tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26944999392990855232024-03-13T21:16:29.845-05:00If Dreams Were ThunderThere Would Be Clouds In My CoffeeKatie Kofehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15025328940292417833noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-85910989369960024232019-12-13T20:35:00.000-06:002019-12-13T20:35:02.681-06:00Besties in the Internet AgeI was blessed with a visit in October, the month of my birth, from my bestie of 20+ years. We'd never met In Person before this. We met in an AOL chat room back in the day, conversing about parental adventures. Over time, we went from two names on a screen among many to LOLing on IMs, to sending quickie emails back and forth, trying not to get sucked in to all the falderall that all internet communities endure periodically. <br />
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Despite the rigors of child raising, weather, changes in circumstances, and both of us moving to other states, we managed to maintain fellowship. No one is faster with the "Hang in There!" or the Righteous Indignation or, thankfully, the "Woe - what did you say?! Have you lost your marbles again?"<br />
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She was there through every agonizing [and terrifying] day of the divorce and our subsequent dash to safety, Firmly Insisting we'd be all right if I just kept my faith and put one foot in front of the other, walking sanity, even if it felt nutz to do so. She encouraged me to get that counseling that we all needed and checked my math when I was sure I'd screw up the budget. Technically, she should be blind from reading all my blathering but somehow God protected her wise eyes! <br />
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She was the one encouraging me to grow beyond the parameters I'd set for myself to survive. The first one to say, "No, wearing pants is not going to condemn you to everlasting damnation, chuck the dumb jumpers and see!" she also believed that the convictions of parenting and educating my children were the things to cling to until God showed me otherwise and so, never told me I, alone, couldn't raise six children. Her certainty I wasn't alone agreed with mine, but it was essential to hear it from another when so many were convinced of the opposite.<br />
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There were tons of good days and bad days and just plain weary days, including eight months where I literally shut down communicating with everyone outside our four walls. Not once has she asked why. Not once has she chastised me for that. Not once has she suggested I was no friend to do that. Somehow, she managed to keep sending chirpy and omigosh you'll never believe MY shitty day emails despite my silence, until I'd pieced myself back together and could respond. That depth of love and care is truly beyond friendship, and though I know I don't deserve it, I sure do praise God for the wonderful creation she is!<br />
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Much later, she kept me grounded in common damn sense when I was certain it was beamed away by aliens and all that was left is a horrifying reality I could not face. She and God put my youngest daughter's lupus in perspective. She's the one that helped me do the research I needed to do so I was a Help, not a Worthless Wench. She's the one that checks in to make sure all is well, knowing well is relative to the hour and day, not necessarily some magical thaing with glitter and streamers. She is the one that guided my comprehension of limits and that it is ok to push those because the Fun is worth the consequences.<br />
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When my eldest daughter moved So Far and Away, she listened to me sob and snivel and blow my nose. She comprehends the devastation of never seeing your child again, didn't diminish my broken heart ... or the Joy I simultaneously felt that Eldest Daughter isn't afraid to take her life and make what she will of it, whether mother likes it or not. Bestie wiped the spit off my face and reminded me that my goal was to raise Godly People that were Strong and Able to be whoever they would be. She even squirted ketchup on my crow so I could get it down without gagging. This might be why she so easily affirmed my perspective when Third Daughter moved out. Fifty miles away isn't as fearsome. <br />
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She nudged me to seek out medical care during my health incident. Between her and my co-worker, I simply wasn't allowed to talk myself out of going to Urgent Care. Go figure, they were right to nudge and, along with medical professionals, I'm sure they saved my life. She accepts the limits of lifetime without making me feel guilty for ignoring it, mostly. What you cannot change, you embrace and get on with the day. We learned that together over time, laughing about laundry, politicians, and pets that are not as messy as toddlers but it's pretty damn close.<br />
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No one tells better jokes, laughs as perfectly, or loves her husband and kids more. No one can take two sentences in a fat, rather boring email and know that was the most important part. We've struggled together, resented distance and at times just been fighting mad with the world that is not fair, or especially kind to anyone. She's had some horrifying health challenges and yet keeps moving as she can, accepting limits and enjoying triumphs where they are. Her laugh lines are a Gorgeous Testimony of the Strength she shares so generously. <br />
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Meeting and enjoying her company LIVE and In Person for four days was a glimpse of Eternity. We didn't do anything much, just visited, ate good food, and sipped our coffee. At times sounding like frogs because we yammered a bit more than either of us are used to was fine, I made tea. I spent the days not once having to think of something to say, it was all so easy and exactly as I longed for it to be. My adult children living together and sharing expenses in this lovely little house have heard her opinions, thoughts and snarky comments for most of their lives so they also felt like they knew her before she got here ... was hilarious to see how comfy they were with her and vice versa. <br />
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After the birth days of each child and getting to ask a question of Mark Shepard at the Doctor Who convention a couple years ago, it was the Most Wonderful four days of my entire life. I don't have a bucket list. I am a low key, live faithfully in the moment, tomorrow will take care of itself sort of gal. But if I did, most of it would be crossed off with this one visit. Good friend, great conversation, and much laughter, truly best things in life!<br />
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-2001437807767712842019-12-13T12:09:00.000-06:002019-12-13T12:09:21.353-06:00Stream of NonsenseWe made it through the Summer without melting in to puddles, but it was a challenging Season<br />
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Vehicle was repaired locally and covered fully by insurance + we got our deductible back! I do know how to work "with" the system of good ole boys, much as I hate it, and at least break even. Standing firm on what really matters - not writing off vehicle for body shop profit - and remaining icy calm in the face of comments meant to trigger your emotions so they can write You off is easier than back in the day....<br />
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Following the vehicle adventure, we had leaky pipes in the kitchen and A/C went out during the hottest week of the summer and it took 3 days for guy to get here but it was an easy fix so we did not die, only thought we might. Thank God we can afford home insurance that covered all this! Between the washer and refrigerator repairs earlier this year and the Summer adventures, it has more than paid for itself!<br />
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A former co-worker started his own biz and so I took on a second job helping him get it off the ground -- more about this later.<br />
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Sitting at the desk 14 to 16 hours a day for work, especially with no A/C, just isn't conducive to the sit upon skin health. [<i>That's as far as I'm taking that description, it was as gross as you don't need to imagine</i>] Needless to say, I ignored the issue until I literally could not sit or stand or walk without wanting to scream. I always feel like a faker when I finally go to Urgent Care. But like that incident a couple years ago ... uh, medical folks were freaking out before all the blood work was done. My white blood count was a bit on the 'holy she-it' side and uh, I somehow got a staph infection that turned my body chemistry against me. Ended up on 3 types of antibiotics + infusion therapy for a week that trashed my hands because my veins were not cooperating. [<i>they 'roll' when harpoons come at them, go figure</i>] Took longer for my hands to recover than for the vile infection to go away and for my boo boo to heal! Only missed 3 hours of work during that adventure and yeah, the yeast infection from the antibiotic use was spectacular. 'Nuff said.<br />
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Insurance tried to say I was out of network with regards to all this. Spent two hours on the phone to ask, "How could this be out of network when it is the Only Doctor listed in my area and uh, it was in network earlier this year so what you talkin' 'bout?" Funny how it all works, the hemming and hawing and uh, um, well "Yes, it is in network but the LAB isn't." That the lab is in the same building seemed to elude them until I got the Urgent Care to fax them their Lab address [TIP: <i>having more than one cell phone in the house means you don't have to call back and sit in the phone tree another 40 minutes & Labs are very helpful when it comes to getting paid</i>] So aside from the co-pays at the time of service, we're down to $90 for the whole mess. I can afford that.<br />
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Alas, the bruised hands meant my coloring time was irrelevant because holding pencils was not happening. I managed the typing for work by using warm rice socks every couple hours but it wasn't a great deal of help. But that's the way it goes when you believe you're indestructible because you have to be ... someday I'm gonna get the message, or not.<br />
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That adventure did help me reconcile to the Fifteen Minutes Philosophy of Coloring aka GEdN. Finding large blocks of time to color is never going to happen. I am never going to advance to the different mediums, or achieve more than basic coloring of gorgeous pictures that no doubt deserve better BUT ... I can and will whittle out 15 minutes here and there to just, by golly, color! Sometimes I'm only able to squeeze in 7 minutes, other times it's 12, now and then I reach 20 mins -- Good E-damn-Nuff. <br />
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Repeating that phrase before picking up a pencil makes all the difference in my mindset. Gone is frustration and resentment because it's Good E-damn-Nuff today! It took me 10 days to do a regular coloring book page, it turned out decent and was GEdN. I'm 9 days in to my second page and it has been pure pleasure, every 15 minute increment of coloring, just as I used to imagine having a whole day to color would be. The lessons I've learned listening to youtubers don't always turn out as I think they should but they aren't wasted attempts anymore, they're a 15 minute challenge to GEdN. Who knew it could be so easy to just have fun? Not me!<br />
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As to the 2nd job, I am desperately hoping to transition from the land of Corporate Indifference where 2 people are doing the job of 4.5 and getting further behind, to working for my former co-worker doing essentially the same job but with actual Thanks now & then and Reasonable time lines! He's just getting started and is stunned by how quickly the work is rolling in just via word of mouth. I'm not. He's an honest person of integrity that pays attention to details. People like that are thin on the ground. <br />
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So ... we're hoping to see a point in the not too distant future where I can work for him full time and say to current employer, "Sixteen plus years meant something to me, too bad it didn't mean a thing to you." Right now we're about 1/3 of the way there, so it's mostly a Dream I'm hugging tight while working 9 hours for The Man, then another 2-3 hours for Someday.<br />
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I will confess, I spent so many years of my life being Single Parent, Sole Support that the nickles and dimes of decisions still makes me break out in a rash as I do the math, over and over, just in case I missed something or didn't carry a 1 as I should! Yeah, I'm nutz.<br />
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All my children are grown now, it isn't like they depend on me for socks, food, and running water, but doing my part in our little communal house matters to me. I'll also admit, I've grown spoiled by the little extras I can finally afford. Whether I work 1 or 2 or 3 jobs, there's never been enough time to do all the things I want, and frankly, my stupid health is part of that now. Energy is a precious commodity that is becoming as challenging as time. I know many reading this face those same challenges and yeah, it's an adventure I'm heartened to share with you, even if I don't mention it.<br />
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What I will mention in a hushed whisper is: I'm not a big Christmas person for a myriad of reasons no one needs dumped in their mug o life. I adore the Lights & Decor but the solemnity of the season has been stolen by the commercialization of giving and gathering. That's not new, of course, but the older I get the more it disturbs me. I battle depression at Christmas, it is not seasonal disorder it is emphatically to do with Christmas and literally ends on the 27th of Dec. I generally tend to hermitize through December, counting down the days like a prisoner marking chalk on the wall. I don't color Christmas or embrace the holiday spirit with gusto. I enjoy the little rituals, the music - both the reverent and irreverent funny stuff - and movies that remind me laughing or crying, time moves on like it always has. This year I've pushed harder than usual, I'd like to say it's helped, but mostly all it's done is ease the guilt I feel for Not Loving Christmas.<br />
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For me, the Season either lasts all year long, or it means nuffin' but an excuse to take time off and party. Partying is fine, gift giving is groovy, gathering together with friends and loved ones is wonderful but those epiphanies of the heart that last All Year seem harder to find and harder still to maintain beyond February. It's all too easy to arrogantly assume I've taken in all those hallowed lessons and just let the Season carry me along in a wave of comforting activities. I know better. I know my heart tends to hardness, to indifference, to shrugging away love giving that goes beyond the immediate circle, to genuine seeking of those struggling ... I know I neeeeed to try and do more to soften my heart and not just one month of the year. Christmas is a reminder of how far I have yet to go. That's not a bad thing. It's a good thing really, an encouraging thing, but a hard to market and sell all year long thing and it really dampens holiday dinner discussions :g:<br />
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So ... here I am, still burning the candle at both ends because I don't know how not to and long term is really not long as I once thought it would be. That is easier to deal with than the transition from facing one way at the desk to facing another, go figure.<br />
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But gosh, aren't the Christmas Lights pretty?!<br />
<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-5924726844093805402019-08-11T11:51:00.000-05:002019-08-11T11:51:32.266-05:00No One Was Injured but our Wounded VehicleLet me repeat that right off: <b>Everyone is fine, no one was injured</b> <br />
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On Monday night, about 9:30, after picking up worker bees we had to stop at Wal-Mart and as we left, a drunk driver doing about 60 ran a red light and plowed thru our front bumper and tore off a fender and knocked the car in to Neutral. I saw him coming as I moved in to the intersection, stamped the brakes and turned as far to the left as possible and kept my feet on the brakes so we weren't drug along to become a vehicle slamming in to other vehicles. Truck behind us did Not hit us and pulled to the left, car behind him pulled to the right so no one else was in the intersection. At the red light coming the other way the car pulled into a shoulder assuming the car would swerve, it didn't. Damn drunk didn't even hit his brakes till a quarter mile down the road.<br />
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It was my first accident. Fifty-six and I've never had even a fender bender in the frozen wasteland of ice and snow.<br />
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Anyway, two folks stopped to make sure we were OK, one of them giving us the license plate # as my son called 911 to report the accident. Remember the car that swerved right, well he just ambled on down the road after the drunk, his wife wrote down the plate and they came back to give us the plate #. Being black, they did not stay at the scene and I totally understood that. It's not safe here to be black or Hispanic at the scene - even as a witness - and they had their kids with them so ... I thanked them most profusely and encouraged them to head to the house since the next day was first day of school! The other person was the good ole boy in the truck, he had a first aid bag and was just making sure we were all ok. Which we were. He went on to the house as well after saying he'd never seen anything like it - he thought the guy swerved to hit us but I truly think the drunk was just driving that erratically down the middle of two lanes. We were barely IN the intersection and he really could have missed us by a mile if he'd actually SEEN us, which I doubt he did.<br />
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While waiting on the police, the drunk and his girlfriend/ wife/ whatever came back, got out of the car, and started threatening my daughter and I who were in front of the car on the shoulder looking for damage and leaks with my son's most excellent flashlight. Son was putting parts in the back of the car and drunk didn't see him until he stepped around the car. Son is 6'2" and size Extra Large Linebacker; drunk was about 5'10" and extra wobbly fat and carrying on with the phrase "You hit me! I had the green! You hit me!" plus other assorted profanities and suggestions about how my son was going to pay for this assault, how he knew all the cops and they'd be hunting us down. Needless to say, drunk was all about throwing down and "come on man, show me your balls" ... son was all about, "I'm sorry you can't hear me ma'am, the drunk that hit us is back and trying to start a fight ... No, I don't know if he has a weapon and I'm not about to ask and give him any ideas." This is Alabama, everyone has a weapon and many go in to Wal-Mart wearing them. <br />
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[disclosure: I think that is effin insane and that open carry & stand your ground laws are nothing but an excuse to murder someone that pisses you off because they look or speak different than you do.]<br />
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I will add, I was proud of my son for laughing at this drunk, maintaining his calm and not falling for the come on. I didn't have to say a word, he simply refused to escalate the situation. <br />
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Drunk carries on. Daughter records a portion of his diatribe. I get pic of his plate. Son tries to be heard by dispatcher over the incessant profanities. He is not going to move from the front of the vehicle staying between sister and drunk, but he continues to ignore the drunk and try and be heard by the dispatcher. I finally can't take the F-word anymore and point out to drunk that since he couldn't tell I was the one driving, not my son, it is pretty much a certainty he could not tell green from red. He called me a liar and that's when the girlfriend started begging him to get back in the car. She'd seen the police cars approaching, he was still swearing and threatening and carrying on about how we hit him. When she pulled on his belt and said, "The po-lice are coming, we got to go baby!" He got back in the car.<br />
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[It's funny now. It was not at the time. I plan to skip the stress test this year, don't really need it after that.]<br />
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One police SUV pulled in behind us, drunk pulls off at speed, and the second police car did a U and followed him. When we gave plate # to Officer, he knew instantly -- and I mean instantly -- who the drunk was, had his mugshot on his laptop before I could get out my license, registration and insurance card. All three of us confirmed the man in the photo was the man that hit us and just pulled off. Four cars were chasing the drunk by that point. We give all our info, explain the wreck, Officer gives us case # and then rides off to follow up on the hit and run drunk driver because at this point, drunk had just hit a police car. He had made it clear across town - about 18 miles - and I gotta admit I was impressed by his ability to elude police that kept saying, "I lost him, have you got him?" Impressed that the police *knew* who he was and still couldn't catch him until he crashed again. Made me wonder how many times he's done this and either lost the police or got a slap on the wrist from some judge.<br />
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[further disclosure: IMHO drunk drivers belong in those tent cities without hygiene products, real beds, blankets, decent food or medical care, not children of any national origin. They should sell tickets to anyone over the age of 16 to see the imbeciles that in their inebriation turn a vehicle into a weapon of mass destruction. I have real issues with Police and Judges that let good ole boys / gals skate with a 3 day seminar on the dangers of drunk driving]<br />
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The damage is all cosmetic. NO one was hurt. The bumper did exactly what it was supposed to do - thank you Federal Regulations! After removing the dangling bits of fender, the tire wasn't even damaged. Engine runs just as it did, a/c works, radio is great, we were very lucky. If I hadn't seen him coming, he would've broadsided us doing 60 without ever touching his brakes [not a tire mark on the asphalt confirms this]. It could've been so much worse. I've thanked God about fifty times a day since for making me a paranoid, hyper-vigilant, defensive driver.<br />
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All that said, I've spent the last week dealing with insurance estimates at a designated location. The initial estimate was $5000+; the adjuster after his inspection, wants to write off the vehicle because the estimate is 76% of the value of the vehicle. We only have 20 months left of payments - after the payoff, we'd see probably $2000, not even close to a decent down payment on a decent vehicle and we'd have 4 more years of payments. He was launching in to the process spiel when I interrupted to ask if I could get a 2nd estimate, here, locally, instead of 35 miles away. I emphasized that the vehicle has NO frame or engine damage so writing it off feels like a scam to send vehicle to a salvage location, fix it up for "cost" and resell it for their profit. The fact this body shop is flanked on one side by a used car dealership owned by the body shop owner did NOT impress me.<br />
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Adjuster agreed it looks fishy but assured me it was not. Yeah, whatever. He then told me I should hurry this along because the rental car is only covered for - I interrupted him that I was in fact in the rental vehicle and on my way to pick up the wounded vehicle and had only had it since Wed, not Monday [total cost when I dropped it off was $111 of the $1500 we're supposed to have available]. <br />
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He said, "Oh it's still drivable?" <br />
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I said, "You didn't notice that when you examined the vehicle?" <br />
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He said, "Absolutely, you can get a second estimate. Just have the shop call me before they start." <br />
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Uh huh, right, we'll do that. Adjuster was still there when I got to the Scam Shop, huddled with the owner, all smiles and giggles. Since I still have to deal with This good ole boy, I shook his hand and didn't smack him upside the head with his metallic clipboard. <br />
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So, I have an appointment for 7:30 a.m. Monday at a local shop. We just want the bumper and fender replaced, painting and color matching is not a big deal and if they can do so for 70% of the value of the vehicle then the insurance will cover it or so the adjuster claimed. It is insane to just write off this vehicle and start over with such a puny down payment that means the payments will be outrageous for our budget. Being without that 2nd car is equally insane with five working schedules. <br />
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I still worked a full week with 2 hours of overtime and daughter was late one day by only 7 mins. but they were cool with that since she'd called and warned them and one of her co-workers was glad to wait till she got there, so there Mr. Drunk Driver! My guess is that he's still walking the street, still has his license, probably doesn't have state mandated insurance, and will carry on without any difficulties whatsoever. He's probably related to someone. The fact he's been arrested for DUI before means our accident was preventable, if the zero tolerance for drunk driving laws were enforced. <br />
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This more than anything really ticks me off. It is the way of the world, I know that. So, I save my energy for important things, like getting a bowl of ice cream and laughing with kids about the wacko work schedules this week. And if the occasional fantasy of Drunks in Tent City, with children of many national origins far, far away from there held tight by their parents all of them living safe here, away from bastards and politicians makes me smile sadistically ... I'm OK with that. <br />
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-19629964985079672142019-06-11T01:55:00.000-05:002019-06-11T01:55:09.991-05:00MiGawd There Really Are Coloring PoliceI'm heart sick over a violation of trust and online bullying. <br />
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An Instagram Post attacked a woman's livelihood and was twisted to insist she is as an enemy of the suffering. Nothing I say, or write, or share is going to comfort Christine. Not one person is going to be persuaded to stop and think <b>an opinion about facts is not hate, is not mocking, is not biting the hand, is not pissing on people or community</b>, and that in context of how to expand a channel is quite true.<br />
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Within a Group of Friends, most chats are basically the same content among the chatters. Those outside the circle of friends are welcomed IF they conform to the standard of acceptable behavior for The Group. To bring in more people requires a change in the standard flow of chat. Part of that is the number of people chatting, part of that is new people bring new things to a chat. Content, not the chat, expand channels. Acknowledging this isn't a sin, or even especially profound. <br />
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It certainly is not cruel stones tossed at those suffering physically, emotionally or mentally and using coloring [and chatting] to cope. It isn't an attack on sparkle or pink or unicorns. It is a fact chat gets in to a rut now and then, gee that's just like in Real Life!<br />
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ALL THAT SAID....<br />
Someone was privately chatting with Christine. They were later upset by something Christine said. <b><i>Instead of contacting Christine and asking her to clarify what she meant and telling Christine how Christine's words felt to her</i></b> ... she chose to share her feelings and Christine's words with others.<br />
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Enough others that <b>someone</b> took it upon herself to post 5 sentences of the private chat publicly and tried to shame Christine for explaining there has to be more to a channel than chat -- Content Matters, Learning Matters is Christine's opinion and she backed it up with examples. The <b>someone</b> used those 5 sentences to Inform the Community, making sure to point out Christine's livelihood depends on The Group's Good Will. You read that right, this <b>someone</b> believes that an opinion about the Content of a Channel and Chat is worth attacking Christine's livelihood. <b>Someone</b> would rather Christine starve than take the time to talk with her like an adult that is upset but able to maintain a civil manner. <br />
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<b><i><span style="color: #990000;">!!MiGawd, there really are coloring police!!</span></i></b></div>
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Regardless of Christine's opinion of what constitutes a good channel her trust that a private chat would remain private was violated. I admit, it freaks me out to see bullies and drama created where there could have been a really worthwhile conversation that did not hurt ANYONE. <br />
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But it's always more invigorating to get self-righteous and heap trauma on someone in a Group of Friends than it is to Confront an Individual. Isn't that what we learned in middle school? We're too [delicate, dainty, shy, demure, reticent] to confront anyone, us poor dears - frail and puny we are, just like the misogynist claim :gag:. However, we can and must share our hurt with everyone but The Individual and then as a Group of Friends we can make sure That Individual is tormented as she deserves to be!<br />
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<b><i>YeBloodyGawdz ... are we twelve year olds or adult colorists?</i></b> As Christine asked ... are these the type of people I want to hang out with? No. It's not. This background drama and trauma that Christine tried to stay out of has escalated to an attack by an online bully in a public forum, enabled by a violation of trust. I have NO idea what is going on in the background or why I should spend one hour of my limited life to figure it out. <br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">What I do know is that a community that tolerates bullying and violations of privacy is not something I want to be part of. </i>I won't tolerate it in real life, I'm not going to sit around and endure it in an online community that is supposed to be about a hobby we all enjoy. The shame is <b>all</b> on the original violator of trust that didn't have enough courage to ask for clarity and the <b>someone</b> that posted an attack based on a twisted interpretation of a limited portion of a conversation. <br />
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Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-8583523204303507462019-05-31T08:34:00.001-05:002019-05-31T08:34:25.938-05:00Thumbs I frequently lurk in you tube livestreams during the working day; one of those low maintenance "watch minutes" people that faithfully thumbs up as I enter. I've been doing this for well over four months now, chatting when I can, lurking when I must. Even so, from a viewer's perspective, I have some thoughts on those all mighty thumbs, if you're interested....<br />
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<b>Thumbs are opinions. Opinions are not hate. Down counts the same as up. Forgetting, or indifference, to The Thumb is not hating. There is no life giving power or healing properties in The Thumb. No one is condemned or saved by The Thumb. It's just a symbolic action, Not love or hate. Take a deep breath folks, really, it's not the end of the world if someone does not like your content. Focus on those that do. Let yourself enjoy the art and fun.</b><br />
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Maybe think of it as serving a home cooked meal to a big family ... someone at the table is not going to like something you serve. It might be the peas, or beans, or the bread isn't toasted light or dark enough, or the meat was a bit tough or too soft, or, or, or..... Some at the table are going to thank you, others are going to expect you to know they liked it because they sat there and ate it all, some might wander off half-way through the meal, and some will gobble the meal and bolt off to work or activity. Conversational flow reflects these same personality quirks, go figure.<br />
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Realistically, no meal is perfect. There is always something that didn't turn out as planned. There is always room for improvement. And if it is a holiday meal with extended family - there are diet issues you really can't ignore any more than you can leave out Uncle Louie and his amazing farting finger! My point is: there is no perfect community of viewers either. We have bad days, good days, busy days, dull days and everything along the spectrum. There is no way for a Channel Owner to meet every need or want. Deep breath, I'll say that again: No Channel Owner can meet every need or want of their viewers.<br />
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Several of my favorite channels don't show likes or dislikes at all. I think they have the right idea. The numbers are relevant only to the Channel Owner. As a viewer I can attest that I've never considered the likes vs dislikes of any value when choosing to watch a video or join a livestream. And ... no numbers displayed cheats the trolls of a thrill of seeing the count & stirring outrage from loyal viewers. I acknowledge they're out there but WHY give them even two seconds of our time?!<br />
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I get that subscription counts, viewing minutes and being liked impacts where a channel is on the hierarchy of you tube. For someone wanting to grow their channel, these things matter and a plan to develop content or improve interaction is a groovy thing to have. BUT, most viewers don't give a darn about any of those things. Most viewers are interested in the content, host and others chatting/ commenting.<br />
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That said, I've started leaving streams and pre-recorded vids when the talk turns to "haters." I cannot abide the manipulation of complaining about a metric that is essential only to those selling something or seeking advertising support. Folks earnest about selling stuff do not complain to their customers about who is <i>not</i> liking their stuff, not if they want to keep selling. Folks wanting to develop their channel do not need to waste one valuable minute whining.<br />
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Folks with coloring and art channels - not coloring book / supply channels - are supposedly not selling stuff. They're demonstrating their love for coloring and art and enjoying chat and comment interaction with others that do the same. That's what I support with my thumb, my presence, by watching ads through when they're present, purchases via affiliate links, and occasionally, the wish list or a tip jar. A viewer isn't <i><b><u>obligated</u></b></i> to do any of those things. Not doing so does not make you a hater any more than giving a thumbs down does.<br />
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-80395164776579846752019-05-19T13:15:00.001-05:002019-05-19T13:15:43.778-05:00The Best NestSpent last week working in the yard, repotting plants, and generally trying to squeeze more hours in to the day than the clock allows. Saturday was the day we put all the pieces together and cleared out some junk under one of the awnings so our hanging laundry has more airflow and our English ivy more encouragement to climb up the lattice instead of around bits and pieces of life. Our faithful trestle table that served us so well through all the growing up years has finally been put to the street. It's time to let her go before she comes apart and squishes a cat. Second son trimmed back, shaped up and raked, swept and did it all again after a gully washer came through. He also re-arranged my flock of flamingos in a lovely spiral around the bird bath. It is totally spiffy!<br />
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<br /><br />Previously, in Kofemug Life, we lived on a hill in the boonies up a 1/4 mile clay road arched at an approximately 78 degree angle: one way in, one way out, and almost 3 acres of woods with a ravine and a creek and bauxite that turned everything rust colored and shiny in the sunlight. We lived in a tiny trailer and the children grew faster than the weeds. It was the perfect place for six growing children and a single moma. Safe, unconcerned with rowdy play or wild experiments or the two tons of laundry that hung front and back just to keep up. We had a little clearing around the trailer but otherwise, the woods grew right up to the patio and deck. It was our Palm of God, a sanctuary we nested and recovered in.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 2015 - Day we signed the Documents </td></tr>
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In December 2015, we moved to town. The reasons were many but so far, we've no cause to regret this. It took us considerable time to find a neighborhood that was not only integrated [in the sowth that's not easy to find outside the big cities] but a nice balance of young families, mature folks and Peaceful nights, tidy yards, homes maintained and Trees. We could not bear the thought of living in some razed to the ground subdivision with stockade fences and scrawny little saplings. I drove around neighborhoods for months, listening and looking and was surprised no one reported me to cops. Well, that is until the evening we signed all the paperwork and received the keys! Was both hilarious and comforting and we still got to eat our pizza sitting on the floor of Our Real House.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back of my third daughter on the chimney side of house</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To the back yard</td></tr>
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<br />So with a nice neighborhood, 2 large trees in front, several along the back and one next to the back awning, we were in lurv before we got to the back yard where a wooden wishing well and overgrown roses were bordered nicely by two sheds and monkey grass. It was winter, there was no way to know the space was planted with flowers that grew all through the spring and summer and in to fall but that well and the little metal bucket spoke to all of us. It still does.<br />
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Irony? We were all too busy gaping at it to take a picture. The pennies we tossed in are still at the bottom, now buried under ferns and pansies. Wishes thrive beneath greenery. I still haven't decided what I want in the little bucket ... last year I tried some creeping jenny but the cats battered at her until she was nothing but nubbins.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a magnolia tree on the right and there is still work to do but <br />Eldest Son saved the roses from some blight last year so we didn't want to do anything more aggressive at the time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those are last years ferns that survived winter and rescued kittens that wanted to be lions in the jungle. <br />They have earned a pride of place spot for sure!</td></tr>
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It's an older home, built in the late forties, owned by one family, lovingly tended. They raised their children here. Father died here, in his sleep, and Mother carried on until health insisted she move nearer her daughter. He was a handy man, always pottering around and keeping things nice. His adventures in wiring are amazing. She kept everything spic and span and worked full time as well. People still miss them and I can understand why. If they gave half the care to people that they did to the house, they were more than generous.<br />
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The wood work in the house is glorious and the windows all open, both the original and the outer ones. There is just enough room for everyone to have a quiet corner when they need it, but not so much we can't do a quick tidy in thirty minutes and actually feel like you've accomplished something. No one here <i><b>likes</b></i> to do housework, go figure! <br />
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The chimney is capped which keeps the bats and squirrels outside, where we enjoy them. There are three bedrooms, two bathrooms and One Level. The yard isn't large but it is just right so Second Son can get the mowing, wacking and etc done in one morning before it gets too hot. Our neighbors are all lovely folks that work hard and tend their families and homes with attention to their business, not ours. Can't ask for more than that.<br />
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There is still decorating work to do, the wall paper is in nice shape, covering board and lathe, but quite mature and bland beige. Alas, the loving folks painted all the window frames and ledges, door frames and doors stark white instead of leaving the lovely wood but it was The Thaing back in the day, so I can't really fuss, just dread scraping all that paint away. The enclosed back porch that houses our pantry/ laundry room and what we use as a dining room is painted pink - two shades of pink. It has taken all this time to finally agree on colors for walls and trim.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That tree is the huge one outside now<br /> under the awning where the gnomes dwell</td></tr>
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Yes, we've been here over 3 years now, but some essential work that had to be done first followed by my health incident and one daughter moving to the big city sort of slowed things down considerably. I'm not as energetic as previously, so projects have to be broken down to small steps over a longer time because I tend to overdo and then have to waste time recovering. Everyone working varied schedules and long hours has also impacted our plans. <br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tF5D4nLLg1I/XOGGDMorbZI/AAAAAAAAAtw/rVKV8C5Uau4ZxjSJmRoQ5k8gK47MyjK0ACLcBGAs/s1600/20190518_145639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tF5D4nLLg1I/XOGGDMorbZI/AAAAAAAAAtw/rVKV8C5Uau4ZxjSJmRoQ5k8gK47MyjK0ACLcBGAs/s200/20190518_145639.jpg" width="200" /></a>Outside, however, doesn't really impact daily life, except for time and the budget. Both of which are exacting taskmasters. My work schedule twined with everyone else's means my outside time is usually coming and going, but there are some precious hours I get here and there to sit outside in the early morning or late evening. Otherwise, it's a view through windows and by golly, I want it to be pleasant and colorful.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y676F05r1hg/XOGGlYbw6DI/AAAAAAAAAt4/GVCtKKv8QM45rlyoPQl1AjF7hKr8QtJUwCLcBGAs/s1600/20190518_145234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y676F05r1hg/XOGGlYbw6DI/AAAAAAAAAt4/GVCtKKv8QM45rlyoPQl1AjF7hKr8QtJUwCLcBGAs/s200/20190518_145234.jpg" width="200" /></a>When we lived in the frozen wasteland, I had a jungle inside all winter. In the too brief summer there was a garden to tend, most plants went outside and I had toddler helpers with the weeding. Toddlers are very enthusiastic when ripping things out of the ground. Now, I use fake flowers inside most of the year with a brief 8 weeks or so of outside plants coming in from the too cold. I didn't have room to bring my begonias and hostas in this year and surprise, surprise they all survived the mild winter! I thanked them for being so sturdy this year.<br />
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My fairy garden was built in a turkey roaster from back in the day that sprang a leak in the bottom. I rescued a fairy fern from Wal-Mart at the end of the year two years ago, added a gazebo, a little house and some gnomes, then the flamingos and my daughter shared a fairy with me so it could be official. Keeping cats from napping in this pot while it was inside in a sunny corner was a great deal of work. Now the fern has choked out the twining ivy that was there the first year but I still like it best of all my arrangements. <br />
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We had to stop here as money and time ran out. I have seeds to go in the fancy pots, Crimson Climbers that I'll put in tonight. The cherry tomato plant already has tomatoes on it! Yipeeee. I'm saving for more stones to fill in what is a barren spot due to traffic and rain run off. That old bird bath also sprang a leak so I have filled it with a bunch of stones, shells from the dollar store and a half dead philodendron. They're pretty hardy and recover well when properly neglected and no cats are trying to re-arrange them. The fern is new, happy in a much larger pot than it came in.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PPyOxhZas7Y/XOGQOBVXGDI/AAAAAAAAAvY/lRHkAf4YkFA6VCmg0vrZniMKberYD2_jwCEwYBhgL/s1600/20190518_145117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PPyOxhZas7Y/XOGQOBVXGDI/AAAAAAAAAvY/lRHkAf4YkFA6VCmg0vrZniMKberYD2_jwCEwYBhgL/s200/20190518_145117.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DuNnVf8GC4c/XOGTyGfqObI/AAAAAAAAAvw/IoQnjfxTKhks0CGiW4QubzGh3mDdLtOzgCLcBGAs/s1600/20190518_145038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DuNnVf8GC4c/XOGTyGfqObI/AAAAAAAAAvw/IoQnjfxTKhks0CGiW4QubzGh3mDdLtOzgCLcBGAs/s200/20190518_145038.jpg" width="200" /></a>My morning spot is definitely my favorite this year. Keeping cats, raccoons and squirrels out of my hens and chicks and Off the lavender is as big a challenge as every other year but I added sharp stones and fish gravel this time. A layer on top of moisture control soil that will slow 'em down and make it an univiting place to lounge. Yeah, it's my theory of hopefulness this will work ... scientific theory it ain't. At the very least we'll have the best smelling cats and squirrels in the neighborhood. Note monster tree next to cat corner, see it as a 2nd year beauty above.<br />
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uvPim2jZKyw/XOGWBSfSN6I/AAAAAAAAAwE/3HOCo1USW74U1aUmM4Ru8U5UB8Z5CmcMgCLcBGAs/s1600/20190518_145134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uvPim2jZKyw/XOGWBSfSN6I/AAAAAAAAAwE/3HOCo1USW74U1aUmM4Ru8U5UB8Z5CmcMgCLcBGAs/s200/20190518_145134.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Sitting there gazing at the pretties while listening to the chimes is a lovely start or end to the day! We hang the laundry under that awning and don't have sun fading issues and on a misty or threat of rain day, we have a chance of getting clothes dry without having to use the dryer. A/C is expensive enough without running a dryer at the same time; or so my frugal heart insists. The furniture there we are storing for a former neighbor that is fixing up an old house. <br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oG21lf7x6ko/XOGXmhwrn6I/AAAAAAAAAwQ/3w1PAzc-WAop1JShi9qG2eTbqvwcYw8HQCLcBGAs/s1600/20190518_150202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>Out front, we set up a shady sitting area between the big trees and sheltered by a row of shrubs that shield us from the street. You can watch the birds bathe and the flamingos keep an eye on everything. When it rains heavy the flamingos are in a swamp and I think it makes them quite happy. Of course the cats have already staked their claim to comfort in the shade. There are little trees in that pot that are the same beginning size as the Big Tree in the cat corner under the awning. And yes, that's a rubber ducky Flamingo in the middle. She is encouraging them to grow large and provide her shade.<br />
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Yet again, it looks like summer is here and our Nest is Best when blooming.<br />
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-77613974427633623742019-05-08T09:43:00.001-05:002019-05-08T09:43:32.540-05:00On Comparing Apples and Turnips<div>
I did an impromptu inventory of my coloring books, art supplies and such over the weekend. To color and use everything I have in my possession right now would take me at least 10+ years of "doing art" 10.5 hours/ day and I'd still have enough bits and bobs left over to fill two shelves. Yeah, I did the math. I'm a nerdy girl with geeky tendencies. </div>
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I am disgusted with myself. Truly!</div>
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I started this journey some time ago, oblivious to the larger coloring world. I had some specific goals, a love of art I'd never had time to explore, and a wacky schedule that dictates anything I do be "pick up and put down and pick up again." Turning my journey in to an exercise in frustration would not happen if I kept reality in mind when planning my projects. </div>
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It would be just like when my children were very little and I was so determined not to turn in to mush brain. Only now do I have a little space where I can leave materials out until I can come back to them. Back in the day, when I folded diapers and clothes, I read and studied using a coat hanger, bent and folded, to prop up the book. When I nursed, I made my notes, wrote essays to ensure my thoughts were coherent, and sometimes fell asleep reading. My learning and reading was clumped in to quarter hours of time. I didn't expect hours, though sometimes they would appear and I would certainly seize the day.</div>
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I didn't slide in to mush brain. I mastered frugality with a sense of historical perspective and not a little amusement over my lifestyle that others found ... odd. There wasn't a great deal of time to discuss history, politics, geology, or even how to re-make an adult dress into a child's dress and boy's shorts in my hectic life. When in a group, I was quiet, mostly listening, because that's my nature.</div>
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The internet came along and I discovered there were other women out there doing this mothering thing. We shared tips and tricks when time permitted, and laughed together when dinner was burnt, the baby had diaper rash or was teething, and the toddler decided she liked dog food better than people food. We shared our daily life and deep thots in email and a very few images because ... bandwidth and cost per minute. Boy does that date me!</div>
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My point is, I know it can be done, squeezing something important in between the demands of schedules and family. What I also know is that there is never enough time to learn, study, practice and do all the things I want to. Fact O Life, that. Further, this is the first time since 1987 that I have actual disposable income - that is money earned that is not spoken for before it's earned. I think this fact made me a bit crazy with regards to books and supplies. I know it fed my pencil lust into a pornographic frenzy of testing different brands to see all the colors! </div>
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I never went over budget on supplies. I don't do credit or spend beyond what I make or jeopardize the emergency fund stashed for plumbers, mechanics, and sudden appliance repairs. In March and April, I shared some overtime funds with purchases for others. It was a great deal of fun that. But I also began looking at my shelf, sagging with books and supplies, my back up drive with licensed freebies and pdfs, and started questioning myself with a bit of brutal honesty.</div>
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When will it be <i><b>enough</b></i>? How many more books do I truly want, or need, to feel like I have a picture for every mood to be artistically expressed? How many more books do I truly need to push me beyond the basics to another plain of artistic exploration? How many more supplies and bits and bobs and nifty things will it take before I feel satisfied my finishing touches are adequate? Who the hell will I send all these postcards to? My family is small, my friends not so many, and really, it's not like anyone is desperate to get a colored-by-katie mini masterpiece of silliness. Where will I hang up all these pictures? It's not like I live in a house with a gallery, our hallway is a boxy room of five doors and a floor to ceiling bookshelf for Pete Sake! </div>
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All my answers made for a sober weekend, after some contemplation of #coloryourhoard a few weeks before. I don't want a hoard, the very thought of having unused, unnoticed, unappreciated books and supplies makes me want to vomit, literally. The idea of being a conspicuous consumer gives me hives. That hashtag and its wonderful intention put the brakes on my purchases as I squirmed to figure things out. </div>
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As I am streamlining and thinning out the rest of my life, I was filling up this art pocket and it's spilling all over the place, mingling with old clothes and starring at me accusingly. I was actually grateful for Monday this week and the return to work-a-day craziness. And what should appear in Monday's mail but a Rita Berman book I ordered in March and a book I won in a chat. I did a happy dance then ::sighed:: at myself. Rly? Srsly? This is beyond Old Biddy Eccentric and moving in to the weird and worrisome zone.</div>
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As I've discovered, many in the coloring world have schedules that allow for hours of coloring. I don't. As I've also discovered, many have physical, emotional and spiritual challenges that make coloring not only therapy but also medication. I don't. Some folks are collectors, the priority is the collection, not the coloring. I am not a collector, except of flamingos. Purchasing supplies like I have time or need or space that compares to any of that is not sane, or responsible stewardship.</div>
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I was content with my ten books and two sets of pencils in December of last year. When I finished one, I carefully plotted the purchase of the next. I was oblivious to "The book might be gone, out of print, never seen again," because I didn't look for a new one until I had space. I didn't fret about what to do with them when completed either, I pitched most of them for the first year, recognizing they were fun but not fantastic. I didn't know ColorTube existed until late January, so there was no one to tempt me with awesomesauce stuff or the thrill of specialist techniques to learn and try. Yup, even as an Old Biddy, I fear the mush brain.</div>
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So, what did my inventory produce over the weekend?<br />
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<li>I enabled myself, indulging in the freedom to spend money on my desires without starving anyone. That's perfectly fine, but as a way to live ... not for me. Having stuff is never going to equal contentment, it can in fact overwhelm me right quickly.</li>
<li>I have more art stuff than I can possibly use in my remaining lifetime. That's fine too, even if it's embarrassing as hell.</li>
<li>I can't make time appear or expand or bend to my will. That's not fine but, alas, it is what it is. Getting snippy with family because I want to color and they need this or that is Not who I want to be.</li>
<li>Errands and grocery run are no fun but rather essential. Blowing things off to color is nudging the nutty zone, just reminding myself.</li>
<li>Work is going to continue to be wacko, whether I work 12, 10 or 8 hours a day. It takes energy to be focused on details as is required and that means my energy for coloring/ art isn't as much as I want it to be. That's another it is what it is.</li>
<li>Sitting at the art desk for most of the weekend and evenings is not conducive to good health. That's not fine. Getting off my plump tushie, enjoying weather and the yard, and noticing when the sun comes up or goes down is <i>probably</i> really important.</li>
<li>Tutorials are great. <i>Take what you need and leave the rest</i> is an excellent motto to art by. Trying to keep up with all the tutorials and try this or that videos is as impossible as coloring my entire stash in my lifetime. </li>
<li>Chats are fun. But most are in the daytime when I work. I work N lurk in most. The impromptu evening ones are my favorite but even there, the call of coloring, or pickup of worker bees pulls me away. Some days I resent my real life for interfering with fun, this starts a whole mess of stupid feelings that serve neither myself or others.</li>
<li>I don't have much more to say in chat than I do in real life, except for silliness about brownies or greetings. The sound of a voice is nice, but it's quite one sided, and really, how meaningful a conversation can you have when the screen scrolls by so quickly? I will say my prayer life has been more active and that's always a good thing.</li>
<li>I'm an introvert, not exactly shy, but I don't push to be seen, heard or noticed. I am always groovy, no matter what is actually going on in life. Both of these traits were hammered in to my soul before adolescence and reinforced through out married and single parent life. Changing that now is a Herculean Quest I really don't plan to undertake. </li>
<li>I feel like a stalker instant messaging people I don't really know, and what do I SAY if they answer? <i>It was a cwappy day at work and I'm coloring now</i> seems so ... bor-ing. It is in fact why I color, to banish the bor-ing with bright colors!</li>
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Soooo, it's Wednesday now. I have no idea what conclusions, if any, to draw from my introspection. Are hobbies supposed to make sense? Maybe, maybe not; I've never really had one before. My hobbies were always survival skills that served a larger purpose; put aside without a second thought as soon as they were no longer needed. So, examining coloring as I did sewing, soap making, cloth diaper washing, quilting, crocheting, floor and plumbing repair etc is comparing apples and turnips. Expecting divine revelations from such is goofy as all get out. Perhaps that's why I'm laughing at myself today.</div>
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The only real conclusion I've drawn is allowing myself the Joy in a Frivolous Pursuit is <i><b>hard</b></i>.<br />
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Maybe that's all I needed to confront and accept to kick aside the self-disgust. Well that and tidying my shelves, then firmly saying No to more indulgence of stuff. </div>
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I'm not sure what that does to my participating in coloring communities. I'm slow to complete things, half of which I don't share because they're just another page colored like so many others. Some are nice and some are okay, almost none are photo worthy. I'm kinda stumped about this because time is a tough reality. It's nice to feel like you belong even when you're just a name on the screen scrolling by. But when I get right down to it, Community is something I consider to be a frivolous pursuit that is hard to allow myself.<br />
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That said, I have to acknowledge it is even harder to resist than books n stuff.</div>
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Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-273674679932401822019-05-02T10:19:00.000-05:002019-05-02T10:19:18.757-05:00Reality is only just a wordAir conditioning is back on in my neck of the universe. Between the pollen and the temperatures, it's a Blessing to have. Because it's expensive to run central air, we don't push temp below 77 and have many fans running to augment and facilitate air flow. This constant background noise takes my brain time to not perceive as "something's happening here, what it is ain't exactly clear...." It takes about ten days for my sleep patterns to settle back down so I don't jerk awake every couple hours thinking a baby is crying, or giant dust bunnies are attacking our town, or the washer is exploding with all the lost socks spewing forth creating a hole in the roof and a twisted vortex of sock tornado right over our house ... or whatever goofy thing my subconscious was thinking about when I drifted back off to sleep. <br />
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[<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5M_Ttstbgs" target="_blank">In case you didn't catch the ancient reference of "something's happening here....</a>]</div>
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I frequently roll my eyes at my subconscious dream script writer cause ... rly? srsly? Socks? Dust? Sponges organizing a revolution against the tyranny of cats that carry them off? These are apocalyptic scenarios to fret about? Hardly. It's amusing, annoying, and screws up my energy levels but I always get through my seasonal transition to Fans On, All the Time. My brain eventually remembers to ignore the whirling white noise and settles down to the usual hum drum dream life of benign dust bunnies just hanging out under the bed or on a shelf I missed, socks that have no tornadic trauma, and the cleaning supplies never even hit the radar. OK, the cats continue to roam about as if they own everyone and everything, which they seem to believe no matter the season, just mentioning.<br />
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It makes for a long week, this transitional situational goofiness. I pretend no one notices my lack of energy or abruptly slooooow thought processes. There are advantages to being an Eccentric Old Biddy when you're kinda losing your mind - who will notice?! <br />
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This morning I made it until only an hour before my usual Get Thy Lazy Butt Out of Bed time. The Raggedy Wednesday Schedule usually does a nice reset even in the winter silence. I get to bed early and sleep deeply and the rest of the week takes care of itself, balance of the universe restored. It was fish rummaging in the pantry and flamingos dancing on the lawn, turning it in to a nice swamp that woke me this morning. I was laughing so it must not have been too wacko.<br />
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One of the things I do when my brain goes Seasonally Goofy is play music that grounds me in Who I Am. Music that formed my character and framed my life and motivated me to be better than statistics expected. This used to disturb my children, the loud playlist that they perceived as The Problem rather than The Solution. Now they mention I might need my Settle Down, Everything's Fine playlist. It always starts with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QqZ-rkuUGKE" target="_blank">Reality is only just a word</a>.<br />
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I really can't imagine what the nursing homes of the near future will sound like. We are a generation that believed cranking the tunes solved everything and if it didn't, at least it drowned out the sound of frustrated weeping and wailing and shrieking. WE wanted stories, truth and a solid beat to drive home the melody. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9KcbbzsRhZs" target="_blank">WE wanted justice for All, equality for All, and an environment that wasn't toxic for any life</a>. <br />
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I don't think that's so very different from what music is today, but we shared the sounds, didn't hoard them in our ears via headphones. Our speakers were monstrously huge, rattled the plaster and window glass. If you are of the vinyl generation - even when we wore headphones others could Still hear the music via the needle against the grooves [this annoyed my parents no end and their annoyance exasperated me something fierce].<br />
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How I miss that 8-track clicking through the channels, like a heartbeat that reassured us. Of course, I adore the clarity of CDs and Digital Music and the fact my huge library of eclectic tunes can be stored on a stick. Living in small spaces for most of my adult life, storage was always an issue for music and books. Not anymore and though I am occasionally nostalgic, I like it better this way. I do miss DJs though, won't deny Dr. Fever and Venus Flytrap were not caricatures to me.... O, and ... BOOGER.<br />
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I confess to some pride in the fact my adult children know all the words to many of those classic hits. They could credibly win a free bit of junk answering quizzes about lyrics and artists if DJs were still a thaing. Of course, the first words they learned were: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Uz_TQbWubs" target="_blank">"God, make it a dream!"</a> After hearing that song they were totally hooked on Oldies. [you think baby shark sticks in your head, ha! listen to this once and share it with your children or grand children ... it'll never leave you and always make you smile, guar-an-dam-teed]<br />
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<br />My bizarre sleep schedule did yield some extra coloring and chat time. I frequently lurk in chats during the work day. As I've said before the sound of voices and laughter while I work with details is nice. Sort of like DJs of Art pouring in to my life without annoying commercial announcements. I've learned so much about how hard it is to have self-confidence in the finished page, or worse, in even beginning a page. <br />
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The intimidation of the coloring book is difficult to understand but it is a very real thaing for many people. They want to create and enjoy and relax; zenning out as they art along. BUT those intricate patterns, or fabulous images, only add to the stress of their life. Some menacing voice has whispered in their heart that if it isn't perfect as so-and-sos tutorial or whosit's picture on Instagram or whatsit's post on facebook, it isn't worthy or even worth doing. <br />
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They open the book, look at their gorgeous pencils or paints or pens or markers, and freeze. I ache for the fear of being a beginner, that horrendous horror of imperfection, that terror of wasting the cost of book n supplies [because one bad page ruins the whole book for them] that steals the Joy of Art. I just want to print out bent, folded and spotted pages and say, "See, it's OK, you cannot wreck this!" But it would only hurt their feelings and I think, make the fear worse.<br />
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I'm more of a throw down the color, no one's gonna know, or care, if it sux. <i><b>My</b></i> coloring just isn't that big a deal in the larger scope of the universe and all eternity. Heck, not even my children who just paused to confirm the schedule today and the availability of the vehicle really care, beyond admiring what I might beg them to look at with a quick glance as they rush to do their thaing.<br />
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I consciously decided to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkuEShI0OdE" target="_blank">take this chance to sail on the wind When so many in the water chose to row</a> when I bought the first pencils and book. I know my life span is limited, a bit moreso than expected, and I didn't want to waste what I do have. So, it was hard for me to understand the fears. I won't deny I struggled with comprehension <i>and</i> judgment - I'm human - but I didn't give up.<br />
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I spent some time last month trying to understand the opposite viewpoint and came to the conclusion too many of us have been programmed to expect Instant Perfection with the right tools, because "even children color, so it should just come naturally, right?" It's the same experience of many a new mother. It's just supposed to come naturally, whatya mean it's going to take endless and thankless work, learning to live on little to no sleep, and my life won't be my own for at least another 20 years? Whose crack brained idea was this anyway?<br />
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Worse, some have incorporated that early childhood programming that there is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cVpkzZpDBA" target="_blank">No Way to See Flowers Any Other Way</a> than the way some <i>authority</i> does. It must be shaded this way, highlighted that way, use this limited palette, follow this pattern, etc. was drummed in to their brain so that now it is a spike drilling in to their ability to even Begin. What is so downright sad is these tutorials are created to assist technique, skills, and free us to develop our appreciation of what we want to translate from <b><i>our</i></b> hearts to a page, in living color. <br />
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I seriously doubt anyone making the tutorials or books or leading the trends actually wants everyone to color exactly the same way. If you asked them, outright, almost all of them say these exact words: "You'll Want to Make it Your Own." How hard that is for some to actually believe just breaks my Old Biddy heart. Stealing joy before it can be born is definitely a sin. When you do it to yourself, it's like ... like hacking at your own soul. That it is over a coloring book seems trivial but to these folks, it isn't. They are literally agonizing over a hobby designed to bring relaxation and peace to their lives.<br />
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When hearing or reading about this phenomenon of colorist-to-be I always hear Mr. Tanner in my heart. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fo-tCNtFI10" target="_blank">He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.</a> If you take away sang and replaced it with coloring / art ... ignored the critics, internal and external ... it might just feed the courage and quiet the doubts. I don't think meaningful music changes every one's life, but I do think it can't hurt, and often helps. Plus Big John Wallace colors with his voice the way I hope to someday wield my pencils! He didn't wake up able to sing like that - he took years of practice to achieve his resonance and depth, and yeah, he still isn't famous and no one probably has any idea who I'm talking about. But he touched millions, unknown as he was / is, go figure! <br />
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WE just wanna relax and enjoy color. No millions will be touched, we have to know that. Our little corner of the universe will be more colorful, and hopefully, we'll make a few friends along the way. It's not our eternal life we're jeopardizing if we mess up the light source or a few leaves turn out stupid looking. We waste more money on junk food or foo foo coffee than we do on coloring books. And though the fancy supplies DO cost more than you might expect, that's no different than the better racket for tennis, the premier golf balls, or gear for hiking that others spend on their hobbies. Guilt for indulging less than perfectly, be Gone! <br />
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[<i>P.S. I know it's not that easy. But until you can laugh about your flaws and foibles, you can't really conquer them can you?</i>]<br />
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Steve Goodman, as unappreciated as any colorist on the tubes or social media, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fF1lqEQFVUo" target="_blank">wrote the perfect words to so many songs</a>. I'd give all my toes to be able to express, in words, the goofy things I think half as well as he did. But, like coloring, I don't wait for that Divinely Inspired Perfection in a sentence that will transform me from grammatically adequate to superstar. I just do my best, today, where I'm at, with what I have and hope someone reads it and finds a smile in their day. I wish I could bottle that determination for others. It really does work, letting go of expectations of perfection and embracing your Majestic Awkwardness.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My very first postcard. I "wrecked" the words with metallic gel pens and ended up tossing it rather than sending it. No one died, no one even knew, or cared, until now. The words are etched on my soul all the same. O and the next postcard turned out great and went on its merry way to make my friend laugh.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
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Yesterday, during a live chat at <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCsbgqPn-PLUWkq-Xqd5P61A/videos" target="_blank">Becci'z Color Escape</a> a train went by, the whistle howling and drowning her out for a few minutes. It made me feel so good to hear that sound.<div>
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It reminded me of my best friend growing up. She lived right next to the tracks, raised up on an embankment so the tracks were actually higher than the roof of her house. We used to run out in her backyard and wave as the trains rolled by, sometimes they'd toss candy down at us. I tell you what, we knew exactly where to stand to be just out of range of those hard candies but we could move like a super hero once it was safe to scramble for the goodies! I'd like to have that energy and ability to be patient just long enough once again. I'd truly appreciate it, now, though I took it for granted then; but that's not how life works, is it? <br />
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Reality, which is only just a word, creeps along, wearing us down and gobbling up our joy even when we resist and thumb our nose in its face. I think a trick I've learned after all these years is to at least run out there and wave. The effort will only do me good and the smile that might be returned never hurts. Doing so with a friend, in person or in retelling, is still the best feeling in this life! Even when your dream life is plagued with goofier than she-it stuff and your dragging through the day like a snail on hot pavement feeling fried, you are worth the effort!<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6ex0qUChC0" target="_blank">Please God, don’t let me live my life in vain</a> ... Help me throw some sunshine On a world filled with rain....<br />
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Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-86209120383357643972019-04-25T09:00:00.000-05:002019-04-25T09:00:12.546-05:00Life is just stinky sometimesThere are times life is just stinky. You can't plan for it, can't do much but ride it out and maintain your sense of humor, can't get through it one step faster than the ticking of the clock allows. Frequently, these times involve work. You crash in to the wall of some power struggle that has absolutely nothing to do with you, or redevelopment, or another jargon type phrase that minimizes people to statistics or an equation that not only doesn't add up, it simply can't compute. <br />
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My Eldest Son is enduring such a season. It sucks. As his mother, I still want to have a magic wand to fix everything, though I've never quite managed to find the wand OR the mother instruction manual that should come with all babies. Instead, I'm reduced to blathering platitudes and encouragement at him, neither of which he believes or really wants to hear right now. Totally get that. I don't want those things either. <br />
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We <i><b>know</b></i> we are so much more than what we do to pay the bills. A job does not define our soul. But when you've put so much of yourself in to a job to meet the expectations and arbitrary goals and suddenly get hit with a kick in the personal area, it feels like life has been slurped right out of you. When others not only enjoy your pain but gloat over it, intentionally humiliating you before co-workers, it grinds away at your sense of self.<br />
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And yet, he stood tall, finished his shift with the same attention to detail, and when his immediate supervisor promised all would be well, he laughed knowing it for the lie it is. He came home in a subdued state of being, talked with me a bit, vented some, ate a decent meal and went to bed at a reasonable hour. None of that is as easy to do as it sounds. I've never been prouder of him than I am right now. <br />
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How we face the bull sheit life flings at us, the integrity we maintain during those seasons, IS the definition of who we are. I hammered at my sons that a man - a genuine man - uses his strength to help others. They both got that message loud and clear. They also use that same strength to help themselves, to get through the stinky and sheitty and just plain kick in the personal area days. <br />
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There were many people that insisted a single mom could not raise six children "alone." They were certainly right. Fortunately, I didn't have to do it alone. I had God to kick my essentially lazy butt out of bed and to keep me moving when I wanted to hide under the house and to provide energy I know I never had, or will have again. <br />
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My Eldest Son and Eldest Daughter tapped in to that early and continue to amaze me, daily, with their determination and tenacity that not only endures, but thrives and carries on even in less than ideal circumstances. The other children have observed and learned the path is often rocky and pitted but they'll get along just fine if they put one foot in front of the other. Some days it feels harder than others, but in truth, those are the days we Prove who we are, inside, where it counts. <br />
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-11763286397835558462019-04-18T07:24:00.003-05:002019-04-18T07:24:51.092-05:00Scattered Thoughts on a Restless NightAt times, body and mind simply does not work on the cycle of time the world would impose. A day is supposed to be neatly divided in to three 8-hour portions in a twenty-four hour perfection that, not coincidentally, matches the degrees of our globe. Those portions are supposedly divided in to work, living and sleeping. Do you know anyone whose life works out in such an ordinal way? Me neither. One always bleeds to the other and the first place you steal hours from is usually sleep, then life and sometimes even work. As my grandmother used to say, "It's always something...."<br />
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She used this statement to dismiss whatever little crisis or trauma or drama was going on in someone's life. Truly, she did not do any of the above. Everything was orderly, consistent and dependable in her world. When it wasn't, the weather or the news was to blame and it was best to wait for the inevitable change or turn off the radio and TV. Praying solved everything. She worked her beads, nagged and praised God, the Lord, the Blessed Mother, the Saints, and was not above poking the Holy Spirit with an elbow now and then; all while trusting things would work out. That she was generally correct, things did and do work out, was downright annoying to some of her family, go figure. <br />
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My mother learned stoicism at her mother's knee. She didn't panic, never freaked; wasting energy on worry was a sin, end of discussion. Her reality was you do the best you can with what you have to work with, daily; tomorrow comes soon enough. I never saw her sit up late fretting, get up early to wrestle with struggles, or argue with the universe about what was fair and right. She did her best, and after three coca-colas with two fingers of whisky in each, she slept like a baby for exactly eight hours, as prescribed by the globe and time. In the morning, she had her coffee, made her list, put on her face, and went forth to do her best. It was more than most of us accomplish in this life. I admired her for that. <br />
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I learned chaos blows in to life on an irregular, irrational timeline from my father, the king of chaos. He was an amiable soul, unless you left a cup in the sink or vodka was at hand. I learned how to cope with anything and everything from my mother. All of these lessons came long before I learned how to make a good cup of coffee and right after I observed that alcohol is not a demon but it feeds chaos and obliterates sensible coping. Sometimes, now, I laugh about these lessons, mostly I simply ignore the memories and do the best I can with what I have to do with, minus the booze. Those are coping skills, or so I'm told. Whatever the label, I too, passed down lessons of living to my children. It is what we humans do, pass the gospels of generations on, with intention, or clumsy inadvertence, or determination to break cycles - we still pass it on.<br />
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I worked hard, practiced over zealous diligence to ensure my children had all the information I longed to have as a child balanced with healthy skills to cope with the changes in weather, news, and that touch of insanity I married. I taught them laughter works better than tears, fretting steals energy you will need for tomorrow, and most things do work out but never in the time or way you expect, never. Frequently, this is a better than expected thing but it is hard to take, that truth. I still struggle with it myself, no wonder they have niggles of doubts. I taught them to pray, how to wait for answers, and how to poke the spirit when someone is suffering and needs strength Now! Raising Godly People was my goal as a parent. Whether they ever have a degree or a high salary job or discover the cure for the common cold, if they're loving, respectful of all, and faithful people, I've done my best with what I had to do with, 'nuff said.<br />
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As they've matured, I've been stunned by the unintended lessons they took in and made their own. They live and work and rest with time for others as well as themselves. They laugh without inhibition and know when holding someone's hand is the right thing to do. They're fascinated with learning, but not locked in to the text/notes/test method so they can fit much more in their brains than I ever managed in mine. <br />
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My Second Son is borderline autistic. In our tiny town of unwritten rules that are chiseled in the gossip which is the foundations of every sidewalk, front porch or stoop, it was a challenge to find work. But, he persevered, had many 'you blew it' interviews, and eventually an employer was desperate enough to give him a chance. Sometimes, his boss tells me what a good worker my son is, "though he's still a bit quirky." My son will always be quirky. I love that about him, about all of my children. Intended or not, we do dance to the beat of a different drummer, hummer.<br />
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There are times, I'm sure, they'd rather just Fit In, Be Like Everyone Else, and not have to Walk Their Own Path. Not one has said this to me, but I hear it sometimes, in a wistful tone or resigned sigh. Some day, I believe, they'll be glad for those challenges and the strengths they truly are. I'm mature enough to know it probably won't be in my lifetime, but you never know.<br />
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Recently, as I embraced my Old Biddy status, I added the label Eccentric. It suits me better than quirky, which implies you can't really help being out of step with those pesky unwritten but eternally chiseled rules. Eccentric is a bold admission that you just don't care about rules, or gossip, or weather. As with my theories and practices of parenting, home education and faith, I don't shove my eccentricities in anyone's face or life. I'm not standing on street corners preaching the word of eccentrics or insisting others must dye their hair with kool-aid to be truly acceptable. I live peacefully and respectfully, please treat me the same has been my motto for at least two thirds of my life. Sometimes that works out, most times I'm as bewildering to others as my son. I can live with that.<br />
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I spent sixteen years of marriage trying to conform to rules that changed as soon as I mastered them. When the marriage was dissolved in a civil court, I struggled to figure out what rules to follow while confronting the reality of raising six children 10 and under, three still in diapers, with the possibility of child support no more substantial than wind pudding and air stew. It took considerable time to sort through what was true and right from those sixteen years and what was utter bull she-it. There are still times I am suddenly confronted with a Pile of BS, shocked by the knee jerk reaction and old recordings grooved in to my vinyl. <br />
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"Where the heck did that come from?!" Comes to me a bit quicker these days. I recognize a triggered response and like a grubby archaeologist, I dig in the ruins to find the source. It doesn't take as long to figure things out, whoo hooo for maturity, but it sure isn't less messy. So when I wake in the middle of the night, and it's not a physical discomfort, I know it's time to dig around. I try hard not to resent the inconvenience of interrupted sleep so I don't waste energy on useless frustration that does me no good. I accept there are only so many hours in a day and being eccentric means the rules of eight tidy hours do not apply. Get over it!<br />
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Pour the coffee, put on the specs, color, pray and listen - listening is the hardest part, for me anyway. I want to tell myself what's wrong, how to fix it, and by the way, here's some <i>other stuff</i> to fret over. All of that is distraction from some gremlin in my psyche that likes to stir up mischief. I confess I slap him, hard, back to his stinky hole before he gets one of his gross, hairy toes dug in to what is probably a simple thing I just need to acknowledge, accept, and move on from. Tonight, he didn't even bother, or maybe he overslept - he's older than I am after all! <br />
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I didn't even finish the leaves on my postcard before I realized what was disturbing my slumber. Logistics. It boils down to that. Logistics. That is not being able to be everywhere I need, or want, to be, not having everyone in the place I want them to be, not being able to wave a magic wand so miles and hours merge without effort or struggle for anyone. It's another bloody holiday. One I have always held dearer than Christmas, and just after Thanksgiving, the Ultimate Holiday in my heart. Trying to get 6 people in one place for more than a few hours is considerably more challenging than the equation of 5 working schedules + 2 vehicles = a lot of running the roads. Knowing 1/7th of the family is too far away to be physically part of the family holiday is no easier this year than last, or the year before. It is what it is and she's happy so get over it!<br />
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In my childhood, holidays were miserable, best part was being grateful they were over. As a parent of young children, I prepared, planned, and worked at making holidays memorable, fun, and if we all had the flu, then we'd save the meal and festivities for the next weekend off and do it up right, no biggie. I focused on birthdays more than holidays, making a weekend of the day of birth the celebration it should be. As an Eccentric Old Biddy with grown children, I long for those easy peezy days of paper chains, glitter and balloons being snazzy decor; getting up at 4 to cook, and the happy exhaustion when it was over. <br />
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Yeah, I know, loosing sleep over logistics of holy days is beyond eccentric and nudging into the wackO zone. It does make me laugh at myself, do join me. It did make me weed more BS from the ancient dig. Good for me! Wakefulness got me some extra coloring and prayer time, a grocery list made and some good music played, all in all it's been an extra early morning win win. <br />
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It will all work out, it always does and if it doesn't - I did <i><b>not</b></i> fail my children or the generations of women before me. Besides, there's always June to look forward to. The only misery likely to be experienced is the grocery shopping and the storms they're forecasting for Friday. I won't melt getting soggy hauling groceries that's for sure and certain. We will gather when we gather and eat when we eat and play games when we play games. Some time for conversation will appear, over dishes or taking out trash or while picking up limbs in the yard or dealing a hand of Uno. We are still a family even if we're scattered a bit and juggling schedules that don't fit well together. No one is dreading the holiday and wishing it was already over. Chaos may swoop in, but it will be in the form of a cat trying to snag a snack not a drunkard or a sober narcissist. Someone will spill something, but it will be a mess we joke about as we clean it up, not an excuse for violence. We will do the best we can with what hours we have to do with and sing with joyous voices.<br />
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So that gremlin kicking at my misery triggers can just stay in his hole, where he belongs. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aren't fish soothing?</td></tr>
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-33143452069290499152019-04-17T02:48:00.003-05:002019-04-17T02:48:41.937-05:00Dusty Corners & Treasures of Someday Re-DiscoveredI didn't really expect to tidy the piles of mess This Week. I anticipated putting it off till next Christmas, maybe. Work to do, pages to color, books to read, Worker Bees to blather with, FIBs to chat with and weather to enjoy before it gets roasty and toasty. <br />
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But life is like that. You think you've got The Plan inked in then something comes along, a simple thing, a momentary distraction and there went The Plan, shrieking out the window like a bat desperate to escape the light. Being an Old Biddy, this no longer bothers me, in fact, I don't generally ink The Plan anymore, I make a list and hope for the best.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvY02SSj450&list=RDQNBeP8dzYdg&index=18" target="_blank">crank this up ... it's amazing, and probably requires tissues for Old Folks</a></div>
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<i>It's a Happy Enchilada and You Think You're Gonna Drown</i></div>
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[this is a not obscure reference that you can explore on google, or not.]</div>
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It began when my Youngest Daughter and I were dissecting a book she'd just finished. It was a book I desperately wanted at least one of my children to read but not one was really interested in it. However, having a nasty spring cold and not sleeping well, she ambled off with the book the evening before and tepid interest. Truly, I am not above a bit of <i>Carpe Diem</i> [seize the day] when opportunity presents itself and she is my youngest, <i>tempus fugit! </i>[time flies] By the time I finished work the next evening, she was fairly bursting at the seams to discuss her impressions, the writing, history, women and men, love in all it's forms and how much the ending just messed with her head! I had to turn Columbo off and give her my full attention, toss a few stirring thoughts in, and generally wallow in my favorite thing: talking with my children.<br />
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I mentioned I had the next two books. She was interested in reading them. So we ambled to my room, still discussing books and life and how it all goes round, so little really changing, most especially people. People are what people are since the day life began. How we walk faithfully and lovingly is what counts, but no, it's not harder, or easier, than it was at any other time. The rules change, the boundaries shift, and the rich and powerful still control all the resources; justifying their disdain for the rest of us by clinging to their divine rights some fat bard made up as an allegoric ballad they still don't get.<br />
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Kicking aside a pile of clothes I am in the process of sorting, moving the flamingo beach ball that used to hang from the ceiling until a cat launched at it from the corner of my desk, and climbing under the table holding an assortment of paper piles I plan to file during the Great Tidy of Someday, I learned I required a flashlight. Wonderful daughter did not make me crawl back out in all my graceless glory, she fetched me one and did not comment on my messy room and how disappointed in me she is. [<i>Did I mention she is a wonderful daughter</i>?]<br />
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All the way in the farthest corner of a bookshelf tucked behind the folding table were the books we were seeking. Dusty, elderly paperbacks with a price stamped in the corner that garage sales charge more for now. Pages are falling out, yellowed, and strangely enough, Wonderful Daughter is excited by this, wondering how many people read them before I picked them up via internet retailer before she was born.<br />
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As I was wriggling back out, I spotted Treasure. <i><b>Forgotten Treasure</b></i>. I might have expressed my surprise with a bit of unsavory language. Wonderful Daughter dropped the books on the bed and was ready to administer CPR, so yeah, I probably spewed profanity. But anyway ... what I found were more old books, a stack of old books. I'd snagged them at an indoor flea market back in the day for $5, with a vague, silent plan of someday.<br />
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[<i>You may notice most of my plans incorporate someday, that's not a bad thing so long as you allow someday to come to you when it will and don't fight it because it isn't on this week's plan</i>]<br />
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They've moved from the School Bookshelf to the Moma's Keeper Shelf which is now tucked in a corner of my room. Vonnegut, Tepper, Atwood, LeGuin, L'Engle, Mary Stewart, L.M. Montgomery, Frank Herbert, Harper Lee, Charles Portis, Huxley, Orwell, CS Lewis ... a few others I hope my children have or will read, someday, and know their mother was not always this silly mix of fretting and fatalism. Once upon a time, she thought deep thoughts and reveled in them, certain that if she knew just a little bit more it would All make sense. [<i>but that's another tale for another day</i>]<br />
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They're copyrighted from 1949 to 1970 and full of illustrations we all enjoyed and shared information from when I originally bought them. Deep in that secret pocket of someday, I thought these would be good resources for sketching and color ideas. Of course, there was absolutely no free time back in the day, but now and then, I'd find a couple hours to sit and art with kids and it kept that pocket from unraveling with bitterness or gloomies. Someday would come, or not. I'd be ready if it did. <br />
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They're small, pocket sized, but incredibly detailed. We can certainly find out more on the internet now in much less time, with No Dust whatsoever ... but ... I remember books like these from my childhood, sitting on the floor with my feet propped on a window ledge, dreaming of being a scientist in a Star Trek future, boldly going about the universe discovering amazing things with people as hungry as I was for Peace, Equality and Respect for All Life. In this little stack of treasure, I remember the promises of someday I didn't quite eradicate when I purged the lint in my pockets.<br />
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However, being all ga-ga as I look through these books is probably not going to motivate me to get my room tidied any time soon, just mentioning.<br />
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-11052208951038189892019-04-13T06:14:00.002-05:002019-04-17T17:07:21.599-05:00Majestically Awkward & Other StuffSpring pollen is thick this year, coating everything gold, little flakes of the future. The poor bees keep trying to pollinate our vehicles and the front steps, they are very confused. We skirt them politely as bees are endangered and we choose to encourage them to stay here, protected and wanted. When we start the vehicle, switching on the windshield wipers scares them off so they flee to the azaleas or back to front steps. I feel so bad seeing them flung off the side mirrors as we're going down the road. I fret about Columbo showing up and saying, "O ... there <i><b>is</b></i> just one thing still bothering me, if you have a minute...?"<br />
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I had a rant about my job here, but aren't you glad I zapped it away?<br />
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I know I am.<br />
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Other than moaning about hours in the day that living requires me to work, I've generally kept job stuff totally separate from my Real Life. I don't back up to my paycheck but neither do I allow work to have more of me than is necessary. It isn't that I don't like my job, I do, mostly. It is just not who I am, inside. I work because I am addicted to electricity, water, clothing, a roof over my head and food in the pantry; not to mention the internet and coloring. There are days it feels like my work might take the final bite of what I am, inside, and there are others it barely touches. And so it goes for most of us, yes?<br />
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So, my bad day rant was erased and I changed my mood by throwing some color on my page and finding the blend and shades of a hearty background coming along quite nicely. I listened to some VooDoo Daddy and Louis Jordan, laughed over lyrics and decided bad days should be as zappable as text you just don't want to spew in to the world.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19MMvOPd7Eg&list=PLT0sMmG2hX2AuPNiyFubkpyTonDhPLKc8" target="_blank">click here for a musical interlude</a></div>
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Distracting myself with beautiful art is better than feeling grim. For years, I enjoyed getting on google images and gazing at art work. I can gaze at the images of master artists or underappreciated lesser knowns and feel physically and emotionally, renewed. It's been my coffee table book, without the bulk, dust, or the nicked knees on sharp corners.<br />
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Instagram has replaced this quirky go-to of renewal. It's a gallery in my palm and best viewed via desktop so you don't miss the details. For me, it feels like cheating just to click the heart and not Say anything about how someone's artistic expression made a moment in my life a bit nicer, a bit more worth continuing the slug onward, a bit amusing, or stirred a memory. I know others who struggle to get words of how they feel typed in a dinky box, so I get that the heart click and a couple words is what they do. There's room for all of us in this world, contrary to populist opinion. However, I was stunned by the appreciation for a few thoughtful words about what I liked about their creations. It reminded me that we all need encouragement and a few moments of acknowledgement of our uniqueness each day. I shall keep that more in mind as I trudge through daily life.<br />
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It's a great thing, an art gallery that comes to you. The artists aren't moldy in their graves with some academic telling you what the artist was like, thought, who they slept with or refused to eat with and probably went mad because of ... No, these artists are as vibrantly alive as their work. You get to actually communicate with them! You can ask questions, you can Tell Them, before their lawyer controlled estate is all that's left, how their art moved you. I frequently feel as if I'm walking among the mighty and great. It's pretty damn groovy.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3Z4RWZa9WA&list=PLT0sMmG2hX2AuPNiyFubkpyTonDhPLKc8&index=1" target="_blank">click for another musical interlude to transition to Flamingo Story</a></div>
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So, in between work and running the roads, I've been working on my coloring page for <a href="https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/beccizcommunityjungle/">BecciZCommunityJungle</a> We picked a book, pages were assigned to a multitude of folks, and it is Becci's determined effort to enable us all to say: "I completed a book this year." She plans to combine all the images in a snazzy slideshow and we can feel proud to be a part of this First Ever Community Coloring.<br />
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I begged for my page, pathetically and earnestly. It has two flamingos on it. That's right, Flamingos. Some of you know, I adore flamingos. I have them in my yard, on my walls, in little statues, bathtub floaties, dishes, cups, planters, t-shirts, night dress, coffee mug ... you get the idea. Did I mention I adore them? Oh, O I see. There <b><i>is</i></b> a little story about my love of flamingos....<br />
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Back in the day, when I was a coffee cup, long before I became a mug, I had a lovely aunt and uncle that swanned off every spring to Florida. They spent a week in the fun and sun and were renewed by this. The first weekend after they returned, they brought us goodies from their adventures. Touristy type goodies that certainly did not break their bank but delighted us no end! Sea shells, cups, necklaces, earring dishes, ash trays, fake flowers for our hair, and of course some of these things had flamingos on them. How I loved those bright majestically awkward birds. How I wanted to believe my awkwardness would eventually transform into beauty and majesty!<br />
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However, being the eldest; my turn for flamingo goodies wasn't often because youngest always picks first. I didn't mind that because I still got to look at them even if they weren't mine. Time went by like it always does. I got more awkward but not more majestic or beautiful, alas, some of us are just destined to average, medium, ho hum, trip on your own shadow at the most embarrassing moments of life. Mostly that amuses me, now that I'm an Old Biddy, but there were times ... well, what teen or young woman [or young man for that matter] can't finish that sentence? We all go through those phases, stages, and please gawd, grant me amnesia or a hazy recollection of those times!<br />
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My aunt and uncle stopped bringing goodies after their trip because our parents objected to the waste of money. Tension among adults is never easy to understand when your in the middle of it all. I just knew I missed the hope of flamingos. In perverse transformation from cup to mug, I grew to hate the color pink, worked hard not to be a clutz or say stupid things or get flustered if everything wasn't perfect. I made a nest, raised my fledglings and learned to fly solo instead of mated.<br />
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When five of my children, horde of cats, plethora of fish and I moved in to a Real House in Town, as opposed to a Trailer in the Boonies, the first thing I bought were a dozen flamingos for the yard. I've since added another dozen every year. My second son creates nifty flamingo flocking patterns around the bird bath every time he mows the front yard. I told them the story of how flamingos make me think of beautiful things and special people that saw more than clutzy wren in me, even when I didn't.<br />
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So ... every little excuse they bring me flamingos snagged off dollar store shelves or on hot deals online. The best find was the Flamingo Tea Kettle with the not-even-a-little-annoying whistle that sounds like a rolling honk. Then my eldest son found a wind chime with a glass flamingo I hang from the air vent in my room. It is the first thing I see every morning, the neon flamingo light the last thing at night ... this makes me smile and laugh and believe even the awkward have a place in the universe, majestic and beautiful, or not.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my version of Pink Houses</td></tr>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6RzABcEwp8&list=PLT0sMmG2hX2AuPNiyFubkpyTonDhPLKc8&index=10" target="_blank">One more because this is a Great Track & you just gotta hear it!</a></div>
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Too much stuff, that's what I've got.<br />
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And so, of course, I ordered more pencils and two books.<br />
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I have a closet full of old clothes I need to sort. I have a shed full of junk I need to pitch or yard sale. My nest hasn't been made all week, I just got up and left blankets and pillows shoved aside, unappreciated though vital to my well being. I did get my chores done this week, but really, that's not a gold star achievement on my Chart of Life.<br />
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I work from home on a computer with 2 screens. I have a personal computer I use with 1 screen. I have my coloring desk and a shelf. These three desks form a U with a computer chair in the middle that slides around on a mat that is a bit bumpy. It's more spacious than my cubby back in the day and I have groovy posters and paintings on the walls plus all my desk toys and knick knacks. It's a nice space.<br />
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When we bought the house I knew I was going to work here until the day I drop dead at my desk. Even so, I took the smaller bedroom because the other bedrooms would have multiple people and thus beds in them. I like cozy spaces. It forces me to be tidy, organized and keeps most everything in reach. When I have a goofy week, one where I'm not feeling great and / or life isn't all sunshine and lollipops, the walls can close in due to the messiness I let pile up - organized piles of mess, of course. When I have a couple goofy years of unstable health, many piles are formed and willfully ignored.<br />
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This is not groovy.<br />
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This is now bothering me.<br />
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Not enough to give up sleep and Do What Needs to Be Done, but it is getting there. It's late in the Spring to be majorly cleaning but that's just too darn bad. I have my list made and when I get a good day + time, I'll jump in with both feet and gritty determination to get the piles sorted, mess eradicated and organization restored.<br />
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I hope to do so before Christmas, next year.<br />
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Stay tuned for updates, but don't expect one anytime soon, just mentioning.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The FlaminGoghs</td></tr>
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-89661015010152022682019-04-02T08:36:00.000-05:002019-04-02T08:36:24.094-05:00No Harrowing AdventureI am, as the Old Biddies said back in the day, <i>stove up this morning</i>. <br />
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Third Daughter, who lives away from home, has mono. She works as a barista on weekends and someone's stirrer, cup, or sneeze passed the virus to her. Just after I was done working last night, we phone chatted. O how miserable she looked. I just wanted to snatch her home! That's not quite doable since Youngest Daughter has compromised immune system and we don't have an isolation chamber. Why, o why, didn't I look for that in a dwelling when we were stumbling from run down house to out of our price range grandeur and everything in between?! So, listening to her tell us what she didn't have, and how she can't go out in public without a mask and gloves and scare people, not to mention the energy she doesn't have, and the work she'll be missing so she's afraid to spend any money [told mostly in sign language because her throat is so raw] ... we decided to gather an apocalyptic care package and take it to her. <br />
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Eldest Son, Youngest Daughter, and I did a mini road trip after he got off work at 10 p.m. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm the one in the middle, can't you tell?</td></tr>
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No harrowing adventure, thankGawd, just the usual construction and a few minutes of rain on the way back. Hardest part was battling with the self-check out at the grocery over a loaf of bread and a bag of carrots. O and getting lost trying to find the Parkway she lives off of. ThankGawd for google driving thaing. Youngest daughter enabled location and navigated us back in the right direction. <br />
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<ul>
<li>Here's a tip when driving in Bama: when you hit the clay road and overgrown golden rod, you've gone too far, turn back before it's too late! </li>
<li>A warning for driving anywhere: Some cities do not light their street signs, use reflective paint, OR place them so they're visible until you are passing them. These cities also like to reuse the main road's name with court, place, street, avenue and court place - that was a new one, I was impressed. </li>
<li>A tip for driving anywhere: landmarks do not look the same in the dark of the night as they do in the light of day. </li>
<li>Final tip: If you have to take a road trip, Monday Nights are low traffic, high police and sheriff presence, and relatively not bad for such endeavors. Just watch your speed and you'll do fine.</li>
<li>P.S. when lost, do not expect to find hide nor hair of police, sheriff or state trooper, it's a cosmic thaing, trust me.</li>
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Arriving late at night after our scenic tour of parts mostly unknown, I backed the vehicle to her tiny deck and we proceeded to stealthily put bag after bag, uh after bag, and a few more bags right outside her sliding door. We were trying not to wake her or anyone else in the apartment complex. Of course we failed, and there she was, my poor child, isolated in the Big City wearing her mask, comfy slug clothes and barely able to talk. But, let it be noted: her hair was doing Great, all shiny and fluffy. No one with great hair is truly down, just a bit under the weather, right?<br />
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We kept the deck rail and bags between us; no touching [ARG!], no hugging [OMG!], no closer than 4 feet in the open air [DYING]. I did <b><i>not</i></b> throw a bag over her, bungy her to the roof rack, and abduct her. My restraint was amazing, just mentioning. You can praise me. I certainly deserve it! Eldest son was proud of me. Youngest Daughter said I probably earned a bucket of Good Mother Chips. It didn't help me feel less like I was abandoning her on the frozen tundra with the wolves howling too close for any comfort. <br />
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So, Third Daughter was stocked with pain reliever, throat comfort, assorted first aid / treatment stuff and bleach wipes so she doesn't have mutating virus hit her with secondary ick. Eucalyptus bath salts for soaking away aches and pains, and enough food to hold on in the case of an alien invasion from outer space. I do know how to stock a pantry for survival, ease of preparation, and the long term nutritional / caloric requirements. Burt Gummer would be impressed by what an Old Biddy can do without access to MREs or Cactus and Insects.<br />
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[<i>that's a Tremors reference in case you haven't had enough coffee yet</i>]<br />
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Our trip home was uneventful, aside from the two minutes of rain smearing the windshield. Rolled in about ten to one a.m., scrubbed face, brushed teeth, looked at messages and fell in the bed! The cherry on the cake of Monday was Second Son receiving a note from the IRS regarding the need to prove he is who he says he is. Not sure what flagged his return, but we are off to tax man this morning to defend his honor and with enough evidence that he is actually who he says he is and therefore entitled - yes entitled - to his little refund check. <br />
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Just for the record, I am not having a great hair day and though the road goes on forever, I prefer not to take any more trips beyond the cat food run for a while!<br />
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-35359462172479336682019-03-28T11:58:00.001-05:002019-03-28T11:58:50.961-05:00Post Picture Funk SolutionYou go to bed, hours later than usual, buzzing with the high of a picture at the point of only fine details to add. It's a restless sleep. You have nightmares of a pencil rebellion - hundreds of colors walking off the job, demanding better hours and fairer usage - grateful when the alarm goes off despite the fact your eyes are red and your pupils are still somewhat blown out. Still, when you manage to focus, the picture isn't horrible and the pencils, <i>ThankGawdAlmighty</i>, are exactly where you left them, all present and accounted for!<br />
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A mug of coffee will get you jump started, the day will be long but the weariness worth it; all the things you tell yourself does not dent that feeling of being blue deviled by the crash. I don't know how real artists do it, over and over, confronting this low after the effervescent buzz of creation! No wonder historically; starving and ridiculed, artists struggled so often against the label nutz. They sure didn't have the ease of flip a switch lighting, flush toilets, pre-made canvas, readily available papers and supplies - No amazon two day delivery. Yet, our museums are full, our history is thick, and our souls fed by those intrepid, dedicated artists that still give us wonders to behold in their works. I am humbled and awed but definitely wishing they'd left a note or two behind about how they crawled out of the Post Picture Funk.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RV6rc7FBkHo/XJz0dJJy8II/AAAAAAAAAkg/T3_LOyrtdGoj0CYVjK-OZsPVk_qFEUuJQCLcBGAs/s1600/Calligrapher%2527s%2BColouring%2BBook%2BA.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1548" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RV6rc7FBkHo/XJz0dJJy8II/AAAAAAAAAkg/T3_LOyrtdGoj0CYVjK-OZsPVk_qFEUuJQCLcBGAs/s200/Calligrapher%2527s%2BColouring%2BBook%2BA.png" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from The Calligrapher's Colouring Book by Renee Chin</td></tr>
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Me, I drag out my postcards and keep on working. What I really want to do is stare at the picture and figure out how I did this right, and this not so good, and that ... maybe no one will notice, people - regular people - seldom look closely at colorist work, right? This leads to overworking the picture and potentially wrecking it. I make myself turn the page and look away for just that reason before fine detailing. <br />
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Of course what I really want is a nap, a long nap, without terrors regarding pencils or my family committing me to the Asylum for the Coloring Crazies where all you get to work with are broken bits of crayons, every other Tuesday, if you're good and don't cause any trouble. I tend to cause trouble even with the best resolutions of being good, those Tuesdays don't look hopeful for me.<br />
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So, to combat this, I got a <a href="https://www.colorpockit.com/" target="_blank">Color Pockit</a>. It's a minimalistic approach to reintegrating with real life as well as your inner colorist when she is in a Funk and just wants to sleep without horrors besieging her often tenuous hold on self-confidence and sanity. Please note: It also can fool your family in to believing "<i><b>It's just a hobby, I can quit any time I want</b></i>...."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mh-qk5vGJbk/XJz05FfI4sI/AAAAAAAAAko/PefOdePch0EcWlBQFAGywkyUwma-MUv0QCLcBGAs/s1600/Pockit%2Bput%2Btogether.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="1600" height="114" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mh-qk5vGJbk/XJz05FfI4sI/AAAAAAAAAko/PefOdePch0EcWlBQFAGywkyUwma-MUv0QCLcBGAs/s320/Pockit%2Bput%2Btogether.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click image for larger view</td></tr>
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[View a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sk8qNXum5sg" target="_blank">Video of this Nifty Creation</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCboWHsV2Sle15yVew3kCrMg/featured" target="_blank">@ColourWithClaire</a> an amazing colorist youtube channel]<br />
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I didn't open this Solution to the Post Picture Funk when it arrived. I was trying to avoid distractions, and I know the lure of postcards for me. My strength in resisting this new thaing isn't especially impressive. If it was up to me I'd make Birthday and Christmas Goodie opening last at least a week, opening and savoring slowly each goodie because that's how I roll; easily overwhelmed by good thaings. So I saved the grand opening for a Funky Day, which happened to be this one. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6nBAXHxQQgU/XJz1Qisv1OI/AAAAAAAAAkw/8rJf1STPOS0HD-gfk2Zv78dwJPDHZar7gCLcBGAs/s1600/Pockit%2Bsecret%2Bstuff.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1255" data-original-width="965" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6nBAXHxQQgU/XJz1Qisv1OI/AAAAAAAAAkw/8rJf1STPOS0HD-gfk2Zv78dwJPDHZar7gCLcBGAs/s200/Pockit%2Bsecret%2Bstuff.png" width="153" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click image for larger view</td></tr>
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The wooden box is a bit heavier than I expected. This is a good thaing, providing stability and awareness that you're working with tools that matter, even if you feel like a faker. The pencils are cute and functional. They swatched out tolerably and blend about like you'd expect from off the rack pencils. BUT, the little pencil slots will hold any 12 pencils you want, including my Derwent Coloursofts [though can't imagine risking their cores in a tragic dropage accident]. Can use it as is, or pack in my Koh-I-Noor TriTones, or pick a palette of Artezas and Colorits, or even load it up with graphite pencils and blank postcards. <br />
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The options of use are what appealed to me, within the postcard limitation. I didn't expect to get artist grade pencils or Gunnell / Karlzon grade postcards. It was the functionality away from the desk, and my doubts, that I wanted. By the way, the postcards that come with the Color Pockit are cute as all get out and on good paper. Since I'm still cuddling my TriTones like a new baby, I'm using them for the first postcard. Already I feel a bit of balance and perspective returning, though I still want a nap without dreams, and for that lovely buzz of creation to return, Now, if not sooner.<br />
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Fortunately, coloring postcards gives me the latter, even without the former, but I'm still watching out for that Pencil Rebellion!<br />
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-24816622136219105202019-03-26T10:01:00.001-05:002019-03-26T10:01:30.130-05:00Programmed to Save and Now, It's OfficialI've worked on screens since 1993, or thereabouts. It didn't take me long to embrace the mantra "Save is Your Friend!" Some programs had auto-save, even back then, but they were memory hogs and tended to argue with Windows causing crashes and memory dumps. Clearing out, never mind finding those ~tmp files, was an adventure in itself. Now those auto-saves argue with your virus protection and frankly, Virus Protection better win! Shutting it off to save your data is not a good idea, just mentioning.<br />
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Programmers love their sacred mysteries, end users be their play dough of psycho-social glee. I imagine them gathered around a conference table planning to Show Us All exactly what we're made of, and how it's Not Pretty. I call this The Doritos and Pepsi Effect [yes, I'm sure they're all nibbling healthy snacks these days, but Yogurt and Veggies Effect just doesn't sound right, ya know?]. <br />
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It means nothing, but it soothes my soul when programs do not work as advertised and the trouble shooting FAQ suggests you contact someone because you are obviously too stupid to own a computer, never mind this program. The script following tech-support person *never* has a way to recover your file, but they *always* believe re-installing solves the problem you are. If I had to work ten to twelve hours a day listening to people too stupid to manually save, I'd probably feel the same way.<br />
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While coloring, sketching, or practicing techniques, I have found myself thinking, "<i><b>I better save this before I go further.</b></i>" Yeah. You read that correctly. For a blurry moment in time, I look at my pencils or book and try to find the save button. Gawd help me! I'm programmed to manually save. I did it to myself. Somewhere, out there are programmers snickering over their Vitamin Water with pomegranate flavoring and essential minerals. I'm a statistic on their flow chart of End Users that never have to call tech support. Whoop-d-dam-doo.<br />
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At first this programmed response to coloring surprised me and made me laugh at myself. Then, as the months went on, it rather irritated me that I still wasn't de-programmed. I found myself certain then absolutely convinced that I should, could, would, byGawd, master my sense of time and spacial continuity by not thinking of saving as I colored, sketched, or practiced. You probably realize the futility of that concept. De-programming takes multiple confrontations that require enormous energy expenditures. Yeah, right, like that's going to happen, not. I'm a sloth in real time, and pretty much OK with that.<br />
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I still work with data and screens and programs created by cunning and manipulative people trying to alter the perspective of end users so they can do away with tech support and have a larger profit margin - end users and employees beDamned. I still save my work a ka-zillion times per working day. Sooooo, when I spin my chair and transition to Real Life with a multitude of colors, shades, and layers; I expect my programming to just slough off, like the snake skin I've been forced to wear for Years. It's not working out that way.<br />
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The deeper I go into my creative adventures, the less genuine thought there is. And by the time I get that buzzy, high feeling, I'm practically pre-verbal. Primitive gibberish is my response when someone asks me how's it going on their way in or out. I hand wave this as Old Biddy arterial flow issues, but I do know better even if my grown children are fooled. I am, in this state, a bundle of automatic responses. I breathe, sip my beverage, fondle colors, and see without being aware of anything around me except Cats snoring on my bed or People speaking my name for the third, possibly fifth time. So, of course, I want to Save manually. It is an auto-response now, cultivated, nurtured, and essential in what I do to afford my addiction to running water, electricity, and food.<br />
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Ha! I just saved this draft. I don't remember thinking "save is your friend" to guide my hand. I just see it happening and feel that endocrine rush of relief. <i><b>Pathetic</b></i>.<br />
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I am beginning to accept I truly don't have enough years of life left to de-program the auto-response of Save is Your Friend. I don't color 8 to 10 hours per day, five days a week; the balance of commitment vs confrontation is not in my favor. So, I guess I'll live with my erratic impulses - or is that compulsion? a maniacal programmer would know - and maybe draw a Save Stone and tape it to my desk. This way, every time I have that asinine thought, "<i>I better save this</i>," I can just slap at it, physically, without crashing my psyche OR loosing that lovely art buzz.<br />
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Something like this maybe?</div>
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Who knows, it might work.</div>
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<b><i>Credit where due: Save Button based on tutorials by Amazing YouTubes </i></b></div>
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<b><i>from ColourwithClaire & VitruvianArt</i></b></div>
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<i>background is my own GIMP basic noise because </i></div>
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<i>there was an old coffee stain on the sketchbook page. </i></div>
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<i>NO idea how that happened or WHY I didn't notice it until I took the photo.</i></div>
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<i> Life is like that at 6 in the morning.</i></div>
Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-25067643887526261532019-03-17T01:12:00.000-05:002019-03-17T01:12:30.478-05:00In Living ColorI've been absent from yeoldeblog for sometime now. This was due to a sudden health incident a bit over two years ago. I've adjusted to the new normal with only the occasional, "O that was stupid" pause to figure out how to get this or that done. I <i>will not</i> bore anyone with details except to confess I avoided confronting a bit of depression by hiding out in good, bad and indifferent e-books. Reading is an excellent addiction, right up there with creating yet another playlist with the perfect balance of energy, amusement, and soul sustaining rhythms. Like my playlists, my reading is eclectic and seldom of interest to anyone, though I do blather on about both if anyone gives me an opportunity.<br />
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I've also re-discovered a new hobby. Coloring. Yeah, that's right, in books, in sketch pads, on the desk calendar, on 3x5 and 4x6 cards, on postcards, etc. Although it's supposed to be relaxing and calming, perverse creature that I am, I find it energizing. Creation that moves from black lines on paper to bright and colorful 'art' charges me up. I actually feel buzzed after a certain point, almost high with delight. So, another addiction to add to my list of functional dysfunctions. Learning to work with your flaws while weeding out the crap with a ruthless hand is a Big Plus of Old Biddy-hood, just mentioning.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Beth Gunnell's <u>Pretty Flower Postcards</u></td></tr>
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So far, I've mostly done postcards for these reasons:<br />
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<li>I miss the children who've left home to go forth on adventures in the universe and postcards are a groovy way to say: I love you & miss you! Postcards aren't boring like a long letter of everyday stuff, or intrusive like an ill timed phone call, and best of all, there's no implied guilt for "not writing / calling your mother." It's just a few sentences with a pretty picture on the front, no stress. Since I was afraid of overwhelming them with my new addiction, I added a couple friends to my monthly list. They laugh with me when they get them.</li>
<li>It had been years since I picked up a colored pencil, never mind graphite, brushes, or markers; don't even ask about the state of my dip pen when I dug it out, it's too embarrassing. If it wasn't on a spreadsheet, didn't get the laundry done or the groceries on the table, it wasn't on my to do list. O, I did draw and color and paint when children were little, but once they mastered basic skills, I stepped out of the way and spent the money available on their supplies. I don't regret that, not even a smidge. But it means I've forgotten more than I remember. My muscle memory is a sluggard lounging about with a mojito in some sleazy nook of my chubby body. I needed help to reactivate the fun from the frustration of "arting."</li>
<li>Immediate gratification is a thaing with Old Biddies too, who knew? Postcards are a quick coloring pleasure that is small space friendly. There's enough of a challenge in the size limitations to make it worth doing, but not so much I got discouraged. </li>
<li>Lack of confidence in my skill set and fear of wasting pencils or books. Until I could consistently do postcards that pleased me instead of making me ::sigh::, I wasn't touching the few books I had stashed over the years for someday, when there was time. [<i>that day seldom comes, btw</i>]</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For the first 10 or 12 postcards I didn't take a photo. I pitched 3 and mailed the rest away, counting on tactfulness of family and friends. I did finally grab my courage and give it a kick. Did an actual coloring page. It wasn't horrible. </td></tr>
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<i>Time went on, like it always does</i> and one rainy day, I searched for a tutorial and OmiGawd a whole new world appeared. Yes, I know, coloring books have been next to, or replaced, the tabloid mags and papers literally everywhere for years. I was a bit focused on providing roof, water, electricity, clothing, and sustenance for my horde of children. I bought some books and coloring cards for them, but it didn't dawn on me that ka-zillions of people were out there coloring their way to contentment and joy.<br />
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Of course, there were, still are, scrap book groups at several churches in town but, GoodLawdAlmighty, was that expensive, a mite cliquish, and a horde of children that wanted to cut, paste, glitter and sticker with enthusiasm were not exactly welcome [duh]. There was also some considerable drama regarding the TrueWay of Scrap Booking that caused a schism of biblical proportions, or so gossip trickled down even to me. I don't do drama, gossip, or the TrueWay of most anything. Therefore, it is entirely possible the Tempest in Tiny Town skewered my impression of those coloring books and pencil sets I've seen on shelves, magazine racks, and clearance bins. I'm willing to admit that I might have looked the other way lest I be considered one of the Trouble Makers on either side. Since my children started working out in the universe, I keep a very low profile. Wouldn't be right to weigh them down with my radical, contrary to popular opinion, opinions.<br />
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.... <i>I'm digressing, but that's not unusual, it <b>is</b> why I suggest you pack a picnic</i>....</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Last drawing I did was 2003. Generic drawing pad and a good ole #2 pencil. So, yeah, it had been a decade and then some</i></td></tr>
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My co-worker and I have been working 10+ hour days for years. We joke about being found by our loved ones, dead at our desks, dehydrated husks in comfy clothes but great hair. Lately the joke has not been very funny. The overtime sure is nice when the hot water tank develops a leak, one of our vehicles develops a cough, or the bathroom suddenly starts sagging and we fear there's a leak - but no! - previous owners cut IN to a floor joist to install a drain line and said joist decided this was the year to protest. Ripping out the entire bathroom revealed this and much expense. <br />
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Soooo, up to that episode of real life happens to all, the plumbing addition, I was systematically spending a portion of my overtime money on art supplies. In other words, I was going nutz. At first, no one noticed. I stashed my goodies on a shelf in my room and dreamed of someday, when I had time. Ha! Screw that, after my health incident, I started making time.<br />
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I had no idea how much I'd accumulated bit by bit until I started trying to find a place for everything. Pencils, paper, coloring books, More postcard books, more pencils, cool battery operated eraser, More index cards so I'd stop drawing on the paper towels while eating dinner, markers, metallic pencils, glittery and earth tone gel pens, stencils, a compass ForGawdSake, and did I mention coloring books? O, I did. Much of this was purchased furtively and locally from season sale and clearance aisles, but yes, amazon prime is a remorseless enabler! My wish list is positively obese because I've not lost my common sense and frugal ways, it's just that a bit of my sanity is ... misplaced. After all there are only so many supplies I can fit in my small space and only so many books I can, or will, color in my lifetime. It is also possible I don't <b><i>need</i></b> this or that to thrive, best to wait a month and see if it really is someday.<br />
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Twined with sensibility and life happens is the fact that after our yearly evaluation and yet another slap-in-the-face raise that fast food employees would laugh at, my co-worker and I admitted that all our dedication has meant nothing. Except ... except that our families have been cheated of time that is rightfully theirs, and our lives have narrowed to work, hurry up and do what must be done, and perpetual lack of sleep trying to cram life into too few hours. We've needed a third person in our 2-woman department for about 4 years - but still no one is hired.<br />
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So, rebellious women that we are becoming, our post evaluation resolution was: Forty hours/ week, no more, no less, and let the sheit hit the fan where it may. If the powers that be want us to work overtime to keep up, they're going to have to Ask Us. It's a petty decision made by essentially powerless people. I can live with that.<br />
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That said, my nutz is now curbed. The obese wish list remains carefully planned out purchases that stay in budget. That's a good thaing in my opinion. Too much nutz when you're addicted to something can lead to an overdose which totally eradicates the Fun Part, again, just my opinion; your mileage may vary.<br />
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Last week was our first week of working only forty hours in about six years. Neither of us quite made it. She put in an extra hour for a crisis. I put in an extra hour because she had a PTO day scheduled so of course there was a late in the day emergency. Even so, the week felt like an unexpected vacation compared to what we've been doing. I confess, there were a couple days I wasn't sure if I could legally eat breakfast and dinner at the table instead of the desk.<br />
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Don't misunderstand me, I love my job. It is ever changing, never boring, and so focused on tiny details that my little brain is flooded with happy stuff released by my mature glands because minutia is groovy to me. But, there has to be more to life than work, sleep and frantic weekend errands scheduled around a houseful of working folks!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Hanna Karlzon's Daydreams, 20 Postcards</td></tr>
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For me, right now, that more is coloring. Every minute I can squeeze in, there's a pencil in my hand, a youtube on a screen, or muttering about shade, shadow and blends in my sleep. [<i>this was reported to me by my second son as he woke me looking for the keys to load up the laundry since our washing machine decided to need a part that was on back order</i>] I have youtube videos to watch and re-watch till I get the concept, more tutorials of things I want to try, and chats that are downright fun. I'm now skipping most product reviews or flip throughs since I really do have more than enough stuff. With this new work schedule, I have two to three glorious hours before work to color or practice a technique/ skill and still have time to scrub the bathroom and kick laundry mountain.<br />
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I'm no Leonardo, nor likely to be, but that was never the thaing for me. I wanted color in my life and a way to communicate with my children and friends that was unique for each person. I wanted bright and bold color melded together in a fashion that pleased my eye and distracted me from gloomy thoughts. I did not want to become a Whinging Old Biddy waiting for death.<br />
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My children are all grown. I'm not sure I believed that would truly happen. They are working and living their lives; some here, some far and away. The fact I'm more frequently chasing them to "get the scoop" on their lives, thoughts, and opinions has not escaped my notice. It's not a bad thaing, just a foreshadowing of what's to come. So, having something fun I <i><b>can</b></i> <b style="font-style: italic;">do </b>that keeps me energized is what I barely acknowledged at the beginning of this but can't ignore because ... there it is, a new phase of life. Surprise.<br />
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The coloring world is full of people that like to share thoughts about Color, Media, Texture of Paper, even :gasp: how to store stuff so it's out of the way but still accessible. Many of them share their knowledge, experience, and happy accidents so others benefit. I've watched some amazing artists. Some talk you through their creations, some speed it up and play catchy music, some even tutor without forgetting it's supposed to be Fun. All of them are extra ordinary folks with real life to balance and a generosity of spirit most churches preach but seldom achieve.<br />
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I quietly lurked about, watching, learning, allowing the re-awakening of color and fun in my soul to creep along at it's own pace. In February, I stepped out of my introverted comfy zone and started posting a comment here and there. Some people responded, others scrolled on by; that's pretty much what I expected and it encouraged me. I spoke up in a chat, then in another one. It's a pleasure to exchange words about coloring; pure pleasure. I even opened an instagram account. If I ever figure out how to make phone, tablet and computer interface, I might even post a picture. There's no rush.<br />
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This isn't work, or committed single parenting, or a life or death health incident = it's <i><b>coloring</b></i>. It reminds me that beauty is all around us and we sometimes need to create a reflection of what we see - or want to see - for that truth to sink in. That others are also creating pockets of fun and beauty; sharing, without begrudging the beholder, is the most hopeful thaing I've experienced in years.<br />
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For now, that <b><i>is</i></b> enough.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Inkspirations Color and Connect. An experiment with eye shadow background and eye tee applicator. </td></tr>
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Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-26696299510804936242018-06-11T20:31:00.000-05:002018-06-11T20:31:36.591-05:00Dr. Who Weekend & Cosmic Moments<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Family and I were <a href="https://twitter.com/ConKasterborous" target="_blank">@ConKasterborous</a> in Huntsville, AL over the weekend for <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/ConK2018?src=hash" target="_blank">#ConK2018</a> and had a wonderful time! It's the second time we scrimped and saved for a year and dealt with the challenges of everyone getting days off at the same time [harder than you might imagine for 6 people], booking rooms, not getting lost or missing the exit, and walking much farther than my oxygen starved legs thought they could -ha! amazed myself, I did. We forgot the world beyond the Con existed for a while, enjoyed our twisted family humor, and ate waaaaay too much good food -hmm, is that possible? -and spread our savings among many talented vendors displaying and selling talismans that will make us smile throughout the year, especially on the hard days that come to all of us.<br />
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I recognized some faces from last year, met some new folks, had and listened to several excellent conversations, and remembered to make time to thank the hotel staff at the <a href="http://www.westinhuntsville.com/" target="_blank">Westin</a> who seem to take us all in stride; the Security folks that might have been laughing at us but still seemed to enjoy it all anyway; and <a href="http://conkasterborous.com/con-chairs/" target="_blank">Ms Bonnie Auten</a>. You might have seen us ... we were all wearing T-shirts that matched on Day One. There were So Many groovy t-shirts and costumes and Much Loving Laughter!<br />
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Highlight for me was the two question and answer sessions <a href="https://twitter.com/Mark_Sheppard" target="_blank">@Mark_Sheppard</a> gave.<br />
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I enjoyed Mr. Sheppard as Badger, never get tired of his sardonic James Sterling, love spotting him on DVDs of various shows then hearing that lovely voice subtly work his magic of transforming a character to a Character you want to know more about immediately, if not sooner. I've yet to see him play a character that didn't grab my imagination before he finished his second line.<br />
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Nervous about having my infatuation with a master craftsman spoiled, I was utterly delighted by his interaction with fans. It's a modest sized convention so he was not trapped behind a desk like a school boy reciting his memorized-night-before history project. Not only did he stroll down from the stage, he did several walking tours up and down the aisles, chatting with the shy nerds in the back, allowing the height challenged to snag a photo or ten on their phones, then made time to acknowledge the children present with sympathetic acceptance that some are literally dragged along to these events. His pleasure acknowledging these future fans, and their parents, is obvious and contagious. I confess I was too busy listening and observing to snag a photo. Someday I'll learn to walk and chew gum at the same time. Hopefully without that inevitable walk in to wall problem.<br />
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The thing that struck me most was the fact he took the fans as seriously as he does his art. Sure he pushed back against stupid questions but everyone enjoyed the snark; challenging folks to give as much thought to our questions as we expected him to give answering. That focused nudge made each session so much more than the routine "<i>What was your favorite/ least favorite</i>" banality. When he dared reverse the question many were caught with nerves that proved just how hard it is to face questions cold and provide any answer. Was an object lesson as well as hilarious to see us all squirm in our seats a bit, not sure we'd have an answer off the top of our heads either! [tho I'm sure some did because let's face it, fans have thought a great deal about their beloved shows and characters]. It made his articulate and thoughtful answers a gift without price.<br />
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Mr. Sheppard is a speaker eager to share there is more to him -and therefore us- than the 2 dimensional view of a screen or the latest fan gossip with obligatory bio. He's been around just a few years less than this Old Biddy, so the insights and opinions he shared regarding his body of work and fandom in general, had a depth of experience I truly appreciated. That he didn't apologize for his personal perspectives, while tempering them with the fact they are his, didn't waste time dogging anyone but Fox [for 'stealing' Firefly from us it was deserved], and spoke with great respect of his wife, children, and others emphasized his earnest, honest spirit that he brings to his art.<br />
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Was totally worth the drive, sultry heat of Alabama in June, and the denial of this and that to feed the Con Savings. As grueling as it must be to get to and 'perform' at these events, it seemed to me that he gained a bit of recompense from the interaction as well. I enjoy the younger fans, their energy zaps my weary self with a charge that lasts months. As mature fans start facing physical reality of ability to go vs keeping the grandkids or working because retirement is farther away than we'd planned, we'll count on them to keep us in the loop and share the thrills. My stuttering heart regulated by medication is doubly grateful Mr. Sheppard made time to join us this year.<br />
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<i>But I ramble -yeah, not new....</i><br />
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I confess ... I was brave enough to get up and ask a question based on pondering at dawn when most of the hotel was still asleep and the stars were fading away in the sky over Huntsville. Ducks and geese were already busy, birdies were <i>sainging</i>, and I was blessed to share the universe with them, my coffee, and a little notebook. <br />
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During the opening ceremony, there was a fanvid that reminded us all Dr. Who is 55 years young. I realized I am the same age [actually a wee bit older, but we'll handwave that in the interest of not doing the math, thanks]. That thought struck me -old as Dr. Who- as one of those time paradoxes we love to sift through with a very fine tooth. For the first time, I looked at aging not as a mundane -and not so fun- part of life but as a Cosmic Moment in Time & Space, larger on the inside. Transformed by that thought is probably not visible on the outside, but inside, I felt ... renewed.<br />
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Mr. Sheppard spoke at the first session about how the passion of fandom is not something to be ashamed of -or a stereotype to buy in to- and I fervently agreed with his comment about how it's hard to relate to folks that aren't passionate about something. That the stereotypes of nerds in their parent's basements was never anything but a joke the world -and fandom- took a lot too seriously. I'm totally down with being a parent without a basement, just as I was a fangirl without one, but somehow that never stopped me from enjoying it all, or my children, all adults now, from finding their joy in a bit of geeking out.<br />
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Truth is, most fans are, and always have been, busy trying to bring their passion and excitement to their corners of the world. Isn't that what fandom is mostly about, sharing the passion, experiencing the excitement together, hoping others will someday, if we find just the right moment, Get It. Fans may be framed with cynicism, confront their own fears with dark <i>what ifs</i>, and acknowledge peace everlasting among humans is most unlikely in anyone's lifetime, but that kernel of hope for the future thrives even so. <br />
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As I was pondering my own experiences in that regard, I remembered standing at the book store with my stash of babysitting money waiting on Starlog, later on Omni, and for books that would feed my hungry soul with hope. I didn't grow up in a hopeful place, but The Future was going to allow all of us, regardless of where we came from, what we looked like, or what our views of cosmic origins were to know a better life was for everyone. Those books, stories, and movies told us we may have to start in the middle of horrific conditions, or boldly seek it out, or quest farther than our imaginations could conceive to get to that point. Still, beyond the dramatic tension required for good storytelling, there was little doubt we'd get there, eventually. Lately, that certainty of a better future for all feels precarious, jeopardized in direct ways and this, like my aging, challenges me, greatly.<br />
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Which is where I found the courage to ask Mr. Sheppard a question -well that and my children egging me on because they're twisted like that [I have NO idea where they get that!]- I'm young enough to want that certainty back and old enough to know it comes from within, nurtured while actively working for a better world now, if not sooner. Fandom encourages me to look beyond my narrow daily view, it demands of me that a neighbor or stranger is <b>as</b> <b>in need</b> of my understanding as any character or plot point or cannon, and it insists I apply what I've learned to living, now, not just in some vague future.<br />
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For example, when I hear the world "alien" I do not think of borders or nationalities; I hear Vulcan, Tholians, Sontarans, Jagaroth, Ood, or Catkind. I used to worry about that, now I'm grateful my heart and mind is already prepared to resist alienation of other members of my species. I pray I've passed that on to my children with enough conviction to live it in their future. Alone, I'm just a voice of discontent demanding better for all; as part of a convention we are more than our sum. Now, right now!<br />
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<i>The geese agreed with me but the ducks were pretty indifferent to my Cosmic Moments, go figure.</i><br />
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Over the years, I've observed fans are restless folks, insisting characters, worlds, and plots must be three -if not four- dimensional. We fill in blanks, debate, review, consider, and [as we mature] accept we can see things from another's perspective without diminishing ourselves or the work of art we both enjoy. We do this, I think, because we <i><b>need</b></i> to see more than the surface presented. We're starving for a world populated by fellow humans that look beyond the moment seeking a future that is better than what we can imagine on another planet, dimension, alternate reality, supernatural phenomenon, magic, fantasy, or adventure in space and time. <br />
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The art that draws and enchants us, not only provides us with the foundation for those dimensions, it encourages us to expand and build on them and further, to Live It as more than a costume we put on, or a binge we can't help ourselves from indulging in now and then. The best of these art forms that bring together so many lovers of content and execution of Hope form conventions. There gather folks that create and admire art based on passions combined, that validate hope is not limited to how it's always been but set free by what life can be, if we keep trying. <br />
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The question I wanted to ask was written down in my Con Program, but of course, I was nervous and so I'm not sure I asked it properly or just stuttered like an idiot. Children said I was comprehensible. Mr. Sheppard was gracious and thorough in his answer. He met my eyes, talked with me, even smiled, then engaged the room once more with his thoughts. I felt heard and answered [and yeah, a bit proud of myself for not throwing up] and when my daughter gets home from work, she'll show me the vid she took. Maybe I won't waste time fretting about how much I was sweating or the fact I have really bad teeth that are being slowly rebuilt and therefore fear smiling or talking with others and being dismissed as an ignorant savage. No, I'll still fret, but it was worth it to step outside my shy geek comfort zone and speak with an earnest soul I admire.<br />
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The changes mature fans have seen in this last 55 years are almost innumerable -from the years of newsletters anticipated so desperately to the podcasts and youtube fan productions of today- but the core of Good Stories with Good Characters igniting our passion remains the same. Hope was the Take Away for me from Mr. Sheppard's Sessions. It's a nutty world -I used the word cruddy- and there are days we surely wonder how much more we can take and still cling to hope. But it IS the people we walk and work with as we create our art of a hopeful life that makes it worth clinging and working toward that future beyond our imaginations. Having that affirmation at a Dr. Who Convention truly was some kind of Cosmic Moments.<br />
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<br />Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-32406323246637833732018-02-19T08:27:00.000-06:002018-02-19T08:48:24.279-06:00Back to Basics - Post Election Thoughts<b>Written November 13th, 2016</b>:<br />
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If you've popped over here from Twitter to be sure I'm not a bot, let me assure you I'm very much a live person with flaws, foibles, and thoughts that struggle not to exceed 140 characters. I hated twitter until this election cycle. It seemed too silly, too fast, too limited. However, I discovered it to be a blessing from July onward. Quick links to news, stats, and research points was welcome amidst the turmoil and, I admit, over-bloody-whelming information overload. I took both sides with a grain of salt post primaries. As I drilled down, that rapidly changed.<br />
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The brutal, vicious rhetoric of rallies and surrogates spinning lies for pay damaged my trust in the Fourth Estate. It has not recovered and probably won't until they critically assess profit vs duty to public in an open way with public [not government] input. They failed to research and fact check; I could not, as a citizen, afford to do the same. I voted and I wish that could just be the end of it, truly. I wish I could trust the media to alert me to issues of relevance with complete research not bites and bits flashing half-assed hype. I wish I could trust the voice of the barely 1/4 of Americans that elected this man had the best interest of everyone in mind.<br />
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<b>I cannot</b> because I believe many of the 1/4 did so based on a single issue or two, with a cursory examination of the candidates, and with indifference to equality for all, in some cases contrary to this proposition that all are created equal. I fear the repetition of lies presented as facts is all that pierced through. I cannot because I am stunned by how the word liberal has been transformed from a valid point of view to find common ground with to mean = the enemy within. This is not true, but the word liberal is being sneered often enough that many will believe it is. I am horrified that protesters are being characterized as villains when expressing their Constitutional Rights. Especially after the threats about pitchforks and fire, revolution and violence, plus the vows to obstruct the operations of government if the election did not go a certain way. Most importantly, I cannot because of the fact 1/2 the country did not vote. I do believe many of that 1/2 were denied their right to vote, but most simply abdicated their rights.<br />
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<b>I cannot</b> because the Congressional and potential Cabinet Member threats and promises being issued that jeopardize the healthcare of millions, the housing and food for millions, the Social Security of millions [paid for and earned-not an entitlement!], the Medicare of millions [also paid for and earned], the retirement accounts in mutual funds for millions, the rights guaranteed under the Constitution, plus the access of the Press -imperfect as they are- to our elected officials in danger. Insisting the country is in dire economic straights but offering the solution to this is to jerk the safety nets out from under the most vulnerable is Just Nuts. The poor and vulnerable did not create the economic crisis of 2008 - they survived it, barely. The poor and vulnerable, didn't get bailed out, the banks did. Vilifying the poor and vulnerable, compounding this with racial rhetoric, is not the way to make any country great, ever. The state of our poor and vulnerable citizens, not how high our towers or how wealthy our bankers, lawyers and CEOs, is the measurement of how great we are.<br />
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So, I dare not just go back to life as it was, quietly doing my best everyday, and consider that good enough. I acknowledge this inability being a person of faith, non-college educated, over 50, white woman. Amidst all the campaign coverage, I re-discovered my inner liberal that was silenced by years of being prayerfully submissive in marriage, diapers, dishes, and divorce when my youngest was less than a year old. I don't regret a single day, not one. They were full, noisy, and even when I worked three jobs to keep roof over head and food on the table, I went to bed knowing I did the very best I could every day. I always -always- fell short. That is a fact of single parenting that God alone can compensate for. I rose every morning knowing God would give me the energy -and whatever else I needed- to get through the day with contentment, and more often than not, a great deal of laughter. Sometimes, that pep talk required extra effort, but looking back, I'm certain of the truth. Despite the election, I am still certain of this truth.*<br />
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As an old biddy with mostly grown children, I am re-awakening to the existence of the Big Ole Goofy World beyond the daily business of living in a small community. Yes, we made it through without child support from so far below poverty level we couldn't even see the line. I want everyone else to survive and thrive as well. Everyone! Paying taxes so that others have health insurance, food, housing, and a better than merely decent education, fills me with joy -and yes, a bit of pride- doing my part is an honor. I spent 4.5 years on food stamps, have never needed the government otherwise since I was in a place we could afford to live on less. My children were healthy and we home educated around my bizarre work schedule. There were folks that shared blessings of food, passed along clothing, advice and assistance with home and car repairs over the years, we would not have survived otherwise. <br />
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To deny anyone the essentials of life is just not in me; I pray such never takes root! My faith drives this. Scripture clearly defines my neighbor, no laws of man can, or should, change that. If they are here, if they are in need, they ARE my neighbor. There is no other qualifier, not one. Being a neighbor does not give me the right, or excuse, to force my personal convictions on what constitutes sin on anyone. It does demand I step forward to defend my neighbor from injustice, persecution, and need. It does not demand the same in return. It does not demand anything in 'compensation' or 'recognition' for doing what is not only commanded, but the right thing. It is a response freely given OR it is a work done without love.<br />
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I am commanded to love everyone as myself. There is no greater commandment: no law that can violate this, no tax that can eliminate it, and no prejudice allowed to bend it. This love is supposed to define me, in all areas of my life. Lack of this expressed love is considered an admission I am not genuine in my faith. It is how others can identify me as a child of God, my expressions of love as I walk my faith. No cross, or fish, or bumper sticker, or church membership, or profession however eloquent is a substitute for this means of identifying a child of God. By the way, it does not apply in reverse. Believers cannot point fingers and say: you aren't living my faith therefore you don't matter, aren't my neighbor, deserve nothing from me. Scripture is pretty darn clear on these things.<br />
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Those things are my personal experience, convictions and bias disclosed.<br />
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How this impacts my response to this election remains to be seen now <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_strategy">The Southern Strategy </a>has been applied to the Nation, not just the South. I believe it will continue to be applied to distract citizens from the core violations of our rights and institutions, while we're being left behind with crumbs in our beggar's bowl with regards to trade and influence. The racial and gender attacks cannot be neglected, but we cannot afford to ignore the Congressional Actions that will drag us back to the days after Black Tuesday. There are so many fronts to be aware of these politicians are no-doubt counting on We the People growing weary and desensitized. They expect us to grow as selfish -take care of your own, screw everyone else- as they are; dividing us even further as they consolidate their power to the few at the expense of the many.<br />
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I know it will not allow me to simply sit and read what has become vitriolic catch phrases passing for dialog and debate. There has always been opinions galore. Conversation and dialog face to face, as well as via internet, was often heated, even flaming, but facts were seldom at issue. The flash points were usually over minutia of topics, over the best way to proceed in difficult or changing situation, over what the future would require of us. Now we find our country divided over our citizens basic human rights to health care, housing, food, potable water, and education; over the Inalienable Right that All are Created Equal; over Innocent until Proven guilty for all; over whether we as a Nation have a right to torture captives; over whether the elderly deserve government -not private industry- accountability for the taxed funds set aside for their present and our future health and well being.<br />
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I don't know how to comprehend even one of these being in Question, never mind that they are suddenly possibilities to repeal or deny. Being alert and aware, speaking up, even marching seems like holding up a matchstick on a dark, windy night knowing there is a cliff before you and no choice but to go forward.<br />
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*IMHO: I do not expect God to intervene in politics. He deals with us personally, individually, not as nations or territories. The entire world is His. He sees no borders, boundaries or difference between a child in Allepo and a child in Omaha; all of it is His Creation, both of them need His Mercy. Like the air that flows around the globe, so too His Living Love for each of us that we are commanded to share, generously, in the form of nourishment, water, shelter, and care. Petty politics, wars, rise and fall of potentates and rulers, are of our creation, not His. Endurance, strength, and will to raise our hand to assist each other is what He will give us. Katie Kofehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15025328940292417833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-10344711269136450622016-09-09T23:33:00.000-05:002018-02-19T08:46:40.137-06:00The Directed MobI do not have cable or satellite television; haven't since mid-2001, once the analog stations went digital I was ready to live without them. I read news online from a variety of sources. I prefer the variety of Real People discussing the news rather than a Talking Head reading me bits and pieces, so I frequently - OK, always - scroll the comment boards when available. So, I confess, I'm fascinated by the fact that for every one story about Clinton there are eight to ten articles about Trump. The media corporations that were once the Fourth Estate are captivated by his Game Show; enthralled by the outrageous, enchanted by the hits, and eager to pretend they don't understand how they created this ... mess ... and now have no idea what to do with it, though that doesn't stop them from analyzing the phenomenon and whispering amongst themselves, "Oh Lordy, Miss Scarlet, what's to become of us?!"<br />
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Tonight I watched <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/democrats-wonder-and-worry-why-isnt-clinton-far-ahead-of-trump/2016/09/09/543f3342-7693-11e6-8149-b8d05321db62_story.html">one article</a> by the Washington Post achieve approximately 200 posts in 10 minutes. The pace has not slowed down and it's been over three hours now. The Washington Post must be so gratified, until or unless they read the comments. It's one of those can't look away/ don't really want to see it type of things.<br />
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Go, observe any article [if you can find one] that attempts to consider the candidate Clinton, or present the text of a speech, or report on activity, or correct a rumor, or re-iterate a fact. Watch - or pour a mug of your preferred beverage and scroll through the wasteland that remains - as within an hour, if not minutes, of the article being posted the comment board erupts with Trump propaganda fast and furious, 24/7, guaranteed or your money back. Mr. Trump doesn't need offices or campaign volunteers, he has legions on the internet! How cunning is that?<br />
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I will not call them trolls because I do not believe that's what they are. I think it is entirely possible they are led by a software program that searches for keywords, sends out an alert via e-mail or private message, and obediently, the Directed Mob goes forth. Whatever they are, however they are dispatched, the Directed Mob floods the board with contempt for the Candidate, the author of the article, readers of the news, basically all things not Trump. The undecided voter, third party hopefuls, and the Clinton supporter is soon washed away.<br />
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Late night, they created posts with one or two words followed by excessive spaces; scrolls of links to InfoWars and Breitbart "news" so the earlier comments below them are literally high jacked. But if it's Prime Time, it is post after post after post, most of it having absolutely nothing to do with the article.<br />
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Make no mistake, there can be no genuine dialog with talking points and no genuine consideration with "facts" spewed relentlessly and repeatedly. You cannot even finish <i><b>reading</b></i> a comment before the repeated phrases from four or five other names, often complete with misspellings, appear. If you foolishly mention fact-checking via several debunking sites let me just warn you that suggesting they sacrifice their first born on an altar of concrete blocks in the backyard is probably received with a more open mind. The Directed Mob believes fact-checking sources are *all* corrupt, therefore lies. <br />
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You, dear foolish one, have just set yourself up to be smacked down by at least three members of the Directed Mob for drinking the wrong kool-aid. If you refuse to take your fact checking from InfoWars and/or Breitbart, you are ill-informed, ignorant, possibly programmed by elitist cults, or worse, the product of incestuous breeding program gone hideously wrong. Save your stroke potential test for something that really matters, like the summer electric bill, or a child chasing a ball in to the street, or your neighbor falling off the ladder while cleaning his gutters.<br />
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They are not trying to persuade you to their viewpoint, they are determining if you are one of the Directed, if not, you are judged and dismissed as quickly as possible as there are so few hours and so many posts to make. Therefore, if no one engages them individually, or responds to their baiting when they reply to your post, they move on to the next talking point, going down the list they have received, posting it over and over until they spot the next post that looks suspiciously un-Directed to them or a fresh fool comes along that missed the first 395 posts of the same rhetoric.<br />
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Directed Mobs are there to disrupt. What they accomplish is to silence differing opinions, viewpoints, and ideas by burying them in an avalanche of propaganda. Directed Mobs agitate each other with no intention of reaching another human being, connecting and discussing the article, thoughts, possibilities, new ideas. Their goal seems to be to literally smother any and all possibility of positive Clinton communication between their fellow citizens by using an enormous volume of repetitious statements. People that believe common courtesy is of value, even on the internet, simply move on. So, the voice of the Directed Mob rules, or perhaps they consider silencing others as winning, certainly Mr. Trump believes a different opinion than his is intolerable, unacceptable. <br />
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I've seen Clinton supporters try to engage, to dialog with the Directed Mob as individuals. It always goes badly. Either it devolves to a slanging match of personal insults, or ... no that's pretty much how it always ends up. An individual is consumed by a mob, it is why we do not allow mob rule in this country, go figure. In fact, we don't even allow it in our election process. There is the popular vote and the electoral vote, common sense and civil behavior must prevail against the mob. We all learn that in kindergarten, or we used to.<br />
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The implication of the Directed Mob as the majority is fed by the volume of posts and how quickly they silence differing opinions. I think, this comforts and motivates them to keep on behaving like children on the playground, bullying others outside their clique until they feel Strong, Great, and Safe.<br />
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Most of us see the Directed Mob arrive and move on, quietly to read the other side of the issue, or water the ivy, or ::gasp:: perhaps to enjoy live conversation in the real world. We don't believe a comment board is going to make or break our life, or truly influence how we vote. The article gave us thoughts to ponder, ideas to consider, sometimes even a laugh. That's what we showed up for in the first place, the conversation on the board is just a bonus. A bonus I miss, quite frankly, but I'll get over it.<br />
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I've heard the Spokes Contestants for Mr. Trump say there are Secret Voters out there. I rather suspect they're voting for Clinton and just don't need to brow beat anyone from a Directed Source that programs their words or alerts them to the so-called danger of a thought not in agreement with the Director's. <br />
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Despite my fascination, I fear that in self-defense and realization that they cannot enforce their commenting policies, the corporations called media will end up shutting down their comment boards, or like NPR, move them to facebook where I will not follow. Personally, I will miss reading the give and take of earnest dialog that allowed for more than 140 characters. Yes it sometimes stepped over the line, but mostly, remained merely passionate. When things went too far, reporting the issue was generally sufficient. I know it wasn't that long ago but it feels like another lifetime, common courtesy and civility when discussing the issues of the day <br />
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These Directed Mobs aren't exactly eliminating freedom of speech, but they sure are squishing it considerably.Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-64062560731615637052014-12-31T14:17:00.001-06:002018-02-19T08:09:54.247-06:00It's Another New Year's Eve<b>One year ends, another begins. </b><br />
Seems I’ve noticed this happening before. I’m no more excited about this year than I was about last year. It will have the usual adventures common to all: plumbing that picks the most inconvenient hour to quit working, vehicular challenges that arrive unannounced and computers that glitch no matter how frequently you update. Colds will remain incurable and will wear you out, stomach bugs will take a week to work through everyone in the house, and someone will spill the shampoo in the shower but no one knows who that someone was. It will continue to be my lot in life to have but four sheets of toilet paper remaining when I enter the bathroom. No one will hear my pleas for assistance until I shriek like a banshee [it is as humiliating as it sounds, truly]. Undoubtedly there will be a mix of good days, bad days and days where I wonder <i>how</i> I could think it was Wednesday until 2 o’clock in the afternoon when I realized it was Tuesday. And so, instead of resolutions, since I am an Old Biddy, this year I’m predicting the future. Laugh with me….<br />
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<b>Prices will keep rising though wages do not, best shut up and be glad to have work.</b><br />
That certainly isn’t a new year’s news flash. Jobs will continue to be rationalized by moving production and services overseas. Companies will claim they’re altruistic, eager to help the world embrace better standards even as their to-be-better-off employees drop dead from exhaustion, exposure to toxins and are replaced easily enough by the remaining millions. Companies will sign large contracts with local agents that pollute the air, the water and doze down whatever gets in their way - things these companies can’t do in their home country.<br />
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Strangely enough the countries of origin for these manufacturers all have standards in place that protects not only the worker but also the environment. Yes, it costs more to treat workers like human beings deserving of adequate compensation, respect, safe environments, and air and water regulations so they don’t live in a cesspit at the end of the day. And, yes, towns, counties and the feds expect their portion of the pie in taxes to support the infrastructure that supported the fledging business you once were. <br />
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Of course, none of this rationalizing is about improving the world; it’s about the profit at the end of the day and the shareholder’s satisfaction at the close of the market. That the laborer deserves no part of that cannot be more loudly proclaimed than to walk away from your neighbors, move your business to another country and yet retain not only your citizenship but also a tax break that those neighbors left behind will have to compensate for. You and your children may live in a wonderful, secure tower for several generations but may I suggest stained glass windows so you do not have to look out on the world you improved. <br />
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Therefore, I predict many of those most satisfied this year will eventually be visited by Three Spirits. May they rest in peace until then….<br />
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<b>Politicians will play games with our lives. </b><br />
For our own good, laws will be stalled, laws will be passed. These laws will make political supporters richer or more viable in the marketplace or increase the worth of their companies or all of the above. Politicians will measure their success in popularity, as if the lives of the populace are of less importance than being the king or queen of homecoming surrounded by their special clique of elite upperclassmen. They’ll continue to omit, forge, pose, lie, cheat, swindle and spin with smug indifference, comfortable in their immunity from living with the results. They’ll make promises they know they can’t keep, spout platitudes they don’t believe, and drive us all crazy with election year ads that have nothing to do with what they’ll really DO if they get elected. <br />
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Instead of working on a budget that balances, on health care that is truly available and <i><u>affordable</u></i> for every single one in the country, on infrastructure improvements and encouraging businesses that will actually employe anyone other than their brother-in-law’s sister’s nephew, politicians will posture, argue, make deals, and add junk to bills that slip by at the final hour. This is how they will pay back their supporters and make the poll of no matter whatsoever. I predict politicians will not address with any genuine action the issues of tax reform, veteran’s rights, alternative energy or living wages.<br />
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<b>The media will highlight what they know will be most tweeted. It is ALL about selling and sponsors, it is all about the hits and likes.</b><br />
Like the boy that cried wolf, no one will believe them when actual news is reported, how can you? Facts, details, truth, integrity - those words may splash across the paper or screen but the ads are slick and the share link is in flashy bold and that’s what really matters. Bytes of news is all anyone can handle anyway, why give the public more than they should know? <br />
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I predict we’ll continue to hear/ read a great deal about celebrities and murderers and sports figures faster than ever before and with only an occasional difference in wording, no matter the “source”. We’ll be told countless times about the agenda of the moment until it is truth, whether it is or not. I predict that someday, historians will marvel at the strange generations that could not discern fact from opinion, details from sensationalism, research from spin. There will be a reason for that….<br />
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<b>Educators will fiddle with systems, proving they, not test scores, are the issue</b><br />
First, we must admit education is all about the scores [polls] not the future, not the facilities or funding, not the children, not the teachers, certainly not the parents that have abdicated their rights to a voice in the education of their children. Parents are despised for giving the educational institutions what was demanded of them on the first day of kindergarten: disconnection from their own offspring. <br />
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Second, we must acknowledge how afraid Education Secretaries and Gurus are to admit we’ve educated at least two generations to <b><i>work</i></b> in a world that no longer, and never will again, exists. It is oh so easy to point to a compilation of scores and say: “This is why there is double digit unemployment. This is why we can’t compete.” But looking at the sweatshops of China, India and the future planned for Ethiopia … I smell lazy rats fatted on the children entrusted to their care.<br />
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When we are willing to consider the possibilities above, we can begin to see through the conjuring trick of: <i><b>a new standard that is all we need</b></i>! I read an article a couple months ago that stated [without identifying a source or statistic] a high school diploma is essentially worthless except as a piece of identification IF a photo is part of the record. Of course, this was in aid of promoting the new national standards but it was a *bold* statement all the same. I wondered at the time why high school teachers weren’t walking out and falling on their red pencils in shame. [maybe because they don’t believe that BS either?]<br />
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As our politicians continue to prance and dance, waving their cronies off to improve the world with one hand while vowing to create employment with the other; our educational gurus continue to promise they have the answers. Too bad they haven’t bothered to examine the questions in oh, what, forty years or so? <br />
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But wait, you say? They redesigned the tests, reimaged the texts, redesigned mathematics so facts are irrelevant, and rewrote history. Of course, how you apply this ever evolving maelstrom of curriculum isn’t really their area, though they’ll certainly insist it is. The fact employers want employees to follow the directive of the moment without pause in the workflow seems to elude the educational sector. Of course, they’ve lived with that truth so long maybe they hope [against evidence] it is better out there, in the private sector. <br />
Therefore, I predict the New Standards will eventually be more accurately labeled: BtrNot2Thnk.<br />
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<b>Living Wage will stay in the trending lists, but those words won’t mean what you think they mean.</b><br />
Permanent Part Time is a lovely little sneer at the employee you want excellent, if not outstanding, effort from without obligation beyond hourly pay. Best of all is the fact there is no bother with benefits, not even the federally mandated ones. It was easy to figure out employees can work X weeks over part time hours without jeopardizing that status, the guidelines are in crisp pdf format, free of charge. Employers need feel no qualms about denying them vacation or sick days because hey, they’re not full time. <br />
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And the maniacal laughter you hear aimed at people willing to work full time but unable to reach that goal due to policies implemented to prevent just such foolishness is the FINE many will be paying for being unable to justify purchasing health insurance instead of food. Since you can’t eat insurance, or fuel your vehicle to get to the part time job, or soap to wash with, never mind have a sick day, the FINE is exactly the Kick in the Teeth you think it is. Really. Seriously. You aren’t as big an idiot as the Educational Gurus and Politicians believe you are, I promise.<br />
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I predict a token minimum wage will be seen sometime near the end of the year. I also predict it will be more in line with 2005 cost of living than 2015 and be just enough to nudge anyone working over 30 hours per week to the next tax rate. <br />
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<b>More municipalities will declare bankruptcy but unlike the banks, they won’t get bailed out. </b><br />
The underemployed will continue to pay fewer taxes, therefore there will be less money to support towns and cities [won’t that factoid stay ignored]. When the water is turned off, the trash left on the curb, the sewage treatment plant shut down, it will just be too damn bad. Move along, there’s nothing left here but the ghost of lives wasted. Because really, is there any more $ to take from generations of taxpayers-to-come? [well, yes, if there’s a government shut down in the offering and a stack of bills to slide in with it at the last minute, there is a fortune in future taxes, guaranteed]. <br />
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Where these refugees of bankrupt towns should relocate, not to mention how they should do so, will be an interesting thing not to hear reported. That fear of massive relocation of foreclosed on citizenry is why the bail out of town X just might pass. Images of Katrina will haunt us forever, as it should, but the lessons have been so long ignored we’ll probably once more see weapons turned on our neighbors that want to cross a bridge to get to water and a roll of toilet paper that hasn’t been used. [that report will go viral in twenty minutes] And it will certainly be their own fault, probably because they were too lazy [or stupid, though no one will use that word, disbelieving ... maybe] to get out before the bankruptcy proceedings were finalized. HOW they were supposed to do that will remain a mystery.<br />
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I predict we’ll be inundated with the latest doings of some rock star in rehab so we won’t hear how corruption, mismanagement and bad investments bankrupted the towns and cities long before the big business pulled out for rationalizing and tax payers faced underemployment. No one will serve time for stealing tax payer money - they can afford a good lawyer. Ignore the Creative Accounting that obscured these facts for years, <b><i>this is not the truth you’re looking for….</i></b><br />
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<b>Nations will fuss.</b><br />
Skirmishes, battles and undeclared wars will continue to be fought and people will die. Statistics will be manipulated to promote one side or the other, facts and truth can wait for the history books to be revised, again. Nothing will be resolved. The rebels of last year will be the corrupted powers of next year and more people will die.<br />
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Viruses will flourish because there is no profit in the cure and no mandate to make that irrelevant. We’ll fear each other, the dark, and being without an internet connection or cell signal. Face to face conversation will intimidate us. E-mail will see a revival because people are sick of one liners, flashing ads and seeing the same image sixteen times in one day. Women will work harder for less than their [grand] mothers made twenty years ago. Men will do the same. Unfortunately, men haven’t learned to swallow inequity with a smile as well as women, but that gap is narrowing, rapidly. This form of equality will not please anyone. Domestic violence will increase. Women will fight back and be convicted because they hesitate; children will suffer, and men won’t be believed. Our neighbors will cry in the night and no one will hear. <br />
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<b>And even so….</b><br />
I predict we’ll still get up in the morning, stumble for the toothbrush and hope we have another daily grind in us. We’ll laugh with our families, friends and co-workers. We’ll squeeze the budget tighter, hugging frugal practices like arcane secrets. We won’t take a vacation beyond our own backyard. It’s enough to have vacation time. Some that haven’t heard the gospel of debt free living will hear the good news this year and burn their credit cards. <br />
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The banks and government won’t appreciate that but I will embrace you and encourage the usury-free lifestyle with enthusiasm. Our parents and grandparents - OK, your great-grandparents - won’t seem so crazy when they speak about how they did without until they saved, how they used everything to the last thread and wasted nothing. We’ll comprehend them in a new way, maybe that’s not as bad as it seemed two years ago.<br />
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There will be days it doesn’t seem fair. There will be days when it isn’t fair. There will be days we feel so blessed, others we’ll be certain we’re cursed. Nights will never seem long enough, morning always too soon, and time on the weekend will fly faster than time on Monday. Naps will come infrequently but when we get the chance, we won’t despise the occurrence. We will snore proudly! <br />
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Children will still want someone to listen to them when they have a stray thought that is really important, to hold them when they’re frightened, and laugh at their jokes even if they mess up the punch line. Oh and by the way, they’ll also hope not to have to face brussel sprouts on their plate twice in one week. Those of us that walk in faith will continue to struggle not to look at the world for answers or hope but at ourselves and that Big Fat Log sticking out of both eyes. <br />
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<b>Lastly,</b><br />
I predict the weather will stay unpredictable, but I like it that way.<br />
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Katie KofeMughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04611310722464853470noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2694499939299085523.post-7586616557726473922014-09-30T11:06:00.000-05:002014-09-30T11:45:30.929-05:00What I Did - And Didn't Do - For Summer VacationNatter, gabble, nonsense, stuff, blah blah blah<br />
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Coming as soon as I can import my fat file without blowing a hole in the space time continuum.<br />
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Until then .... pretty image to gaze at (click to see the larger image by Thomas Ender Blick Vom Nussberg)<br />
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<br />Katie Kofehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15025328940292417833noreply@blogger.com0