Pinterest: artistic expression or addiction?

I discovered Pinterest sometime last year and found myself fascinated by the collection of images housed there. I desperately wanted to be a part of it, but you had to be "invited," and, in spite of repeated requests, no invitation was forthcoming. Then, on the first day of February (a Wednesday), I stopped by for a look-see (and, to place another request) and, lo, and behold! I discovered I could log in through my facebook ID. Joy of joys!

Right.

Ask me what I did on the second and third days of February. Did I work? (Not unless I had to.) Did I write? (Tag lines and descriptions, maybe.) Was I productive in any meaningful way?

Nope. I was just pinning away over there on Pinterest! For three solid days. Whatsa matta with me?

The second week of February I promised myself I would reduce the time I spent there. I had created some "boards" of my own and pinned things I liked and I could go on it for a little while, add a few things to my boards and be off. Yeah. Right.

I was busy with real work most of the time that second week of February, so there wasn't a lot of time to peruse images and add them to my collections. Until Friday morning (2/10) when I discovered I could "pin" on my brand new Android phone I received for my birthday a few days earlier! OMG! I could pin while having coffee, waiting at the vet's office, waiting on hubby to pump gas. I was really in trouble now!

There's no "app" for Android phones. Yet. There IS one for the iPhone. So, fine. I can pin without an app! Ha! Take that, iPeople!

Last week I was out and about doing what my boss pays me to do -- teaching elementary school kids about living in the Everglades. I managed to stay off Pinterest until late in the day when I only had a few minutes left in the day, limiting the time I was visiting. I also persuaded myself that I didn't NEED to be doing it so much. I liked Facebook, but I wasn't on it all the time. I use Twitter to share information. And, Google is a lot of fun even when you're looking up something related to work. But, this Pinterest thing is insidious. It steals your time in ways I've never experienced before and, honestly ... it bothers me.

I don't consider myself an addictive personality. I like what I like, and I've long lived with the motto "everything in moderation." But, Pinterest? I like it. A lot. I like doing it. I like looking at my "boards" and reviewing my collections. And, I have "followers!" But, I haven't figured out how to use it in moderations.

Followers on a blog are different from followers on Pinterest. It's, like, I know the people I follow over there. We have similar interests, similar styles, similar passions. And, I'm sure if I ever met any of the people I follow or that follow me ... why, I'm quite sure we would be great friends with many things to talk about.

So, I came over here to my blog and I'm actually WRITING! I've learned that if I write about a thing, often times, the solution will present itself as I'm writing.

Only, it hasn't happened yet. And, I find I'm hurrying up so I can go back over there and pin some more. Oh, dear. What's a girl to do?

I've got 20 minutes left at my desk.
I could catch up on filing.
I could update my calendar.
I could ...

GO PIN! ~~~~~



Where'd she go?

Politics

I spent a lot of time on the phone today. Holding. Holding. Holding. So, while "holding" I made this. I didn't set out to make this. It just evolved ...

I like politics. So, does that mean I'm demented?

What's worse, I'm a republican. A "moderate" republican. But, I am often embarrassed by my fellow republicans. Especially the ones in Congress. They don't seem to have "the will of the people" on their agenda. It seems to be all about beating Obama. Why can't it be about doing what's best for the American people?

I'm worried about the economy. My dollars don't go as far as they once did. I'm worried about jobs. My brother was unemployed for more than two years and only recently found temporary construction work for minimum wage of $7.67 an hour. Good thing he gets food stamps or he wouldn't be able to afford to eat.
And, the "national debt." I'm worried about that, too. Not for me so much, but for my daughter and granddaughter, since they will be the ones burdened with paying that debt. What's wrong with doing what's right? Does doing the right thing mean you're a democrat or a republican? Or, could it be ...

Wait! Wait! Doing the right thing! It's the American Way! That's what it is! So, let's get rid of all the UN-American people in Congress. Let's NOT elect republicans or democrats! Let's vote for the Americans who are interested in doing the will of the people! Maybe then we could get it right.

 

"Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest."

                                                                                           ~ Mark Twain

Reading Glasses

My fifth grade class picture (1962)

I have worn eyeglasses since I was in fifth grade. I have vivid memories of my first pair of glasses. They were horn rimmed glasses, slightly rounded, and I was amazed at what I could see. I saw individual blades of grass for the first time. I could read the writing on the chalkboard at school for the first time. And, I felt like glasses made me smarter. Remember, now ... I was 10-years-old and hadn't yet figured out that I'd already missed a lot of things by being myopic.  

I was required by law to wear by glasses when driving. And, of course, I had to wear them when watching a movie or the TV. I could see close up just fine. But, if something was more than a foot from my face, it was blurry.  And, so, I moved through life as a nearsighted nerd, always with my face stuck in a book. (I loved reading and it had absolutely nothing to do with wearing glasses! I still love reading! On my Kindle! And, thanks to technology, I can do it without glasses! But, that's a story for another day!)

In 1990 I returned to school. I had completed two years of college nearly 20 years earlier, so I was grateful to have a chance to return to the wonderful world of academia to complete my degree. Along about the second semester of classes, I began to notice that I had to lift my glasses off my nose to see what I was reading or writing. I spent the better part of a year practicing this technique and, finally, at the urging of a fellow student, went for an eye exam. I was old enough for bifocals!

In 2001, the year the first Harry Potter film came out, I started struggling with my bifocals. Seeing things closeup was becoming more troublesome. And, as someone who loves doing needlework, this became a real problem. One day around this time I was in a Walgreens waiting on a friend and browsing the "reading glasses." I found a cute pair of oval shaped horn rimmed glasses with +1.25 lenses that seemed to do the trick for me, so I bought them. I remember that they cost $8.99 and I coveted those glasses as though they were Harry's glasses!

In 2007, my youngest daughter was home from college for Happy Thanksgiving and she commented that my glasses were all over the place. By now, I had acquired numerous pairs. A pair by my chair for reading and needlework (now a +2.0), a pair on my desk with the computer, a pair in the bathroom for plucking eyebrows, a pair on the dresser so I could see the clasps on my abundant collection of necklaces, a pair in the doll room so I could see the shoes and accessories for my fashion dolls and a pair in the kitchen. Oh, yeah! There was also a pair that lived on my desk at work and a pair in the car's glovebox, just in case I needed them. I had reading glasses everywhere!

At my darling husband's suggestion, I went to see the optometrist and she said I could get "trifocals" to meet the far-middle-close range of my degenerating vision. I chose beautiful gold rimmed John Lennon frames for these new glasses and waited two days for their delivery.

This was very exciting! Technology was going to make my life easier! How wonderful!

I was quite happy when I first got my "John Lennon" glasses from the Lenscrafters store. 

And, in my enthusiasm, I wore them all the time. 

For three days ... count 'em ... one, two, three ... for 3 days I wore those trifocals. I loved the frames! People commented on them, and, once again I thought they made me smarter. BUT! They made me dizzy. Very, very dizzy. Friends and coworkers said I would get used to them, and I swear to you ... I tried!

After the third day wearing my "trifocals," 

I made my way back to the optometrist 

and told her I wanted 

just regular lenses in the glasses, 

so I could wear them for 

driving and watching movies. 

To hell with trifocals! 

Reading glasses were cheap! 

I didn't need to be dizzy!

I just wanted to see! 

Up close.

Far away.

And, in between.

Why, I bought "Ugly Betty" glasses 

at Target for a buck a pair! Red ones!

Polka dotted ones! 

Leopard ones!

Plaid ones! 

And, camouflage ones! 

I was swimming 

in cheap reading glasses! 

It was heaven!

Today, I welcomed new "old school" reading glasses at strength +2.50

Yep. 

My eyes are getting worse. 

Sad, but true.

My mom had macular degeneration, and I remember what a struggle it was for her. Like me, she, too, enjoyed needlework. The thing is, you have to be able to see what you're doing to thread a needle or wield a crochet hook. So, while I worry about my sight, I continue to see the optometrist and the retina specialist and I enjoy the lastest in boomer fashion accessories!  Cheap, cute reading glasses!

Viele Road

It's Friday again and it's been a really busy week.

I am a creature of habit. I drive to work every morning, five days a week and I use the same route to get to my office 99% of the time.

Why in the world would I write about it? Because for four minutes every Monday through Friday I drive along Viele Road, also known as SW 70 Avenue between Griffin and Stirling Roads.

The roads in Davie are named after the pioneer families of Davie, those early Everglades settlers who were tough enough to live in the mosquito infested sawgrass prairies and smart enough to see what southern Florida could be. The Griffin Brothers ran barges up and down the New River, utilizing the newly dug canal between Davie and Fort Lauderdale and bought lots of land. Frank Stirling was Davie's first mayor and a horticultural genius who knew how to grow anything in the fertile muck of the River of Grass. They both made their fortunes here. And, their descendants continue to be active in the community, which I think is really cool. It gives you a sense of the place, which I like a lot.

So, there your are. That's my offering to the writing gods for today. I've taken lots of pictures of Viele Road over the years, so here are a few.

Enjoy!

The S-11 Canal runs along the west side of Viele Road,
which runs north-south between Stirling and Griffin Roads.

Most of the homes and horse ranches along Viele Road
are one acre or more. There are a lot of small lakes.

This section is what I call "a manicured lawn." The birds
seem to love this section -- there is almost always a bird here.

A Woodstork, just hanging out on the manicured lawn!

This is my girlfriend, Norma, with Lonnie Quinn from NBC6.
He was the meteorologist who was assigned to report on the
relocation of the 1912 Viele House, which sat at the corner of
Griffin Road & SW 70 Avenue. The house was moved to save it
from demolition in 2003 and what a media circus it was!

This is my personal favorite photo, shot on a cool and foggy January morning
in 2007. The geese acted like they owned the road, and, for these few minutes
they did! It's available to purchase on Veer, here!

Carpe diem!

Alice, big and small

I feel a little bit like Alice did when she drank from a bottle labeled "DRINK ME" and became small. And, it's not the most comfortable feeling. You see, in order to talk about it, I'd have to go into details. Are you supposed to go into details on your blog?

Okay, then. Here's how it's gone. So far.

I'm a big fan of Jazzercise. It's fun and it keeps me fit. I honestly don't know how I would live without it. So, during a class sometime in August we were doing plié (Which looks a lot like a squat, but Jazzercise founder Judi Sheppard Missett doesn't like to call them squats!) and I noticed something going on in my lower left abdomen. If you put a pair of socks in your jeans pocket and squat, that's sort of how it felt, but inside my body.

When I got home after class, I disrobed and examined my abdomen. Now, I have never had a flat stomach. Not even when I was a teenager. So, I long ago gave up any hope of looking like those skinny models in VOGUE. I accepted my body the way it is. And, that's been okay so far. But, here I am in front of the mirror, naked as a jaybird, looking at my abdomen. All the crunches I've done in Jazzercise have paid off, because my abs are looking good for an old lady like me. But, that little pouch on the lower left ... is that fat? And, why do I have it on the left and not on the right?

Over the last couple of months, I've poked and prodded my abs, wondering why it feels weird, like I have a pair of socks in my pocket. Since it didn't hurt, I figured it's just fat. Until last week.

I was leaning across a counter that just happened to be at the right height for me to press my lower abdomen against it with my full weight behind it, and I felt something. It wasn't pain, but it was something to think about. And, after I thought about it, I called my doctor.

I've had the same physician for more than 20 years, which is saying something in today's world of healthcare. And, he's a good doctor. I told him what I've just finished writing here, now, and after a thorough examination, he suggested we should do sonograms. (I like the "we." It makes it feel like "we're" doing something together, even though it's me who endures the procedure.)  So, three days later, I arrived before sunrise at the local women's clinic with a full bladder. The tech was terrific, letting me go pee as soon as she was done with the first scan, the one requiring the full bladder! She did three scans and sent me off with a pink carnation in honor of October's Breast Cancer Awareness.

Later in the afternoon, my doctor called and said the results from the first scan had come in and it showed "an abnormal thickening of the uterus." I guess that's my pair of socks, huh?

I have an appointment next week with my GYN. Lucky for me, I've had the same GYN for at least ten years, so he's got all my medical history right there, which I hope is helpful. And, now, like Alice, I feel small. My imagination runs away with me on most days, and I suddenly feel as if my time is running out. I am mortal. I am human. I am oh, so small.

There are a hundred "what if's" and I've poured over most of them while waiting for that next appointment. In the meantime, I'm looking for that little cake with "EAT ME" on it so I can be big. I really need to be big.

Where IS that little cake? Where is my courage? Did I lose it when I fell down the rabbit hole?

An open letter to my cousins, upon discovery of my aunt's death ...

Note: Death is a part of life. I know that.
But, it can still surprise you.
Especially when you're not expecting it. 

If there hadn't been an earthquake along the eastern seaboard earlier this week, I might still be in the dark.  Here's how I'm handling this ... 

for now.

Dear Carolyn & John,

Wednesday morning I placed a phone call to Evelyn’s cell phone. I thought I’d check in on her following the earthquake on Tuesday. I hadn’t spoken to her since February, so it seemed like a good excuse to call. We spoke a few times a year and the last time I saw her was in 2009.  

Aunt Evelyn and my darling husband, after having
dinner together in June 2009

Well, the message on her phone said it was no longer in service, which I thought was kind of odd. Then, I used Google to look her up, thinking I’d call her home phone.  Google’s search delivered her obituary.

I didn’t think I could be shocked by anything anymore. After all, I’m 60 years old now. I’ve seen it all, right? But, THIS shocked me. In a way I wasn’t expecting.

I don’t expect that anyone would think about letting me know if she was sick. It’s not like I was a big part of her life. However, she WAS a big part of mine. I wrote about our last visit on my blog and will include it with this letter for you to read. And, comment on, if you choose.

I had to go to the internet to find your mailing addresses. My husband, Manfred, found a phone number for Carolyn and I called Wednesday night and left a message, but have yet to hear anything back, so I’m writing.  Of course I’m hoping she’ll call on the weekend, so if you get this letter and you did call … I’ll be glad to hear from you.

I’d like to know what happened to Evelyn. I haven’t been able to think about anything else since making this discovery and I find these feelings to be very unsettling.  I cannot know how you must be feeling with this loss. She was a wonderful spirit and I feel lucky to have had her for my aunt. I imagine she was a dynamite mother and grandmother and I am truly sorry for your losses. I think you must miss her a lot.

I know I’m not the best in the world at writing letters. Before the internet, I was a decent letter writer and actually have kept all the letters that were sent to me. But, like so many people, I have come to use e-mail and Facebook to keep in touch with people. I’ve looked for relatives on Facebook where I know their last names, (including you guys) but not everyone is Facebook friendly, and I understand that. But, I’m here, now, writing … asking … what happened to my Aunt Evelyn?

When I told my darling husband, he was shocked. And, surprised. Being from Germany, his perception of family is very different from the reality of my family. He doesn’t understand how a big family like ours is not more in touch with each other. I’ve never been able to answer that question for him, because I really don’t know the answer. Or, maybe I do know the answer, but have to look for it in my own history. After all, I was the one who left Virginia and came to Florida, right? Had I stayed there, odds are good I would’ve seen family members more often. Or would I? See what I mean? It’s hard to pinpoint where things fell apart. I’m sure it’s mostly my responsibility, though. It always is …

Aunt Christine & Aunt Evelyn

My darling husband gave me one of those digital picture frames for Christmas a couple of years ago; you know, the kind where you can load your photos and it rotates the photos in the frame? It sits on my desk at work and among those rotating photos are a couple from the Pork, Peanut & Pine Festival that Samantha and I drove up for when she was 10-years-old. (She’s 24 now!) I had scanned these photos so I could use them in my digital frame. I like seeing pictures of “My Family.”

From left: Cousins Sharon, Carolyn & Constance
(our mothers are sisters) with Aunt Evelyn, right,
and Carolyn's daughter, Ashley, behind.

As I age, I’m finding that my family is more important than ever. After Evelyn’s revelation to me the last time I saw her (see my blog entry), it changed the way I thought about Mama. A lot.

She also gave me copies of photos of family members from a couple of generations back. I tried to express to her how much they mean to me. It seems like it took such a long time to realize who I really am … who I was all along … because of where I come from and who I come from. I don’t know if this is a normal transition from middle age to the “final act” of life, but it’s what’s been going on with me.  There are so many things I don’t know still, but I’m open to hearing stories and sharing memories, so, if this is something you feel like doing, you can be sure it would be appreciated by me. And, cherished.

I hope you’ll give all this some thought. And, I hope you’ll feel like writing or calling. I would welcome any opportunity to catch up with both of you, your families and your lives.  Thanks for taking time to read. I’m sorry I wasn’t around for Evelyn at the end of her life. I would like to have talked to her one more time.

Big Banks, Small Service

I've lived in my house for 24 years. My daughter was born five days after we moved in, and it's the only home she's ever known. I love my house and want to live there until I die.

I married my darling husband in 2004 after a whirlwind romance and we decided to live in my house and sell his. In 2006, I gave him a half interest in the house and we refinanced, taking enough money out to completely redo the interior ... new tile floors, rewiring for multiple electronic devices, new bathrooms, new kitchen. We also "hardened" the house against hurricanes with new storm windows and doors, including the garage door. At the time of the re-finance deal, money was easy to get because our property was "valued" far beyond what it was actually worth. And, we knew that! So, we were careful not to take more than we thought the house was "really" worth. The glitch? It was an "interest only" loan. I insisted on a fixed rate for five years from origination of the loan, and now I'm not sure if that was a wise thing or a stupid thing. We signed on for 7.5% interest on a $210,000 loan on a property valued at $400,000 at the time of the loan.

You might be asking why so high a rate ... and, it's a simple answer. I had a terrible credit history. As a single mother with a teenage daughter, there was never enough money! I had gone back to college, thinking more education would land me a better job. And, in truth ... it did. But, not the six-figure kind of job. Just middle income, which was fine with me. I was still broke, just not AS broke as before. Of course, I was saddled with still more debt, so I had the full-time job, the part-time job and took on free lance work whenever it came my way. I was often late paying, and that hurts your credit score. I think mine was somewhere in the low 500s when I met my darling husband.

As a German man with a degree in engineering, dh quickly saw my issues with money and insisted on helping me improve the way I handled "debt." He had a credit score in the 700s and made it clear to me that the "best" way was to save, then spend. Not spend, then scramble to save enough to pay. This was a new concept to me and I'm here to tell you ... I resisted at every opportunity!

God Bless my darling husband for his patience and perseverance. He taught me how to budget, how to set up automatic payments, how to be frugal ... he taught me how to manage my money better. And, I have improved tremendously these past five years. So much so, in fact, that my credit score was 678 when we went to apply for a refinance last week. You see, our loan "resets" in October, and we don't want to get caught having to pay a higher interest rate in the current market. THAT could be devastating!

But, back to my 678 credit score, because THAT is why I'm writing about it on my blog.

Last week we went to the bank. We went to the bank where our accounts are held. We have separate accounts (checking AND saving), but all of our accounts are with the same bank. Good ole' Bank of America. Now, I have to say here that I have been a customer of theirs for a long, long time. I began banking with Bank of America when it was NCNB (North Carolina National Bank) back in the 1980s. There was a brief stint when it was "NationsBank," but that was a short spell between NCNB and BOA. So, naturally my darling husband and I wanted to go to OUR BANK. They "know" us. We're they're customers. We'll get to talk to a real person, face to face. Or, that's what we thought.

It took the Customer Service Representative about three minutes to get a "Mortgage Specialist" on the phone. Then, she asked if we wanted to go into a private room to speak to him. ON THE PHONE. Well, of course we wanted privacy. So, we went into a private office, just dh and me, door closed. No BOA customer service rep. No bank staff of any kind. Just the two of us and the guy on the phone in California.

California for cryin' out loud! He wasn't even on the east coast! Nor was he in the "corporate headquarters" in Charlotte, North Carolina. He was in another time zone! Hrmph!

So, we went through the process. We answered all his questions. We pointed out that we are both long-time customers of the bank. We made sure he understood that this is our primary residence and that I've lived in the house for 24 years. You see, we thought these things were important. Then, he asked to pull our credit scores.

Now, you've gotta know that I was nervous here. I had no idea what my credit score would be. I hadn't been late paying anything in years! So, when he said my credit score was 678, I was elated! For about 30 seconds. My darling husband's score was 718, so that was terrific. But.

But. I needed a 680 to "qualify." Two points. Just two points. I was two points shy of what I needed and it didn't matter one iota that I'd lived in this house for 24 years. It didn't matter a bit that we were long-time Bank of America customers. This guy in California didn't give a shit about any of that. It was all about the two points I DIDN'T HAVE!

Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

Our loan resets in October, so we can't be foolin' around with this. But, boy am I pissed at Bank of America! What about "Customer Loyalty?" Doesn't that have any value? What about the fact that we've paid our interest only loan ON TIME every month for five years? In this economy! What about the re-investment of the money INTO the very house we're trying to re-finance? It's not like we took the cash and went on a two month trip around the world!

I'm pissed because I'm one of the middle income schmucks who bailed this stupid bank out. "Too Big To Fail?" Ha! They're making record profits and all I get is a kick in the teeth for paying my bills on time and doing the right thing.

Well, guess what Bank of America? I don't feel so loyal anymore. You've used my money for years to make money and I don't like being used and abused! Do you think money grows on trees?

AND, what's worse for you ... I have a BIG mouth and I believe the pen is mightier than the sword!  So, I'm going to make it my life's mission to tell everyone I know to dump you! Yes, BOA has lots of ATMs, but I suspect that with a little creative thinking, I, middle income schmuck that I am, can come up with a way to live WITHOUT those ATMs! And, once I know how to do it, I'll teach everyone I know to do it too!

People who know me know I don't often get angry. But, when I do, I am relentless. I will live to see the undoing of Bank of America. When a bank (or any other business for that matter) forgets about their customers, it is only a matter of time before they come undone. Business is about the people. It is NOT about the record profits or tightened processes. It's about the people who live and work in the community and SUPPORT the bank. Bank of America might think they're Too Big To Fail, but they're not.

In reality, what they ARE is too big to succeed. This country is a big mess because of the greedy lending practices of this and other banks and it's sad to think we would help them through hard times they wouldn't even TRY to find a way to help us when we seek reciprocity. One day soon, I'll be taking all of my money out of your bank. And, if others follow (as I predict they will), you're gonna be in a heap lot of trouble. But, don't call me. I'm just a middle income schmuck and I, for one, am not bailing out anymore big banks. Let 'em rot!