As I revisit this entry a mere 20 days later, I have absolutely no idea what my train of thought was. Such is the problem with that proverbial train stopping at every station. Perhaps I should have jotted down some notes or given myself some keywords to trigger a memory and get me going again the next time that I sat down. I guess that's why they say that hindsight is 20/20. None of these ideas presented themselves the last time I was looking at this entry and choosing what seemed like such a clever "same bat time, same bat channel" title.
But past is indeed prologue. Now I know what should be done the next time I can't finish an entry. I guess that makes this rambling entry a necessary evil to be referred to whenever I can't recall why exactly I should be making some notes or a succinct little outline about what is on my mind. Okay, I'll spare you any further deliberating. I really don't have anything further to say here.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Pure Genius
I almost got a Darwin Award nomination today. You're familiar with these, aren't you? They're the ones that you usually read about in a forwarded email from one of your friends or maybe the morning commute DJ on the radio will read them. Inevitably, there will be some yahoo that came to his or her premature demise in the most ridiculous of manners.
Some border on urban legend, while others seem downright plausible. One of my favorites is about the guy that somehow commandeered a jet engine and strapped it to the top of his sedan. Ultimately, said tool ran into the side of a cliff as he was unable to stop his car after reaching speeds in excess of 300 mph. Allegedly, this is how it went down, but this might be one of the stories that falls into the legend category.
My situation as much more of what I like to term an "honest mistake". I didn't do anything crazy like drop a frozen turkey into a pot of hot peanut oil and wake up in the hospital with 3rd degree burns wondering if anyone saved any sweet potato pie for me. I actually followed the directions on the box and didn't see any reason why my situation might be the least bit tenuous. What I didn't account for, however, was the fact that not even the meteorologists ever really have an idea what is going to happen with the weather.
I've had a fruit fly situation for the past 5 or 6 days and after several failed "natural" attempts at eradicating them, I opted to get a "fogger" from the store and take care of them once and for all. The instructions said to start the fogger and leave the premises for 4 hours, and upon your return, open the windows to allow proper ventilation for about 30 minutes before remaining in your domicile. That seems easy enough, right? Yeah, I thought so.
Initially, the only grey area was in the specifics. The devil in the details as they say. It said that one can was sufficient for an area 625 square feet. My place is close to 900 sq. ft. and I didn't want to "under"-do the situation, so I guess what I did amounted to slightly over-doing it. Theoretically, two cans should take care of 1250 square feet so while I'd be laying it on kind of thick, I'd be assured of my problem going away.
I returned from hanging out in my building's lobby after about 30 minutes and found that the poison in the air was still thick enough to make one choke, so I left again for another 30. I had opened all of the windows, but I guess this was just that rare night when the wind wasn't whipping around my top floor condo. At the two hour mark, I went back in to turn the fans on in the bathroom, on the stove, and plug in the little portable fan as well. At this point, I was cursing my decision to not get this done in the afternoon as it was now approaching 1am. I tried holding my front door open for the next 30 minutes to get some air flow, but that didn't prove to solve the problem very quickly either.
Finally, at about 245am I decided that my place was about as aired out as it was going to be and I returned to clean the counter tops and such so that I might return to normal operations the next day.
To make a long story short, my lungs reminded me of how lucky I had actually been when I awakened at about 730am in a fit of coughing.
And the winner is...
Some border on urban legend, while others seem downright plausible. One of my favorites is about the guy that somehow commandeered a jet engine and strapped it to the top of his sedan. Ultimately, said tool ran into the side of a cliff as he was unable to stop his car after reaching speeds in excess of 300 mph. Allegedly, this is how it went down, but this might be one of the stories that falls into the legend category.
My situation as much more of what I like to term an "honest mistake". I didn't do anything crazy like drop a frozen turkey into a pot of hot peanut oil and wake up in the hospital with 3rd degree burns wondering if anyone saved any sweet potato pie for me. I actually followed the directions on the box and didn't see any reason why my situation might be the least bit tenuous. What I didn't account for, however, was the fact that not even the meteorologists ever really have an idea what is going to happen with the weather.
I've had a fruit fly situation for the past 5 or 6 days and after several failed "natural" attempts at eradicating them, I opted to get a "fogger" from the store and take care of them once and for all. The instructions said to start the fogger and leave the premises for 4 hours, and upon your return, open the windows to allow proper ventilation for about 30 minutes before remaining in your domicile. That seems easy enough, right? Yeah, I thought so.
Initially, the only grey area was in the specifics. The devil in the details as they say. It said that one can was sufficient for an area 625 square feet. My place is close to 900 sq. ft. and I didn't want to "under"-do the situation, so I guess what I did amounted to slightly over-doing it. Theoretically, two cans should take care of 1250 square feet so while I'd be laying it on kind of thick, I'd be assured of my problem going away.
I returned from hanging out in my building's lobby after about 30 minutes and found that the poison in the air was still thick enough to make one choke, so I left again for another 30. I had opened all of the windows, but I guess this was just that rare night when the wind wasn't whipping around my top floor condo. At the two hour mark, I went back in to turn the fans on in the bathroom, on the stove, and plug in the little portable fan as well. At this point, I was cursing my decision to not get this done in the afternoon as it was now approaching 1am. I tried holding my front door open for the next 30 minutes to get some air flow, but that didn't prove to solve the problem very quickly either.
Finally, at about 245am I decided that my place was about as aired out as it was going to be and I returned to clean the counter tops and such so that I might return to normal operations the next day.
To make a long story short, my lungs reminded me of how lucky I had actually been when I awakened at about 730am in a fit of coughing.
And the winner is...
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Morning Inspiration
I was having trouble sleeping this morning. This is nothing new in my post-knee-operation existence. The pain isn't always bad like it was right after the surgery 6 months ago (wow...exactly 6 months ago today!), but it comes and goes. This was the first time in recent memory, however, that the pain awakened me. I was probably in and out of good sleep from about 3am on and could more than faintly hear the various sounds that my Blackberry Storm makes whenever a text or email comes in.
Since at this hour, the only thing that might be coming in would be junk mail of some sort, I didn't see the need to reach for the phone and stop trying to pretend that I could still go back to sleep. When the email sound chimed at 445am, I finally did. It was some stupid message from Amazon.com that I immediately deleted without even opening. Since I already had the thing in my hand, I decided to scroll down and see what other junk had come in since the previous evening. Except for a forwarded message from an old friend, everything else was of the Spam variety. The forwarded message might have ordinarily been deleted on sight, but at this hour, I needed something to distract me from the pain.
I figured I'd look at the first little bit of it before hitting the delete button, but it kept me quite intrigued. By the time I was finished reading, I didn't know whether to shed a tear or get up and tackle the day. I was blown away. I chose the latter, and with great enthusiasm. I haven't jumped out of bed at that hour and with such vigor in a long time. Fifteen minutes later, I was in the gym working out. I have included the message below. I trust that you will enjoy it as much as I did.
Woman and a Fork
There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things 'in order,' she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.
She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.
Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. 'There's one more thing,' she said excitedly.
'What's that?' came the Pastor's reply.
'This is very important,' the young woman continued. 'I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.'
The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.
'That surprises you, doesn't it?' the young woman asked.
'Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request,' said the Pastor.
The young woman explained. 'My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement. In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!'
So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Keep your fork ..the best is yet to come.'
The Pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.
At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, 'What's with the fork?' And over and over he smiled.
During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told th e people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.
He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork let it remind you, ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.
Since at this hour, the only thing that might be coming in would be junk mail of some sort, I didn't see the need to reach for the phone and stop trying to pretend that I could still go back to sleep. When the email sound chimed at 445am, I finally did. It was some stupid message from Amazon.com that I immediately deleted without even opening. Since I already had the thing in my hand, I decided to scroll down and see what other junk had come in since the previous evening. Except for a forwarded message from an old friend, everything else was of the Spam variety. The forwarded message might have ordinarily been deleted on sight, but at this hour, I needed something to distract me from the pain.
I figured I'd look at the first little bit of it before hitting the delete button, but it kept me quite intrigued. By the time I was finished reading, I didn't know whether to shed a tear or get up and tackle the day. I was blown away. I chose the latter, and with great enthusiasm. I haven't jumped out of bed at that hour and with such vigor in a long time. Fifteen minutes later, I was in the gym working out. I have included the message below. I trust that you will enjoy it as much as I did.
Woman and a Fork
There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things 'in order,' she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.
She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.
Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. 'There's one more thing,' she said excitedly.
'What's that?' came the Pastor's reply.
'This is very important,' the young woman continued. 'I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.'
The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.
'That surprises you, doesn't it?' the young woman asked.
'Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request,' said the Pastor.
The young woman explained. 'My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement. In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!'
So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Keep your fork ..the best is yet to come.'
The Pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.
At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, 'What's with the fork?' And over and over he smiled.
During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told th e people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.
He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork let it remind you, ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)