My World With Words

November 8, 2016March 31, 2017

A few quick thoughts about this thing called blogging…

The best part of blogging is meeting all the wonderful people I’ve connected with in the last two years. There’s a certain anonymity about writing a blog that I think allows us to open up in ways we might not feel comfortable doing face to face. Through that, we gain friends and support. Friends we may never meet but who we care deeply about just the same.

A few days ago I wrote a post about skin cancer, a cautionary piece about this serious disease. Through it I’ve been reminded of one former co-worker who lost her eight-year-old son to that disease. It was an extremely rare case, and they had the best doctors in the nation caring for him. As happens so often in someone that young and otherwise healthy, it was also a very aggressive case.

She’s doing well now, has re-married a fantastic man, but never had any more children.

Cancer sucks.

I also have a new follower, Jo, who is in her twenties and has been living with melanoma for 11 years now. Please check out her blog, Melanoma Jo, to learn her story. I understand from one of her posts that she is part of an upcoming BBC documentary. I’m looking forward to seeing it!

Thank you to all of my followers, new and “old.” I try to check out everyone’s blog from time to time, and I apologize if I don’t get to yours right away. I will see it soon! If you leave comments on my blog, I’m certain to get back to you more quickly. That is, if I can link to your blog through your gravatar. That’s often the only way I have of finding you, so I encourage you to list your blog(s) there.

See you in the blogosphere!

Image Credits: (Alphabet background) © flas100 — Fotolia; (Pen) © artender — Fotolia; (Blog typewriter keys) © Marek Uliasz — Fotolia

November 7, 2016March 31, 2017

Baby, It’s Warm Outside

Oh, blessings and misery. I confess, I like cooler weather. I get weary of downright cold weather, but still, I’ll take a stretch of freezing cold over an extended period of triple-digit highs almost anytime. So here it is, a week into November, and we’re still reaching the low 70s every single day.

clouds-1117584_640 — Sunny is okay, but make it sunny and cold.

I want my sweater weather! I like the feel and look of downy soft turtlenecks. I feel cozy and comforted. I like wearing ankle boots with my jeans. For whatever reason, I believe I’m stronger, more in control, with them. And all in all, what I like better, looks better.

I don’t want a sunny Thanksgiving or a balmy Christmas day. I want a nip in the air, days when I can’t forget my jacket, cold air that makes cheeks and even my nose a little red.

How we each feel about weather is a funny thing. I have friends who would never move away from the Southwest, despite the extremes down there. Others I know live in Minnesota (my home state) and while they grumble about the snow and deep freeze, they wouldn’t think of locating elsewhere. I’m in a state where we have four seasons, something I’m grateful for, although I wouldn’t mind a slightly longer fall and winter. These past couple of years those seasons have been annoyingly short.

I suppose our preferences are due in part to the priorities in our lives. If you love the outdoors, you may prefer the heat. If your favorite activities include reading, needlework or playing chess, the excuse to stay inside because of dropping temperatures may be welcome.

kitten-1102082_1280 — Awwww, let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!

Whether you find it more challenging to walk your dog in the heat, with mosquitoes dive-bombing and sweat dripping down your brow, or in the snow, with your toes going numb and the sniffles that won’t go away, is part personality, part upbringing and likely part physiology. I’m betting some of us are just better suited for the cold. Maybe it’s an extra layer of fat. I don’t pretend to know.

Regardless of the reason for my preferences or the lingering warm weather, I’m begging for a little frost overnight and ongoing temps below 60 degrees. This perpetual heat is irksome.

Photos courtesy of Pixabay

Irksome

November 5, 2016March 31, 2017

My Literal Belief in Mythology

I was taught, in my high school Sunday School classes as well as by most of my professors at the Bible College I attended, that the Bible is literal. One of my professors, however, Mickey O. Day, proposed this thought: the Bible was written during a time when authors of religious material used mythology to describe God, or their gods. Why couldn’t the writers of the Bible have done the same?

Let me describe what’s meant by mythology here: a story that tells of a quality of God in a manner that can be understood by human beings. Not unlike parables, the story may be pure imagination, but the characteristic of God that is described is most definitely not. He remains as powerful, omniscient, and glorious as ever. And ever.

We think of myths as being falsehoods, yet in its purest form, mythology is, in fact, truth. Now I don’t worship the gods of Greece or Rome, and I’m not in a position to debate their veracity. But thinking of some of the stories of the Old Testament as having been written in the literary form of mythology is intriguing to me, as well as more likely historically accurate.

I believe in the literal birth, death and resurrection of Christ, by the way. I’m talking primarily Old Testament stories here, and not all of them.

It doesn’t diminish God in my eyes. If you struggle with this concept, I’m not saying what you believe is wrong. Frankly, I don’t know the truth, but I am secure in Whom I believe in.

Image Credits: (Angel) © Bigstock; (Book) © GraphicStock

November 2, 2016July 18, 2017

The Only Thing Exterminated Here is the Death Penalty

In my last job, we weren’t allowed to kill the bugs.

At the Inn at Bella Vista, this little one is safe.

Okay, it’s a bed & breakfast, so they had an exterminator come out on a regular basis for the comfort of their guests, but if a wasp flew into the dining room, you called Bill. He’d show up with the bug jar, capture the wasp and set it free.

Which is all well and good, but in my house, you take out the Raid.

The mice were saved, too, whenever possible. One such soul, Rodney, kept coming back, even though Bill would capture him in one of those humane traps and take him far into the woods in back. I’m not sure how he knew it was Rodney every time, but they developed a bond of sorts.

Sorry, Walter, little Rodney can’t play today.

I couldn’t help myself. I offered to bring over my cat, Walter, for a play date with Rodney. That suggestion was met with a wounded look from Bill.

Despite my jokes, I respect Bill’s philosophy. It comes as a direct result of his time serving as a Marine in Vietnam and a police officer in Little Rock in the 70s. He’s seen enough killing and death.

He tells stories of his time on the force, but never as a Marine in combat. Something true of many, if not most, servicemen and women. What they witnessed, and took part in, during war is not something they want to remember or repeat, in words or actions.

Instead, some, like Bill, try to make sense of what happened by protecting all innocents. Bless the beasts and the children, as they used to say. A phrase born of a country at war. Where are the protest songs today?

We become the people we are today in part by our response or reaction to what happened yesterday. Ideally, it is a response, a chosen way of thinking and being. But what happens when you are thrown into a situation for which you are never prepared, then asked to live with the resulting emotions? The guilt, the shame of an inexplicable experience may result in burying your thoughts and beliefs about what happened. You lose a part of yourself.

Believe in yourself, the person you know yourself to be in spite of the thoughts that hammer at your brain. Seek out the support of others. Never give up in your search for better.

This life is far from perfect. But it is what we’re given for a time, so never give in to the worst. Let the better part of life win.

November 1, 2016March 24, 2017

The Kitsch is Back

You find the funniest things when you move. I’d given up on Francisco a long time ago (you may remember him from a previous post)– so long ago I’d forgotten he was strumming a guitar, not flamenco dancing.

Memory is a challenge sometimes. We think we remember so clearly, when in reality, we’re completely wrong. Or at least partially wrong. I’m glad I remembered the charm of Francisco, even if I didn’t remember his profession precisely.

As you can see, he’s in need of a little repair. That will happen, and soon. After his journey back to my awareness, that’s the least he deserves.

And the kitsch is back!