BeliefNet

If you've ever questioned whether what you believe spiritually is actually what you believe spiritually (you who ask yourself these questions will know exactly what I mean), take a trip over to BeliefNet for a little quiz. Come to find out, my Southern Baptist roots don't even rate in the Top 20 of my current beliefs. As a matter of fact, I've never even heard of some of the religions that my beliefs appear to fit.
Namaste!

The County

After work on Friday, I drove down to say goodbye to one of my long-time neighbors and distant relatives. It was sad to think that although I'd driven by her house countless times through the years, I don't believe we'd ever really spoken. I'd often admired her little place on the curve going out to my mother's. It was surrounded by fields and trees with no close neighbors unless you counted her son and his family who lived roughly 1/4 mile away (as the crow flies). Her grandson rode my school bus from my eighth grade year on, and he and his sister were sometimes the only two on the bus when my brother and I boarded it on pitch black fall mornings. Thinking about it now, I can still remember where he sat every day...halfway toward the front on the right, close to the window, never slouching, sometimes reading. It's funny the things I can remember from childhood compared to the detail I recall during life as an adult. It's both sad and odd, like this picture of Front Street that I took while driving with my mother and grandmother after the funeral on Friday night:

Look at all the empty buildings. I don't believe that there is one left that is home to an actual business, nor is there one that is fit to do so. While I was taking this picture my grandmother remarked that there was a time when every single building housed a successful business and that a person could barely drive down the street on weekends for being so packed. She mentioned the grocery stores, clothing stores, the theater. Even when I was a kid, most of those things were distant memories to county residents. I have to admit though that there are still times when I dream of being inside Webb's grocery. I am always on my way to the back to get a bottle of Pepsi out of the machine. I don't know how that particular store managed to creep into my dreams as an adult, but it has done so on more than a couple of occasions. I remember the store vividly, even now. There were two long aisles going the length of the store and many short aisles in between so that shopping there was like walking a railroad track. Bud or Bill was always back behind the meat counter waiting on a customer. I often marveled at how they seemed to know instinctively how wide to open their hand to grab exactly one pound of ground beef or how many slices equaled two pounds of bacon. Annette stood ready at the checkout in the front of the store. Her post was strategic so that during the inevitable slow hours she could stare out the plate glass window watching the comings and goings of the county. Sometimes I could tell that Annette would grow a little perturbed when I spent too much time loitering in front of the candy stand trying to choose between a Marathon bar and a Sugar Daddy. She never neglected to thank me for my business though. I am so sad yearning for my lost days of youth, that I am forced to post this picture in order to bring things back to present day reality:

This is now The Nicest Thing on Front Street. I wish that I could have gotten a better picture of it. I should have gotten out and stood beside it so that you could see that it is a miniature chapel. It even has a tiny gate (midget-sized) which I can only assume is used to keep the (miniature) riff-raff out. It's itty bitty, this gate...but not just only that....there's a teensy fence running the perimeter of the entire miniature thing. Words just cannot do justice to the magnitude of its petiteness nor the sadness of its immaculate grounds. How can the county keep such a pristine midget park while less than 50 yards away big people buildings are crumbling before their eyes?!

Namaste

Alzheimer's vs. Dementia

I should have known it was going to be "that kinda day" when my eyeballs popped open at 5:15 without cause. I was undeniably wide awake, but there was no movement at all. I just laid there like a quadraplegic staring at the ceiling...straight up Star Trek sick bay pose. None of the usual rolling around, closing my eyes and drifting back to (pretend) sleep.

Let me interject something here, something you should probably know about me. I am one of those people who is way too jumpy to ever hit snooze or doze off as I might actually FALL asleep...the real thing...as in deep rest. I could sleep for seconds, possibly minutes! This is a chance I could never take. Hell, no. No way. God forbid I should ever wake up late (6 a.m.). The trade off is much too steep. It would absolutely ruin me, possibly forever.

Hmmm...I wonder if this has some connection to my Saturday morning insomnia. Good question. Is there such thing as oversleep-aphobia?

So...I laid there frozen for a full 20 minutes before dragging my feet onto the floor and heading for the coffee maker. May I say, I hate making coffee. Despise it. It's one of those generic things like buying paper towels that spurs hypertension without cause. I especially hate making coffee when I've bought some crappy flavored Folger's because I'd shot the wad earlier in the week buying 1/2 wines at World Market. Anyway, I'd gotten up to make the foul Folger's and moved onto the shower. Got in, washed my hair, was poised to move to phase II with the washing of the self when I looked down and "slam." I'd actually moved through ten minutes of shower time without noticing that I was wearing my BRA. Yep, there I was getting ready to soak up my harness with a little Caress Daily Silkening cleanser. WTF? "I must be losing my ever loving mind!" I marveled aloud to No One [sad frown]. And that's the way it all began. Thank God I have you guys to talk to about this, because I need your help.

Would you say Alzheimer's or straight up dementia? I'm truly torn.

Namaste

Top Chef Season 3

I am so excited about the new season of Top Chef starting June 13 that I've spent the last hour browsing Tom Colicchio's cooking (as opposed to cook) books on Amazon.com. I am especially lusting after Think Like a Chef. I have always admired Tom's straightforward comments about the dishes prepared on the show. He doesn't mince words when it comes to criticism, but he will also give credit where credit is due. He's not one of these egomaniacs who believes that up-and-comers could never hold a candle to what he himself did in the kitchen last week. Tom is always incredibly professional, which makes me think I need at least one of his books for my very small collection.

To get me even more wound up about Season 3 of Top Chef, there's a Celebrity Chef Death Match [beware - video link] scheduled for Wednesday night, June 6 which pits Season 1 Chefs against Season 2. Can you even imagine? That means at least one more look at Chef Sam Talbot. Good Lord. Talk about bringing the heat in a kitchen. Whew!
Namaste

Aisle 19 Lady

It's 6 a.m. on Saturday morning. 6 a.m., people. Why? Why, even though I crave a long, luxurious 12 hour siesta must I arise at the crack of dawn even on non-chain gang days? Thing is, it's actually worse than it seems, because I've been awake since 5:15. Most Saturdays I'd be at Wal-mart right now in my New Orleans baseball cap selecting groceries for the week and ducking down alternate aisles to avoid the colossol floor buffer. If you've ever had weekend insomnia and taken to the city's only open venue at an ungodly hour, you might agree that it's actually a somewhat pleasant experience compared to visiting somewhere around 2 p.m. The third shift employees seem much more relaxed than their day shift counterparts. They are smiling and helpful even whilst artfully arranging boxes of Ritz crackers. The butchers gather in front of the ground beef freezer talking about sports or late deliveries. Ladies stand with carts of emptied boxes chatting in front of the vitamins. The only stressed workers appear to be those in the produce department and the sad lady on aisle 19. Poor Aisle 19 Lady. While the other night workers spend the last moments of their shift gathered around the service desk telling jokes, Aisle 19 Lady methodically drags items across the bar scanner, red-eyed and scowling. Third-shifters picking up their wares before heading home attempt small talk with Aisle 19 Lady while we all wait in the only open lane. She gives one-syllable answers to their questions and steals sidelong glances at the slackers at the service desk. I can imagine that Aisle 19 must have the highest burnout rate of any other post, and I feel for Aisle 19 Lady. I think about my own job and breathe a sigh of relief. Even on my worst days when employees are fuming or I've totally screwed something up, it must be better than the resentment inherent behind Aisle 19. As I push my cart away and step out of the automatic doors toward my car, I hope and pray that Aisle 19 Lady will one day be promoted to Aisle 20, or better yet to the podium at the end of the self-check stations. Although she is doing us insomniacs a great service standing at the ready into the wee hours of the morning, I believe that there must be a better life. Maybe one day she will be on the other side making small talk herself and wondering why 6 a.m. is her inevitable waking hour.
Namaste