Barack Obama is the perfect candidate for such a time as this. He is charming, educated, and appears to feel “our” pain.  His background is one of  hard work and knowing what the “little guy”is all about.  Heck, just cause he went to Harvard doesn’t mean he can’t connect with us, he’s just smarter.  In fact as the masses have said over and over ” has  there ever been anyone such as him?”  Barack Obama wants change.  He wants change to begin with Health care.  Barack Obama wants to provide National Health care to everyone–no questions asked.  Everyone will be insured, even if they have preexisting conditions.  However the Obama plan will also offer a premium plan, called  National Health Insurance Exchange to help individuals who wish to purchase a private insurance plan.  Meaning–those that can pay and want good health care will get it.  What kind of health care do you think Mr. Obama is getting now as a Senator and will continue to get if elected President?  Do you think he will go with the National Health plan he is touting or stick with the one all the senators and the President gets at Walter Reed Hospital?

Change.  $ That’s a popular term with Mr. Obama.  How about change in the economy.  Mr. Obama’s policy for change there is this: He wants to Simplify tax filings for middle class americans.  He thinks this will dramaticaticlly save up to 2 billions dollars in tax preparers fees and hours in aggrivation by having prefilled foms!  Wow!  

Obama will invest in rural small businesses and fight to expand high-speed Internet access.  How about free cable too so we can watch American Idol while we look for $change  in the sofa to take to the change counter at the store?

But wait, there’s even more!  Barack Obama wants to feed the world!  He has authored Senate Bill 2333. The Global Poverty Act.  This act has already worked its way through the house and now is in the Senate.  If passed it will require and indebt Americans ennormoersly when we are already facing higher prices for fuel and food.

The legislation itself requires the President “to develop and implement a comprehensive stategy to further the United States foreign policy objective of promoting the reduction of global poverty, the elimination of extreme global poverty, and the achievement of the Millennium Development Goal of reducing by one-half the proporation of people world wide between 1990 and 2015, who live on less than $1 per day”.  The bill defines the “Millennium Development Goals” as the goals set in the United Nations Millennium Declaration,55/2(2000).

So, Barack Obama will give you free health care, high speed internet and will feed the world.  All he asks in return is……….everything you got.  

Fear has been part of my DNA as long as can remember.  I think this is because my parents loved me so much and had trouble conceiving me.  Once I arrived to parents with a low sperm count and a tilted uterus that required my mother to spend the last four months of my conception in bed, they did everything to ensure I would be SAFE in life.  This included being sure to not climb high places, swim in water over my head, talk to strangers, ride a bike without training wheels until I was 10 and generally grow up afraid of everything!  Of course I did try my hand at a few stunts that I saw other brave souls doing, but invariably I paid the price of skinned up  and band-aided knees  which seemed to reinforce the message that life was dangerous for Me.

The funny thing is I did not raise my children like that all.  I encouraged tree climbing, swimming and ran behind my daughter as she took off bravely on her bike down the sidewalk.  I have memories of my daughter being tossed over her father’s head time and time again when she was just a toddler.  Studies have shown that this encourages balance and a well adjusted sense of space.  She is the one that was always out exploring on land and bringing me bugs and lizards and snakes and watching me shreak and run from them. Now she is now grown and loves roller coasters, mountain skiing, and sky diving to name a few.  To say it mildly, she is not afraid of heights. 

I have thought about the last two vacations and how I watched from below while my husband took in the view of Oahu from 2600 feet viewing pineapple farms, mountains, ocean tides and the occasional whale  or in Florence where I stood firmly on the ground while he climb the tower of Jotta and beheld the majesty of the city because I could not .  The views that he saw  are lost to me, because I was afraid.  Even in the safety of my living room I have watched numerous action movies where Jackie Chan or Bruce Willis rolls around on top of a 100 story building in peril of falling any minute.  My hands begin to perspire as I chant to myself “it’s only a movie, it’s only a movie”.

Yesterday,  I went on a zipline through the hill country.  I didn’t want to go, but at the prodding of my husband, we went.  After the 1st zipline, (there are 5 at this zipline) I was shaking and about to cry). On the 2nd zipline I was speechless and awestruck.  By the third, the longest one in the lower 48 states, I was squealling with joy (much like my toddler daughter). At the end of the run I felt like I had conquered the world, but I had conquered much more.  I had conquered an old nemisis that had hung around  way too long.  It was  like shedding a skin and being reborn. The excilliration that I feel now is exciting and makes me want to try so many other things.  Maybe that’s a little too much, but it’s exactly how I felt flying through the air at 35 miles per hour 300 feet up in the air in just a harness. I want so much to grab life while I’m still here on this earth. No more being afraid, being ever so careful. Life is so short, a vapor.  After being afraid for long and then realizing, that I didn’t have to be afraid, the freedom that kissed my faced with the wind felt cool and sweet. 

For more information about zipline adventures click http://www.wimberleyzipline.com

 http://youtube.com/watch?v=T73OVz9iolw

    I realize that in my zeal to be prepared for every disease/disaster known to man, I have become a germaphobe. I have been accused (rightly so) of carrying everything but the proverbial kitchen sink in my purse just in case. You never know when you might need a band-aid, tweezers, a wet-wipe, floss, toothpaste, a sewing kit, and so on.  I have always been the one to have wet wipes to clean my hands after pumping gas to get the gas smell off my hands and of course who knows what else????

The path from my front door to the kitchen sink is well worn because it has been  non stop; as that is the first thing I do when I get home is to WASH MY HANDS!!!  I realize that a certain amount of hygiene is necessary and I admit it freaks me out like Seinfeld if I see waitstaff  come out   of a stall and  not wash their hands in the ladies room!  But I am calling a truce on myself.  Now that I am  working in the school that I am has opened my eyes.  The students are surrounded with antibacterial soap and antibacterial gel to clean their hands  every time they turn around. It’s a wonder the little darlings  don’t glow because of it!   Teachers practically bathe in the stuff.  UV lights light up the room and hallways.  Kids are issued wet wipes to wipe down toys and desks.   I’m surprised they are not issued surgical masks along with their uniforms.  Even the grocery stores are getting in on the act and now dispensing antibacterial wet wipes to wipe down your grocery cart handles in case they are deemed to “dirty” by you.  Come on folks, are we really that freaked out by a little dirt?  I must have been.  I realize how hostage my fears of germs had taken me when I became too picky to eat at salad bars, disliked shaking hands with people and really did not like eating food from people that had been prepared I didn’t know all that well.  I knew it had gotten pretty bad when at dinner one night to celebrate a family dinner, a loved one blew his nose, a faux paux for me and I quickly lost my appetite.  In retrospect, I realized, what was worst, the faux paux, or not ever being with my loved one? I realized quickly that even if it was a little gross, it was common in many cultures to do this, if not in our own.  Our country is so hung up on cleanliness, to the tune of a 400 billion dollars and yet we have a growing problem with MRSA, and other bacteria resistant to antibiotics.  Maybe we need to step back and embrace a little dirt.

I remember when dirt was my best friend.  When chicken pot pies actually came in tin foil pans, we got to mix dirt and water to make….MUD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was great!  We had mud pies, mud cakes and put all sorts of accouterments such as leaves and twigs for relish.  I think it was my first attempt at baking.  My mother enjoyed them and so did my pets and assorted toys.  Then there was nothing like kicking off your shoes and squishing your toes through the cool, brown slick mud as it oozed up and around your feet.  The sucking sound as you tried to walk was great and when you tried to walk with several inches of mud on your feet was indescribable  as though you could walk with feet like a giant because of all the mud caked on them. 

Nowadays I don’t think children are allowed to ever get dirty.  If they are , they are quickly sanitized and then given an energy drink with extra vitamins.  I think fresh air and a little mud would be much better.

Having landed a job a as a school secretary/registrar I am around children all day.  This allows me ample opportunity to experience all the blissful moments of motherhood without having to take them home at the end of the day.  Well…I take that back.  I was there two days and I caught a nasty cold, but that ’s a different story.  My office is constantly overrun with students that have forgotten their lunch, need to call home for various  emergencies  like, 1.Can they spend the night with Jenny? 2. Can mommy bring their lunch? 3. Can mommy bring them their back pack , etc.  There are also students turning in permission slips for field trips, slips excusing absences,  and students picking up papers for their teachers.  However, before the students leave my office 85% of them invariably will leave something behind for me. 

That’s right folks!  Little Marcy and cute little Johnathan break wind just as they exit my office.  I have thought about burning a scented candle to try to improve the odor in the room, but I’m afraid that when little Shelby cut loose it just might cause a flash fire!

I’m not quite sure what why it is so bad.  You would think after three years of substitute teaching I would be used to it.  I mean there is nothing worse than a 6th grade boy cutting loose in a science lab.  If you think you had trouble controlling a class before as a sub, it’s all over after that!  Why is it that Men especially love to fart?  Is it because they are so good  at it ?  I know one young man that thinks it is absolutely hilarious!  I think he thinks that God created farting JUST FOR HIM! 

I know he has no interest in sports what soever.  However, the Olymics are coming up this summer.  What if we had Farting as a entry?  Can you imagine?  I mean, why not?  We have ping pong and who ever heard of that being a SPORT???? Can you imagine the entries?  Whooooo boy!  The entries!  The gas you get after eating brats and beer from Germany!  Or how about Mexico and the gas from beans and beer?  Could curry be the secret ingredient that would  have everyone beat pants down? Uhh….we’ll never know.  Why?  It’s not politically correct. 

Everyone knows that cows produce methane that is contributing to the greenhouse effect. Some rancher’s and scientists are trying to control it by controlling what the cows eat.  I suggest we go a step further.  I suggest we introduce Beano into the drinking water into all municipal water districts.  It should also be incorporated into all fast foods so that everyone is fart free.  Bottled drinking water should also include beano. Forget fancy vitamin water and diet drinks that have vitamins and extra caffeine.  Give me BEANO!!!!!!!!  Make the world a better place to breathe! 

I have a dream.  A day when whoopie cushions will be a thing of the past.  When little children can leave my office and I will be sorry to see them go.

I always thought I was more or less normal.  That is, until I turned 38.  By normal I mean I never stalked a celebrity, never plucked my eyelashes out and never set a cat on fire.  However when I turned 38 I developed an overwhelming desire to tell everyone that they were doing it wrong.  I told my husband he was doing IT wrong, if you know what I mean.  I told my children they were doing everything wrong.  And it didn’t stop there. I was compelled to tell my teachers, my children’s teachers, my friends, my minister, cashiers, waiters, store clerks, eh, I think you begin to see my point. 

About the same time I also developed a crazy need to cry over various things.  I was equally indiscriminate over what I cried about.  I could be reduced to tears over a broken piece of china or a broken nail; a Hallmark commercial or the evening news, an old love letter or an expired coupon.  Anger, sadness, and joy could all be experienced in the span of five minutes . Hence, swinging.  I was swinging and my family was swinging with me on this emotional carnival ride.   I thought a trip to the doctor might be in order so I scheduled an appointment that happened to coinside with my annual female check up.  When my Doogie Howser look -a- like asked me if I had been having any problems, I mentioned I had been having a few mood swings.  (I could feel the universe collectively roll it’s eyes.)  “Let’s run some tests just to make sure” he said in his oh so sure of himself voice. 

24 hours later, he called.  “Guess what?, Youre’ in perimenopause!” he announced as if he has discovered the arctic circle.  “That can’t be, I said, “I’m too young”.  “Well tests don’t lie and your Fsh is below the level “We” consider normal. You’ll have to start on hormones right away” he said.  Apparently the girls  that had been working so efficiently all these years pumping out estrogen and eggs were well… frankly dog gone tired.  Just like an oil well spitting and sputtering it’s last reserves my ovaries were doing the same.  So, I began the hormones.

Within two weeks, I felt like I was pregnant.  I was nauseous, bloated,  and my nipples hurt and that’s just the good part.  I called the nurse and she encouraged me to “hang with it” because it will get better.  I hung with it for another two weeks and then threw the pills away.  Swinging up, Swinging down.   I went back to the doc.  He adjusted my hormones again and again.  “Sometimes it just takes awhile to find the right mix for each woman”he said.  I shoulda gotten a discount or a special parking slot or at least a coffee mug from one or more of the drug companies.  While my family grew used to my various moods and my husband took to wearing an extra sweater because of the air conditioner running non stop, we continued to tinker with the hormones.

Years went by and the famous study came out that it was DANGEROUS for women to take hormones and may cause heart attacks or strokes so millions of women went off hormones. I had switched to bio-identical hormones hoping to be safer, but still felt the hammer of cancer and eminent death hanging over my head.   Therefore, I too went off hormones cold turkey.  My body reacted like a junkie that had been cut off from her supply.  I instantly began having hot flashes and became the queen of nit picking again.  I hated that the news caster on Channel 24 had gotten hair extensions over night.  Who did she think she was fooling any way? I couldn’t sleep, It was hot all the time, and oh by the way, you’re doing it wrong!

Hmmm….I made another trip to see my nurse practitioner and revisited my decision about going off hormones.  Turns out the famous “Study” was done on women 70 and older that were predisposed to heart disease and stroke. Hellooooooo! That’s like saying hey, if you’re blind, you probably shouldn’t juggle knives!  I mean come on!  A lot of women are out there suffering when they don’t need to be because of a faulty study.  Who does these studies?

 Men. Why do I mention that?  Because when I went back to my Nurse PA., I told her that I was having some “trouble” making love.  Not that unusual without the hormones. During the exam, she said, “Okay, I’m now past the vestibule and into the vault. ” What?  Since when did the female anatomy become terms for the church and bank?  She said, “well, that’s what we’re taught in med school”. 

All I know is I am swinging up again, all most everyone is doing it right and I giggle each time I need to go to  the bank or enter the room outside our church.

In my quest to find work that will supplement my husband’s income I think I have found the perfect job.  As I peruse the want ads each day over my steaming cup of Lipton, the ad leaped out of the monitor at me and said “Here I am, this is what you have been waiting for!” Not far from me, tucked into the Hill Country apparently has emerged a Vodka distillery;  not much unlike all the meth labs we have around here.  Meth labs are very popular  around here because they are easy to hide in the backwoods of the hill country and because of the noxious odors  methamphetamine produces.  Of course, there is the down side of  a meth lab and that is the fact that 1,  it is highly illegal , 2.  you might get shot by a. the police  or b. your competition.

Not so, with alcohol.  Alcohol since the repeal of prohibition has been taxed, and although through the ages been approved or disapproved by society, has been tolerated. It has been glamorized through the media and slick ads in magazines promote the product.  Who hasn’t heard ” Would you like to come up for a drink?”  ,”Let’s go out for a drink”, “Come over to our place for drinks” They aren’t talking about a glass of water folks!   Now some enterprising individuals have decided to move a Texas Vodka distillery into the Hill Country and are advertising for bottlers for $10.00 +. 

I wonder what the + stands for?  Could it be samples on your break?  What could you possibly do that would enable you do endure eight hours of mind numbing bottling of Vodka unless you had a little “buzz”?  Surely instead of a water bottle in the break room it would be filled with the finest of their stock and you could just go get a chug when you began to sober up a Little.  This is not that far fetched.  There is a small beer brewing company in Texas that still supplies beer to all it’s employees on break and at lunch.  It is a small Czech/German community and all the employees have been drinking beer since they were weaned from their mama’s tits.  Do you think they have much turnover there? Nope!  How about on the job accidents? Nah!  Those folks can drink beer like water and keep on going. 

Which brings me back to my dilemma.  I have the tolerance of a tse-tse fly when it comes to alcohol.  One half glass of wine or one margarita and I will be telling secrets and stories that are better left unsaid. Two hours later, I’m fast asleep. I  like to think I would make a good spy, but all the enemy would have to do is ply me with 3 margaritas and I would spill all the state secrets in 15 minutes flat and have a good time doing it!  I need to go into training for this position, if I’m to be hired for it.  I don’t know that much about Vodka, except that it kind of tastes like hairspray.  But, hey, if I get 10$ an hour to stay buzzed, maybe it’s worth it.  I doubt there will be a drug screen.

Working as a temporary is as close to being a non person as one can get.  There are so many facets of being a temp in an office setting it boggles ones mind.  From the beginning when you register as a “temp” with an agency you  are given tests to ensure you won’t pick up a box weighing over 50 pounds or show up to work under the influence of illegal substances, divulge company secrets, engage in unprotected sex to the more mundane  typing and filing tests.   There is  also the point where you realize you are being interviewed by someone that is younger than your VCR and has had  way too much coffee for your 15 minute interview that your drove an hour to prepare for.  But then the day arrives, when Cindee from ABC staffing calls with an “Assignment!!!” and you go like a starving man to a feast. 

From the moment you check in with the receptionist, if you are lucky to find one, you are immediately identified as “the temp”.  “The temp is here”, the receptionist annouces and from then on, you are “the temp”.  You can introduce yourself a million times, but you will always be “the temp”.  You are required to know everyone’s name, but they are not required to know yours.  You need to know all the  extensions, who can be disturbed, and who must never be disturbed. 
When taking food orders,  a temp is expected to know who eats onions and who doesn’t, who is allergic to wheat, who drinks caffeine and so on. It is also helpful to know what overnight services the company uses and which ones they don’t.  When payroll must be submitted and by all means the CEO’s name and his wife’s!

On some of my more interesting assignments, I was placed at a physical therapy rehabilitation unit as a secretary.  The place was so loosely run that when they were short of therapists, they would set clients on the equipment  then get them started and then ask me to look out the window of the office every so often to make sure no one had fallen off!  This was the same office that showed me how to back date the fax machine so they could send over requests to Medicare to get them approved.  Needless to say, I got out of there pretty quick.

Temp agencies have no idea what they are sending people to do.  They just want bodies in place so they can bill the client for the job.  My last job was a hoot.  I should have walked out the first day, but as my title suggests , I will work for food.  When I walked back into the kitchen and found a dead mouse in a trap, that should have screamed to me “you’re next!!” However I endured another week of demeaning work, more mice everywhere, low pay and a threatening environment before I called Cindee to let her that this assignment was just not working out. 

Cindee is working on finding me another assignment while I continue to interview with agencies and direct placement firms.  Many want me to be available at all hours, “would that be a problem?” “Uh, yes, I have a life, don’t you?”  “I see you want more than a pittance and that’s all we are willing to pay, is that a problem? “Yes, sir, Please sir, could I have more? “More? More?  Your want more?????????”