tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47235825815284256082024-02-07T17:11:46.197-05:00Out of My MindJulayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-50848426143538055702015-04-30T08:34:00.001-04:002015-04-30T10:16:07.804-04:00The other day, I went to the bank, check in hand. I planned to deposit part of it and cash part of it. The teller gave me a deposit slip and the conversation went something like this:<br />
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HER: Fill out (yada, yada)<br />
ME: (scribble, scribble)<br />
HER: (she points) Right here, you put (yada, yada).<br />
ME: (scribble, scribble)<br />
HER (she points again) And here, you put (yada, yada)<br />
ME: (scribble, scribble) Thank you.<br />
HER: (she points yet again) And here ...<br />
ME: Thank you. (scribble, scribble. I bite my tongue and hand her the slip)<br />
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But that is not at all how the conversation played out in my head. In my mind, the conversation went more like this:<br />
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HER: Fill out (yada, yada)<br />
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ME: (scribble, scribble) <i>I think I know my own name. And I can see perfectly well that it says "address, city, state, zip." I think I know those things too.</i><br />
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HER: (she points) Right here, you put (yada, yada).<br />
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ME: (scribble, scribble) <i>If you'd get your finger out of the way, I could see to write.</i><br />
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HER (she points again) And here, you put (yada, yada)<br />
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ME: (scribble, scribble) Thank you. <i>If you don't move the finger, lady, I'll poke it with this pen! I've filled out deposit slips since before you were born. What in the world makes you think I can't fill out this one?</i><br />
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HER: (she points yet again) And here ...<br />
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ME:<i> </i>Thank you. (scribble, scribble)<i> </i><i>Do you want to keep that finger? You could at least wait for some sign of stupidity before you start treating me like it.</i><br />
(I bite my tongue and hand her the slip)<br />
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I like to think I'm practicing to be an old lady who can say these things and people think she's being cute. Like Maggie Smith's character on Downton Abbey. Yeah, that's it!<br />
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<br />Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-59146536194184085272014-12-08T16:47:00.000-05:002014-12-08T16:47:55.893-05:00Wounded WarriorToday I received an honor I'll treasure for the rest of my life: the Wounded Warrior award. This special designation is presented to the Rochester College employee who was injured or has otherwise shot him/herself in the foot in the call of duty. The award is named for the Rochester College Warriors, of course. Here is my winning entry.<br />
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I'm not sure what possessed me to think that I, a klutzy fifty-year-old, could run like an agile college-age RC chorus member. But that's what I found myself trying to do on the blacktopped tennis court at Michigan Christian Youth Camp during chorus camp in September.<br />
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I'm not terribly coordinated at the best of times. I do well to walk across a flat floor without tripping over a carpet fiber. The game we were playing required the losing half of the chorus to run behind a "safe" line before the winning half of the chorus tagged them. My side lost, so I ran. Then everything went into slow motion as I felt myself lose my balance, topple like a felled tree, and plant my face directly on the blacktop.<br />
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As I lay on my stomach wondering whether to get up, pandemonium erupted in the chorus. Students surrounded me, shouting instructions. "You're bleeding! Pinch the bridge of your nose!" "Lie still!" "Someone get paper towels!" All that yelling seemed to be far away in another world while I lay there, still wondering whether to get up.<br />
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Suddenly, I became very clinical. Someone said I was bleeding? Funny, I didn't feel a thing. A quick check of my surroundings confirmed that yes, I was bleeding, and quite profusely. Apparently what people say about face wounds bleeding a LOT was very true. "Well!" I said to nobody in particular. "How about that? Who knew?" I smiled to myself. Wasn't it great that I had now confirmed that firsthand? I asked for someone to take a picture, but nobody would. Bummer! My nose and forehead had taken the brunt of the fall. "Cool!" I exclaimed. "Now I'll look like Harry Potter!" The students seemed astonished that I could be so calm about such a thing.<br />
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I ended up in the emergency room and came out with four stitches. I still carry the scars of my adventure. One is indeed a Harry-Potter-like scar in the middle of my forehead. The other is a divot in my nose. People say they don't even notice, but I think they're being polite. At the very least, I have a great story to tell.<br />
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I share this honor with another RC faculty member who smooshed her nose and broke a couple of teeth. They couldn't decide which to choose, so they presented us both with the Wounded Warrior award. Mine will occupy a prominent space in my office where all who enter will know I took one for the team.<br />
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Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-7455229395436033652014-10-19T19:50:00.000-04:002014-10-19T19:50:52.645-04:00No complaintsI announced to the husband on Saturday that I had successfully completed my challenge to go 24 hours without complaining. He joked, "So is everything all happiness and light now?"<br />
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Surprisingly, my answer was "Well, sort of . . . yeah."<br />
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It started on Facebook (what doesn't?) when a friend posted a something that said "Go 24 hours without complaining. Not even once . . . then watch how your life starts changing." So I shared it on my own timeline Friday at 3:17 p.m. and began my challenge.<br />
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I tend to be an optimist and am not much given to complaining. So, I thought, how hard could it be?<br />
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I blew it about three hours later. We were at a restaurant and as I sliced the bread, I noticed the woefully inadequate amount of butter we had. Without thinking, I grumbled, "Nice of them to give us enough butter for only half the loaf!" Then cold realization poured over me. I had just voiced a complaint. It was 6:24 p.m. Time to restart the 24-hour clock.<br />
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After that, I found myself considering my perception of things around me. When I had to pay a visit to the restaurant's public facilities, I made myself look at what was good about it instead of what was awful about it. This was tough, because my first reaction when I go into a place like that tends to be, "Ewwww!"<br />
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Overall, I was surprised at just how little I talked. The whole "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" adage cut way down on my conversation. Complaints went unsaid and I hoped the husband was enjoying the peace and quiet. By later that evening, I was getting better at it and felt a lightening of my spirit and mind.<br />
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The longer I went, the easier it became to avoid complaints. When yesterday at 6:24 arrived, I didn't even notice it. It wasn't until sometime after 9:00 that I realized I'd made it.<br />
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I've been cultivating the habit of not complaining ever since then, and I feel much better for it. I seem to be doing OK with my speaking. Now to work on my thinking!<br />
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<br />Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-3041366880115942762014-06-06T14:41:00.000-04:002014-06-06T14:43:29.931-04:00Turning HeadsI am a fifty-year-old fat cow who hasn't turned heads in about thirty years. Back when I was a babe and my measurements were 36-26-36 I turned a few. But add thirty years and [redacted] pounds and nobody gives you a second glance. And probably wishes the first one had never happened. There are some things you just can't unsee.<br />
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In the last couple weeks, however, I've discovered a way to turn heads again. Maybe not for the reason they once did, but they're turning. I've started walking around the block in my neighborhood again. It's about 3/4 mile. Because of my health and what rotten shape I'm in, I can't make it all the way in one go. About halfway around, I am saved by a utility box that is just the right size for me to sit on and rest.</div>
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The first time I did that, I had fun looking at the cars that were going by. There weren't a whole lot of them, but there were enough to keep things interesting. Then I started looking at the people inside the cars. All of them turned their heads to look at me. Every last one except for one guy who was talking on his cell phone. I bet they were thinking, "Why is that crazy lady sitting on a utility box?"</div>
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When I was rested, I got up and started walking again, taking special note of people's heads in the cars that went by. Not one of them turned.</div>
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So now when I sit down to rest during my walks, I can experience again what it feels like to turn heads. Even if it's not for the same reason as thirty years ago, it's better than nothing. An old lady has to take what she can get.<br />
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Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-38427159106121565952014-05-19T11:07:00.001-04:002014-05-19T11:07:55.345-04:00A Tale of Two ConcertsIt was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . . OK, now that we've gotten the obligatory Dickens reference out of the way, we can go on with our irregularly scheduled blog post.<br />
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Saturday night and Sunday afternoon I went to two very different concerts. Saturday night's concert was performed by the Rochester Community Chorus. The concert itself was pretty good and consisted of show tunes done in a cabaret-type setup. We, the audience, were sitting at round tables with snacks in front of us. So it was a little more informal than a typical concert setting. There was even a sing-along right before intermission.<br />
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Unfortunately, the lady next to me decided that the rest of the concert should be a sing-along too.<br />
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It can be really annoying when the person next to you is singing along. But this lady took it to higher levels of aggravation. For one thing, she sang just occasional snatches. I never knew when she was going to burst into random song. For one piece, she sang only the title, "All I Ask of You." Another song went something like this:<br />
Chorus: Five hundred, twenty-five thousand . . .<br />
Lady: . . .six hundred minutes!!<br />
Even this lady's daughter (maybe ten or twelve years old) turned around at one point and said, "Mom, shut UP!"<br />
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At long last, this lady took out her phone. Normally, I'd be irked at this breach of etiquette as well, but in this case, I was grateful for it. I thought it would at least occupy her enough that she'd shut up. Well, this was when she decided it was time to start whistling. . .<br />
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Fast forward to Sunday afternoon. That was when I almost became the annoying lady singing along, this time to the Verdi Requiem. It's my favorite choral piece in the world, so it was worth going to anyway, but I went mainly because a former Rochester College student who has done very well for himself since graduating about ten years ago was the tenor soloist for this fabulous work. He had been very good when he was with us, but I could hardly believe he was the tenor soloist for a work of this caliber in a performance of this caliber. As soon as he opened his mouth, my jaw dropped and pretty much stayed that way the whole time. Of course, that's a great facial position from which to sing, so it worked for me. I thoroughly enjoyed the concert.<br />
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I just hope I didn't annoy the people around me too much.<br />
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<br />Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-83216803608403250342014-04-28T11:55:00.000-04:002014-04-28T11:55:02.932-04:00Expanding WardrobeToday I expanded my shirt wardrobe. I mean that in both senses of the words. Not only do I now have more clothes in my wardrobe, there is also more cloth in my shirts. I had to admit the sad reality that I needed bigger shirts. I was getting tired of constantly pulling my shirt down to hide the deficiencies contained therein.<br />
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Those who know me are well aware that I am not a fashionista. I dress for comfort, so that means I have a grand total of four pairs of shoes (none of which are high heels) and zero pairs of pantyhose. Being a klutz, I find this almost a physical necessity. I do not want to fall from a greater height than I already regularly do. Neither do I wish to have the life crushed out of me by a piece of sheer fabric that's not doing a whole lot to make me look better anyway.<br />
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For those who don't know me, my fashion sense is so underdeveloped that I generally put clothes on my Christmas list and hope that my mother and sisters will buy me something that looks better than whatever I might choose. (I once accidentally bought scrubs, not knowing them for what they were.) Fortunately, they've done a pretty good job of dressing me over the years.<br />
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But the shirts I bought today were much more adventuresome, fashionably speaking, than those I usually buy. I got a couple tees that actually have designs on them as opposed to the plain, solid colors I typically get. And one dressier shirt I got is a salmon color. I generally prefer blues and browns (and purple!), so broadening my color palette is a huge step for me.<br />
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I just hope my sisters and mother will approve. At the very least I will no longer look like I belong on the pages of <a href="http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">People of Walmart</a>.Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-84446912841236485282014-04-21T18:03:00.001-04:002014-04-21T18:03:39.755-04:00Neglected BlogIt's official. I have joined the ranks of people who were once eager writers, but now have nothing to show for it but a neglected blog containing outdated posts. I could sit here and make promises to write more, but I know better than to say something like that.<div>
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At least I can say I wrote today.</div>
Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-46439978277648919252012-12-20T17:00:00.002-05:002012-12-20T17:00:49.816-05:00The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad DayAs days went, Wednesday, December 19 looked to be a good one. It's part of my favorite time of year - the week before Christmas. I woke up looking forward to a day off work and a nice lunch with a good friend. Then I noticed my head was starting to hurt. Just a little. Not enough to really do anything about, but enough that I noticed it was there.<br />
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I was meeting my friend at 2, so I figured I'd post December's bills. This is usually a fun thing for me. I don't approach this event with the sort of dread most people do - I actually look forward to it. But things weren't adding up, and I couldn't remember the finer points of some financial juggling I'd done. And the headache started getting worse.<br />
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Before lunch, I figured I'd have time for a couple errands that would normally take about 20 minutes. So I left a little after 1:00 to make my first stop: my place of employment where the business office had a check for me. I got there at 1:15 and was greeted by a locked door and a sign that read "The business office is closed from 11:30 to 1:00 for lunch." Now, I don't begrudge my wonderful co-workers their annual Christmas lunch, but when someone says they'll be back at 1:00, shouldn't they be back by 1:15? Maybe I was doing the math wrong. By 1:20 I was starting to think that maybe they just kept time differently than I did. By 1:30 I was wondering if they were in a different time zone altogether. Finally at 1:35, they came in. A wasted 20 minutes for me. And my mind was still whirling with numbers and the headache was getting even worse.<br />
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My second errand was to a local candy store for stocking stuffers. They were out of the stuff I wanted (figures!) with the exception of nine little peanut-butter-filled Christmas trees. I snapped those up and thought I'd ask hubby to get the rest from the store near his work one day. More wasted time, my mind was still whirling with numbers, and the headache was getting even worse.<br />
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Then the traffic conspired to turn a five-minute drive to the restaurant into about fifteen. Sitting behind the second cycle of a left-turn light, I glanced at my watch. Great. It was a little after 2:00. What the heck, wasn't anybody at work?<br />
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So I waltzed into the restaurant where my friend, who is usually 10 minutes late to everything, was patiently waiting for me. Of all the days for her to be on time. Numbers whirled and the headache worsened.<br />
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By this time I was ready to drop my head onto my arms and start groaning. Instead, I took some pain pills and kept plugging away. Lunch was very nice. But it was spiced with a lot of interruptions. I'd found out at the business office that my timesheet hadn't been approved yet, so phone calls and texts flew between me and hubby and boss. Both of whom, of course, were away from their computers at the time. Of course. Still, numbers whirled and the headache hung on.<br />
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Then I realized that this was the last day hubby was going to actually be at work before Christmas. So I called him yet again to ask him to stop by the candy place near his work on the way home. By this time, I had about 1200 milligrams of ibuprofen in me and my head was still pounding. As if by a tack hammer now instead of a sledge hammer, but still . . .<br />
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Then at 4:45, my phone alarm went off, telling me I had to take my pills. Which reminded me that I needed to pick up said pills at Kroger. So I said goodbye to my friend (yes, we have long lunches) and headed to the store. Some lady near the pharmacy counter decided that the place she was standing was the line rather than the marked lane, so she wiggled in ahead of me. It would have been only a minor annoyance on any other day, but today . . . And the headache went on.<br />
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And of course, the second it was finally my turn, the phone rang. It was hubby at the candy store. So I stood in front of the sign that said "Please finish all cell phone conversations before approaching the counter" and told hubby I'd have to call him back when I was finished at the pharmacy counter.<br />
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So I headed to the car with my hands full of drugs, a gallon of milk, and a couple other odds and ends. Naturally, that's when the phone rang again. When I didn't have a hand to reach into my pocket with. Hardly anybody calls me, but when they do, it always seems to be at exactly the wrong times. The tack hammer hitting my head seemed to swell.<br />
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I finally made it home and thought I could relax a little. I just had to wait for hubby to get home with the goodies. When he did, he announced that he'd gotten a ticket on the way home. Of course he did. I should have expected nothing else. What a way to wrap up to my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.<br />
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Now, I realize that these are all minor things. There are a lot of people in the world who have much worse problems than these, and my heart goes out to them. But all on the same day? Come on!<br />
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And that's not counting the guy who practically side-swiped me in the roundabout, and the cat who hopped up on the kitchen counter to closely inspect some dirty dishes for food possibilities, and the . . . and the . . . Excuse me while I go drown my sorrows in chocolate.Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-4523844901449676022012-10-27T13:49:00.001-04:002012-10-30T12:52:04.032-04:00Support a Great Project!I am proud to be part of a project that is the brainchild of writer and podcaster Scott Roche. He has gathered some of the podcasting world's best writers and asked them all to write a short story for his book "The Way of the Gun: A Bushido Western Anthology."<br />
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And I am this book's editor.<br />
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The book is exactly what it sounds like: a collection of short stories that are Westerns with a Bushido flavor to them. Scott describes it as "A Sunday matinee shoot’em up with a dash of philosophy and tension as an ancient code deals with an increasingly modern world."<br />
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Scott needs a little bit of startup cash to enable him to pay his writers (his editor), his graphic designer (his editor), and other miscellaneous costs (and his editor). He has initiated a Kickstarter to help him do this. His goal is to have $5,000 by November 1. As of this writing, 74 backers have donated just over $2,000. So there's not much time left. The link to the Kickstarter is <a href="http://www.tinyurl.com/ScottRoche">www.tinyurl.com/ScottRoche</a><br />
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It would be wonderful if you would consider contributing even a small amount to support this project. Every little bit helps!<br />
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To help Scott promote his Kickstarter (and therefore his book project), the Hughes family (<a href="http://www.penslinger.com/">Keith</a>, me, and our daughter Laura) has created a video for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy, and don't forget to donate!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dhFDIVMZe88?rel=0" width="420"></iframe>Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-8468428717038088272012-08-14T13:26:00.000-04:002012-08-14T13:27:54.653-04:00Running ScaredOn Sunday, August 12, I preached my very first sermon. Here is what I said. Or pretty close.<br />
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What are you afraid of? What makes you shake in your shoes? Think for a minute of what scares you. Or maybe what used to scare you. When you were a kid, were you afraid of the dark? Maybe it was the boogie man in the closet, or the monster under the bed. Or the monster at the end of the book!<br />
What are you afraid of now? Perhaps you have a scary health problem. Maybe you're afraid that you or a family member will lose a job. Are there financial worries? If you're a parent, are you afraid something could happen to your kids? <br />
I know! We're all afraid of the coming zombie apocalypse! If the Mayans were right, as of December 21, we're doomed! <br />
I'll tell you a couple things that make me rattle in my Reeboks. That way, you'll know that I'm preaching as much to myself as I am to all of you. <br />
I keep having a recurring dream that we somehow lose our house. I never know how that has happened, but we have to live somewhere else. Dream me is devastated. When I wake up, it takes me some time to calm down from the panic. Now, when I'm awake the rest of the time, I'm not aware of being afraid of losing our house, but I do know some people who are afraid of just that. <br />
Another thing I used to be afraid of (and still kind of am) was not having an answer when somebody asked a question. I always felt it was somehow my responsibility to have an answer ready for anyone who asked. Even the Bible said I was supposed to! I Peter 3:15 - "Always be ready with an answer." And who was I to argue with God? If I couldn't provide the information the other person wanted, I felt I was somehow letting that person down. I have since learned (and am still learning) that I don't have to be everything to everybody. Yes, I do what I can within the abilities that God has given me. But I have discovered the freedom of those three little words: "I don't know," and their cousins "I'm not sure" and "Look it up." <br />
Now, if you want to make our choir quiver, just walk up to one of them and say "a cappella." I can hear the groans now. "Oh, yuccapella!" Or, "Acapulco? Yeah, I wish I were in Acapulco. Then I wouldn't have to do this." There is something about singing without piano accompaniment that scares some of them positively stiff. Never mind that they do it every week and they do it just fine. But it's still a scary thing for them. <br />
But no matter what has us running scared, we have a choice. We can either listen to those inner voices telling us we should be afraid of everything, or we can approach these things more reasonably. We can be running scared or we can be walking with God. <br />
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Granted, there are some things we should be afraid of. We should be afraid of putting a hand on a hot stove. We should lock our houses and our car doors. We should be aware of what's going on around us. <br />
I discovered that ever since I started washing my hands like a germophobe, I hardly ever get sick now. For somebody who works at a college full of students who are always either getting sick, are sick, or recovering from being sick, that's doing pretty well. Now where's the hand sanitizer? <br />
Those are all examples of reasonable fear. A better name for this might be "caution." It is what keeps us safe in what can be a dangerous world. But, unfortunately, there are plenty of examples of people who are so fearful, they are scared stupid. They're running scared. <br />
If I had a dime for every e-mail I got telling me all about the next thing I should be afraid of (Thanks Bob! Thanks Lee!), I would be a millionaire several times over. Here's an example of one of those, and if you've seen it, please don't say anything: <br />
There is a chemical called "dihydrogen monoxide." I have received several e-mails saying it should be banned. And for plenty of good reasons, since: <br />
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1. it can cause excessive sweating and vomiting <br />
2. it is a major component in acid rain <br />
3. it can cause severe burns in its gaseous state <br />
4. accidental inhalation can kill you <br />
5. it contributes to erosion <br />
6. it decreases effectiveness of automobile brakes <br />
7. it has been found in tumors of terminal cancer patients <br />
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How many of you would you support a ban of this chemical? You don't have to raise your hand. One student asked 50 people if they supported a ban of this chemical, dihydrogen monoxide.<br />
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Forty-three (43) said yes it should be banned.<br />
six (6) were undecided.<br />
and only one (1) knew that the chemical was water. </div>
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It's stuff like this that just adds to the culture of stupidity in our country. We're all running scared. Alarmists who practice junk science spread fear about everything from water to food (which is the biggest choking hazard we will ever face. Did you know?!) <br />
And global warming! Climate change! Don't even get me started on that one. When all is said and done (and it never seems to be all said and done!), all the screaming I hear strikes me as being no more than fleas arguing over the temperature of the dog. <br />
Do you know that we take a bigger chance just going to bed at night than we will doing almost anything else during the day? It's true! I looked it up. According to the Centers for Disease Control, falling out of bed accounts for 1.8 million emergency room visits per year and over 400,000 hospital admissions. It actually kills 450 people every year. That's about 38 people per month. And that's just in the United States. I don't know what the statistics are worldwide. But come on. Who isn't going to bed tonight because of that? <br />
Here's another one. More people die of suicide than by homicide. So you have a better chance of killing yourself than you do of being killed by someone. That's just great. Now I have to be afraid even of myself. <br />
Even so, we had the terrible case of the killings in that movie theater in Colorado a few weeks ago. My heart goes out to those people. But how do we react to something like that? I had some friends who actually told me they were afraid to go into a theater after that. Really? Now, I looked it up. According to the National Association of Theater Owners, there are almost 40,000 movie screens in the United States. So if you happened to be in a theatre on that particular day a few weeks ago (which is already a small chance), you had a 1 in 40,000 chance of being in the "wrong movie theater." More people die falling out of bed every month than died in that theatre. And on top of that, you had to be there at a very specific time, which lowers the odds even more. <br />
You have a better chance of being struck by lightning! I looked it up. The National Weather Service says that there's a 1 in 10,000 chance of being struck by lightning sometime in your lifetime. Compare that to the 1 in 40,000 chance we were just talking about. If that's not enough to convince you that going to the movies is absolutely safe, consider car accidents. Thousands of people die every day in car wrecks. Does this mean that you will stop driving your car? Of course not! <br />
So now we're not only running scared, it had better be away from the theatre. But no matter what has us running scared, we have a choice. We can either listen to the alarmists, or we can approach these things more reasonably. We can be running scared or we can be walking with God. <br />
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What about things that fall between the two extremes of "reasonable fears" and "running scared"? I'll buy that a helmet is probably a good thing for a bike rider to have. But padding everything else? What's up with that? Children simply cannot go around in bubble wrap all their lives. We do them a disservice by protecting them from all risk, from all failure, from all problems. When they're protected from risk, they cannot learn how to handle risk. When they're protected from failure, they cannot learn how to handle failure. When they're protected from problems, they cannot learn how to solve problems. <br />
Some of us are even proud of our fears. It somehow makes us "good people" if we take so many precautions that it paralyzes us or our loved ones. We become martyrs to our own failure. <br />
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So let's bring it back home a little bit. We've talked a little about what we're afraid of personally and a little about what fears we may share with our society. What about us as a congregation? What has AHPC members wobbling in their worship service? We might have good reason to be afraid. We're in a financially precarious situation, and we're in time of transition between pastors. That six-letter word "change" can be a scary thing. Some people hate it so much they think of "change" as a four-letter word. And maybe it is. Ch-a-n-ge. But we have a choice. We can be running scared or we can be walking with God. <br />
I see several reasons for hope. </div>
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Sure, we have our fair share of alarmists too. They have said for years, "We're within two months of closing our doors!" But one reason for hope is that we're not within months of closing our doors. Even with the spending freeze we've had to implement this summer, we still have some decent savings and assets like the manse that stand between us and financial collapse. <br />
Another reason for hope is our people. I admit that as little as five months ago, I was among those who were concerned about the viability of our church. What was once a vibrant, 500-member church is now down to something like 53 members. How discouraging! But then I attended a meeting of the finance committee and session with the Committee on Ministries from Presbytery, and I discovered that the people sitting around that table were all faithful people who were not going to let this church go down without a fight. How encouraging! <br />
Another reason for hope is our connection to Presbytery. We have access to a great bunch of resources in the Presbytery that other denominations simply don't have to the degree that we do. They won't let us go down without a fight either. I've seen other churches dwindle to as few as three members before Presbytery goes ahead and allows them to close. <br />
The last and best reason for hope is God. If it is the will of God that we close our doors, then it will happen, no matter what we do. But from the evidence I've seen, I believe that if God were going to shut us down, he'd have done it by now. With God on our side, who can stand against us? <br />
The thing is, fear is a feeling. Feelings can fool us. Noah surely felt fear in the ark. That didn't change the fact that he was never in any danger, and therefore really had nothing to fear. Feelings don't equal facts. We can't let our feelings - our emotions - make our decisions for us. It's a little like the tail wagging the dog. If we let our feelings rule over us, they will affect our actions, which will affect our thoughts, which will stand in the way of God. I challenge every one of you to make a point to do it the other way around. Let God rule your thoughts, which will affect your actions, which will affect your feelings. Then you will have no reason to feel fear. <br />
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Let's see what the Bible has to say about fear. <br />
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1) So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10) <br />
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2) The Lord is on my side; I will not fear: what can man do unto me? (Psalm 118:6) <br />
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3) If God be for us, who can be against us? (Romans 8:31) <br />
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4) I have not given you a spirit of fear. Fear prevents forward progress. (Isaiah 41:13) <br />
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5) For you have not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out, “Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:15)</div>
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6) Another translation of that same verse reads: "Fear always tells you what you’re not, what you don’t have, what you can’t do, and what you never will be." (Romans 8:15)</div>
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7) For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. (II Timothy 1:7)</div>
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Our hymns today say the same things. "Leaning on the everlasting arms, safe and secure from all alarms." All alarms! Safe and secure! "When sorrows like sea billows roll, it is well with my soul." Amid sorrows, it is well! "Oh, what needless pain we bear, all because we do not carry everything to God in prayer." Needless pain! Carry to God in prayer!</div>
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Let's say we're successful in doing this. Let's say we have put fear in its proper place and put God in there instead. Let's take a look at what can happen when we do this: <br />
We can found a country like America. How many immigrants strapped on their courage and made the long journey in a time before airplanes? Do you think they may have been afraid that their ship would capsize or they'd get sick and die? Probably, and some of them did die. But if they had not taken the chance; if they'd let their fear keep them home, they would have never founded what is now the greatest country in the world. <br />
We stand to lose that because we're becoming a nation of scaredy-cats and Chicken Littles who all think the sky is falling, and then act surprised when it doesn't. <br />
Let's see, what else? We can invent the light bulb. When Thomas Edison was asked if he was discouraged by all his failures, he said, "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work." Unfortunately, we now have too many people who stop trying after only one failed attempt. <br />
Another thing you can do if you put fear in its proper place is walk a tightrope across Niagara Falls. Nik Wallenda did just that back in June over the objections of many fearful folks. He was the calmest person there, and he was the one on the tightrope! I don't know if you saw any of it, but they had him wired for sound so he could talk to the TV commentators and people in his control booth while he was up there. There was one place near the middle where there was more water and more winds than at either of the ends. When he approached that area, the TV commentators started talking about how dangerous that area was, and how scary a time it would be. "Will he make it through?" was the nail-biting question. But he made it through, and successfully crossed to the other side without incident. When the TV commentators asked him how he did it, especially in that dangerous middle section, he said, "Well, when you guys started talking about how dangerous it was going to be, I understand you have to create drama for your audience, but I just had to block that out. If I listened to that and gave in to those negative thoughts, it would have gotten into my head and prevented me from being able to do it. So I ignored it and did what I knew I could do." <br />
Now, I'm not suggesting we all run out and trot across the nearest tightrope. Heck, if I tried to do something like that, I would be dead before I took four steps. But Nik Wallenda didn't let the fear of others affect him. He trained long and hard to do what he did without fear. His next tightrope walk is going to be across the Grand Canyon. <br />
But the main thing Nik Wallenda counted on was God. He is a dedicated Christian, and he prayed all the way across. You could hear him as he went: "Thank you God, thank you Jesus, thank you Lord . . ." <br />
Let's look at II Timothy 1:7 again: "For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of 1) power, and of 2) love, and of 3) a sound mind." When we give in to the spirit of fear, we deprive ourselves of 1) the power of God; we deprive ourselves of the 2) love of God; we deprive ourselves of 3) a sound mind that is the gift of God. <br />
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So what do we do? How can we conquer the all-pervasive fears, those devil's tools, that keep us captive? Fortunately, there are ways we can treat it exactly the same as we would any other of the devil's tools. <br />
First, avoid all sources of negative, fearful thoughts. Just like Nik Wallenda had to block out those negative statements by the TV commentators, so we have to block out the negativity being sold to us by society. At our house, we stopped taking the newspaper years ago, and we don't watch the daily TV news on a regular basis any more. Yet we are still well informed. We choose to get our information from other sources so we can avoid the "if-it-bleeds-it-leads" mentality of today's media. That may be a solution that can work for you as well. <br />
But there may be others. Maybe there are particularly negative people you can see a little less of, or maybe avoid altogether. Maybe you change what you read or what kind of entertainment you engage in. However you do it, just stay away from the sources of fear-mongering negativity. It may seem difficult to do, but it is well worth the peace of mind. <br />
Second, you need to replace those negative, fear-laden thoughts that you're no longer filling your mind with. Replace those old thoughts with bold, courageous thoughts. If we must avoid the fear that society sells us, we must also avoid another culprit, which is us. Whatever you keep telling yourself all day is what you will believe - what you will become. Instead of filling your mind with things of fear, things of the devil, fill your mind with things of God. When you fill your mind with the things of God, you'll find your life is filled with the things of God. Like Nik Wallenda, we can block out the negativity we tell ourselves and concentrate instead on what we know we can do. <br />
Paul tells us exactly this in Philippians 4:8: "Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honest, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." <br />
Third, change your assumptions. Assume you can do something instead of assuming you can't. Don't put a "t" at the end of "can." T (tea) is something you drink. Instead of dwelling on what you are afraid of, dwell instead on the goal you want to reach, the thing you want to do. I asked at the beginning what you were afraid of. Now I'll ask what that fear is preventing you from doing. What is it you want to do? <br />
Paul (again!) tells us exactly this in Philippians 3:10-14. "My aim is to know him . . . and to be like him." It also says, "I am single-minded: Forgetting the things that are behind [read "the things I am afraid of"] and reaching out for the things that are ahead, with this goal in mind, I strive toward the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." One person said it like this: You can't hit what you don't aim for. <br />
It all comes down to God and his love. "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength" (Philippians 4:13). "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear" (I John 4:17).<br />
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In the children's sermon, you heard that the monster at the end of the book was just Grover. "I, Grover, am the monster at the end of the book." <br />
When we turn the pages of our lives, we find that the monster at the end is us. Our worst enemy is us. When we listen to Satan's words of fear, and give in to their power, we deny the power of God to change things. So 1) eliminate the sources of fear in your life. 2) Replace negative thoughts with positive thoughts. 3) Change your assumptions from "can't" to "can." Trust in the God through whom we can do all things. I again challenge you to let God rule your thoughts, which will affect your actions, which will affect your feelings. Then you will have nothing to fear. <br />
It is our choice. We can be running scared or we can be walking with God. I pray that you will walk with God - without fear.</div>
Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-30722528557398056872010-05-28T16:36:00.001-04:002010-05-28T16:36:06.026-04:00Flying from ChicagoIt's all my fault. We got home from Chicago a day late and several dollars short and it's because of me.<br />
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It started Sunday evening when <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a> and I flew to Chicago. He went for a business conference and I tagged along for the fun of it. It figures that I would be trouble from the very start. <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a>, having flown countless times over the years, sailed through security. I, on the other hand, having been on a total of six flights in my life before Sunday, somehow got especially chosen by a TSA lady to have my palms swiped by some strips of paper while <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a> patiently waited. I don't know why she picked me. Maybe there's something suspicious about short, fat, middle-aged ladies who resemble caramel apples. Heck, with this kind of luck, maybe I should start buying lottery tickets.<br />
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<a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a> had also picked this time to try out a new rental car company: Avis. We'll never do that again. We waited at least half an hour for the Avis shuttle to get us. Considering this is a system that works so that you're supposed to be able to step right onto the shuttle as soon as you get there, a five-minute wait is unheard of, let alone half an hour. All the while, we stood helplessly as three, four, five shuttles for each of the other car rental companies passed us by. When the Avis shuttle finally did come, <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a> had to stand in a very long line to get the car.<br />
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Anyway, the rest of our trip went fine. The hotel was gorgeous, I got to visit a college friend, I bought some of my very favorite scents of Yankee Candles, and we enjoyed an end-of-seminar banquet at <a href="http://www.maggianos.com/">Maggiano's Little Italy</a>. It came with a twist; they'd turned the banquet into a Murder Mystery dinner. We had a great time. Then Wednesday came and it was time to go home. Time for my airport curse to reassert itself.<br />
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The same luck I'd had with the TSA agents stood me in good stead again. But this time, instead of simply swabbing my palms and sending me on my way, they unpacked my suitcase so they could get to the ever-dangerous Yankee Candles. The now-familiar strips of paper were swiped over every square inch of the outsides of the candles and those parts of the insides that were reachable. Whatever they found made them want to take my candles and my suitcase away. So I waited. And <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo </a>waited, just like he'd been doing ever since he sailed effortlessly through security about a year before. The TSA agent finally brought my contraband back to me and we went on our way.<br />
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We'd only been sitting in our seats at the gate for about an hour when we saw that our 4:00 flight was delayed until 4:45, then again until 6:40. Apparently they felt some musical chairs was in order as well, because somewhere in there, our gate got changed, and we had to move down the hall. It wasn't too long after we were ensconced in our new seats that we found out the flight was entirely canceled. <br />
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This was the curse at its worst. In all his years of flying, <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a> had never had a flight canceled on him. Delayed, yes, sometimes for hours. But in the end, he always eventually made it home on the flight he was supposed to. The only difference was that now I was with him, and this was the time the flight was completely canceled. Coincidence?<br />
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There were some silver linings. We had a great cab ride from O'Hare to a hotel near Midway, whence our newly scheduled flight would depart early the next morning. On our way out of O'Hare, we passed a guy who had climbed a small tree just outside the airport fence and wouldn't come down. Cops, ambulances, and fire trucks were everywhere. Our cab driver, who was from Nigeria, categorically stated, "In Africa, we would not put up with that. We would bring the tree down and him with it and that would be the end of it. He might hit his head, but he would not die. It would be all right. He would not die, and is that not what matters?" Indeed.<br />
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The front desk guy at the <a href="http://www.extendedstayamerica.com/">Extended Stay America</a> where we stayed was awesome. William printed out our boarding passes, handed us menus for some local restaurants that would deliver to our room, and made arrangements for a cab to take us to the airport the next morning. He even called our room later to make sure everything was all right. We've stayed at expensive hotels that hire fancy concierges to do the same kinds of things, but no concierge was ever so helpful to us as William, the front desk guy.<br />
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We also had some fabulous pizza. <a href="http://www.giordanos.com/">Giordano's</a> delivered to our room some of the best pizza I've ever had. They have what they call a stuffed pizza, and it was indeed stuffed - with cheese and more cheese! It was one of the rare times when the pizza we had actually matched the picture in the advertisement. Yum! I was sorry we couldn't eat it all and had to leave the leftovers behind.<br />
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When our alarm went off at 4:30 in the morning, I awoke wondering what new troubles my airport curse would bring down upon us. As I munched my vending machine Pop Tarts for breakfast, I considered that I really did not want to become the new Monster of the Midway. Fortunately, I sailed through security like a pro (even with my suspicious candles) and our flight was not even delayed. In fact, we got back to Detroit so early that our gate was still occupied and we had to wait for the plane that was still there to leave before we could taxi up to it.<br />
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What could have been a major inconvenience turned out to be a rather fun adventure. I suppose I wouldn't blame <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a> if he were reluctant to take me along on the next business trip, but he should take me. We might hit our heads, but we would not die. And is that not what matters?Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-46532531725029357812010-01-29T13:16:00.000-05:002010-01-29T13:16:10.754-05:00Helping HaitiAmericans are some of the most generous people on earth. After any given disaster, we can be counted on to be on the crest of the wave of aid. We physically go to help, we donate tons of food and supplies, and we contribute billions of dollars in financial aid.<br />
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But when we hear stories of the corruption that is going on in the wake of the earthquake in Haiti, it's difficult to know the best place to send money. Why contribute to a cause when your dollars will simply line some fatcat's pocket? How can we know the money we give will go to people in need?<br />
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That's one of many reasons any money I contribute toward the relief effort in Haiti will go directly to the people I know at Good Shepherd Orphanage. For many years, I was the treasurer for this orphanage. It was my job to collect money from all over the world and send it to Rev. Ernst Cassy, who then used it for the orphanage and schools he runs in Haiti. True men of God are called to be holy, and Rev. Cassy is certainly that. When he walks into a room, the peace that emanates from him is almost palpable. His heart for children is authentic and his stewardship of his meager resources is faithful. <br />
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Rev. Cassy and others at the orphanage in Haiti are people I know personally. I can vouch for their integrity and can rest assured that any money I contribute directly to them will be used for the children under their care who have suffered so much as a result of the recent disaster.<br />
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I am no longer treasurer, but a foundation has been created to manage the orphanage's financial affairs. Any donations to them are completely tax deductible. If you would like to find out more about the orphanage and how they are handling the disaster recovery, check out their website at <a href="http://www.gsohaiti.org/">http://www.gsohaiti.org/</a>. <br />
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I hope that you will consider making your Haiti contribution to the Good Shepherd Orphanage. If you do, you can know for sure that your money is going directly to the people who need it.Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-24595057777381355312009-10-18T16:45:00.008-04:002009-10-18T19:24:40.357-04:00Having Your Cake<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5D2U3u0By5sTAsUuMhLsUeuhHaTjK4PO-cCHHPiHq9A2Wf0ClnYGFFJPYLJkjzhiWoyLJh73hLnBMQLrhKtiogOn_H8E2DQhDF49-L6nA6jDW0fnqaZAubfSxGdseY9xz1piRzdr1lLs/s1600-h/cake.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394047036359587074" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 130px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5D2U3u0By5sTAsUuMhLsUeuhHaTjK4PO-cCHHPiHq9A2Wf0ClnYGFFJPYLJkjzhiWoyLJh73hLnBMQLrhKtiogOn_H8E2DQhDF49-L6nA6jDW0fnqaZAubfSxGdseY9xz1piRzdr1lLs/s400/cake.jpg" border="0" /></a>Cake? Cake?! Did someone say, "Cake"??!!<br /><br />I love cake. My Twitter friend <a href="http://twitter.com/muchado1">MuchAdo1</a> has even written about my special affection for cake in her <a href="http://randomspeakup.blogspot.com/2009/08/let-them-eat-cake.html">blog</a>.<br /><br />Of course, anybody who knows me knows I love sweets in general, but I reserve a special place in my heart and in my stomach for cake. There is something about its velvety goodness that not only tempts the taste buds, but settles the stomach. Let's face it: the best part of a wedding is the cake. Even the word "wedding" looks and sounds like "cake" to me. Similarly, birthday presents are great, but the best part of a birthday is - you guessed it - cake. Like "wedding," "birthday" equals "cake" in my world.<br /><br />The texture of a cake has to be just right. Not too dry, and not too moist. There must be a certain weight to the structure of the cake so it has some substance. Yet there must be a lightness that allows me to forget about chewing and simply let the spongy, fluffy goodness melt in my mouth. This is one reason I detest having foreign matter in my cake. It makes it very difficult for cake to melt smoothly in my mouth when obstacles like nuts, fruit, or coconut stand in the way. They are intrusive interlopers that have no place in a perfect cake.<br /><br />The requirements that I have of my cake are exacting because they are what make cake the perfect delivery vehicle for frosting. The cake and the frosting combine to create a sugary bliss of taste and texture that can be achieved by no other dessert. The more frosting, the better, as far as I'm concerned. Layer it on thick! As delicious as cake is by itself, it attains its highest calling as a method of transporting frosting from the fork to the mouth.<br /><br />And, of course, the frosting has to be the right kind. None of that wimpy stuff that resembles Cool Whip for me. And fondant? Bleah! Don't even come near me with it! Yet while a good, heavy ganache or torte frosting is nice once in a while, give me an old-fashioned buttercream frosting or the lovely sweetness Duncan Hines puts in a can. And for the love of all that's edible, don't put any of the aforementioned foreign matter in my frosting, either! A nice, smooth frosting piled thickly on a great cake is melt-in-your-mouth heaven. What else could I possibly need?<br /><br />Naturally, the frosting between layers of cake should be at least as thick as the frosting on top. Thin, skimpy crumb coats are for wusses! I also find it an unfortunate trend that many commercial bakeries are going to a fruit filling between layers instead of the substance God intended – MORE FROSTING! Fruit filling between layers qualifies as more of that foreign matter I mentioned previously. It stabs a sharp dagger of intense fruitiness between the ribs of the otherwise-smoothly flavored cake that delivers a fatal blow to the whole cake-consuming experience. If I am unfortunate enough to be served such a piece of cake, I will scrape out the offending fruit filling before dining on the deserving part of the cake.<br /><br />But let us rid our minds of such horrors. I prefer to think instead upon a smooth, velvety cake with piles of sweet buttercream frosting. A great cake built to my high standards is heaven on a plate and ecstasy in your mouth. I am sure to have lots of it at the next wedding or birthday party I attend. If you see me there, be sure to cut me a corner piece with lots of frosting on it. Meanwhile, I have some baking to do. <div></div>Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-62941767784576156752009-09-24T08:10:00.002-04:002009-09-24T08:14:43.239-04:00Celebrating National Punctuation Day<em>Thursday, September 24 is National Punctuation Day. In honor of that revered holiday, I submit the following:</em><br /><br />It seems no one does punctuation properly. Whole industries have grown up around the appropriate use of punctuation, yet despite all the helpful hints and quick and dirty tips we never seem to get it right. Even the experts argue among themselves about the correct application of punctuation. So why not ditch the whole system?<br /><br />Let’s say we eliminate only those symbols that end sentences. We could save a whole lot of aggravation, not to mention ink. America and Britain could finally stop fighting about whether periods go inside or outside the quotation marks.<br /><br />On the other hand, we would not know whether a writer is shouting, speaking in a normal tone of voice, or asking a question. Of course, shouting could be easily conveyed by the relatively recent and unfortunate trend of using all capital letters. Perhaps for questions we could make use of another annoying development: that of alternating uppercase and lowercase letters. Leaving a sentence with the standard mix of capital and lowercase letters could indicate a normal tone of voice.<br /><br />Having solved that problem, how would we then know when to shut up? Without terminal punctuation, sentences would run into each other and soon pile up in a big lexicographical chain-reaction crash. The never-ending babble of words would devolve into nonsense. “I went running. Down the drainpipe . . .” would become “I went running down the drainpipe . . .”<br /><br />Next, we should consider what would happen if we got rid of those pesky in-sentence indicators of pauses, compound modifiers, and possessives. On the positive side, we would no longer have to agonize over whether to use an em-dash or an en-dash. Disagreements about the serial comma would lose their venom and arguments over apostrophe placement would be a thing of the past.<br /><br />But without that kind of punctuation, we would no longer know what belonged to whom. Anarchy would reign! We wouldn’t know where to pause, landing ourselves in a suffocating world where breathing is relegated to the status of a rarely-practiced luxury. Worse, we wouldn’t know if a green-legged aardvark had green legs and perhaps a purple body, or if said green legged aardvark were green all over and we were simply commenting on the state of its physical support system. It would be utter chaos.<br /><br />Of course, there’s the nuclear option: We all stop writing and rely solely on spoken communication. There would be no more misunderstandings over misread tones of voice. Faulty interpretation due to syntactical errors and misplaced modifiers would no longer occur. A golden age of communication would be born and we could all bask in the glow of being perfectly understood at all times.<br /><br />Then the real world would intrude. Green legged aardvarks everywhere might demand a more exact method of describing themselves, not to mention the poor people who don’t particularly care to run down drainpipes. Maybe our current system of punctuation, even with all its faults and imperfections, is not so bad after all. Whole industries can breathe sighs of relief and purveyors of helpful hints and quick and dirty tips can go right on hinting and tipping.<br /><br />Perhaps the true utopia lies not in a new age of verbal communication, but in that ideal state where the unlettered masses realize that punctuation enthusiasts are not being annoying twerps after all. Instead, they are holding the fabric of our society together. Let us hope that National Punctuation Day brings us one step closer to that goal.Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-38048072670620179312009-08-07T11:45:00.000-04:002009-08-07T11:46:15.883-04:00Visiting ColumbusUsually, when <a href="http://www.undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a> and I go somewhere, it is to visit somebody we know or do sight-seeing at some nationally known location. But last weekend, when we went to Columbus, we had no plans to see anything of note and our sole intention was to meet people we'd never seen before in our lives. We were there to visit our Twitter friends.<br /><br />They treated us like visiting royalty. Our first stop was at the home of <a href="http://www.twitter.com/shpef">@shpef </a>and <a href="http://www.twitter.com/UR_AY_GAS">@UR_AY_GAS</a>. They not only had a wonderful lunch spread (and brownies!!) set out for us, but they invited us to spend the night there. We spent Saturday afternoon visiting with them and <a href="http://www.twitter.com/leann_purdy">@leann_purdy </a>before setting out for the evening <a href="http://www.wordspy.com/words/tweetup.asp">tweetup</a> at the <a href="http://www.crimsoncup.com/">Crimson Cup</a>, an excellent little cafe.<br /><br />The weather was perfect and we sat outside sipping beverages and munching goodies. My drink of choice was the frozen hot chocolate, which I highly recommend. I was amazed at the number of people who came out just to meet little old us! As cohesive a group as the Columbus twitterers seem to be, I was surprised at how many in our little group said they weren't following others who were also there. Of course, they pulled out iPhones and other twitter gadgets to rectify that situation that as soon as they could. There was even one who created a Twitter account on the spot!<br /><br />Gizmo and I were thrilled to meet <a href="http://www.twitter.com/taz288">@taz288</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/leann_purdy">@leann_purdy</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/hesster56">@hesster56</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/aharperhess">@aharperhess</a> (who runs the <a href="http://www.twitter.com/crimsoncup">@crimsoncup</a> account), <a href="http://www.twitter.com/jlh_photo">@jlh_photo</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/cherylharrison">@cherylharrison</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/1datarecovery">@1datarecovery</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/jconley21">@jconley21</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/alonglens">@alonglens</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/nicolegiaco">@nicolegiaco</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/billygiacomelli">@billygiacomelli</a>, and <a href="http://www.twitter.com/1grrlrevolution">@1grrlrevolution </a>and her family. Seeing how they mixed together made it obvious why the Columbus social media scene works so well.<br /><br />Sunday morning saw us at <a href="http://www.clcdelaware.com/">Christian Life Church</a> with <a href="http://www.twitter.com/rockson">@rockson </a>and <a href="http://www.twitter.com/mrsrockson">@mrsrockson</a>. People at the church greeted us like long-lost friends (and commiserated wryly about our mutual friendship with @rockson). Lunch afterward at the historic landmark Bun's Restaurant in Delaware was delicious. I actually let some of the others at the table have some of the bread that was served.<br /><br />Crowning the weekend was our Sunday dinner at <a href="http://www.bjsbrewhouse.com/">BJ's Restaurant and Brewhouse </a>with the <a href="http://www.mindbleach.net/">Mind Bleach </a>crew: <a href="http://www.twitter.com/alonglens">@alonglens</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/goodguy76">@Goodguy76</a>, <a href="http://www.twitter.com/jconley21">@jconley21</a>, and <a href="http://www.twitter.com/klab">@klab</a>. Goodguy's wife and two daughters were there too (the sons were occupied elsewhere), and it made for a great dinner. The highlight of the evening was when a zealous server knocked Goodguy's beverage all over Conley, making for an uncomfortable evening for the poor fellow.<br /><br />But we didn't let that get in the way of a good time. We talked together as if we'd known each other all our lives, and the capper of the evening was Gizmo and I going to @alonglens' apartment for the live broadcast of the <a href="http://www.mindbleach.net/">Mind Bleach </a>podcast. We sat in the comfort of @alonglens' living room with a laptop computer typing snarky comments to the podcast's chat room while @alonglens attempted (mostly successfully) to do the podcast with co-host @Goodguy76.<br /><br />Overall, I'm happy to report that all the people we met are exactly as they seem online: warm, friendly, funny, and willing to do anything for you. In addition to being my online friends, I am proud to now call them my real life friends as well. The residents of Columbus, Ohio are fabulous people and they live in a great town. (It's not college football season yet, so it's OK for a Michigan fan like me to say that.) Thank you for an unforgettable trip, everyone!<br /><br />P.S. Go Blue!Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-65485944357214948052009-07-20T13:21:00.000-04:002009-07-20T13:21:28.002-04:00Remembering the Moon LandingForty years ago today, men landed on the moon. I was five years old and I'll never forget it.<br /><br />We were at Grandma's house in <a href="http://www.vincennes.org/default.asp">Vincennes, Indiana</a>. She had a black-and-white TV that received only three stations (as opposed to the whopping eleven stations we got at home in <a href="http://www.ypsilanti.org/">Ypsilanti, Michigan</a>), but that's all we needed. Since Neil Armstrong's first step took place somewhat later at night than I'm sure my parents would have allowed me to stay up at that age, what is in my memory must be replays that aired the next day. Nevertheless, I watched in wonder as Walter Cronkite narrated the adventure for the world. I don't specifically remember Neil Armstrong saying, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind," but I distinctly recall thinking how funny he looked as he bounded across the moon's surface as if he were on some strange trampoline.<br /><br />Later that night, Dad took me outside to Grandma's front yard where we could see a waxing crescent moon shining down on all of us. He pointed to it and said, "Those men are up there right now." I strained my eyes and swore I could see little dots walking around on the surface.<br /><br />Those were heady days. Gas stations gave away <a href="http://planet-z.ecrater.com/product.php?pid=3508331">Apollo glasses</a> that were fun to drink out of. Anything associated with the space program had a certain thrill to it. Astronauts who drank <a href="http://theopenend.com/2009/01/19/tang-the-drink-of-choice-among-gemini-astronauts/">Tang</a> and used <a href="http://www.spacepen.com/">Fisher Space Pens</a> were heroes to a country in desperate need of them. The event became a byword. "We can put a man on the moon, but we can't ______ (fill in the blank - usually reserved for some mundane, even stupid, task)."<br /><br />The excitement that gripped the nation inspired a five-year-old girl to think beyond the here-and-now to a future that is not only possible, but probable. I learned that pie-in-the-sky dreams are attainable if you but have a craft that can reach them.<br /><br />To all of today's Chicken Littles who would have us huddle in fear of everything and everyone, I say, "Phhbbbbt." These people cannot possibly have lived in a time when dreams were achievable and risks were worth taking. Or if they did, they did not learn its lessons.<br /><br />But for the rest of us, the world is full of adventures, and we have only to stretch our hands out to grasp them. Aim high and reach for the sky! What a great attitude. What a great way to live life! What better legacy could the first manned moon landing bequeath to us forty years later?Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-69474087754525593142009-05-28T15:30:00.001-04:002009-05-28T15:31:53.311-04:00Untangling a MysteryEarbud update: the Sock Alien caught in the act!<br /><br /><a href="http://sknygrydg07.posterous.com/caught-in-the-act-6">http://sknygrydg07.posterous.com/caught-in-the-act-6</a>Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-36487157616649331612009-04-22T17:56:00.000-04:002009-04-22T17:57:07.369-04:00Untangling EarbudsThey say the only sure things are death and taxes, but I'd like to add "tangled earbuds" to that short list of life's certainties. Like the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gravitational_constant">gravitational constant</a>, I think it must be a physical law of the universe that earbuds tangle themselves no matter how carefully you lay them down.<br /><br />To satisfy the empiricist in me, I have experimented with this extensively. When I am finished listening to my favorite podcasts, I lay my earbuds flat on my computer desk where they should peacefully wait until later in the day when I load my iPod Shuffle with fresh, new podcasts. During the time I am gone, nobody is home but our lazy cat, who has never jumped on said computer desk. One would think that when I got back, the earbuds would be exactly as I had left them.<br /><br />But alas, no. When I pick up my poor earbuds, they have tangled themselves into an impossible Gordian knot that takes me more hours to untie that it would take me to solve a Rubik's cube (I'm still waiting on that little stroke of brilliance, in case you're wondering).<br /><br />It's worse when I leave them overnight. When I go to bed, I take my trusty Shuffle upstairs and lay it carefully on my side of the bathroom counter. Again, no matter how neatly I arrange the earbud cords, they are hopelessly tangled by morning. I have learned to set my alarm early enough to allow time for the inevitable exercise in untangling that I must undergo every morning. I think Earbud Untangling should count as part of my workout routine, but <a href="http://www.undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a> is not convinced.<br /><br />Personally, I suspect the Sock Alien. I think he creeps out of the dryer when he's done playing with the assorted single socks he absconded with on laundry day. He slithers along and, finding no additional socks, is irresistably attracted to my earbuds. It's like gravity or something. See? I knew the gravitational constant figured into this somehow.<br /><br />I wonder what would happen if I put a nice, clean sock on the floor directly underneath my poor earbuds? I shall have to experiment!Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-50688793975118214942009-03-12T10:30:00.000-04:002009-03-13T10:31:27.131-04:00Going to PhoenixA great vacation consists of good air, good fun, good eats, and good friends. I had all of the above last week when <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">EdGizmo</a> and I went to Phoenix.<br /><br /><strong>Good Air</strong><br /><br />The first indication that we weren't in Michigan any more was when our plane landed in Phoenix and I spied the palm trees that lined the runway. The second indication was the almost-hot puff of air that blew over us as we left the plane - the kind of hot you'd never feel in Michigan on the second day of March.<br /><br />What really told me we weren't in Michigan anymore was the aroma. Once we got our rental car (some foreign jobby-sorry, <a href="http://www.ford.com/">Dad</a>) and were driving down the road, I opened the windows and inhaled. It smelled like spring, yet no spring I'd ever experienced. I could detect some sort of blooms, but it wasn't the overpowering perfume of flowers. There was a gentle sweetness that was citrusy, but subtler than any fruit. I found out later it was orange blossoms. I think I'll forever associate that scent with Phoenix.<br /><br />My body loved the Phoenix air. My skin is usually oily enough to supply an OPEC nation, but the arid climate turned it into something somewhat approaching normal. It felt fabulous, and I wondered if that's how most people's skin feels all the time. If so, I'm jealous! I quickly got used to needing only one paper towel to dry my hands (as opposed to the two or three I usually used) and my thick head of hair dried in record time.<br /><br />And the warmth! The ninety-degree temps we had the first day would have been oppressive back home, but felt only a little on the warm side in Phoenix. The eighties we had over the next couple days felt more like perfect room-temperature weather. This feeling was enhanced by the fact that there wasn't so much as a hint of a breeze the whole time we were there. It wasn't until Thursday, when highs were in the seventies that we had to put our jeans back on in place of the shorts we'd been wearing previously.<br /><br /><strong>Good Fun</strong><br /><br />As if just living and breathing the air in Phoenix weren't enough, I got to see a baseball game! Spring training was in full swing in Arizona, and we saw the Cubs play the Indians at Cleveland's brand new facility, <a href="http://www.goodyearaz.gov/index.asp?NID=1119">Goodyear Park</a>. It was a great game, which the Indians won, 5 - 4. Indians legend Bob Feller was there, and I shook his hand and got his autograph. We sat in the shade, ate hot dogs and ice cream, and took in the game. <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">What could be better</a>?<br /><br />We also toured the <a href="http://www.dbg.org/">Desert Botanical Garden</a>, which featured a glass exhibit by <a href="http://www.chihuly.com/">Dale Chihuly</a>. It was sometimes hard to tell where the plants ended and the glass began. The same could be said of Frank Lloyd Wright's <a href="http://www.franklloydwright.org/Tours.html">Taliesin West</a>. The buildings blended in with the landscape so well that I could hardly tell anything was there until we were practically on top of it.<br /><br /><strong>Good Eats</strong><br /><br />Of course, anytime we go to another city that has a <a href="http://www.ruthschris.com/">Ruth's Chris Steakhouse</a>, we have to go there. So we did, and it was delicious, as usual. There were a couple things they did differently there than other Ruth's Chris restaurants we've been to. When the hostess seated us, she replaced the white cloth napkins that were on the table with black ones. "So you don't get light-colored lint on your dark pants," she explained. Later, when our steaks came to us on their 500-degree plates, the servers asked us to raise our napkins in front of us so we wouldn't get splattered by the sizzling butter. I don't know if that's just a Phoenix thing, but regardless, it was a good idea.<br /><br />Another great eatery we tried on a friend's recommendation was the <a href="http://www.heartattackgrill.com/">Heart Attack Grill</a>. They have precisely four entrees on their menu: a Single Bypass (a half-pound burger), a Double Bypass (with two half-pound patties), a Triple Bypass (with three half-pound patties) and a Quadruple Bypass (yes, two full pounds of hamburger). Their one side item is Flatliner Fries, cooked in lard, of course. No diet beverages are allowed in the establishment, and even the water comes in the bottled variety. Everything is served by waitresses in scanty nurses' costumes and the men who cook the burgers are dolled up in lab coats.<br /><br /><strong>Good Friends</strong><br /><br />Far and away the highlight of our trip was getting to meet fellow <a href="http://www.grampol.org/">Grammar Police </a>officer Ruthie Cohen. She was warm, kind, generous, funny, and just a pleasure to be around. She played host for us, accompanying us to the <a href="http://www.dbg.org/">Desert Botanical Garden, </a>to dinner one night (<a href="http://www.rockbottom.com/">Rock Bottom Brewery</a>), and to lunch another day (<a href="http://www.paradisebakery.com/">Paradise Bakery</a>). We felt so comfortable with her that we felt like we've known her for ages. Of course, I'm sure our acquaintance through the Grammar Police helped that, but she is one reason we definitely would like to go back to Phoenix.<br /><br />I certainly hope to one day very soon.Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-47117812202973269232009-02-22T08:45:00.000-05:002009-02-22T09:03:57.632-05:00Being a Speed Limit<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZTrAOv2OgoaOsUjerDzaY8OtM-5FpAZqxXFMil0noE2RuLNlXM7C4u1LzbwG2ACqM8NMjULfxoDBHE3Y10UYAAlh8qoFIbvR7T2K25RsF4io6Ktq19HnPrcCF2Ufm29kuq8c5H_oUcU/s1600-h/96px-Speed_Limit_45_sign_svg.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305614965041112098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 96px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 120px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZTrAOv2OgoaOsUjerDzaY8OtM-5FpAZqxXFMil0noE2RuLNlXM7C4u1LzbwG2ACqM8NMjULfxoDBHE3Y10UYAAlh8qoFIbvR7T2K25RsF4io6Ktq19HnPrcCF2Ufm29kuq8c5H_oUcU/s320/96px-Speed_Limit_45_sign_svg.png" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Today is my birthday, and for the first time in five years, I'm a speed limit. For the last time until I hit 55 or 70, I am now one of the most common speed limits on American roads - 45. How cool is that?<br /><br />Now if I were celebrating any other birthday, it wouldn't be as cool. After all, I don't know that there's anything particularly special about turning an age that just happens to be divisible by the number 5. Said birthdays are even less cool when they're not one of those mile markers like 25 or 75 that represent entire quarter centuries lived. By those standards, 45 is buried in ignominy.<br /><br />It's different when you're turning an age that is divisible by 10. When your age ends in a zero, you've just finished living a(nother) decade of life and there's a whole new decade in front of you. The first one of these - when you turn 10 - is really neat because now you can count your age using double digits. The decades that follow mark transitions into different parts of life. Not only that, but it helps the increasingly aged mind that the math becomes much easier at a 10-year point.<br /><br />There's something about the decade that makes those birthdays extra cool, too. We even talk about time in terms of decades. It's easy to refer to the sixties, seventies, eighties, or whatever. But who in the world talks about time in five-year increments? Think about it: while people may reminisce about the seventies, for instance, they just don't wax rhapsodic about the specific period of the late seventies. Of course, that may have more to do with the lame clothes and disco music of the time, but still . . . We just don't talk about fives the way we do tens. This is just another reason that some may be tempted to leave 45 in the dust of passing time.<br /><br />But there are other cool things about being 45. For one thing, it's halfway to 90. I've got another 45 years before I'm really old. But, by far, the coolest thing about being 45 is that I'm now a speed limit. My age is posted on rectangular white signs for the whole world to see. Granted, said signs don't say "Julayne is 45," they simply say, "Speed Limit 45." But every time I pass one from now on, I'll know it means me.</div>Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-31951410958773459642008-12-28T14:29:00.005-05:002008-12-28T16:56:43.125-05:00Being a Lions FanHi. My name is Julayne, and I'm a . . . <a href="http://www.detroitlions.com/">Lions</a> fan. Like an alcoholic irresistibly drawn to drink, I'm perennially enticed by the wretched football games played by the hapless Detroit Lions.<br /><br />There must be something wrong with a fan who keeps going back to the kind of misery that the Detroit Lions consistently heap upon their fans. We haven't had a decent season since the days Barry Sanders graced the Honolulu blue and silver, and the Lions are one of the few NFL teams never to have played in a Super Bowl, let alone won one. I could quote more of the statistical morass that defines the Lions, but I'll desist. The fact remains that despite how awful the Lions are, I'm still a fan of the team. One has to wonder why.<br /><br />It may be the old root-for-the-underdog mentality that defines America's rags-to-riches character. The problem with that is that the Lions have been all rags and no riches. Maybe it's because I've always been drawn to mournful things like gray, rainy days and music in minor keys. There's a certain piteousness about the Lions that makes you want to wallow with them in some sort of depressive mud puddle. But the Lions won't even feel properly sorry for themselves. There is an indefatigable optimism about even their worst games that has them looking hopefully to next week and causes them to celebrate their first downs as if they were touchdowns.<br /><br />Perhaps I'm a glutton for punishment. After all, I'm also a fan of the <a href="http://www.detroittigers.com/">Detroit Tigers </a>and the <a href="http://www.mgoblue.com/football">Michigan Wolverines</a>, both of whom had disastrous seasons this year. The 2008 Tigers looked more like the 2003 Tigers (who lost more than 100 games) than the 2006 Tigers (who made the World Series). Michigan is not playing in a college bowl game this year for the first time in over thirty years. It's definitely not a good year to be a sports fan in southeastern Michigan. But I keep coming back.<br /><br />Maybe it's genetic. My dad has been a Lions fan all his life, so perhaps I inherited it from him. But even he gets discouraged and sometimes threatens to start following a different team just so he can say his team can win a game once in a while. Yet I have a difficult time even joking about such a thing, despite the suggestions of my Packer-fan <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">husband</a>. There's something about being a Lions fan and remaining a Lions fan that I can't seem to get away from.<br /><br />I guess what I need to do is stop analyzing it, accept the cold, hard reality that I'm a fan of a terrible team and leave it at that. Enjoy the flash-in-the-pan bright spots and the occasional first downs and revel in the fact that one way into the <a href="http://www.profootballhof.com/">NFL Hall of Fame </a>is to be the only 0-16 team ever to have donned NFL jerseys.<br /><br />Whatever else the Lions might be, they are my football team, for better or for worse. Even though it's been mostly for worse, I'll keep rooting for them. After all, there's always next year.Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-24319836853954850732008-11-07T08:02:00.010-05:002008-11-07T13:37:44.027-05:00Playing Musical MayoWho knew that condiments could be fodder for a game of musical chairs?<br /><br />This morning as I was making my lunch, I reached into the refrigerator to pull out everything I needed. Turkey, check. Apple, check. Mayo, che -- wait a minute. This wasn't mayonnaise. It was Miracle Whip salad dressing! Suddenly I knew I'd been had by <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">the fiend </a>who plays the game of Musical Mayo.<br /><br />We store our condiments in one of those plastic refrigerator trays that slides into plastic grooves inside the fridge door. In the tray is ketchup, mustard, maybe a jar of pickles, and yes, Miracle Whip and mayonnaise. These latter two stand one behind another on one side of the tray. It's easiest to just grab a bottle from the closest corner, and boom! Instant sandwich makings. Naturally, I prefer that the mayo be at the front of the tray for just such instant grabbage. <a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Some fiend </a>in our house, on the other hand, prefers that the Miracle Whip be in the front for the same reason.<br /><br /><a href="http://undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">This fiend </a>gets up earlier than I do, so on the days he takes his lunch to work, he makes his first. When he's done, I'm guessing he sticks his Miracle Whip back in the most convenient spot -- that coveted front corner. Which results in my mayo getting shoved to the back corner and my getting to do the Musical Mayo mambo when it's my turn at food fabrication.<br /><br />I supppose we could demote the ketchup to the back row. Then the mayo and the Miracle Whip could stand side by side, ready at a moment's notice to decorate my sandwich or the fiend's. But one problem with that solution is that the corner would still be the position most highly sought after, resulting in a new game of Musical Mayo that runs side-to-side instead of front-to-back. Not only that, what would we do when we want ketchup for our hamburgers?<br /><br />I'm not at all sure how to resolve this conundrum. Perhaps I should simply start humming nameless tunes while I extract condiments from the refrigerator. Then when the music stops . . .Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-2808409198062459402008-10-09T19:16:00.006-04:002008-10-10T08:25:21.739-04:00Loving My Weather Channel WidgetI admit it. I'm a weather geek. I love all things having to do with storms, clouds, tornadoes, you name it. Not only can I tell you exactly what a dewpoint is, but I can calculate it in my head fairly accurately given temperature and humidity readings. Of course, I rely on my handy dewpoint spreadsheet for more exact figures (see, I told you I was a geek). I check the weather forecast several times a day from many different sources. If I don't quite believe something one weatherman says, I'll check it against what other weathermen say.<br /><br />Sometimes I even do my own amateur forecasting. "Well, the radio station says it's supposed to get up to 80 degrees next week, but I don't think we'll see much more than the mid-seventies." Then when the thermometer tops out at a warm, but not hot, 75 degrees, I carve out another notch in my temperature-taker.<br /><br />There are all kinds of awesome gadgets in my weather-geek toolbox. Besides the <a href="http://www.weather.com/">Weather Channel </a>being my favorite cable TV channel and website, I also get my kicks out of different weather websites, cool weather webcams, and other wonders of our technological age.<br /><br />But by far my favorite recent discovery has been the <a href="http://www.weather.com/">Weather Channel </a>desktop widget. I tried it a couple years ago, and it didn't do much for me but kludge up my computer. But I thought they may have spruced things up a bit since then, so I gave it another shot. I discovered one thing:<br /><br />I love my <a href="http://www.weather.com/">Weather Channel </a>desktop widget! And I'm telling everyone I know. I'm driving my <a href="http://www.twitter.com/pianoeditor">Twitter</a> followers crazy by mentioning it at least twice a day.<br /><br />My WC widget lives in my computer's system tray (that bunch of icons in the lower right hand corner), telling me what the local temperature is. Just one click on the little blue square pops up a window that gives me everything I need to know in a quick snapshot. I see local radar and a short-term forecast. I have easy access to anything else I might want to see, such as more detailed hourly forecasts or the long-range variety. I can get pollen counts and traffic info. There's weather trivia and travel conditions. It even has a section of cute cartoons. I can customize it so the color scheme reflects my favorite MLB team. Right now, it's set to the colors of the Detroit "Wait-Till-Next-Year" Tigers (meow!).<br /><br />Just yesterday, I found out that my little widget flashes yellow when there's a weather alert. Last night there was a frost warning, and the widget twinkled away to alert me to the fact. Is that the coolest thing, or what?<br /><br />The only thing I'm really bummed about is that because of downloading restrictions on my computer at work, I can't get my widget there. So I guess I'll have to get my weather jollies at home while trying to ignore the voice of Gizmo, who keeps telling me, "Weather is what happens when you walk out the door!"<br /><br />Poor misguided soul. Someday he'll learn the joys of weather geekdom. On that happy day, he too can be the proud owner of a <a href="http://www.weather.com/">Weather Channel</a> desktop widget.Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-34218615769940639062008-09-30T07:56:00.002-04:002008-09-30T08:25:30.557-04:00Looking Like a Caramel AppleI peered into the mirror the other day and saw a stranger looking out at me. "I look like an apple on a stick!" I declared to <a href="http://www.undisciplinedmind.blogspot.com/">Gizmo</a>.<br /><br />I did expect to see somewhat of a stranger in the mirror because I've lost about 45-50 pounds. What I didn't expect to see was a fat little torso perched on a pair of skinny legs. Making matters worse, I was wearing brown clothes at the time, so I resembled nothing so much as a caramel apple.<br /><br />I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. The exercise program I've been on has included more walking and zooming along on our elliptical machine than anything else. So I guess I should have expected to lose tons of weight from my lower body. Several months ago, I bought jeans that were three sizes smaller than the tents I'd previously been wearing. And even those jeans are beginning to resemble the circus material I left behind.<br /><br />The shirts in my wardrobe, on the other hand, have not experienced quite as dramatic a shift. Yes, I have a bit more room in them than I used to, and there are a few sweaters I can fit into again that I haven't been able to wear for a while, but, unlike with my jeans, I can't say that my shirts are three sizes smaller and could stand a reduction of yet another couple sizes.<br /><br />So until the upper half of my body reaches the level of weight loss the lower half has achieved, I guess I'll have to get used to looking like a caramel apple. Perhaps it fits me after all. I can be a bit tart and crispy on the inside and sugary sweet on the outside. Just so long as nobody tries to take a bite out of me!Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4723582581528425608.post-32956822714730088252008-09-24T10:44:00.009-04:002008-09-24T21:45:24.662-04:00Living in a CemeteryIn his comment on my post <em>Tag, You're It</em>, Sparks asked how I came to spend the first year and a half of my life in a cemetery. It's a logical question, since, after all, most people usually wait until their lives have ended to make their first foray into the collection of deep sixers that make up most cemeteries. But I had to break the mold. Or the burial vault, if you will.<br /><br />In the early sixties, my dad's uncle was caretaker for <a href="http://www.ypsilanti.org/highland.htm">Highland Cemetery</a> in <a href="http://cityofypsilanti.com/">Ypsilanti, Michigan</a>. Uncle Stanley lived with his family in one of two houses that were on the cemetery property. The other house was split into two apartments. When my parents got married in 1962, they moved into the lower-level apartment in that second house. Dad even helped Uncle Stanley with some of the cemetery work. I was born in 1964, and our happy little family of three lived there until the middle of 1965, when Mom and Dad bought the house they still live in.<br /><br />Even after we moved out of the cemetery, we went back there for family reunions. Uncle Stanley, Aunt Ruth, and the cousins still lived there, and beside the house was a great expanse of lawn upon which we picnicked and played softball.<br /><br />Yes, we played softball in a cemetery! There was a mausoleum in right field, and sometimes home run balls ricocheted off its roof. In later years, graves infiltrated left field, which would have made chasing down fly balls that much more difficult. At that point, the family gatherings were sort of dying out anyway, so it was just as well.<br /><br />After we left, other cousins moved into the cemetery apartment, and we visited them often. So although I have no memories of the apartment when we lived there, I remember it well from the many New Year's Eve parties and other visits our family made.<br /><br />I still love to go back to Highland Cemetery, where I wander among the graves of some of my relatives. I usually steal a glance at the lawn where softballs once flew. Uncle Stanley's house (and maybe even the apartment house, too) is now a historical landmark, and the birthday parties I once attended there are long in the past. Heck, I just love wandering cemeteries on general principle. They are fascinating places. But mainly they remind me of the cemetery where I spent my first year and a half of life.Julayne Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10784985121451965565noreply@blogger.com4