Everything on the Internet is True





One of the unexpected rewards of starting this blog has been the people that I have met from all over the world.  I say "met" in the cyber sense of the word.  I've gotten to know so many creative, talented, and caring people through their blogs and the comments that they make on my blog.  I've only met one of my new friends in person.  Milt is a follower of my blog and writes a blog of his own.  He lives in the same small town that I do.  Last year I invited him to join a writing group that I belong to and we met face to face at a local used book store.  I think he was as apprehensive as I was...he brought his wife with him and I had my writing group to act as a human shield.  We were all relieved that he wasn't an ax murderer. 

Have you seen the State Farm commercial where the woman claims that "they can't put anything on the Internet that isn't true?"  She is dating a French model who she met on the Internet.  It's pretty funny. 

This fall I am going to spend a weekend with five female friends in a beautiful house on a lavender farm on Vashon Island. I've never actually met these women. I know them only through their blogs, but it feels like they are old friends. I know about their families and the challenges that they have faced. Several of us retired and started our blogs at the same time. We've shared laughs and loss. We seem to have a lot in common and we all write blogs. I'm excited to meet them, but also anxious. All they know about me is what I have chosen to share in my blog. Will I live up to their expectations? Oh, the anxiety!!!

So on an early fall weekend I will drive five hours  to find out if perception lives up to reality. I'm pretty sure that everything on the Internet is true. Bonjour!

Is It Still Work When You Do It In Your Pajamas?

I've been retired for several  years now.  I have adjusted to staying up late and sleeping in.  I do my grocery shopping when the rest of the world is at work.  I never go to Costco on the weekend.  When I travel I'm not limited to holidays or summer vacations.  I know how fortunate I am to live a relatively stress-free life.  I can't remember the last time I used the alarm clock.  This blissful existence changed last week when the school superintendent contacted me.

In my pre-retirement life as a school administrator I had great success in securing some big grants for the school district.  Grant writing was like a hobby for me.  Most of the grants were written in my spare time at home, usually while I was watching TV.  Grant writing was fairly stress-free because no one was paying me to do it or counting on the funding to keep a program operating.   If I won a grant it was like winning the lottery...a lucky break.  I got a reputation in the area as the go to person for writing grants. 

When I first retired I tinkered with the idea of freelancing as a grant writer.  I even took on a project with a neighboring school district.  That effort was not funded and I realized that I really didn't want to start a business and market my skills. I like to dabble and pick and choose my projects.

So, last week the superintendent asked for my help in securing grants for a project at our high school.  I went to a meeting and got excited about the concept.  I met with the superintendent and hammered out terms. All of a sudden I was employed .  This past week I actually had to be places at a specific time.  I had to go to meetings.  And last Wednesday I drove 400  miles to hand deliver a grant application to a foundation to meet their submission deadline (really, have they not heard about the Internet?) 

It's probably an ideal situation for me.  I work my own hours and most of the time I can wear pajamas, except when I have to go to meetings!  The downside if  I am not successful in securing grant funding, is public failure....I'm feeling the pressure!

This evening I attended one of the committee meetings.  The athletic director gave me a grant application for a grant that is a good match for our project.  The catch?  It's due in two days!  We are leaving tomorrow for three days camping in the RV at the Deschutes River.  Good thing I can do my new job anywhere.    I'll get the writing done lounging around camp and when I'm ready to post the application (this foundation has an online application) I will ride my bike to Biggs Junction where there is a McDonalds with Internet.    

I better go get my pajamas on and get started...I've got a job to do!

Three Weeks At Nana Camp

Two little girls and one big ocean.

My grandchildren stayed with me for three weeks this summer, the first time they've visited my house for an extended period.  I loved every minute, even hearing "Nana, Nana, Nana" every two minutes with demands for juice, or a snack, or a play dough carton opened, or one more book read.  My son threatened to record their voices and make it my ring tone.  He knows I respond instantly to their cries.

While they were here our whole world revolved around them and they basked in the attention.  We had a long list of activities we wanted to do with them, but we didn't get to half of them. 



Practice camping and fishing in the backyard.

They camped in the mountains and both caught their first fish, after first practice camping and learning to cast a fishing line in our backyard. 



Hunter's first fish.  What?  You can't see it?  Look in her hand.



Megan's first fish.

They swam in the local pool, in our hot tub, and in the Pacific Ocean. 


The last day of swimming lessons.

We spent a glorious three days in the RV at the Oregon coast. They dug in the sand, touched anemones and starfish, and made smores over a campfire.




On the road in the RV

Hunter made friends with a family of Old Believers

Searching for starfish.



Megan at Newport

Lot's of interesting things on the beach.  Nana is still finding them in the washing machine.

A contrast of cultures

Most of all they enjoyed playing in the backyard, digging in the dirt, and harvesting the garden.





Hunter digging potatoes in the garden with Grandpa Paul.

Where's Hunter?

Oh, there she is!

So many precious moments.  We're still laughing at some of the things they did and said.  Our vocabulary is forever changed.

One day Hunter was cuddling with me as we read a book.  She poked at my neck and said "Nana, you're squishy." 

After a moment she asks "Nana, why do you have lines?" 
I explained that people get lines when they get older.  Later I see her showing her arm to her sister and proudly pointing out lines at her elbow.  "See, Megan, I'm getting older.  See these lines." 

She celebrated her fifth birthday while she was with us.  She's got a lot of years ahead to accumulate lines.


Last night the spouse and I were watching the Olympics.  Matt Lauer and a female news personality were recapping the day's events.  The spouse says "Boy, she sure got squishy."  Yep, our vocabulary is permanently changed.

The Windshield Wiper Conservation Program and Other Spousal Quirks

Today is the spouse's birthday.  Yesterday we went shopping for his gift.  His custom has been to delay the gift purchasing and then for the next month he buys anything that catches his eye and justifies the purchase because it is his birthday.  He usually manages to acquire several good toys during the birthday spree.  Yesterday was no exception.  He selected a new ipad and, what the hell, I bought one for myself even though it wasn't my birthday. 

The spouse also bought a metal fire pit for the patio.   "I thought the girls would enjoy sitting around the fire and roasting marshmallows," he tells me.  Our grandchildren, ages 5 and 6, are coming to stay with us for three weeks this summer. Nothing says fun to a five year old like sticking long metal forks into a raging fire.  I've been searching yard sales for princess toys, but the spouse is going to woo them with open flames. 

It has been raining for several days.   We took the spouse's pickup to the Tri-Cities.  The picture above resembles my view out the front window.  The spouse is a charter member in the Windshield Wiper Conservation Program, or WWCP.  Even in a downpour he keeps the wipers on the lowest setting.  By the time the wiper finally starts to sweep across the windshield, the entire surface is covered with water. Apparently members of the WWCP believe that there are a limited number of wipes available to a motorist and it is important maintain a high reserve of  PWS (potential wiper swipe).  My car is eight years old.  I have replaced the wipers once.  I am overdue to replace the current wipers.  The spouse takes this as evidence of the superiority of the WWCP method.  If I had been conserving PWS I would probably still have years of usage left in my wipers.  "You let those wipers scrape across a dry windshield and it rips them to shreds," the spouse tells me as we drive blindly down the highway in the rain.  There's still a few more days of rain in our forecast.  Tomorrow I'm going to buy new wipers, but I'm not adopting the WWCP method.   

Graduation Day

Today was graduation day at HHS.  I didn't attend the ceremony, but happened to drive by the high school on my way into town and saw the students and their families taking photos and visiting on the lawn at the high school.  The students who attended HHS when I was an administrator there have long since graduated, but this graduating class has several students from my days as special education director.  It's another reminder that time is marching forward and nothing stays the same. 


When I worked at the high school, graduation was the biggest event of the year.  Thousands of people attended.  There was always lots of drama leading up to the ceremony as students struggled to complete graduation requirements.   There were usually two or three parents in the principal's office demanding that exceptions be made so their child could participate in the ceremony even though he or she had not completed all the requirements. 

The administrative team worked hard to maintain the dignity of the ceremony and give every student his or her moment in the spotlight.  Very little was left to chance.  The graduates were well rehearsed and we were on the lookout for disruptive tricks.  There was always someone who tried to sneak in beach balls to toss around during the ceremony, an air horn to blast when a friend received a diploma, or giant balloons to float above them.  The invited guests were sometimes worse than the students and we confiscated air horns and balloons at the door.  At rehearsal our students were assured that they would be escorted out of the ceremony if they participated in any of these disruptive antics.  They were allowed cans of silly string and beach balls, but they could only pull them out after the last student received a diploma and the class was presented to the audience.  Our students understood that graduation was important to the thousands of friends and family members who had gathered to watch, and every student deserved to be the sole center of attention for those few seconds when their name was announced and they marched across the stage to accept a handshake and their diploma.  But every year the students planned something just to keep us on our toes. 

My first year at the high school the principal walked me through the graduation preparations and explained why everything was so carefully choreographed.   One year the ceremony was just about to start when the principal looked at the stage from the back of the room and realized that there were no diplomas on the stage.  Three thousand friends and family watched as a student hurried up to the dais and deposited a cardboard box on the table.  Not a fatal error, but every year after that the checklist had "Diplomas on the stage" listed to remind us.

One tradition that students have carried out for years is giving the board chair, who hands out the diplomas, a token when receiving their diplomas.  The checklist got a new addition "Container for tokens" after the year that students chose to give the board chair marbles.  After the first twenty-five students had handed off their marbles, the board chair had full pockets and marbles were rolling off the table.  Each class tries to come up with something original to hand over.  The year our first graduating class of the newly remodeled school graduated, they handed over nails to represent the two years they studied while construction was in progress.  One year it was condoms...I don't know what that was supposed to represent!

It's an exciting time for students.  I enjoyed seeing their smiling faces as they left the high school with their diplomas, their bright gowns blowing around them in the wind.  Their future is wide open.  Congratulations to the class of 2012.

There's Probably An Interesting Story Here...

The spouse and I went to a funeral a few months ago in a small Oregon town outside of Portland.  We  saw this sign in the window of a store as we walked to the church located  in the rear of a storefront on the main street of town.  Don't you wish we knew the story behind the sign?

Back to the Grind

Venice, like no place else in the world!

I’ve taken a month off from the grueling work of blogging.  The trouble with not blogging for a month is that it is so difficult to figure out where to start now that I’m ready to write again.  Perhaps it’s best to just jump into the fray and see where I wind up…

Duomo in Milan

In April I made my first trip to Italy.  I met my daughter, who was working in Milan for two weeks, and took advantage of her company-paid hotel room.  I was surprised that I was nervous about the trip.  I’ve traveled quite a bit both with the spouse and by myself.  I think I was uneasy about not speaking Italian.  I was quite pleased with myself when I arrived at the hotel after taking the bus and then a short taxi ride from the airport (“The taxis are so expensive, take the bus, Mom.”)  After a quick change of clothes we headed out to see the Duomo, and a pickpocket got my wallet with all my credit cards and money…a lot of money.  Less than two hours in Italy and I was broke!

I spent a few hours angry and preoccupied, but then I forced myself to recognize that I shouldn’t let one unfortunate experience ruin a wonderful trip.  I called the spouse and had him cancel my credit cards.  My daughter loaned me money and a credit card, with only a few snide comments about my fitness to travel alone.

It was a wonderful trip.  I stood alone in a dim museum with the sculpture that Michelangelo was working on when he died, and viewed Leonardo DaVinci’s The Last Supper in the former dining hall of an ancient monastery.  I marveled at Venice, which looks exactly like every picture you’ve ever seen of it, but in person is hard to believe that it really exists.  We cruised Lake Como, but never caught a glimpse of George Clooney.  Best of all I spent two weeks with my daughter.

Venice

Sarah at Murano Glass Factory

While I was exploring  Italy  spring arrived in Hermiston.  The tulips were still blooming when I returned.   Both the spouse and I have spent a lot of time working in the yard.  The spouse has planted a big garden.  I expected a duplicate of last year’s a few tomatoes and peppers and a couple of cucumbers, but we’ve got a small truck garden complete with drip irrigation and tomatoes residing in rows of white tenting.  We harvested our first crop last week.  Every meal in our house now comes with radish garnish!  

Radishes in my garden, that are now washed and trimmed in a tupperware container in my refrigerator.

Well, that wasn’t so hard.  Now I just need to get back in the habit of writing.  It’s good to be back.  I’ll be dropping by your blogs to see what you’ve all been up to.