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 |  My Blog....Pearls of wisdom and/or foolish mutterings.....You be the judge.... |
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A little of this, a dash of that......epic mood swings.......A LOT of foolish mutterings and occasionally a few words of wisdom. It's a crapshoot. You never know what you'll find in here... |
Some of you will remember that my son, Eli, had begun a blog earlier in the year. He had a bit of a rough year, but he applied himself like a true champion and has come through it beautifully. He is blogging again and - okay, yes I am a bit partial since he is my son, but seriously, the boy is a genius, I tell ya! He has some great insight and he's funny, too. Please check out his blog - I know he will appreciate your readership.
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| We have a new baby!! Isaiah Charles Garza, checked into this world this morning, October 5, at 4:35 a.m., weighing a slight 5 lbs, 15 oz and measuring all of 18 inches long. He is my daughter, Kristen and husband, Ray's second son and my fourth grandchild (the third grandson.) Both mother and son are doing well, the daddy is totally exhausted and not looking forward to sleeping on a tiny, plastic chair that is supposed to be a recliner, but happy nonetheless to have the new arrival here safe and sound. Here is a picture of the new baby. You know I'll be posting more soon.  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** And here is his big brother's reaction to the new baby: ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** 'YOU GOT ME A WHAT?!" |
| Although I titled this entry Weird Stuff, I only did that as a nod to Halloween. It should more appropriately be called Idiosyncrasies. I just like the sound of that better. It's a "kinder, gentler" phrasing, especially since I will be referring to myself and revealing some little known secrets. Don't ask me why I'm telling on myself. It's a mystery to me - must have something to do with the spooky nature of October. Maybe it's making me a little crazy. For example, I have this thing about silverware, primarily forks, but I've noticed lately that I will also rummage through the silverware drawer in search of the perfect spoon. The right fork is extremely important, though. The wrong fork can actually detract from the enjoyment of my meal. (Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. Seriously.) A good fork must have a certain heft to it - none of those wimpy lightweight utensils for this girl. I want a fork that feels good in my hand. I hate those cheap super-lightweight forks that might as well be plastic. They should be against the law. Also, the length of the tines is very important. If I ever come to dinner at your house, just know that I will freak out if you give me a short-tined fork. What are those even for, anyway? Okay, so a heavy fork with long tines. Gotta have it. It's the little things that make life worthwhile, you know? Here's another little idiosyncrasy that I've noticed lately. I bought this delicious-smelling liquid hand soap at Marshall's a few months ago. It smelled so good that I bought every bottle of it they had - I think it was only three. It's called Mandarin Orange Patchouli (yes, yes, I grew up in the '70's, okay?) It smells so good that when I wash my hands, I literally walk around the house sniffing my hands for a while. Mmmmmm. So many times, I have stood looking at the pump dispenser of that delicious-smelling liquid soap and thought to myself, Gosh, I wish I had a body wash in that scent. That would be great. Then, for just a few moments, I will contemplate moving the hand soap into the shower to use as a body wash. But I can't do it. It clearly says on the label that it is hand soap, not body wash. I try to reason with myself that the skin on my hands is the same skin that covers my body, but I can't get past the label. Nope, it's hand soap - it's for hands! I even know how ridiculous that is, but still... Let's see... what else? Hmmmm. Oh, here's one. Have you ever been to Carlsbad Caverns? I haven't been in years, but when I was a kid, my parents took us there all the time. That in itself is strange. I mean, seriously, how many times do you really need to go to Carlsbad Caverns? Anyway, I don't know what they do know, but when I was a kid, they used to sell these white cardboard lunch boxes that contained a sandwich, chips and an apple. There was a cafeteria down in the bottom recesses of the caverns. I think it was at the halfway point of the tour. You could buy your little white lunch box and sit at a table with the family eating your picnic lunch before finishing the cavern tour. I could never eat a thing there - something about the distinct "caverny" smell just made my throat close up. Bleccchhh! I always got in trouble, too, because my parents always bought one of those boxes for me and I would never eat it. I can't eat in a place that smells like antiques, either. Same general principle - the smell just does me in. If I buy 2 liter bottles of coke (here in the South, when we say "coke," that can mean anything from Coca-cola to Sprite to Root Beer - it's all coke. Deal with it,) I won't drink the very last bit of it. I call it the "butt of the coke." Same thing with hot dog buns. Can't eat the last bit of the hot dog bun - it's the butt of the bun. Yeah, go ahead and laugh, but I know you all have your own idiosyncrasies. I'm just willing to talk about mine. Oh yeah and I hate, hate, hate talking on the phone. I don't know why. I just do. I make exceptions for certain people, but it's not something I ever enjoy. If I can't sit down and talk with you face-to-face (which I much prefer,) then I prefer electronic communication - email, IMs, etc. Go figure. It may have something to do with my former line of work, which required me to be on the phone all day, every day and it always involved dealing with a problem. I guess I developed an aversion to the phone from that. Okay, that's all I've got. Happy weird stuff. |
| In light of recent events--the overly ambitious and ill-advised $700 billion bailout of the US financial system--I am reminded of my own fairly recent nightmarish experience with a financial institution drunk with its own power. The phrase "absolute power corrupts absolutely" has never rung truer. Banks, mortgage companies, all manner of financial institutions have been living too close to the edge, making their own rules, and living like feudal lords building their kingdoms with no regard for the lives they indiscriminately destroy. Three and one-half years ago, when a small-town bank in Andrews, Texas conspired with a local company to defraud my late father's estate of the multi-million dollar tank manufacturing company he owned, I was ill-prepared for the battle I was about to face. In my naivete', I was convinced that the overwhelming evidence that my sister and I had assembled would most certainly result in the courts setting things right. I was also sure that the bogus fraud charges the bank had brought against my brother would amount to nothing. After all, we live in the greatest country in the world--the country of truth, justice and the American way. But I was sadly misinformed. The bank got the business, made millions on it; my brother was convicted and went to prison. Truth, justice and the American way took a back seat to greed, depravity and the New American way. My discovery that this wasn't the bank's first foray into such a venture should have come as no surprise, since their plan worked so flawlessly. Eventually I had to admit defeat; there was nothing more I could do. I was powerless to stop what the Big Boys had set in motion. My family's story is just one of God-only-knows how many. The travesty perpetrated by the bank in my case is minuscule in comparison to the collective trail of fraud, greed and illegal (or, at the very least, unwise) financial activity that has led to this crisis. But it does lend a human element to the dilemma. The same lack of accountability that gave a small-town, West Texas bank the audacity to steal from and destroy the lives of unknown numbers of members of their community is the same lack of accountability that will not only continue unchecked, but will grow exponentially in the financial industry should Congress go ahead with their bailout. A $700 billion bailout that ultimately equates to a stamp of approval to continue with "business as usual." |
| Well, the verdict is in. As much as I love spending time out in the country at the ranch with all the peace and quiet, I am SUCH A CITY GIRL! Apparently Green Acres is NOT the place for me. I've proven it beyond a reasonable doubt by deciding a few nghts ago to drive into town from the ranch for a few groceries. "Town" is a mere seven miles away, just a few turns on a dirt road out to the main road and then seven miles into the town. Easy-peasy, right? Yeah, well that's what I thought. So I hopped into that spiffy little rent car, put the top down, and drove away from the ranch like I knew where I was going. I guess I really did know where I was going because I made it into town just fine. Found an HEB grocery store, went inside and took my time gathering up the few groceries I wanted. I was pretty cocky when I jumped back in my car and headed back out to the ranch. Two hours later, I wasn't feeling quite so cocky. I drove up and down that damn road over and over, back and forth for two solid hours looking for the place where I was supposed to turn back on to the little dirt road that would take me home. Seven miles, mind you, only seven miles from the ranch to the town. Finally, I swallowed my pride and called my husband to say I was lost and needed help getting home. Seems I had made one crucial mistake.I was on the wrong main road. Missed a little veer-to-the-right that was pretty important. And those little country roads - they look completely different at night than they do during the day. Yep, it was bright daylight when I left to make my 14 mile roundtrip, but three full hours later, it was dark as midnight. As a face-saving matter, you should all know that I can find my way all over Houston with no problem at all. It's those damn dirt, country roads that kick my butt. |
| I have but one thing to say today: The short fortune teller who escaped from prison was a small medium at large. |
| I remember when I first heard the term “hurricane fatigue.” It was on a news broadcast before Hurricane Ike slammed into the Texas coast. The reporter was referring to the fact that weeks and months, even years, of near-misses and hurricanes which spared Galveston and the Houston area, we (the viewing public) had grown weary of all the hoopla surrounding each and every storm, leading to a phenomenon which he referred to as “hurricane fatigue.” At the time, I laughed, even though I thought to myself, Hurricane fatigue. Yep, that’s exactly what we have. Today, ten days and a whole world later, I have a new respect and a completely different understanding of hurricane fatigue. I left Houston yesterday and drove to meet my husband at his company’s ranch near San Antonio. He is doing ranch business – building fences, general maintenance, whatever it is that you do to keep up a ranch. I am sitting in the lodge, in total silence, looking out the window at a pristine landscape that is unmarred and peaceful. One of the first things I did this morning was check my email, which happened to be full of a barrage of emails containing pictures of the damage done to the coast by Hurricane Ike. The pictures left me breathless. Although I had bemoaned the fact that I had no cable and no internet service at my home, I had no idea what a blessing in disguise that was. In the days immediately following the storm, the only access we had to news reports was a fuzzy picture on a small television which my son-in-law had rigged up downstairs, utilizing the useless cable cord as an ad-hoc antenna. We got a glimpse, albeit not a clear one, of some of the damage done during the storm, but by the time we got the television hooked up, most of the reports focused on where to buy gas, groceries and the location of PODs (Points of Distribution) in lieu of broadcasting pictures of the damage. We had apparently missed the majority of the images of destruction that were featured those first few days after the storm, before my son-in-law devised a way to tune in the local channels. (Yes, I know this brings up a whole other subject about the way that we have become so dependent on technology that we’ve almost lost the ability to think beyond it, but that’s another blog for another time.) At any rate, the images we saw by that time were few and far between and fuzzy, to boot. We didn’t get the “benefit” of the full impact. Additionally, we were so busy dealing with the day-to-day aftermath of the storm that “the trees overshadowed the forest,” so to speak. This morning, as I sat here in the peace and tranquility of the ranch, removed by hundreds of miles from the devastation that surrounded us, I was ill-prepared for the emotional gut-punch that first picture would deliver to me. I opened the first email and began scrolling down the page to view the pictures. I felt a catch in my throat immediately and with each picture, I felt my heart break a little more. Several pictures were of places I could drive to within minutes from my house – and actually did, only weeks ago when my sister was visiting. Those were the pictures that hit me the hardest. For the first time, free from the feelings of responsibility to keep my children and grandchildren safe, free from the need to put on a brave face and keep marching forward, alone in a place far removed from the disaster and its recovery which will stretch years into the future, I viewed those pictures and I cried. I cried for those who lost everything, for the rebuilding efforts that will be years in the making and for what we have all lost – pieces of our history, beloved places that no longer exist, a Galveston that will never again be as we have known it, Crystal Beach that was decimated, so many favored haunts that will never be again. And I cried at the realization of my own hard heart for others who have suffered the same fate at the hands of a wrathful Mother Nature. Now, years too late, I have the compassion I should have felt when Katrina hit New Orleans. A whole city and its history destroyed, all of its inhabitants displaced; everything gone. I realize now that the frustration and sadness I feel after Ike is only a shadow of what the citizens of Louisiana and Mississippi felt from Hurricane Katrina. I am ashamed of my lack of empathy and compassion for those people. I am grateful to have this awakening, to become aware of the shallowness of my own heart. Of all the lessons I have learned from Hurricane Ike, this is the one I value the most and the one I hope will become a part of my heart. I understand now what hurricane fatigue means. It’s a bone-deep exhaustion coupled with sorrow and a silent longing for rest from anxiety. It’s something we may not even be aware we are suffering from until it overtakes us in a quiet moment. For so many of us, life will indeed return to normal in a few weeks or months. But for others, like our neighbors in Galveston, Bolivar Peninsula and even still, in Louisiana, East Texas and Mississippi, the quest for normal life will be a protracted battle against incredible odds. God help us if, having been made painfully and personally aware of the obstacles and frustrations of such a struggle, we don’t hold on tightly to a newly discovered wealth of empathy and compassion. I salute the brave people of Galveston, Bolivar Peninsula, High Island and the entire Houston metropolitan area as we all begin this long, long march toward recovery. |
| Arrrrggghhhh!!!! You would not believe all the gyrations I am going through to establish a viable internet connection. I'm just like a junkie looking for a fix--an internet fix. This morning I am, once again, yes, say it with me - stealing! internet connectivity from someone else's unprotected wireless connection. Hey - I prefer to think of it accessing internet connectivity from a very kind random stranger. You know, that's what it's all about, people. Helping our fellow hurricane sufferers, offering help wherever and whenever we can. In fact, IF I had an internet connection (that's right - THANKS LOADS, AT&T U-VERSE - YOU'RE A PEACH! - are you picking up on my sarcasm?), yes, IF I did indeed have a connection, I would even consider making mine discoverable so that other less fortunate individuals (yes, like myself) could benefit from my good fortune. However, since I don't have my own connection now, this is a purely cerebral discussion, isn't it? I know I should feel like a heel for bitching and moaning about my lack of internet when there are folks out there still waiting for the barest minimum of modern conveniences - like, say, electricity - ahem, but the fact that I continue to bitch about it in spite of recognizing the selfishness of the very act just illustrates the depths of my addiction. Yep, that's right. I'm jonesing for internet. I'll admit it. I would tattoo it on my damn forehead if that would get me my OWN internet connection back. DO YOU HEAR THAT AT&T? While I'm in the mood to confess, let me just throw caution to the wind and admit to some of my other heinous shortcomings. Okay, fine, I can be a little self-centered and even a bit... dare I say it? Even a bit selfish, at times. And can we say obsessive-compulsive? I'm not overtly OC, I just have episodes, okay? Take away my damn internet for several days and you'll find out just how serious those episodes can get. Which brings us to moody. You know, we wouldn't even have to discuss moody if a certain public utility company would quit sitting on their laurels and get out there and fix their state-of-the-art fiber optic, new and improved, best-thing-since-sliced-bread network. Shoot! I would be happy (read: not quite so moody) if they would just make some kind of attempt, no matter how feeble, to project a completion date for the repairs. I mean, seriously, folks! "As soon as possible" isn't even in the neighborhood of what might be termed an acceptable answer. Can we say RI-DI-CU-LOUS? You should probably know this about me. I can be infuriatingly persistent. Every time I get near a working internet connection (whether it be a pirated one or a legitimately borrowed one, such as my brother’s COMCAST CABLE CONNECTION – are you listening, AT&T?) I head straight for the AT&T U-Verse site, log on and click on chat with a representative. It’s to the point now that when a customer service rep joins the chat, they ask immediately, before I even identify myself by phone number as is their custom, “Is that you, Ms. Jordan?” My response to that is this: If you are a public utility and you do not want me harassing your customer service reps, then give me a better answer than “your internet connection will be repaired when we get damn good and ready to do it. We are AT&T, you know.” And if they keep it up, I think I feel a strong case of Tourette’s coming on – the kind that causes one to curse like a sailor involuntarily at the highest volume possible. And on chat that would be in ALL CAPS! Excuse me now, while I make my way to the U-Verse site for the first of my numerous daily chats so they can once again “log your concern, Ms. Jordan.” |
| The majority of the Houston area is still without electricity. I am still having a hard time wrapping my mind around that fact. 1.5 million customers still without power, as of last report. That's some crazy stuff. We are among the very fortunate 800,000 or so customers who do have electricity. My eldest daughter, son-in-law and their two kids still have no power at their house; neither does my eldest son. So my household has grown from two people to seven people, sometimes more, depending on which (and how many) of Eli's friends he rescues from the heat and humidity of their own homes and brings home with him. The sheer enormity of the task at hand for the power companies boggles my mind. Power lines from downed poles snake across public streets; rows of electricity poles lean more than halfway to the ground along more streets than I can count. Transformers lay in heaps of rubble at the base of poles that were snapped in half by the 100mph+ winds. In my daughter's neighborhood alone, I can't even begin to count the number of roofs that were destroyed by the winds. Only a smattering of stores and/or businesses of any kind are open; most of them still boarded up and sitting dark without electricity. Grocery store shelves are scarily bare. Few gas stations have gas, but the ones that do have lines snaking out from the pumps for blocks, the lines attended by policemen keeping the peace. Galveston is a powder keg just waiting to explode. The majority of people who live there wisely evacuated. Now, they want to go home to see if they have a home left, to salvage whatever they can. For a few hours yesterday, the mayor of Galveston instituted a "look and leave" policy which quickly escalated beyond her expectations. The traffic nightmare that ensued prompted her to cancel the program indefinitely. For those who lived on Galveston, getting back home looks to be an insurmountable task anytime in the near future. Internet service is hard to come by. AT&T's fancy new U-Verse network that touted reliability and an advanced fiber-optic network that was supposed to be far superior to "anything else out there," is "kaput." No one at AT&T is even willing to venture a guess as to when the network might be up and running again. Meanwhile, people with "old-school" cable internet providers such as Comcast got cable and internet service back simultaneously when they got electricity back. Hmmmmm. In fact, the "hijacked" wireless signal I am piggy-backing on tonight is probably from one of those old-school cable connections, my new and improved U-Verse service proving to be anything but. No television, no internet, no telling when there will be. I live fifty miles from the coast, which is close enough to expect some significant carnage from a direct-hit hurricane. I was fortunate--the damage to all of our properties was minimal, as was the damage to my daughter's house and to my other daughter's apartment building and my son's house (all of whom lived in a mandatory evacuation zone.) However, 60-70 miles west, northwest and southwest from my house, who would have expected to see the amount of damage we've seen? I am severely chastised by the power of Mother Nature. As Hurricane Ike screamed through Houston, my son-in-law and I stood watching out the window in complete amazement at the massive power of hundred-mile-an-hour winds, nervously stepping back when gust on top of gust became ever stronger, threatening to blast through the window to our safe haven. We listened to crash after crash wondering which house was taking the brunt. When the eye came over us, we hoped for as long a respite as possible. We got forty-five minutes, tops. Then the second, stronger onslaught hit with a vengeance. Somehow, during the time the eye was crossing over us, exhaustion overtook me and I went to sleep. Amazingly, I slept through the rest of the hurricane. The next morning, twelve hours after it came to our doorstep, Hurricane Ike finally left us alone. They say now that Ike was a category 2 storm with the impact of a category 4 storm. I don't understand that, really. I just know that Ike surprised us all and I will be paying attention from now on during hurricane season. |
| Well, we didn't all die. We're still here, most of us, a little worse for the wear, tattered, humbled by the awesome power of Mother Nature and incredibly thankful for the power of prayer and for God's protection. Thank you all for your prayers! And just let my smart-ass make this remark in the most humble voice I can manage.... A HURRICANE IS A HURRICANE IS A HURRICANE! If the water doesn't get you, and wind doesn't get you, the loss of power surely will. It is HOT and I am too fat and menopausal to be without A/C! We just got power back today. They are slowly bringing different areas back on line as repairs are made and crews are able to make their way to the thousands of affected areas. I am writing this from my brother's house - he has internet and tv - I still don't. But I do have electricity and I am soooo thankful for that. Just wanted to let everyone know that Neil Frank was right - "This storm was no Carla, folks." THANK GOD! Because Ike was bad enough for all of us! More later - just wanted to pop in and say I'm still here.  |
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