to the arrival of the manager of the drilling crew. He provided us with a 5-digit estimate and told us he would file for permits that afternoon. In a move not typical, the County approved our permits in minutes rather than days. This allowed the drilling crew to come out yesterday evening to bring out their equipment to get set-up for an early start today.

We found out that sometimes it takes several months to get a new well drilled. We found ourselves with a dry well completely out of sync with the normal pattern so our wait was a mere 24 hours.

I am anxiously awaiting the free flow of water. It takes about 5 business days to complete a new well and destroy the old one. With luck we will be showering in our own home by next Tuesday at the latest.

My feeling of gratitude for the funds and quick response of the pump company is currently out-weighing my feelings of inconvenience. It is not convenient to be without water. It is not especially inconvenient with two small children who are home for summer. It is frustrating to fill the toilet tanks with water and to wash dishes with a two-gallon jug. It is incredibly difficult to suck up our pride and accept the use of parents' and siblings' showers and washing machines.

In a stroke of irony, on Sunday, a friend let us know we could have his old above-ground pool. We have no water but we have a pool! I can't wait to fill that pool up with water fresh from our 500 foot well! That will be a wonderful reward for these past few days filled with challenges.

The Sprinkler

A couple summers ago I was training very diligently for a half marathon. Though I would run early in the morning, the heat would often become so oppressive I would have to cut my runs short.

On one such morning, I had become so overheated that I changed course and began my run home after only a couple miles. As I ran through the sleepy streets, I couldn't help but notice how many homes had sprinklers running full tilt. They were drenching lawns with lovely, cold, and inviting water.

I was thirst-quenched. The sprinklers wrecked havoc with my dehydrated body. I focused on getting home where I would reward myself with a brimming glass of ice cold water.

But, as I passed house after house of sprinkler-soaked lawns my thirst became absolutely unbearable. I began to not only notice the sprinklers, but that the blinds were drawn on most of the homes. The people inside were still asleep with their air conditioners churning. My mind turned to that of a criminal. "Who would mind if I took one sip of water from a sprinkler?"

Well, these things never play out the way we expect them to in our minds.

I did indeed attempt to take a drink from a sprinkler. However, in my dehydrated state, the sprinkler I chose was one of those high-powered doodads that rocket-launch water across the lawn. They spray out with a rat-tat-tat-tat and then they fire back with a tattattattat! I bent over the sprinkler and tried to get any amount of water to stay in my mouth while the power of the blast threatened to launch a hole through my cheek.

It was in that very undignified position that I saw them. I glanced to notice the two slippered feet standing just inches away from my head. I shot up in a flash and came face-to -face with a most confused older woman. She looked perplexed and none to happy that I had tried to syphon a sip of her water. Her hands were on her hips and her pj's were covered by an old fuzzy bathrobe.

I stammered that I was sorry and that I was just incredibly thirsty but she spoke not one word. She just stared at me as I sprinted down the street with my thirst forgotten and my shirt sopping wet.

When I got home, I ran the hose over my head and sat on the patio. It took a few minutes for the me to grasp the hilarity of the situation and to have a good laugh. I thought that next time I should pick a gentler sprinkler, but then decided that next time I would be better off to carry my water with me.

My floors

I have heard that when it comes to housecleaning everyone has their "thing"; their one thing that matters. If that one thing is clean, all is well with the world. My thing is the floors. If I can walk barefoot on my floors without succumbing to grit, I can conquer the world! If my floors are dirty and grimy they will so haunt me that I can't accomplish a thing.

As I was tackling the floors today I realized what a story those tiles could tell. While I mop them and scrub them, there are little hints of life with children that are seemingly permanent.

When I open my closet, I see tiny drops of bright pink nail polish that remind me of the time that my daughter dropped the bottle and it shattered. While I cleaned up the most evident spots, I overlooked a few. They really don't bother me. They remind me of my precious daughter and her love of bling and beautiful.

In my front room, you will see googly eyes stuck to the floor. Every time I mop over them I am reminded that I really ought to scrape them up. But, then there wouldn't be anymore googly eyes on the floor. And, honestly, they make me smile. I don't know how they came to reside on my floor, but googly eyes are just fun.

There is also the streak of brown from when I vacuumed over a non-washable crayon and a patch of turquoise where some little artist decorated with a non-washable marker. The carpet in the kids' rooms is littered with colored sticker stars. I vacuum over and over them but they remain. They are all bits of evidence of life in my home. Life with color, vivaciousness, and Crayola products.

All these little blemishes just need a few moments of time to tend too. Yet they remain. I guess my decorating style right now is "Early Childhood in Progress." And, I am good with that because the floor isn't gritty. It may have googly eyes and modern art, but there is no grit to drive me crazy! And, I know that some day, the googly eyes will wear away and I will long for them. My house with be quiet and peaceful and I will long for the chaos of raising children.