A Bumpy Path:Steps of Positive Change

Get Your Head Out of Your…

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 22:21:00 +0000

Do I need to say it out loud?

Do I have to?

It’s too bad that the concept isn’t more farfetched than it is, wouldn’t you say?

Wake up and smell the roses already.

Do I have your attention yet?

Good.

If you have a job, you’re one of the lucky, gas prices are slyly inching back up, food prices never came down from last year’s disaster, and none of this stimulus stuff seems to have any effect at all. The weather, the politics, the news, the weather, the politics… In self defense, the head goes up the back door and there’s only room to focus on getting through one day to see another.

Does it have to be this way?

No.

But, you’ll have to come out of your little protective shell a bit more to find that out for yourself.

You see, everyone is just sitting around waiting for politicians to dig us out of this mess. Do you think the ones that got us into this mess can now fix it?

The blind leading the blind.

It’s broke. It’s broke beyond repair, especially when all the attempts at repair are nothing more than cheap, generic-brand band-aids.

I can hear you now: “Oh jeez, what can one person do?”

My answer: “Everything.”

You are the center of your world. Everything you do radiates out from you as the center, 360 degrees. Everything you do affects everything around you.

Everything you do begins within, with how and what you think. How and what you think is shaped by what you feel in your heart.

From within, you can change the world.

Speak up. Speak out. Think outside the box. Brainstorm. Have conversations. Discuss. Troubleshoot and problem solve.

Now, get your head out of where-the-sun-don’t-shine and be true to your heart.

Hey Judge, Watch the Signs Already!

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 08:55:00 +0000

If you drive an unfamiliar road, you watch the signs. Usually, those road signs give you fair warning of what’s about to come up. I used to drive a Honda that handled so well that I knew I could take corners at up to 20 mph faster than marked before it felt like it was too fast to make the corner. ‘Maria Andretti,’ I know, but I also know that my little pickup doesn’t handle like that, so I heed those signs and take corners per my truck’s mechanical capability. No brainer.

Last night as I was just about ready to feed Odin, this flatbed tractor trailer hauling a crane went speeding by my driveway, and eye-balling that monster, I judged it to be going close to 50 mph. Now, this photo was shot while standing in my pasture and shooting in the direction that truck was headed. See that sign? Well, it really is a 90 degree curve there, and not that far away. The speed limit on my road is 35, so that sign is placed where the corner coming up wouldn’t be a problem if going the speed limit. But, at 50?

I held my breath and listened hard. What complicates things even further is that my road is a gravel road, and the recent rains have made it pitted and muddy, and that corner is shaded by trees on both sides, so it’s a good bet that it’s still quite goopy. I heard the engine disengage, heard the tires lock up and skid, heard a few big, metallic clanks, and then the engine roared once again. Somehow, that driver made that curve, and with the crane still on the flatbed. I have no idea how.

That got me thinking. And seething. When I bought my land back in 2005, the seller told me the dirt road was slated to be paved the next year. I have no idea which “next year” he meant, because it still isn’t paved. Well, not on my end it isn’t. The other end of the road was chip-sealed earlier this year. That chip-seal ends right about the place where the county judge lives. Isn’t that convenient?

You see, the county judge presides over the quorum court, and the court’s main purpose is to handle the county’s money. One main function of the county is to care for county roads.

To give credit where credit is due, the roads were cared for pretty well around these parts. I’m still not used to roads with no shoulders or guard rails, and I still think the little wooden bridges on gravel roads are quaint, but the gravel roads were usually graded and stoned often.

Well, they were maintained – up until the latest natural gas boom and the subsequent screeching halt of said boom when miles of pipe bought from India was put into the ground to get that natural gas to market turned out to be unable to handle even half the pressure the pipeline was intended to handle. During testing of the sub-par pipe along 26 miles, several sections exploded. Suddenly, whole companies closed down, the money stopped flowing into the county coffers and things started going to hell. The gas companies had agreed to pay half the cost of maintaining the roads their heavy trucks tore up for the duration of the natural gas boom. Now, the compromised roads crack, wrinkle and pit at will, disintegrating with just normal traffic use.

Until you’ve lived on a gravel road, you don’t know what dust is. My home is 300 feet back from the road, yet if I dust on the weekend, by Wednesday morning, everything inside is solidly coated. You can’t see out your rear view mirror while driving down the road at a conservative 25 mph, and forget about washing your car. The size of the ‘gravel’ stone they lay down is about the same size as the stone laid under railroad tracks, and it chews tires up as if they were paper.

Still, my gravel road, from beginning to end, was maintained far better than it is now, and I attribute the lack of care more to the fact that the other end is now chip-sealed than anything else. The good ol’ judge goes to town the other way, and though his garbage trucks come this way, he himself never sees this end of his road.

No surprise, the final straw is that my end of the road is the “poor” end. Though far more numerous, the homes on this end of the road are worth only a fraction of the palatial mansions on the other end.

Yeah, there’s all sorts of signs pointing to who gets what. Maybe if one of those garbage trucks painted up to advertise the judge’s last campaign will hit one of the huge potholes on this end of the road and bust an axle. Then, maybe then, the rest of the road will be chip-sealed too.

Then, when a huge tractor trailer goes flying by at 50 to hit that 15 mph curve, I really will hear metal crumpling and crashing.

Foggy is as Foggy Does on Friday

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 13:42:00 +0000

My horoscope for today is a surprisingly accurate fit… for yesterday:

“…Your path is very similar to driving through a fog: all you need to count on is that the road is there, and that your headlights will illuminate the path directly in front of you…”

At one point in the afternoon, I looked up and saw the backside of a man standing on a ladder, fumbling with something on the ceiling. As usual, my mind’s focus was only on the task at hand – getting as much done as accurately and as quickly as I could.

At first, it didn’t even hit me that someone was standing on a ladder in the middle of a big office. A few seconds later, it hit me as odd and curiosity took over. I looked closer and realized that what the man was doing was replacing batteries in the smoke detectors.

“What in the world?” I thought to myself. “Why would the state hire someone specifically to go around replacing smoke detector batteries? How stupid and wasteful is that?”

Now, I’m not one for heights or ladders. I can make it up to the second rung on a ladder, and that’s as far as I go. The second rung on the ladder was as far as that man went, so I figured I was safe in my next move.

I walked up to the Big Boss Lady standing there ready with the next new battery in her hand and I said, “Why did you hire someone to come in to replace those batteries? I would’ve done it.”

At that, the Big Boss Lady and the man on the ladder turned to look at me, and the man smiled. I didn’t recognize him from the back, and it turned out that he worked in the next office over.

“I have to do this all the time, it’s what a Big Boss Lady has to be responsible for. Only he’s helping me do it,” Big Boss Lady said to me with a questioning smile on her face.

“Oops,” I’m thinking to myself now, too much in a fog yesterday to realize just how stupid my assumptions were. Boy, did I ever miss the mark.

So, I return to my desk and my pile of work. I was enjoying the investigative process of my task at hand and intensely focused. Still, I managed to get in a quick smoke break at around 3:00, so I was content to hammer away at things for the next 45 minutes to finish the week.

Working away, I looked at the clock and it said 2:50! How could the clock say it’s now before the time that I had that cigarette break?

So, I said to the Slightly Littler Big Boss Lady, “Hey, look at the clock! There’s something wrong with it!”

My wise pronouncement turned everyone’s head to look at me while Slightly Littler Big Boss Lady said to me, “Big Boss Lady just went around and changed the clocks back. We go back to normal time this weekend.”

That brought my mind out of the Twilight Zone and back to Reality with a clunk. Slighly Littler Big Boss Lady always seems to have to work hard at humoring me. While I haven’t blushed in years and years, I felt the old feeling of heat rushing up my neck and into my cheeks.

“OOPS!” I thought to myself, closed my eyes hard and returned to my work. Thankfully, there was only 10 minutes left to the day, and I made as quick an exit as I could. Jeesh!

Yep, the ground was under my feet as my mind plowed through its fog, and the door couldn’t catch me as I breezed my way past it. Those bumps in my path have a nasty way of helping me along as I make an ass out of myself… Oh well.

A Welcomed Sight for Sore Eyes

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 00:46:00 +0000

It’s not a great photo. It’s not even a photo of the greatest of sunsets. But, it is a very welcomed sight nonetheless. We’ve had weeks and weeks of almost non stop rain and solid cloud cover. It’s been dreary and depressing. Well, as the cold front moved in this afternoon, it pushed those clouds away. Oh, it was so great to see blue overhead again!

I can’t ask for a better end to a long week and the beginning of the weekend. That just might make it a bit easier to deal with turning the clocks back and shorter days come Sunday.

Head to Wal-Mart For Your Casket

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 22:47:00 +0000

From the realm of the ridiculous, the largest retailer made an announcement today that is sure to add to the giant’s coffers; that is, if anyone can get beyond the issue of the bad taste left in their mouth.

The world's largest retailer wants to keep its customers even after they die.

Wal-Mart has started selling caskets on its Web site at prices that undercut most funeral homes, long the major seller of caskets.

The move follows a similar one by discount rival Costco, which also sells caskets on its site.

Wal-Mart quietly put up about 15 caskets and dozens of urns on its Web site last week.

Prices range from $999 for models like "Dad Remembered" and "Mom Remembered" steel caskets to the mid-level $1,699 "Executive Privilege." All are less than $2,000, except for the Sienna Bronze Casket, which sells for $3,199.

Caskets ship within 48 hours. Federal law requires funeral homes to accept third-party caskets.

(Copyright 2009 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)

The caskets ship within 48 hours? Does that mean you have to buy ahead and store it…where? In your living room? Undercutting morticians? Is that wise? And, just what kind of quality are these caskets and urns? Where are they made – in China? What are they made of? Plastic?

This is just one idea I cannot wrap my mind around. Discount caskets. Just what is the world coming to?

A Place to Call Home: City or Small Town?

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 05:01:00 +0000

City or small town living? Is it an easy choice?

Imagine the first warm days of spring. Throw the curtains wide and open the windows to let in some fresh air. It’s sweet, it’s caressing, and it lifts the spirit.

A bird might chirp. Is it a robin? Is spring really here? The spirit lifts higher. Once in awhile, the sweet air carries a touch of warm earth or maybe a trace of an early blooming flower. A buzz comes into hearing range and goes out just as quickly. If there’s flowers, there’s bees. Life is alive and well with a perpetual invitation to come along.

Or, throw open a window and peer out through the safety bars criss-crossing the opening. Along with the fresh air is the smell of exhaust mixed with the scent of hot oil and sauerkraut from the hot dog stand below. The sunshine lasts only as long as it stays above, soon to be blocked by the surrounding buildings. A siren screams in the distance and horns honk back and forth. The city is alive with activity; human activity.

It’s not unusual to run into grade school teachers, doctors and mayors at the county fair or a downtown festival. Greetings are called out with hugs all around and laughter. Someone will start picking on a guitar, and before long, several others have joined in. Those not playing tap along and yell out requests in between songs. The same happens in grocery and department stores, sans the guitars.

In the city, venturing outside the triple-locked front door is to enter anonymity. Neighbors are nameless as are the people passed on the sidewalks. The familiar face in the coffee shop is the girl behind the counter, and she’s not likely to strike up a conversation through her endless scowl. Fellow commuters on the subway look down and over, any way they can to avoid meeting another’s gaze. The loud silence is deafening and painful.

In the neighborhood, cars that pass by are those bringing neighbors home from work. When the sun sets, the world sleeps and the room is dark when the lights are turned off for the night.

On the city block, traffic is constant. The same daytime sirens and honking horns cut through a night that is lit with neon and streetlamps. A neighbor’s TV blasts, another neighbor’s argument is heard in detail, and the rooms are never completely dark.

Though country kids may choose to explore city life once on their own, perhaps they’ll return to the country when it’s time to raise their own children. Perhaps city kids dream of a tree in their front yard, a house instead of an apartment and to touch a horse they’ve only seen in photos.

Of course, this is a view through only one lens, one that has been focused on living close to the earth, out in the country. It is quiet, welcoming and comforting.

Home is a choice, city or small town. There is no place like home.

Adventures of a Mattress

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 10:38:00 +0000

No matter what it is with a mattress, it takes two. Understatement of the century, right?

Well, when it comes to my wild hairs, I tend to forget subtle things like that. So, here’s my latest adventure, this time with a mattress.

I don’t often think about the comforts of life. Some things just aren’t that important. Like the bed I’d been sleeping on. It was over 20 years old, it started out as a soft-sided waterbed and ended up about as uncomfortable a surface to sleep on as you can get. It just didn’t matter. It was a minor irritant until I got myself jiggled around and nested in.

Lo and behold, a new outlet store opened along my route, so I stopped in yesterday, on the way home from work. It was pretty dingy inside, bare concrete floor, no aesthetics whatsoever and beds all over the place.

Of course, the most expensive model met me at the door, and I spent a few moments ooo-ing and ah-ing over the plush decadence. Until I saw the price tag. Nope, that one’s not for me.

And of course the pretty little skinny thing struck up her salesman’s pitch and would not point me in the direction of the more affordable stock. Not to be deterred, I left her in my dust as I struck out to explore more. According to her, she only carries top-of-the-line wholesale… Whatever.

Not halfway down the aisle between the beds in stock, I stop. Ah, there it is: Memory foam. It had a little pull in the cover which got me $57 off the price tag. It was mine.

Between the two of “us girls” we got the mattress onto the bed of my truck. I pulled out a tie-down thingy, one of those things with the straps and the little ratchet to tighten it and proceeded to fumble around until I felt sure that the mattress was secure.

Alas, it wasn’t. A tanker truck flew past me going the opposite direction on the highway, and there she blows. In rush hour traffic, no less. The mattress flew off and landed in the standing water in the ditch along side the road. I hit my brakes, and so did the gentleman behind me. Both of us bit the bullet and backed up against the traffic until we came to my poor, brand new, soaking wet mattress.

Wet memory foam. Ugh, the thing was heavy. But, between the two of us, we got it back into the bed of my truck. Thank you kind man for stopping and helping me! Not only did he smush the mattress down into the bed of the truck, he assembled and used that ratchet thingy the right way so that it actually worked. Oh, I so wanted to invite him home with me to 1.) undo that strap thingy, and 2.) help me get that wet, heavy mattress inside my house!

I got the thing home, backed the truck as close to the door as I could and spent a few moments watching Odin spook at the sight of the mattress in the bed of the truck. Funny horse.

It took a few minutes of close inspection and thwarted logic to figure out that ratchet thingy to get it to loosen up and turn that mattress free. The memory foam just sprung back to shape like it was supposed to, and I surveyed to assess the damage. It wasn’t as wet as I thought it was, and only a few stray leaves were stuck to it since the plastic covering didn’t survive the mattress’s flight through the air and into the water.

Now for the next step of getting it into the house. I had assumed that since it was so flexible, I would be able to grab it good and get it up the stairs and into the house, no problem. Maybe I could have if 1.) it wasn’t so big, 2.) if the wind wasn’t blowing, and 3.) it wasn’t wet. Ass-u-me strikes again. But, since it was only me, I had to figure something out. And I worked at it. And worked at it.

Once again, a kind person comes to the rescue. Jennifer was next door, and she came over to help. Between the two of us, it was no problem getting the mattress up into the house. Whew, thank you Jennifer!

I took it from there. Inside, it was no problem wrestling that thing around. All’s well that ends well, and I slept like a charm. For 6 hours, that is. I woke up at 3:00 a.m., wide awake and feeling my oats.

Oh, this wasn’t what you expected? Well, maybe next time I write about my mattress, it will be “Adventures On…” instead of “Adventures Of…”

Or maybe not.

All Systems Down

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 13:31:00 +0000

If you've ever had a power outage at home, you know the feeling. Even if it's daylight, your mind starts running through the Plan B you once thought about - and have since forgotten. Don't use the hot water, don't open the freezer door, no way to make coffee, no TV, no radio (do they even make battery operated transistor radios anymore?), and, heaven forbid, no Internet! Whatever will you do now? And the thoughts roll around, on and on, until the power comes back on. The dilemma is over.

Sure, losing the electricity is tough to deal with. We use it constantly and take it for granted. When you flip the switch, the light comes on. That’s just the way it is.

It wasn’t the electricity that went out in the office yesterday, but it was an even greater neutering. Statewide, our whole system went down. And it stayed down, rendering our computers and phones still and useless. That meant that we were rendered still and just about powerless to do anything resembling work.

What could we do without the computer system? Open the mail. Too bad that chore was already taken care of for the day.

At first, the office was quiet. We all sat staring at our screens as if our collective will would bring the system back alive.

The office manager sat back in her chair, crossed her legs and rested her arms on her chair’s armrests. You had to look hard for the slight up and down motion of her toe, her sudden bursts of finger tapping on the armrests and the slight twitches around the corner of her mouth.

“Well, it’s down. There’s nothing we can do.”

She stood up like a shot and disappeared out of my awareness. In a storm, the area manager burst out of her front office, beseeching anyone for the use of an operational cell phone. One in hand, she punched in the numbers to the central office.

“The whole state is down. There’s nothing we can do.”

That was the flipped switch. Suddenly, the whole office burst into conversation.

“I need to get this done.”

“When will the system be back up?”

“They wouldn’t say when it’ll be back.” (Safe response, right?)

“Do what you can without it.”

“Can I do anything without the computer?”

“Nope.”

Interviewing without the computer system is like trying to teach a 3 year old how to tie his shoes when he is barefoot. Sure, you can talk about it, point things out in the book, but there’s nothing tying the concepts to the person. I saw 5 people that way, and I felt like I was setting them down in the middle of a desert without a compass. No, it’s not that bad, but it felt like it at the time.

There is no Plan B when the computers and phones go down.

People began wandering around, gathering at each others’ desks. It’s not a usual thing to do, and it was awkward. The office is always incredibly busy and there’s never time to chit-chat, so the conversations stumbled around awhile.

“How’s your baby dog? Do you have a photo of him now? I want to see how he's doing.”

“You make the soup by adding brown sugar to tomato soup…”

“I guess I’ll go to physical therapy now…”

“My 14 day old grandson was exposed to H1N1 at daycare…”

“Sure, if I can’t wear it my daughter can…”

“Looks like you need new shoes!”

Two hours of down time, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked to leave for the day. There’s only so much sitting-around-doing-nothing that I can handle. With my mind disengaged, my body said it was time to nap. There’s no going back when that happens. If the systems came back up, I would’ve been worthless.

For me, all systems were down until the evening. I hope my snoring didn’t bother anyone.

Odin’s Playful, Perfect Timing

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 17:29:00 +0000

I didn’t know it when I walked out the door with my camera in hand, but there was a party going on next door. A bunch of guys, young and old, were out on the porch smoking.

I get lost when I’m outside with the dogs, Odin and my camera. I wander aimlessly, oblivious to anything beyond the three acres enclosed in pasture fence. I noticed those guys smoking out on the porch when I heard a city-slicker’s attempt at neighing like a horse. It was pretty pitiful of a sound that I felt was meant to make fun of me.

I beat that feeling down for a few heartbeats and did what I usually do; I hid out of sight. Then, I saw the old water bucket and the light bulb went off in my head. I’ll show those guys what a real horse is, I thought to myself, and I grabbed that water bucket up.

One little shake of that bucket and Odin took off running with the dogs on his tail, soon to be left behind in Odin’s wake. That’s all it took was one shake.

Head high, tail high, that horse ran. He’d slow to a prance every now and then to let the dogs catch up, then he’d tuck his but down and catapult himself forward at a dead run.

This time, I had the camera ready. I didn’t notice that I was standing by a large mud puddle, thanks to the rain we’ve had for the last three weeks, until Odin ran to me. The view through the tiny camera screen is deceptive, though I wouldn’t have moved anyway, and he was headed right at me. Slamming on his brakes, Odin planted his hind feet to about sit down while sliding toward me. I was covered in mud from the waist down. A drop got on my camera lens and a few hit my glasses, and Odin was off and running in a different direction before I could even register that I was now soaked with cold, muddy water.

I glanced at the guys on the porch. All heads turned back and forth as they watched Odin put on his breath-taking show. They were just as awed as I wanted them to be, and Odin kept on running.

And they stayed watching.

Time to slow down, Odin, and I held out my hand to have him come to me. He pranced over, head high, blowing hard through his nostrils, and when my hand touched his shoulder, he stood stock still. A few pets, a few soft words and he relaxed and dropped his head to graze.

I looked up just in time to catch the backs of my audience as they filed back into the house.

I bet they won’t mimic the little old, weird, horse lady again, I thought to myself, satisfied that Odin taught them a thing or two. I’m shameless!

There’s more photos of Odin’s show on Out in the Back Yard.

Social Networking’s Next Level? I Think I’ll Pass

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 17:35:00 +0000

Lost in ever-loving, romantic thoughts, I used to think about writing a book about my life. For the longest time, I kept journals; not so much for my book’s fodder, but to work out what I had experienced daily, more as a way to keep myself honest with myself than anything else.

Journaling got me through quite a few rough spots along the way, to say the least. What it proved a thousand-fold is that the process of writing is integral to learning, to balance, to goal fitness and to staying sane in an insane world.

I haven’t thought about writing a book about my life in years. Thinking about it now, the same old question still is, “Just who would be interested in my life?” Sure, I have a lifetime of experiences that, if shared, would curl many a mothers’ hair, but would they be interesting enough for someone else to read cover to cover? Nah. At this point, I’d even have a hard time reading a book about my life.

Yet, I still write. Blogging, the process of writing specifically for others to read, has become the lens through which I am better able to pick and choose just what I share. Of course I hope it’s interesting! These short snippets of thoughts are a bit easier to take, beginning to end, than a book would be.

Ah, I’m keeping up with the times too. If I look back, it’s a continuation of half a century of history in the making. In my life, I’ve witnessed the advent of color TV, the integration of TV and telephone in every household. The Bic pen was invented (along with the advent of throw-away consumables), the toaster and the microwave. Component stereo systems brought almost live sounding music into homes and cable TV brought more of the world in front of our eyes. High quality communication became almost instantaneous. Then, personal computers became a reality, followed closely by the Internet, the first invention to reach adaptation levels in the least amount of time. While the railroad, radio and TV took well over 50 years to become common, the Internet took 5 years.

While everyone now seems to have email, a web site, a blog, a MySpace and Facebook account, there are still an estimated 44 percent of the American people lacking Internet access. The push is on to whittle down that number, and along with it will come even more changes.

At the top of the list is something called “Lifelogging.” Lifelogging is the brainchild of Gordon Bell’s MyLifeBits project. The idea is to wear a camera around your neck that will snap a photo every 20 seconds, effectively recording every minute of your daily life.

Oh my. I’m not sure I can wrap my head around this idea. Is this the future, starting tomorrow of what social networking will become? It could be, and though I’ve embraced tech advances all along, it’s going to take me awhile with this one.

Sure, I could give up my pen and pad while covering a story, as long as sound recording was included. I could go back and study interviews, to catch the things participating in that interview caused me to miss. It would sure help my memory!

At the same time, I can’t help but think it would be “Max Headroom” in real life. Once the network reaches every single person on Earth, the door is open for complete domination. Perhaps I’m just being a little paranoid here.

All of us will become the star of our own reality show.

I’ve got to chew on this awhile longer. I’m not too keen on giving up writing, and I insist that it is my brain that is my best feature. I’m not so sure broadcasting all the bumps I trip over would be such a good idea. No, I don’t think so. I may have kept up all these years, but it looks like I'll be falling behind the times now.

You Should Think About This

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 01:37:00 +0000

If there's one thing that sets my blood a-boil, it's someone telling me what I can and cannot do. I get the same reaction when I hear someone telling someone else what they can and cannot do.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out that it wasn’t wrong or bad to think that a person who assumes they are favored, obliged, smarter, of better breeding, more popular, wealthier – better – is not possible, not true, and certainly far from reality. No one person is ever better than anyone else. Period.

For this reason, no one is ever right in pushing what they believe down my throat. I have the same red blood coursing through my veins, I require food and water and sleep, I eliminate waste and yearn to procreate just as much as the next person – or any other living thing on Earth when it comes right down to it. I do not assume that I know what’s right for another person, and resent it when someone assumes that only what they believe is the right way to believe.

You know, the founders of this country based the tenets of freedom on the ability to believe in whatever and however each individual may choose. To complete the thought, they included in this freedom the absolute right not to believe in anything anyone else says is true.

If you think about it, it makes sense. Once you respect your own right to believe the way you choose for yourself, you will then respect everyone else’s right to choose as well. Your arguments become based on the fundamental right of free will and free choice and are filled with thoughtful, reasoned, logical points. Left behind are the weak, emotional arguments and tactics that only rile, upset and enrage.

I’m going to impose my values on you now by saying that there is one word that you should eliminate from your vocabulary: Should.

Think about it.

Who Will Pay for News? Good Question.

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 21:25:00 +0000

More specifically, who will pay for online news? If there has to be one thing that stands in the way of fully transitioning to the Information Age, this is the issue.

The news itself is necessary. The news is a solid, well established checks-and-balance between the government and the people. The news provides the information needed to make an educated decision on crucial issues that effect each one of us. The news provides the facts, and it’s one-to-many distribution waylays disinformation and rumors. It is a necessary part of "the system” of a government for the people, by the people.

The physical newspaper is jam-packed with ink from front to back. Articles, commentary, opinions, photographs are crunched into every possible inch along with advertisements. Those ads provide the paper the income needed to produce such a mountain of information on a daily basis and operate on the notion that the more eyes that see the ad, the more familiar the brand name and likelihood that the product will sell. The expected return on a newspaper ad is a realistic 20 percent.

People are happy to pay a quarter for their daily dose of news in the tangible format of a hand-held newspaper. Once bought and owned, you can do anything you want with it. You can share it, give it away, or use it for other things like lining dresser drawers or bird cages, wrap fish, clean windows or line the carpet to house break the puppy. That daily quarter buys a lot.

It wasn’t so long ago that TV and radio were absolutely free, existing totally on paid advertising. No, it didn’t break into the newspapers’ business, it complimented it. TV and radio could only deliver a second or two worth of information in order to remain lucrative, and that drove people wanting to know more to the all familiar, all valuable newspaper.

Then came cable TV and the beginnings of an information glut, an overload, and though people paid for hundreds of channels, they still could only watch one at a time. Fox was the only addition to CBS, NBC and ABC, even though CNN, CNBC and PBS stand as distant contenders.

From here, it becomes a dance of the business models with the sudden soaring take-off of the Internet. Some major publications tried to use their online presence to enhance the content of their print editions. Some tried subscriptions. Some found that their online model was more profitable than their print and others found the opposite. Complicating the whole mess was advertisers no longer content with just a 20 percent return on their advertising dollars.

That B2B battle would continue today if it weren’t for the astronomical economic recession. People are no longer parting with that quarter a day because those quarters are needed for a weekly quart of milk. People are struggling and not buying fanciful, unnecessary products advertised anywhere, let alone in the newspapers. That had to happen that way because so many have already lost their job due to the manufacturers of those unnecessary products cutting back production. Without a shadow of a doubt, business proves its short-sightedness by cutting off its nose to spite its face. They cut back production, laid off workers at the very first sign of their gluttonous profit margin shrinking instead of growing, then they go crying to the government when that margin shrinks even more because the consumer market is non existent. Hey, who’s fault is that? Why, it’s yours, you greedy S.O.B.s. If the consumers can’t make a living, they can’t buy your crap!

So, who can pay for news? I can’t, and I make part of my living as a reporter writing that news. What I make per article covers my gas to and from and usually comes out to be about minimum wage for all the time it takes. Would I pay for news? Nope. I shut off my cable/satellite service last year. It was unnecessary. I have to go with “free” as much as possible, or go without. And, just like radio, the Internet should remain free.

Why? Because the truth is available for everyone, and truth becomes questionable, doubtful when money becomes involved. The Internet needs to remain free to everyone. Even access to the Internet should be free. Holding onto this one last freedom is the only way to keep greed in check.

A Slow Sunday at Home

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 01:36:00 +0000

After too many weeks of my camera wrapped up snug as a bug in its case, I took it out and dusted it off today. Ah, its weight is comforting in the hand.

As usual, I wandered around, looking around for visual excitement and interest, not paying much mind to anything else. It’s so relaxing and invigorating at the same time.

What always stops me in my tracks and takes my breath away is Odin. I marvel at his beauty, his strength and his presence. It’s always a thrill to catch a good photo of him.

I took 80 shots today, and there’s quite a few good ones. It will take me awhile to get them prepped for Out in the Back Yard, though I expect to have quite a few new entries there in a few days. I’ll have a few more of Odin, and I grabbed some decent shots of Saki, Hiro and Jake too. Of course I took a lot of what’s left of the wild flowers. It’s sad to see them giving up for the year. Still, there’s some good photos to hold me over until spring.

It’s a good way to end the weekend. No thoughts, no worries, just tucked in warm with Hiro and Saki at my feet, Jake by my side and a good book to read. I hear Odin right outside my window thumping a foot now and then, breaking through Chloe’s snores coming from the foot of the bed.

I’m tired, I’m warm, and I’m home. I couldn’t ask for more.

Who is That in the Mirror?

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 14:46:00 +0000

In the last 20 or so years, more than a few times I’ve caught a glimpse of myself as I quickly passed a mirror and was startled. It’s that thing of time: I feel the same as I did when in my 30’s, but what greets me in the mirror nowadays is not what I would see in that mirror 20 years ago. Startled, surprised, momentarily shocked, that mirror warrants a second glance. Looking hard, critically, I see the remnants of what the mirror beheld in the days of old, then I come to terms with the current reflection. Yes, it is still me staring back from the mirror, albeit older, much older.

I’ve never shared this bit of weirdness with anyone before, so I can’t be sure if it’s something that is common – or not. You see, I live so much in-the-moment that I probably give new meaning to the “Space Case” continuum. Regardless, it is from this perspective, unique or not, that gives shape to certain reactions of mine.

Yesterday, toward the end of the day at the end of two harrowing weeks of overtime and running all out, an older woman sat at my desk and launched into her story. She was relatively tall, large, and had a very large head topped with teased, hairsprayed hair. She wore a blue, sort-of smock top over black, yet it remained her very large head and face that kept me startled.

Working in the deli of a local grocery store, she had said to a coworker, “If you step it up, I’ll split the $1,000 with you,” meaning if the coworker would steal something worth stealing from the store, she’d keep quiet about it if the booty was shared. The coworker took it as a threat and started spreading around this woman’s medical history.

Doing my job as I was there to do, I listened and questioned to frame her story in a perspective that would be conducive to the laws in question. In the end, she said the store manager told her, “Let me do you a favor and terminate you.”

Staying still, I continued to listen, and she eventually explained that her medical history was sex-change surgery and called herself transgendered. My impression was that she was completely consistent with her expressions and body language and solid with her self identity. I was talking to a person that was intelligent and balanced, interesting and even. There was none of the overly dramatic demonstrativeness of a gay person; her displayed emotions were consistent with the situation she was describing. She was fired from her minimum wage job, not because of the job she did, but because of who she was.

So, I wonder. What does she feel when she catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror? Just how much of what is seen in a mirror is a reflection of who and what we are? I always stress congruence, being on the outside what exists on the inside, to be true blue. That is what opens up an infinite world of experience, expression and creativity.

This body is only a vessel to carry us through a lifetime of learning and growth. There are no differences between us - until we pull our pants down - and it's still only a minute fraction of all that we are.

So, look in the mirror only when you need an update on how well you're doing in the True Blue department. The rest just doesn't matter.

Hey, You Guys…

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 01:21:00 +0000

What’s going on, you guys? So, what have you been up to? You guys want to meet at the Courtyard, then go over to Bobby D’s? Cool. I’ll be there at 9:00…

The Courtyard was an old bar with nightmarish acoustics because of the large pool, located in the Ramada Inn. It’s not in this photo of Binghamton, NY; it’s off to the left a little, across the river. Bobby D’s was a swanky roadhouse sort of bar that didn’t have much better than a dirt floor, it was so filthy. It was kitty-corner to that building with all the columns on the left, do you see it? The out of town, top-40 bands would play the Courtyard, and the rock bands would play Bobby D’s. Back in the early 1980’s, you could go out 6 nights a week and catch a live band. Ah, those were the days.

Too old now to even stay up past 8:30 during the week – and not minding it a bit – I got to thinking about phrases. You know, the ‘local’ phrases. Well, it’s not only phrases, but pronunciations.

I don’t think it’s a local thing, but maybe it is: It seems that anyone under the age of 25 has forgotten how to move their jaws, tongues and lips when they speak. Have you noticed that? It drives me nuts. They mumble to the point where it’s almost just plain grunting. What’s up with that?

I heard once that the way things are done changes every 60 miles or so. Living here in Arkansas, I’ve seen that first-hand. When it comes to phrases, I still say “you guys” and some around here say “y’all” as you’d half expect. (I suspect that the phrase is a bleed-over from Texas, along with the incredibly stupid armadillos that have migrated here. I was here years before I actually saw an armadillo walking around instead of as flattened road kill. I got to wondering if they were born belly-up dead.) I get funny looks when I say to anyone of any gender, “you guys want to…”

I’ll never forget the night, working as an overnight cashier at Walmart, when my coworkers started going on and on about “Vie-ay-nee” sausages. I had no idea what they were talking about, but it’s a staple around here, according to them. Finally, one walked down the grocery aisles and came back with a small can of Vienna Sausages.

I have no idea who is pronouncing the name of the product correctly, me or them, since I call it Vee-enna, just like the city in Austria. I have yet to be able to say “vie-ay-nee” out loud. Just thinking about it sends me rolling on the floor in laughter. Even those pre-25-ers move their lips out of the way to say that word.

Well, maybe kids nowadays, at least around here, don’t move their tongues, lips or jaws when they speak because they are raised on vie-ay-nee sausages! I might be onto something here.

I bought a can once. I opened it and saw the slimy little mini hotdogs floating in what, beef stock? I grabbed a fork, stabbed one of the slippery little …things…and popped it into my mouth. The consistency itself was so disgusting that I had a hard time not spitting it back out right away, and fought the urge just so that I could get to the point where I could actually taste it. That was it, I spit it out. Even though the thing only suffered through one chomp, it came out of my mouth looking like I had gnawed on it for a good long time. Yeah, I have no doubt that kids nowadays get no exercise chewing and therefore their facial muscles go undeveloped, at least here in the south if those disgusting little hot dogs are a household staple.

There’s no way that I can say that upstate NY is “normal,” not by any stretch of the imagination. Then again, I can’t say that north-central Arkansas is either.

Sigh…

Stop and Think First

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 01:57:00 +0000

It wasn’t all that long ago that we were warned to be careful before hitting that Send button when writing an email. It’s good advice, and one that still seems to be tough to remember. Hammer out your heart and soul, say what’s really on your mind, spill all the beans and forget the life raft because when you hit Send, it feels so good. You got it off your chest, the weight is lifted. Then, once you settle down and have your emotions back under control, the dread creeps in. How much damage did you do?

There’s no tellin’. That’s the good thing about blogging – you can go back and delete a post if you want to. It’s still out there though; that’s the nature of RSS feeds. But at least some of it is deleted. It’s the same in Facebook. If you change your mind, just delete your post. There’s at least an illusion that you covered yourself and prevented the damage of your burst of hot-headedness.

It wasn’t that long ago that long distances charges on phone calls kept us in check. To save on long distance, we wrote letters – with pen and paper, an envelope and a postage stamp. The only time you were S.O.L. in stopping that letter from being sent was if you dropped it into a big, blue, public mail box. If you stuck it in your own mailbox to be picked up by your mailman, you had some time to run out, grab the letter and put the flag back down before he got there.

I thought I read somewhere recently that only a hair over 50 percent of Americans have Internet access, something that is time to make just as available as the telephone across the country. At least some of us still have the ol’ safety nets in place. But, where there isn’t Internet, you can bet there is cell phone access.

Cell phones eliminate the distance of the world. Soldiers in Iraq can be talking on their cell phones to their wives back home while dodging bullets and bombs. The military thinks this has eased the pressure of worry about what’s going on at home while risking their lives half a world away for our soldiers, thus keeping them more focused on staying alive.

But, let’s think about that. With no reservation, nothing to hinder an impulsive flare-up like thinking about the outrageous cost of a phone call or the time it takes for the mailman to come pick up the outgoing mail, wives are calling husbands on the front line bitching about the baby that won’t stop crying and Dear John emails take half a second to reach its destination in a soldier’s inbox. Is that easing stress?

Oh, don’t get me wrong here. It’s great to be able to call friends back home on a regular basis to talk with as if I lived a few miles away from them still. I love that I can easily share with everyone all at once the things that happen daily on Facebook, and I love seeing those every-day-things from everyone too. The miles between us just disappear.

I fear that the ghost of road rage has taken over, has consumed us with unbridled inhibition and no caution whatsoever about the possible consequences of our impulsive actions of quickly hammered out emails, text messages, status updates/tweets and phone calls.

Nothing can be as powerful as effective communication in any way, shape or form. The key word here is “effective.” Don’t let our vastly improved means of communication become hurtful, damaging or superficial. Stop and think before hitting Send or making a phone call.

Coming Home is the Best Part of the Day

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 01:24:00 +0000

There’s nothing better than coming home after a tough day at work to be greeted by the dogs and Odin.

(Of course, now that we’re winding down, the horse fed, the dogs fed and all laying at my feet as I sit at the computer, they become ‘fragrant’ too. Who knows which one it was that just let loose a loud, obnoxious fart! I knew it, it was Jake. He has that guilty look on his face…)

I don’t know how Saki and Hiro, the two little dogs, can wag their tails so hard while jumping all over me and yapping away can be any more welcoming. Chloe the Shepherd and Jake the Aussie aren’t half as fast, so by the time they get up to me, still before I’ve even moved the truck through the gate, Saki and Hiro have run off to bug Odin. Odin will trot up to me as I get out of the truck at the house and insist on a few itches before he’ll let me go in the house to change.

I was a little later than usual, working late then stopping for groceries (Oh, there’s the fragrance now. One of the dogs had to have eaten something more than the dog food I gave them to reek like that. Yuck!), there wasn’t much daylight left to the day to ride. But, Odin wanted to play, and that’s what we did.

Though some horse people will make fun of me and call me the Queen of Groundwork, it’s a way to “play” with Odin, do something with him other than riding and still get in some training. Rope halter and long line and we’re off to a flat area of the pasture to lunge. Of sorts.

I never know what I’m going to do when I go out with Odin. I mostly play it by ear instead of coming up with specific things I want to teach him. It’s a moment by moment thing, and we both end up enjoying ourselves. This time, the pieces fell into place to work on him continuing to do what I ask him until I ask him to do something else. I planted my feet and switched the rope between hands as he circled around me. The first time around, he stopped behind me and stood looking at my back. Cuing him on, he got the idea and held the trot while I stood there switching the rope between hands as he circled me. He even did it perfectly going in the opposite direction.

I couldn’t help myself. I just burst out laughing when he stood there looking at me with both eyes and both ears when I said “whoa,” waiting for the next cue. He was the picture of anticipation and I ended up laughing until tears ran down my face.

At the end, he stood there stopped and facing me with those ears and eyes and because I was still laughing too hard to come up to him to praise him, he stretched out his head and neck to me for that praise. That was too much and I dropped to my knees, I was laughing so hard. It was just so amazing that he would obey so well yet do what he could to get his praise from me.

The dogs all got into wrestling and playing and running after each other while I fed Odin a little while later. Acrobats, all of them. They did somersaults, vaults over each other, the little dogs ran under the big dogs… I had just dried my face from laughing at Odin and now the dogs had me laughing again.

You’re probably thinking, “It must be one of those things where you had to be there,” right? I wish I could do more than describe my animals’ antics and how great it is to be with them. To come home every day to a huge welcome and gleefully happy greetings is the most amazing thing that I wouldn’t give up for anything. These animals make my house a home; a delightful, great place to come home to every day.

Unemployed? Some Things You Need to Know

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 19:38:00 +0000

When I saw this man last night at a local festival, I thought to myself, “If he was looking for a job right now, he probably wouldn’t have much luck.” His choice of clothes and his body language spell L-O-S-E-R, loud and clear. Never mind that he has a new haircut and he’s cleanly shaven, or that he seems to have found himself a way to drum up some money, it’s not enough to outweigh the negatives in the picture he paints of himself.

Is he one of the millions that have lost their job in this latest economic mess? Are you?

There’s no doubt about it, if you lose your job, it can be the most stressful, depressing thing that can happen to you. Job loss runs right up there with divorce in the list of most stressful life events, and taking the psychological hit can knock you to your knees.

Think positively, come to terms with the major blow to your psyche, and get back up on your feet. Do this as quickly as you can. Sure, there’s a grieving process that goes along with job loss, so do whatever you can to separate out your emotional state. Be strong!

Faced with such a life-changing event in your life, what can be most helpful is learning everything you need to know about being unemployed.

Unemployment Insurance

Look, folks. I can’t stress this enough. In fact, I am yelling it out at the top of my lungs: Do not quit your job! Any job, no matter how miserable it is, is better than no job. Stay working where you are until you find another, better job. Don’t think you can quit and find that better job right away, because that ain’t gonna happen. Most importantly, you probably won’t qualify to draw unemployment insurance if you quit your job.

Behind the scenes, it seems that employment law can change without notice. I don’t know this for a fact, but I suspect it’s happening a lot lately. Nowadays, it seems with little or no reason at all, employers are firing workers left and right. Some major employers have recently implemented a point system of sorts too. No matter if your child is sick or you are in the hospital, if you miss work, it counts as a point against you. When you are fired or terminated or discharged, whatever you want to call it, the odds are against you for drawing unemployment insurance.

Only if you are laid off – and your former employer agrees that you were laid off – can you file for and receive unemployment insurance.

That’s the job separation side of the equation. The other side is whether or not you worked enough to have contributed to the unemployment insurance fund pool – i.e, you have “money in the bank.” In general, if you worked steadily for the last 18 months, you’re in good shape.

Begin Your Job Search Immediately

I’ve heard so many people say, “I’m about out of unemployment, so I guess I’ll go find a job.” What?

Think of unemployment insurance as car insurance. You pay in your premiums all along and suddenly get into an accident. Do you qualify for an insurance claim? Only if the accident was not your fault. If you’re lucky enough to have included car rental in your policy, you at least have a way to get to work while your vehicle is in the shop. But, you have to get your vehicle in the shop and worked on because your insurance won’t pay for a rental car for very long.

It’s the law. You are required to actively look for work while drawing unemployment insurance.

Get Hired

Trust me, navigating your way through signing up for and receiving unemployment insurance benefits is easy compared to getting hired in a very sour job market. You have to be at the right place at the right time with the right set of training, skills and abilities.

Recent research on the topic of effective job hunting is slim, with only two suggestions: Make a plan and be positive.

To set a goal and tick off the ways to reach that goal may just be the best advice you’ll hear in terms of landing yourself a good job. Sending out hundreds of resumes and filling out an endless stream of applications does no good at all if you don’t keep track of it all and follow up. Call after submitting an application or resume to check the status of your app, and send a thank-you note after an interview. Keep your name fresh in the employers’ minds.

When you think positively, you act positively. You respond better to questions and are much better at highlighting what you are capable of doing. There’s no doubt that this gets more difficult to do the longer you are unemployed. So, if you can’t think positively, then hide what you’re feeling.

Additional Thoughts

I may be stepping on toes, being politically incorrect, but it seems like a no-brainer to me: If you’re looking for a job, clean up your act! That means lose those baggy pants with your underwear showing, and lose those too-tight pants that show the crack of your ass when you sit down. Get a hair cut, shave, and wear clean clothes, even if you’re only going grocery shopping. Forget those neon hair colors, lip rings or tattoos. If you’re unemployed, now is not the time to express your individuality.

Get it together, think positively, and good luck.

How Much History Don’t We Know?

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 01:46:00 +0000

Launched by an article about the ancient (500 BC) Mayan culture’s possibly sudden exodus to the shores of Yucatan, my mind has been caught in the wonder of it all.

From what I recall (I didn’t bookmark the article, dangit), archeologists found an amazing, mile-long staircase up to a mountain-top compound that was never raided, possibly because of the very long trek to get there. The photo is of part of that mountain-top palace, still standing in its wondrous, architectural glory. Household tools were just left lying, as though just used and set down as the people made their getaway.

Though some of Mayan decent live today, no one knows what happened, what made an entire culture leave their palatial homes. Did everyone decide at once that they wanted ocean-front property? Did everyone make it?

It is as intriguing as Atlantis. The history of mankind goes back so much farther than what we today consider our past. Perhaps it is the narrow-mindedness of the American culture that limits us only to the last 2,000 years, though myths and legends are far older, and the wisdom contained in their symbolism far deeper and meaningful.

Will the meek inherit the earth? Perhaps; what’s left of it. If we look at just the last 2,000 years, are we headed down a different path than the Mayans and Atlanteans? We learn history so as not to repeat the same old mistakes, but what if we, as an entire culture, are denied the history that matters, that could help us to better chart our destiny?

Who would deny us our history? The answer is simple: We do. We do because we allow abuse of power, abuse of knowledge and abuse of wisdom. We will remain “meek” until we decide, each and every one of us, that it is all an illusion.

You see, no one can have complete power over another. We can allow ourselves to be controlled, but it will never be a complete control.

This illusion is pounded into our minds in ways we no longer question. The ancient Romans knew that anything would become accepted as truth within a generation or two. They wanted power and control and knew how to get and maintain it. And people let them. The Romans decided that it would be priests that channeled God’s will to the meek masses, and the people let them. Hundreds of generations later, and we are still giving power over us, over our thinking and believing, to those that only worship control and power. It is so entrenched in our minds, this control and power over us, that we no longer are able to even fathom a different way of thinking.

But, did it ever cross your mind to try? Consider this: Our country was founded on many freedoms, one being the freedom of religion. Yes, that meant we could worship our God the way we wanted, but it also meant that we were free to reject any notion of God that didn’t make sense to us.

So, here we are locked into only the last 2,000 years of Christian rule. What can we learn? What do we avoid before we go the way of Maya and Atlantis?

I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that where we might start is with thinking.

S-u-n-s-e-t Spells Relief

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 02:11:00 +0000

Hello. My name is Theresa and I'm addicted to... sunsets!

I gasped in wonder when I saw that sunset, feed bucket in hand and an impatient horse circling around me. It had been over a week since we’ve seen any sun here, and this gorgeous view was the perfect end to a beautiful day.

Yeah, that sunshine outside got me moving. I surprised myself by getting off this chair in front of my computer, grabbed the saddle off its stand and headed outside to ride Odin. I didn’t think, I just did it.

I love that horse! He always gets me laughing and finds more than a few ways to amaze me every time I’m around him. I brushed him out, sprayed him down and got him saddled. Since I drank close to a gallon of iced tea, I had to run inside for a minute and left Odin standing there. Nope, he wasn’t there when I got back, but the smart horse didn’t drag my rope through the gooey mud puddle, and he was only a few feet away from where I left him.

As soon as I climbed up on the tailgate of the truck, he inched over close for me to get on. That amazed me, and it made me laugh. Once on him, he was ready to go. He had seen that my neighbor Larry was outside, and that’s where he wanted to go.

I rode him in a circle instead, got him solid at it, then changed directions. Once in awhile, he’d remember to turn with just a rein against his neck. He surprised me a few times by responding to cues barely given. To give him the mountain of credit he deserves, he didn’t buck and bolt when a big ol’ horsefly landed on his neck. Those dastardly things have been driving him nuts lately, so I quickly swatted it, killed it, and everything was fine.

Heading over to talk to Larry, it became clear just why Odin was so interested in going over to see him.

“Oh yeah, I gave him apples this week. I had a few about to go bad,” he said. Yep, that’ll do it. Give Odin an apple, and you have a friend for life.

I was relieved to learn that no, it wasn’t Larry that shot Hiro. I’ve always told Larry that he had every right to shoot at anything that comes on his property, my dogs included; do what you gotta do. When I told him what had happened, a ricocheted .22 to Hiro’s elbow, he said that he would never shoot at a dog with anything other than buckshot that just stings. I couldn’t ask for a better neighbor.

Odin started to get antsy. He wanted to move, but not yet, I was still talking. I suspected the ol’ guts were a-churning, and I was right. As soon as he lifted his tail and let it go, he settled right back down again.

Sitting there talking, I was ready to get down. I had more iced tea to get rid of myself, so we headed back to the tailgate. Corker of a horse did it again, he walked right up next to the tailgate so that I could get off without going all the way to the ground. He soaked up the hugs and lovin’ like a proud little school boy.

Hiro had followed me the whole time, and it was only the second time I let him loose to run. I was relieved to see him laying nearby every time I looked down. After one attempt to chase a dirt bike going up the road, he didn’t bother after that. It was good to see that. Hiro’s stitches come out on Wednesday, and I’ll be relieved when the prognosis is good for him.

With all the chaos of the last few weeks, it was a great relief to have such a great time with Odin and the dogs. Seeing that sunset, that remarkably gorgeous, naturally spontaneous beauty, I had to take a photo. It symbolized how I felt at that moment, and I couldn’t ask for more.

And Odin was happy that I remembered to dump his feed in his dish!

It’s All in The Hairline

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 01:29:00 +0000

Some things are just …”off.” Like this guy’s hairline. I nabbed it off of Google Images, and his name is Andrew Napolitano, if that means anything to anyone. It's the best photo I could find that illustrates my story.

Now, take that hair, cut it to about a half inch long all the way around, make his brow one that overhangs, add in a uni-brow, then dye all his hair black and you have the perfect image of this guy I met today.

It took me a long time to quit staring at this guy’s face. How in the world does a hairline grow so low onto a person’s forehead? Did he go overboard with the Rogaine? And, how can there possibly be a shadow over the bridge of his nose?

As if that wasn’t enough, this guy thought he was… Oh, I don’t want to say this but it’s true: He thought he was hot. Cocky as all get-out, especially since he thought he’d been wronged.

“Oh, sorry,” he says looking down at his cell phone. “My wife texted me, wants to know if she can come back here because some man is talking to her in the waiting room and he’s making her nervous.”

That was Red Flag #1. The wife comes back and stands behind him while he and I continue to talk. She’s fearful and wants to be by her man?

“The mayor fired me. He's pissed off at me because I broke up with his daughter.”

I glance up at wife, back down at this guy’s face, back up to wife, and she says, “Yeah, I know. It was while we were separated.” I didn’t believe that for a second, especially since he said he was fired today.

“I have a baseball bat out in the truck if you want to borrow it,” I said to the wife.

Red Flag #2 started waving madly in my mind. I’m sure I couldn’t keep my cynical Mr. Spock eyebrow from arching up. I never was good at controlling my facial features when I react to things. Hm. Mr. Stud and Mrs. Way-too-Meek-to-Say-Boo stands in front of me and my mind flashed instantly to Mr. Stud was a Don Juan, and ol’ Mr. Mayor probably wanted to shoot this guy’s manhood off for messing with his daughter.

Red Flag #3 starting working up quite a bit of a ripple when I noticed also that Mr. Stud never once looked up at his wife, never said anything to her and only referred to her – as if she wasn’t standing right there – as “my wife.”

He wove quite a story for me. His self-righteousness was in full voice. So, I sent him up to the newspaper. He was ready to spill his beans, and I paved the way for him. I called my editor.

Mr. Stud walked out of my office like a rooster in full strut. He was ready to tell the world his side of the story. Only, he didn’t know the story had already made it to the newspaper and the reporter was just waiting for a “quote” from him – whenever he got around to returning the calls and messages left on his home phone.

I called my editor a little while later, and Mr. Stud was still there. Only, the story he was telling the reporter had nothing to do with the Mayor’s daughter, and suddenly, there’s a line about a wrecked truck. When I shared what I had been told, we enjoyed a good, long belly laugh.

My editor says, “How can guys be such jackasses?” and “I wonder how old the mayor’s daughter is?” I love how that man thinks.

I think it’s all in the hairline myself. Something so “off” would make anything believable after that.

What’s Been Working For Me

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 02:46:00 +0000

Since I started my third blog this summer, I’ve found it more and more difficult to keep up with what it takes to make Entrecard work for me. I find it virtually impossible to set aside the time and energy needed to drop, whether it be reciprocal, or visiting all my favorite blogs. All the changes in the last year, leading to the sale of the service, played a major part in my disenchantment, with the possibly fatal “final straw” being an increase in make-money blogs (the all-time low quality crap) requesting to advertise. For the first time since joining Entrecard, I’ve denied more ad requests than I have approved.

What I want – and need – is a place to keep track of all my favorite people and their blogs all in one place. To my surprise, Facebook does just that.

The Networked Blogs application within Facebook makes it extremely easy to follow my favorite blogs, with links all on one tab in my profile. I’ve added A Bumpy Path, eyebald and Out in the Back Yard to this application, and when I create a new post, a summary shows up on my profile and wall with a link to the blog. My friends can keep up with my blogs as easily as I can now keep up with theirs.

What I’ve found to be the greatest part of networking through Facebook with other bloggers is that I’ve come to know them more, which adds to the enjoyment of reading their blog posts. Status updates and more photos and the interaction with other friends means more is shared, and appreciated.

For an advertising network, I joined CMF Ads. Created by a few of the personalities from the original Entrecard, the CMF blog network is an ad exchange service that works. You pay to advertise on blogs, and others pay to advertise on your blogs. What could be simpler?

The biggest positive about CMF is that the network consists of only quality blogs created by serious bloggers, not just your get-rich-quick-blogging crap that I refuse to allow on my blogs, let alone visit. You can click from one CMF blog to the next and never find anything but a good read.

Since I haven’t had the time to spend dropping cards from one blog to the next, I’ve found that the traffic from Entrecard has become nil. That is a glaring indication of the drop –n- run, blow-your-bounce-rate-to-hell, less-than-desirable traffic you get from the sort of reward system that Entrecard is built on. What good does it do to pour your heart and soul into your blog if no one bothers to stop long enough to read what you wrote? Now, the majority of my traffic comes from search engines, CMF and Facebook. And, my bounce rate is cut in half.

So, folks. Send me a friend request on Facebook. Get your blog on Networked Blogs and join CMF Ads. For me, Entrecard’s days are numbered; I’m just waiting for you all to join me on Facebook.

The Power of One Among Many

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:16:00 +0000

If there was any before, there can be no doubt now: Housework sucks, especially when you use ammonia to clean. When a woman tells a man that she loves housework, it’s not the actual act of cleaning that she loves, it is that she shows her love by taking care of him. Think about that before you leave your smelly socks and skidded up underwear on the bedroom floor.

“The average American household has two and a half children.” The first time I heard that, I thought, “What? The S.O.B.’s went around and chopped kids in two?” Today, I read that the average person has six and a half close friends; that’s all we’re able to wrap our minds around. Six and a half? It’s no wonder I suck at math – these statements just don’t make sense. I’ll have nightmares until I figure out just which one of my friends is walking around with only one arm and one leg.

Yesterday, I read about a blogger who was a successful and published novelist. With a three-book contract cancelled after his second book, he sank into despair. He said it was blogging that resurrected his writing “mojo” and incidentally, launched him into a far more successful – and stable – writing career. The key, he said, is to always deliver value.

I ran into an article this morning that described a longitudinal study that began in 1948. It consisted of over 5,000 participants for the purpose of tracing cardiopulmonary incidences. Interestingly, the handwritten research notes included each participant’s family members and close friends for the purpose of keeping track of them. By accident, those notes sketched out a whole town’s social network. Though it took five years to extrapolate from the notes, what was discovered is that it is the social network itself that is a much greater influence on things such as obesity, smoking and well-being. To test those findings in today’s world, a university’s student body’s Facebook accounts reflected the same thing: People who are happy tend to have happy friends (based on smiling profile photos) and that happiness spreads to reach those that may not be so happy.

From the unconscious misconceptions of relationships (housework) to misunderstanding ‘averages’ (cut in half children, oh my) to defining your personal success, what actually becomes the deciding factor is our social networks. But, how does this all boil down for you and I?

When I was raising my son, I did the housework without thought. I neither liked nor disliked it. I took satisfaction in creating a clean, attractive environment for his healthy growth. Nowadays, living alone, I only have me to worry about, and since my life is usually too busy to visit or be visited, the housework …eh. It’s always still right there when I get to it.

I define my close friends by those I can call, no matter how long the gaps in between, be it years or just hours, we can pick right up where we left off. I have very close friends I haven’t talked to in years, but I know when we do talk again, we will still be simpatico. We may have traveled different paths, but we are still very close.

On the other hand, the man who has had my heart for the last 15 years I know very little about. I don’t know what he likes to eat or what his typical day is like. I have no idea how messy (or clean) his home is, and I don’t know if he’s cranky when he first wakes up in the morning. But, the years apart revealed that we have both grown in the same directions, with passionate creativity the markers we define ourselves by.

There was never any doubt before, and there is none now: Writing – blogging – is my lifeline. I have come to question many times the potential value of what I write during the last two years of writing this blog, and I have come to realize that it’s not just writing, it is me that I share here. As much of a loner as I am in my physical life, it’s this ‘social networking’ and openly sharing my self that is as much of a marker of value as I’ve ever known.

Prophesies are just as infinite as possibilities, something to keep in mind as you run into any statistic or research findings. None of us have to fit into any generalities of any sort. As soon as we become aware of a prophesy, possibility, statistic or theory, we have altered and decreased its power over us.

The key then becomes a matter of choice: Will you be a positive influence within your social network?

Coming Out from Behind

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 03:39:00 +0000

It’s been gnawing at my craw a bit lately, this thing that people seem to be doing more and more often. It’s judging. I see the painful results of harsh judgments, and it’s not a pretty sight to see someone ripped up and spit out like that.

The last person I saw on Friday was a woman that I’ll call Jan. She’s about as real a person as they come, and quite bubbly for someone in her late 30’s. She’s a single mom, fighting one hell of an uphill battle. You see, Jan is severely dyslexic, which has meant a lifetime of misdiagnoses and misunderstanding.

Instead of learning coping skills, she learned to be anxious and nervous. She fears the parts she doesn’t understand and becomes so flustered when she thinks she doesn’t understand that her mind takes off in a whirlwind. Then, she’ll call herself stupid and idiotic and dumb and apologizes profusely for her anxiety. She is far from stupid, something I remind her of every time I see her.

Bits and pieces of her life come out now and then. Jan was thought to be so mentally retarded that her mother was strongly advised to commit her to a mental institution for life. They said she would never learn anything and become very difficult to handle as she grew older. Her mother didn’t believe them, but attending public school wasn’t much of a success.

Until, that is, someone figured out that she was dyslexic, not retarded. Jan now carries around a piece of pink plastic that she places over text to read. That helps a little, but it is still very difficult for her to decipher more than a few words at a time. She has problems anchoring herself in time, but she can add a list of numbers in her head faster than I can come up with a sum on a calculator.

Jan knows one thing for certain: She cares for the elderly and she’s good at what she does. “I have a heart for it,” she said, and there was no shaking her belief in that at all. For once in her life, she is not judged as she does her job because it’s obvious that she’s right. She is good at it.

Jan managed to build a solid set of morals and values, despite her anxiety and the heavy load of what so many cruelly told her she was – or wasn’t – able to do, and through it all, she came out the other end. I admire her for that.

But, why do that to another person? Why be so harsh and unfeeling and damaging? Why not help instead of judge and hate and pity? Is there any good reason not to help?

One day, Jan will come out from behind her wall of fear. I can only hope that when she does, she isn’t slammed back into it by heartless people.

Update on Hiro and Thanks to You All

5015934038@grandcentral.com (Theresa Komor) — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 23:56:00 +0000

I stopped to see Hiro on the way home from work tonight. I have to say, the people at the vet are wonderful and everyone stops to speak to Hiro when they walk by his cage. They’re keeping a close eye on him..

When I got there, Hiro was coming out of anesthesia, and doing a lot of whining. That broke my heart to hear, but I was assured that it was mostly the drugs talking, not that he was in pain so much.

But he sounds like he's hurting, that's for sure. Not only did he lose his leg, he lost his cajones too. I had the vet neuter him at the same time he was removing the leg. I figured with only three legs, he's going to need to lose some of his ...confidence... to survive now. In other words, he needs to stay close to home instead of agitating the big dogs in the neighborhood that he'll no longer be able to run away from.

Um, it was tough, really tough to see Hiro like that. The incision is a big “L” on his shoulder and down, ending right at his armpit. It doesn’t look right, and it’s a shock to see.

Yeah, he was groggy, but he knew me and tried to crawl up into my arms, but didn’t have the coordination, probably because of the drugs. He’s on IV fluids or I would’ve brought him home with me.

When I was there, I didn’t think to take a photo. I’ll spare you the graphics!
I can’t help but feel like I betrayed him, like he trusted me to keep him from harm and instead I caused him more harm.

I want to thank everyone, here and on Facebook, for all the prayers, well wishes and support you’ve given me. You’ll never know just how much it means to me.