March 25, 2013
Conspiracy, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 13
Thank goodness for the generation behind me, Although, I must admit sometimes I think they are a bit too fanatical. One such reference just blew my mind.
It started out this way: http://action.sumofus.org/a/coke-recycling/?sub=fb
“If Coke supports recycling, why is it bringing this ridiculous lawsuit?
This program could increase recycling by 30 percent, if Coke doesn't succeed in blocking it.”
I thought, "Really? There's a Coca-Cola conspiracy?" I doubted it. I do, however, believe that anyone can write any dumb thing and someone will believe it. And, since my cynical scientific nature says, “Prove it,” I immediately began a round of research about research.
A day later, a Yahoo article caught my eye because the topic was so unbelievably stupid.
Yes, you read that link correctly. About halfway through the drivel I saw something that just shocked me. Oh, so women are fat because we aren’t doing more housework? Hmm, are y’all sure it’s not because we are sitting at desks all day, sitting in cars driving our kids around, running errands, commuting, and drinking Coke to keep us going? Well, of course it’s not Coke’s fault… oh, and wait – it appears these remarkable findings were gleaned from an intensive study… funded by Coca-Cola.
I shared this link, and my astonishment, with the recycling conspiracy post-er.
Then I did that thing I shouldn’t do because it usually means I disappear into a time-sucking time warp as I delve deeper and deeper. I lose track of time. I’m a research junkie.
I imagine Coca-Cola’s position on funding research is based on a realization that they have run out of ways to positively market the brand. Sorry, but I have to lay another idiocy on you. Another miraculous study funded by Coca-Cola: Coca-Cola Recommended to Treat Stomach Blockages. The soft drink might rot your teeth, but it's actually an effective first line of treatment for some stomach blockages. http://www.livescience.com/26124-coca-cola-stomach-blockages.html
Now I’m giving away my age just a bit, but my mom used to give us kids coke syrup over crushed ice for upset tummies. These study results are pretty amazing. First we're fat because we don't do enough housework, and now Coca-Cola has “proved” we have stomach troubles due to fruit and vegetable build up. It appears I am going to be up all night ferreting out other sponsored "research" studies.
No one was asking these questions when I was growing up, we were just happy that our parents' light-weight, gas-efficient, cost-effective Pintos didn't blow up.
PS. There apparently is a Wrigley's Gum Conspiracy, too!
March 19, 2013
Two Things, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 12
There are two things I’ve grown into that are downright scaring me.
One is the willingness to discuss my bowels with my peers. When you haven’t pooped in 12 days, there’s just no getting around asking for advice. Stuff can’t keep going in and not coming out. So what if my arsenal of healthcare professionals assure me that an average colon is 5 feet long and can expand up to 2 inches in diameter – it just ain’t right. No way of getting around that! I lived in fear of sneezing and in dread of any gaseous feelings. Things are fine now, with the exception of never having imagined having to discuss my bowels with anyone. Ever.
The other notable concern is a noticeable lack of mental filing. I don’t think my cabinet is full, but I also don’t think I’m saving as many thoughts. Perhaps, there is just less new stuff for me to want to hoard in hope of making future days more interesting.
Example: rummaging around in my freezer for something other than chicken, I discovered an abandoned half-eaten pint of Vanilla Häagen-Dazs courtesy of a post-surgery home-visit by a sweet friend. Naturally, I went to the pantry for sprinkles. Poking around a bit, I came across a half-used bottle of red, green and white jimmies leftover from holiday baking 2012. I considered them, wondering’ “do these little sugar shots ever spoil?” I decided not to chance it, partly because food poisoning and subsequent vomiting would not be good for my newly repaired hernia, but really mostly because I spotted two other forgotten treasures: almost a dozen mini mostly-intact peanut butter waffle pretzel sandwiches and a handful of dark chocolate covered pretzel-thin shards. How I could have forgotten them is quite the mysterious mystery. Perhaps my memory lapse could be interpreted as divine diet intervention. Either way, these remnant ingredients were quickly, colorfully and quite beautifully combined to be used as an additional semi-lactose intolerant adult play-doh factory offering in hopes of… well… you know…. Still if a faulty memory leads to lovely surprises and by natural order of my creative nature, magnificent couture ice cream creations, so be it.
I was also delightfully surprised by two unopened boxes of Girl Scout thin mint cookies, also so sweetly delivered to me while my mind was altered and otherwise pre-occupied. (Refer to reason one.) If the ice cream doesn’t work, I suppose I will move willingly onto milk and cookies next, for good measure.
March 12, 2013
Spiritual Sprint, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 11
My spirituality comes in sprints; short runs after long dry spells. I’ve been pretty pleased with my recovering self; relaxed, unbothered. Physically uncomfortable, for sure, but that has been improving and I can see a near and favorable end. Even so, it only took one moment to be thrown back into the reality of real emotions. Emotions like jealousy and sorrow; so close together. Evoked by where others’ paths have gone and reminders of wrong roads traveled. Loss, and more losses since; family and friends and their loved ones. These are the things that hurt. And just like that – contentedness flees. This isn’t at all where I thought I’d be, who I thought I’d be, or the type of life creative little girl dreams of. Holding a measure stick between my life and others isn’t an accurate gauge of GOD’s will for me. My acknowledgement of this doesn’t always bring about acceptance The past two months have set me up for an unusual spurt. There is no doubt that this is where I am. I’ve been living in a rare occasion, self-convincing; I’m ok. Coasting along in this nice little, quiet, mostly solitary and I-mostly-like-it-fine-that-way life is peaceful and un-dramatically bland. Maybe acceptance isn’t always for the best.. I hope that tomorrow’s sun can blow it all away along with the snow that was beautiful this morning, and is now nothing more than bitter cold. A message notice pops onto my computer screen. I follow along with a click and discover a forgotten note has now become a conversation. I started it:
May 28 2012 9:07 AM
Theresa - I noticed the flag and brokenhearted saying. As I went to share it on my wall, too, I read your post. Just wanted to let you know I am saying a prayer for your broken heart today, and asking my husband in heaven to greet your son with a hug. Blessings.
February 24 2013 12:50pm
Thank you so so much. I didn't see your message until months and months later. It went other "other" instead of "inbox". Our family has felt the prayers of many and felt the presence of God like never before over this past year. I'm sorry for the loss of your husband. Someday we will see them both and never have to be apart.
I don’t know how I know her, or if I even do. I don’t remember writing this. I can’t find the picture I am referring to anywhere in the supposed cavernous retention of Facebook postings. Comparatively, though, what, and why are just a minor mystery. For now, just knowing, just tonight, makes a difference to me.
Have I mourned this for the last night? Probably not.
Has turned it around in the remarkable of space of just an hour?
Almost, I’ll still have to see what tomorrow brings.
March 05, 2013
No Stalin, ME Newsletter, Vol. 6, Issue 10
Has this ever happened to you?
I’m sitting on the couch on a wintry Friday morning post surgery.
I’ve established today’s goals: Stay awake and upright all day; cuddle up on the couch with cocoa, and a blanket; watch a few movies to engage my brain. Also floating around in my mind but not committed to: making banana bread, cataloging trading cards (haven’t heard that one in a while, huh?), catching up on email – especially the real estate related ones.
Yep, sitting on the couch, watching the snowfall, two things occur to me.
1. Snow is in fact very pretty flitting down if you’re calling the couch your home for the day.
2. There is a rather large dead tree outside my picture window – but far enough away that I don’t need to worry about it crashing through my porch or window. In the crook of its large-limb reaching “V” is a weather worn likeness of Joseph Stalin.
Since my phone is right beside me I super-zoom and snap. Yeah, well, there are a couple of window panes and a screen in the way. I try to take one out the back door but sticking my arm out in the snowfall but my body and eyes don’t bend that way. Determination has led me thus far and I really want a picture of the Stalin Juncture. I step off my hospital issue sticky-sole socks; the ones with the little grippers so I don’t wipe out on linoleum floors, at least not easily. Swing the screen door open again, and barefoot, yep, barefoot… I toe-step out on the porch. Hovering in the wet-but-not-white section, I super zoom again, taking five pictures at various angles to get the light just right.
Accomplished, I head back inside, thinking about how my feet weren’t really that cold. At least not until I hit the warm carpet, then.... ok, cold toes! Shaking off the snow, I excitedly return to the couch wrapping my feet in the blanket that is right where I left it when I started this jaunt. I check my work. No Stalin. I put on my glasses. No Stalin. I flick the screen to enlarge the detail and for some reason my detail is one of those square composites choosing not to be clear. I check the tree. Stalin is still there.
Befuddled, but still determined, I email them to myself in hopes of manipulating them in picture edit, so everyone else can see what I see. I don’t see it, at least not on the computer screen. From my repositioned view on the couch, I still see it on the tree, though.
Well, huh, knock my socks off. I am still on the sparkly pain pills….
Yeah, well, I don’t care; it still looks like Joseph Stalin, or maybe Freddie Mercury wearing a fur cap.
Oh, wait! Now there’s a gorgeous big breasted flaming red cardinal sitting in the “V.”
Yeah, I’m not falling for that again.