I have the Google web search link up on this page, but I have to wait for SiteSearch until Google acknowledges my existance. I submitted my URL a few minutes ago. I hope that does the trick.

The new Jean Auel book, Shelters of Stone, is due out today. Unfortunately, I won't have the car to go get it at lunchtime or after work. Chuck has been driving me to work since last Wednesday because his truck has a flat tire.

Poetry in Motion submissions:

04-28-02
So many layers of dust
reveal years of cherished hope
So much old junk in the corner
beneath peeling walls

04-29-02
You listened selflessly to my song
Off-key tears for unforgettable hours
Recalling two-part harmony of last years desire
Entangled arms

And a Haiku
Autumn oak leaves cling
To wind-swept winter branches
Falling with the spring

Today has been as laid back as yesterday was hectic. I spent most of the afternoon ensconced in my oversized chair in the skylight room, reading and dozing.

Yesterday began with a phone call from Germany in which Will waxed poetic about how beautiful and what a good, healthy baby Heather is. He may be PCSing back to the States if he gets approved for flight school. That’s what he’s hoping for, anyway. Of course, then I won’t have an excuse to go to Germany. The phone call was cut short when Chuck reminded me that we would be leaving in an hour for the Bar Mitzvah.

We had about two hours to rest after we got home from the reception before we had to leave for a 6:00 Lutheran Choir of Chicago concert call at St. John's. Chuck had been fighting a losing battle with a sore throat all week, and he decided it would be better for him and the choir if he sat in the audience leading the thunderous applause rather than standing up front mouthing the words. We didn’t actually need his services as a cheerleader, though. There was a really good turnout in spite of the rain, and the audience was enthusiastic. They especially loved the spirituals. They applauded for each song instead of waiting for the section to end. We did an encore of Ain’t Got Time to Die, much to Steve’s chagrin. He felt he had given his all the first time he sang the solo part of that number. I couldn’t tell that his voice was tired for the encore. He sounded great.

Floyd arrived with Annie pushing him in a wheelchair. He used crutches to get to the stool he sat on while singing. When we were recessing at the very end, Jerry missed the step and went flying. Nothing broken but his pride.

With a few notable exceptions, gaffs I’d rather not memorialize, the concert went very well and the audience was appreciative. I think we had such a nice crowd because this venue is on the northwest side, where many of our singers and their friends live. Also, this church helped with publicity. Most of the other places leave that pretty much up to us.

We went to the Bar Mitzvah of my boss’s son today. I’ve never been to a Bar Mitzvah nor have I been in a Synagogue.

The sanctuary was on two levels, with a ramp leading down to the lower. The upper was at ground level as you walk in, and the seats formed a sort of gallery along the back and left sides. This was a Reformed congregation, so Chuck and I were allowed to sit together. We chose to sit on the upper level at the back. All the young people in the congregation sat along the left side of the upper level.

The room was very modern, the walls a stark white with large rectangles on the front wall formed by stainless steel strips. A menorah was molded into the front wall on each side, and on the congregation’s right a dozen stained glass backlit panels depicted the twelve tribes of Israel. A large wooden cabinet stood along the front wall, much less modern looking than the rest of the room, decorated in gold with several stars of David, a menorah, a depiction of the Ten Commandments, and a torch on either side. The cabinet had sliding doors that opened from the center, with a sheer white curtain behind them upon which was embroidered a stylization of the burning bush. The Torah scrolls were revealed when the curtain was pushed to one side.

Much of the service was sung in Hebrew. There was a phonetic rendering of the text next to the Hebrew writing in the prayer book, but there was no musical score as there is in Christian hymnbooks. Everyone seemed to have the music memorized. Portions of the service were in English, and took the form of responsive readings, much of which was from the Psalms and other portions of scripture we were familiar with.

The highlight of the service was when Michael, the Bar Mitzvah boy, got to read from the Torah for the first time during worship. There was an elaborate ceremony before the reading, which involved several people helping to remove the scrolls from the cabinet. The rabbi and those assisting brought the Torah scrolls out among the people in a procession. Everyone in the congregation who was close enough when this procession passed by touched the scrolls with the spine of his prayer book and then kissed the book where it had touched the scrolls. The whole thing was done in reverse when the scrolls were returned to the cabinet, and Michael got to lead, carrying the Torah scrolls.

Michael did two readings. The reading from the Torah was from Leviticus, and the other reading was from Ezekiel. Both readings had to do with regulations pertaining to what priests can and can’t do. After the readings, Michael gave a very thoughtful speech relating these readings to his life and his idea of how God wants him to conduct himself. Then the rabbi gave a sort of sermon, elaborating on the theme of the readings, but seeming to speak directly to Michael. The rabbi put his hands on Michael’s head and said a blessing in Hebrew for the Bar Mitzvah, ending with Mazel Tov. Michael received gifts from the congregation, including a ritual wine glass (correction: silver Kiddush cup), a prayer book, and a certificate towards a summer study in Israel.

The service ended with a ceremony that involved bread and grape juice for the young people of the congregation, all of whom filed up to the front from their seats in the left gallery.

The celebration continued with a luncheon at as elaborate as any wedding reception at Chateau Rand in Des Plaines.

Chuck had a sore throat yesterday, and didn't want to go to the Symphony, so I met a friend downtown at Miller's Pub for a great dinner before the concert. The program included two of Haydn's 104 symphonies, both of which were written during his tenure as composer-in-residence at Esterhàzy Castle. I toured the castle when I was in Europe in the summer of 2000 with Lutheran Choir of Chicago. A group of us from the choir tested the acoustics of the famous Haydn Hall (or "Haydn Hole" as our tour guide pronounced it) by breaking into a rousing chorus of "Ride the Chariot".

We also got to hear a brilliant young pianist, Martin Kasik as the soloist in the Schumann Piano Concerto in A Minor. He performed with energy and precision.

There was a modern piece on the program, too, but it wasn't as bad as some I've heard and it was only nine minutes long.

The guest conductor for the evening was Pinchas Zukerman. During the applause following Haydn's "clock" symphony, the last selection on the program, Mr. Zukerman grabbed a violin, began playing Brahm's Lullaby and encouraged everyone to "go home."

Here's the submission I made today to the Poetry in Motion contest:

She jasmine and lavender beneath his shadow
the tree covering her sweet laugh
Her perfumed desire exposed
Only stemmed within

This works like magnetic poetry, and it uses a technique called imaginative layering. It's a sneaky way of allowing the right brain to create while fooling the left brain into thinking it's doing something useful.

Chuck made me fire the "green card ladies" yesterday. These are the two or three Spanish-speaking women who have been cleaning the house every two weeks for the past year. Chuck always complained that they move things and don't replace them in the exact place where they were. My feeling is that's a small price to pay for having the house completely clean at least two days a month. Yesterday, they dropped a spoon in the garbage disposal, and they put some things in the oven. He said I could hire someone else if they spoke English and could follow instructions. Where will I find someone? Right now I am feeling overburdened with the prospect of having to deal with toilets and dustbunnies again. It doesn't bother him. It's not his job. He cooks; that's all he has to do.

During my idle websurfing yesterday evening I discovered that there is a call by a small magazine for fiction, non-fiction, and poetry about Chicago. The deadline is June 1. I have a few ideas, but I have to make sure I tune out the pestimists in my head who would have me give up before I begin. Pestimists are those voices that are constantly telling you that you couldn't possibly write anything that anyone else would want to read, so why don't you just do something useful, like laundry, instead? (Actually, that sounds a bit like my husband. The laundry part, anyway.) The first response that these voices have had to my initial ideas are that I would sound either whiney or, which may be even worse, sticky-sweet nostalgic. Well, I guess I ought to try to at least get something down on paper before I allow anyone, even someone who resides in my own psyche, to criticize it.

Floyd was at LCC rehearsal last night, cast and all. He was joking like his old self, but then he was still taking Vicodin. He has some sort of experimental contraption on his cast that hooks up to something electric that sends pulses of either electricity or sound through the cast and into his leg to speed the regeneration of the bone. Oh, the wonders of modern medicine.

Today is Wiliam Shakespeare's 438th birthday.

I finally found the source of the quote at the top of my page. Win Borden is (or was) the President of the Minnesota Association of Commerce and Industry. Here's another quote from him:

"Demand the best from yourself, because others will demand the best of you...Successful people don't simply give a project hard work. They give it their best work."

Beware of Poetry

Butterflies of ink, all too familiar
spill out over pristine pages.
Once the pen is dipped, the well overflows.
Heart-shaped longings splatter each sheet,
With no disguise, no apology.
Witnessing life; recognizing all;
Stripped, hiding nothing.

© Jennifer A. Bezold 2002

Yesterday was a really productive day, even though it began at an indecent hour for a Saturday. Not only did I write the minutes for yesterday’s board meeting, but I also completed the program for the April 27 concert and e-mailed it to the man who does our printing for us. I only have two more official things to do for Lutheran Choir of Chicago: minutes for the Annual Meeting, which will take place on May 7, and a “Save the Date” mailing sometime before the end of May, which will go out to about 500 churches advertising our Fall Festival of Song. I announced in February that I would not return to the board next year as Secretary/Publicity chair. Now I can go back to just singing, which is all I ever wanted to do.

How did I manage to get into the job in the first place? Basically, I was drafted, sort of. At last year’s Annual Meeting, there was a slate of candidates who had volunteered for all the other positions on the board except Secretary/Publicity. Nominations from the floor were opened for that position. Five people were nominated and declined. The Moderator (like President) of my church also sings with LCC and knew that I was already Church Clerk and publisher of the Echo (the church newsletter), so he knew I could do the job. Did he ask me if I wanted to? No. He nominated me. If I had been the first one asked, I would have declined immediately. But it was looking as though nobody was willing to take on the job, so I didn’t decline. Then one other person was nominated, and she didn’t decline. I should have withdrawn then, but I couldn’t think of a graceful way of doing it. Since there were two running, there had to be a written ballot. I might have lost if I hadn’t voted for myself, because they said it was a “very close race.” But it seemed hypocritical for me to actually be running and not vote for myself.

The Secretary part of the job wasn’t too difficult; it was just writing the meeting minutes, managing a database and a little bit of correspondence. But I was also responsible for designing all programs and publicity materials and ensuring that they were printed and mailed in a timely manner. I remember after the meeting, as everyone was offering congratulations (or condolences), several folks volunteered to help in any way they could. “Just call,” they said. But when it really came down to it and I asked for help with a big mailing, everyone had something else to do. After the first two times I gave up and resigned to doing it myself. I took a class in Adobe PageMaker so I could do the programs. I spent long, long hours at my desk at home working on everything. This is in addition to working full time, singing in the choir, my aforementioned duties at church, and did I mention my numerous grandchildren? I didn’t see much of them this past year. If someone has the nerve to nominate me again, my response will be not only a resounding no, but HELL, NO!

I guess I'd better get started on the minutes from today's meeting NOW. The batteries in my tape recorder were dead, so I have to rely on my handwritten notes.

“Hard work often pays off after time, but laziness always pays off now.”

At 11:30 p.m. last night I was writing minutes for the Lutheran Choir of Chicago board meeting. The next meeting will be at 8:00 a.m. Saturday morning and the minutes were from the March 9th meeting. The only reason I didn’t wait until tonight to do them was that I was afraid I’d run out of ink in my printer at midnight while trying to print out seven copies. I copied them at work today.

But the really big question in my mind is why didn’t I write them the afternoon of March 9, or at least sometime during the week after that meeting? Church Cabinet meeting minutes and the church newsletter are also victims of my procrastination. Why do I procrastinate? If it’s because I think something will be too difficult to do, the act of procrastination certainly doesn’t make the task any easier. If it’s because I’m afraid of doing a poor job, it’s less likely that I’ll do a good job at the last minute. These are good, hard, logical arguments for diving into a task immediately, and yet I delay.

The experts cite a number of possible reasons for procrastinating:
1. Lack of relevance of the task – in other words, who cares?
2. Acceptance of another’s goals – I don’t want to do it, you want me to.
3. Perfectionism – (See the subheading of this page)
4. Evaluation anxiety – I’ve always hated tests, interviews and auditions.
5. Ambiguity – What was it you wanted?
6. Fear of the unknown – I’ve never done that before.
7. Fear of failure – See, I knew I couldn’t do that!
8. Fear of success – Oh, oh! Now I’ll have to do that well all the time.
9. Inability to handle the task – Not usually a problem for me. Really.

These same experts have numerous methods of overcoming the problem, but I sort of like the take on the situation offered by John Perry, professor of philosophy at Stanford University. He calls it Structured Procrastination.

And here's a Procrastinator's Checklist to help identify your own personal stalling tactics.

Thanks, SomeTHING, for your list of movies.

The plumber came to fix the problem of having no hot water pressure in the kitchen sink. This has been going on for more than a month, since the day our new hot water heater was installed. According to Chuck, the plumber took a blue-handled pipe wrench (the tool of choice for such a job) and banged vigorously on the hot water supply pipe under the kitchen sink. After that, miraculously, we had plenty of hot water pressure! Because this plumber also happens to be a member of our church, he didn't charge us, and I am happy about that. But I've been doing dishes by hand instead of in the dishwasher for a month!

We had this month's Credit Department meeting today, and it was a much calmer affair than last month's. The man with the foul mouth didn't attend. It was a lunch meeting, and the company provided a modest spread. I wonder if it was to make up for having to listen to all the cursing last month. I actually did complain about last month's meeting, so maybe it did some good.

Bob Greene's Column in yesterday's Chicago Tribune consisted of several reader-supplied lists of movies you would want to have if you were stranded alone on a desert island. A few of them made my list, too. Here are my choices:

1. The Quiet Man - It has everything a good story should have, plus John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara.

2. Harvey - Jimmy Stewart doing what he does best. "In this world you must be oh, so smart or oh, so pleasant. For years I was smart. I prefer pleasant."

3. The Wizard of Oz - I still feel the same magic as I did when I was a child. "If I only had....." Maybe I already have it.

4. E.T. - I'm so glad they've re-released this one. Now I can enjoy it with my grandkids.

5. Appollo 13 - for sheer drama, and because I remember praying along with the rest of the world for them to come home safely.

I've been walking to work this week, since we've had a few really nice days. A little too nice, since it stimulated the trees to produce copious amounts of pollen. By the time I got home today, I was sneezing constantly, and my eyes were red and itchy. I had to take a long, cool shower to get the pollen out of my hair. Thank goodness Chuck had someone come and fix the air conditioner today. A starter-booster and a capacitor had to be replaced. Chuck said the capacitor had "exploded". I don't know; I don't care; I just know I don't have to sneeze every 10 seconds.

I’m not sure why I’ve become interested in writing lately. All my life I’ve been told that I wrote well, which I dismissed as meaning I was capable of stringing words together to make some sense, not much of an accomplishment, in my opinion. In seventh grade I actually won third place in a citywide essay contest, which was a proud moment, but the experience didn’t inspire me to want to be a writer.

I am really interested in the creative process, and I’ve enjoyed such books as “How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci” by Michael Gelb, “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron, and, yes, “Bird by Bird” by Anne Lamott. The latter was especially inspiring, with so many “Aha!” moments in which I realized that even a successful writer often feels that nobody would be interested in reading anything they would write. A few weeks ago, while waiting for the warm-up to begin before a choral concert I was involved in, a fellow chorus member “caught” me reading “Writing Down the Bones” by Natalie Goldberg, and “confessed” to the fact that she was thinking about trying to write as well. From the slightly embarrassed way we spoke of the subject, one would think we were talking about masturbation. Anyway, I lent her my copy of “Bird by Bird” and we agreed to encourage each other.

Over the last month or so, since I've been writing in this weblog, I've written about some very mundane things, such as water heaters, car trouble, health issues, and church activities. I've written about things I've read, about why someone is important to me, and about something that happened when I was thirteen years old. Does any or all of this constitute "serious" writing? Who knows? It's words on paper, and that's a start.

Things accomplished Sunday:

Walked two miles in the Forest Preserve. Flowers seen: bloodroot, spring beauty. Not yet in bloom: red & white trillium, May apple, dogtooth violet, lilly-of-the valley. Birds seen: cardinal, goldfinch, flicker. Heard but not seen: bluejay.

Washed one load of laundry - underwear in case anyone asks.

Mailed Taxes

Publicity mailing for Lutheran Choir of Chicago. Our last concert of the season is April 27 at 7:30 p.m. at St. John's on Montrose. I sent out 350 notices. I had to search for a mail box that wasn't full. Tax Day, you know.

Lynne at church is really excited about these vitamins she's started selling. I told her I might try them, but after looking at the ingredients I realize that the Classic formula has iron in it, which I don't tolerate well. So I guess I'll keep on taking the Spectrient vitamin/mineral supplement that I've been taking for several months. It doesn't have iron, but it does have an enzyme blend and several botanicals such as ginko, ginseng, garlic and milk thistle. I also take a calcium/magnesium supplement, which I'll also continue taking. However, I might try this anti-aging formula that Lynne is selling. After all, you're only young once.

I spent several hours this morning at church labeling raffle prizes for our Spaghetti Supper & Nickel Social, which was held this afternoon and evening. The Nickel Social is a unique event, and I've never heard of it being done by any other organization. All prizes are donated, and most are small things: a book, a stuffed animal, a bottle of wine (popular item), packages of PlayDoh or bottles of bubble stuff. Tickets worth 5 cents each are sold in packages ranging from $1.00 to special pre-orders of $100.00. Theoretically, a person purchasing the minimum of $1.00 may possibly win 20 items. And there are HUNDREDS of items raffled off.

Here is a writing exercise at Peeling the Onion and my response:

"Desire is for something immediate, something you can see, or feel, a voice you hear. A longing is for something a very 'long' way off and it's more melancholy, less assertive feeling. You wallow in the hollow of self. Homesickness is the classic form of longing." Ken Wark
What is it that you long for?

Tomorrow morning we would return to the city. The sunburn of the first days had deepened to a golden glow that smelled of Coppertone and Noxema. The bright sun, tempered by the cool lake breeze would be a memory in the sticky heat of a Chicago summer.

“This is his,” said my friend as she handed me the book and inclined her head towards the stairs.

I hadn’t gone up to the guys’ room the entire week. It was a long, steep staircase, significantly warmer at the top. I was aware of my heart beating, surely the result of the climb. I surveyed the sloping walls of the wood-paneled attic room. They both had their backs to me, intent on their packing.

“So this is the luxury suite,” I quipped from the doorway. “Here, this is yours.”

He came towards me. “Thanks,” he said.

I started to go, but stopped on the first step when I felt his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. I turned around and looked up at him, and he seemed to move towards me slightly, his eyes locked on mine. How long did that moment last? I’ve never been able to measure its duration, but I’ll always long for its sweetness.

© Jennifer A. Bezold 2002

FINALLY, after delaying my review and merit raise (along with everyone else's in the organization) for a YEAR (due to the economy, they said), it looks like I may finally get a raise. The catch is I have to come up with a Personal Development Plan. Who thinks of these things? Sadistic HR people, no doubt. I must think of suitable answers to the following questions by tomorrow:

What are your greatest strengths and how can they be leveraged to improve your performance?
What developmental objectives and plans will you pursue in the next year?
What could the organization do to support your efforts?

Oh, joy.

It is impossible to get in contact with Chuck at his new job, so Dr. Kelly called me at work to tell me that Chuck had to reschedule yesterday’s appointment. While he was on the phone with me, he took the opportunity to report that the cholesterol numbers on the blood test I had last Tuesday were “outstanding” and that the mammogram I had on Friday was just fine. The cholesterol isn’t quite as good as it was a year ago, though, six weeks after first starting to take Lipitor. I was really careful that first six weeks, and brought the total down from 260 to 149. Since then I have resiled to some of my bad habits, and the total is now 181. I had oatmeal for breakfast today.

......................Desirable....Borderline....High Risk....My Numbers
Triglycerides.....LT 200.......200-399........GT 399.............81
HDL (Good)......GT 59...............................LT 35...............52
LDL (Bad).........LT 130......130-159.........GT 159............113
Total................LT 200.......200-239.........GT 239...........181

I married Chuck 31 years ago today. I remember talking to Jean, his mom, that afternoon and being surprised to find that Chuck was taking a nap. How could he be sleeping at a time like this? And that’s the way it’s been for 31 years. Whenever I’m frenetic, agitated, or worried about anything he’s calm and logical. He keeps me grounded, yet he allows me my flights of fancy without clipping my wings.

I think spring is finally here. It was nice enough after work yesterday for me to take my two-mile walk through the Forest Preserve near my house. I saw lily-of-the-valley leaf blades three inches high already, and I saw a few goldfinches. But what really tells me that spring is serious about staying is the cardinal in the tree-top, as bright red as he can be, proclaiming that this is HIS territory.

I.R.S. = Institution Responsible for Stress

"Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's; and unto God the things that are God's." ---Matthew 22:21

I sat down and figured our taxes last night. I'd been dreading it, because I knew we'd have to pay. Not because we're rich, mind you. When Service Merchandise went out of business Chuck decided to take the small pension payout in a lump-sum distribution. I gave him the forms to roll it over into an IRA, but HE had to fill them out and it was too complicated for him. So he said, "I'll just pay the taxes." (What would he do without me?) Well, he figured that the taxes the government withheld from the payment would be all there was to pay, but there was also a 10% penalty, which is due NOW. I suppose it wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't also gotten that tax-relief advance last summer.

This is the coolest thing! The Interim Minister of our church attended a taping of the Oprah Winfrey Show last week. If you go to this site, find the archives for the April 4 show and click on the link for "After the Show", you can see and hear her ask a question during the audience participation period. She is the one who says her birthday is April 4 also, and asked a question about leaders.

Chuck and I and our friend Jim just got back from an early anniversary celebration dinner at Port Edward Restaurant It's in Algonquin, IL, about an hour's drive from where we live, but definitely worth the extra trouble to get there. Great seafood, wonderful wine, and it's always fun to browse the gift shop. Wednesday, April 10 will be our 31st wedding anniversary. Time flies when you're havin' fun!

We've been going to Port Edward for special occasions for quite a while. Chuck first found out about the place in the early 80's when he was on loan from the Air Force to the Department of Defense, working in downtown Chicago at the M.E.P.S. (Military Enlistment Processing Station) helping to do physicals for new enlistees (all branches). The station was headed by a Navy Chief, and he held a "Dining In" at Port Edward. A "Dining In" is informal and is for military personnel only. A "Dining-Out" is a formal dinner with an unusual set of protocol, but is for spouses and other civilian personnel as well.

I found out yesterday that a Floyd broke his leg, both bones. He had surgery yesterday to put pins in the bones, and he’s going to be out of commission for quite a while. He had been helping someone choreograph a production of Annie, and he wasn’t paying attention to the location of the edge of the stage. When he fell, his leg buckled under him and took all of his weight.

I took voice lessons from Floyd for several years, and he directs the plays I have been in for the past seven years, but I first met him in 1970. He directed L’il Abner that year, where I played the role of Mammy Yokum and Chuck played Evil-Eye Fleegle. My joke is always that I knew him when he didn’t have hair. At the age of 25 he had already lost a good deal of his hair, but he wears a tupé now. I’m not sure when he started wearing it, since Chuck’s Air Force career took me away from Chicago for so long, but he was wearing it in 1991 when we met again. He was directing a combined choir at an afternoon ecumenical service on Pentecost that year, and our church choir was participating. Chuck pointed him out to me, “Isn’t that Floyd?” It had been almost twenty years since I saw him last, but he remembered me.

Floyd is a unique person, one of the kindest, most decent souls I know. He can walk into a room full of complete strangers and make each and every one of them feel special in some way. Nobody is ever excluded when he’s around. He has an infectious sense of humor, and can get away with saying the most outrageous things, just because he’s Floyd. When I was going through extremely difficult times with my mother and my job, one of the things that kept me from going completely nuts was the hour per week I spent with him at my voice lesson. He always made me feel good about myself when nobody else, even Chuck, could or would. He seems present in every moment, and loves life. This picture was taken in the summer of 2000 while we were on tour with Lutheran Choir of Chicago. I just love this picture of him, because it seems to characterize him so well.

Chuck and I went to the Symphony last night. The guest conductor was Zubin Mehta, and the program included two short works by Stravinsky: Fireworks and Circus Polka. The latter was written for the Barnum & Bailey Circus, and was to accompany choreography by elephants. That brings up quite a picture in one’s mind when listening to it.

Also on the program was Prokofiev’s Violin Concerto No. 2, featuring guest soloist Nikolaj Znaider. He really gets his whole body into the act, moving his weight from one leg to the other in time to the music. Mr. Znaider played an encore, which he announced, but I didn’t catch the name.

The second half of the program was Beethoven’s Symphony No.7, which is a workout for the orchestra rivaling anything Rossini could dish up.

Welcome to the world, Heather Jean! Heather is our ninth grandchild, born at the Würtzburg Army Hospital at 7:47 p.m., German time on April 4. She is 7 lbs. 5 oz. and 21 inches long, as best I can remember from very early this morning when my son called. That's all the info I have right now.

In case you're wondering how I got to have NINE grandchildren at the tender age of 52, here's the story. My daughter Diana was married in 1992 and had our first granddaughter, (1) Samantha Jean in 1993. She divorced Samantha's father and married Rick, who had two boys (2) Ben and (3) Paul. Diana and Rick had (4) David, (5) Rebeccah, (6) Alex, (7) Ian. My son Will married Donna, who already had (8) Heidie, and they just had (9) Heather yesterday!

One good thing about the fact that Service Merchandise went out of business is that it forced my husband to change jobs, which forced him to have a physical examination, something he hasn’t done in the 10 years since he’s been out of the Air Force. It was determined that he has high blood pressure, and the nurse at the Board of Education wouldn’t sign off on his application until he could prove that he was under a doctor’s care for it. He’s been taking medication for a few weeks now, and he had a doctor’s appointment last night. The meds will be adjusted, and he has to go back next Wednesday. The receptionist asked him if he wanted the appointment written on a card, and he said no, he would remember it because April 10 is our anniversary. So she said, “Oh, well, you’ll have to do something special, then.” To which Chuck replied, “No I don’t. I married her, didn’t I?” Dr. Kelly overheard this exchange and said, “Never mind the appointment, Maria. He won’t live that long!”

I have this theory of equilibrium which states that it is impossible to get ahead. Case in point: I very proudly made a deposit to my savings account on Saturday consisting of the cash Chuck had given me to cover his purchases at the auction two weeks ago, the rebate on the washing machine we recently bought, and the check I had been given for singing at the other church of Friday evening. So today I had to have a new alternator installed in my Cavalier, which left me with a net gain of $29.06.

I had to get blood drawn for my semi-annual test to make sure the cholesterol-lowering drug I’m taking is still working and isn’t destroying my liver. I figured it would be an early lunch plus maybe a half-hour I could make up some time during the week. My doctor has all the people who need blood tests come in when he first opens up at 10:00 a.m. and he draws them one after the other, assembly-line style, going from one of his three examining rooms to another until everyone's been stuck. The room was chilly, while I was awaiting my turn, and when the doctor tried to get blood out of my arm, he couldn’t, because it had all been re-directed to my internal organs. He finally had me hold my arm under hot water and he drew it from my hand.

Well, that was done, and since this was a fasting blood test, I was starving. So I stopped in at Tre Kronor Restaurant for a waffle covered in fresh strawberries and bananas and that all-important first cup of coffee of the day. I forgot to tell the waitress no whipped cream, and I ate it anyway. It was real, hand-whipped cream, worth every calorie and gram of cholesterol.

On my way back to work, I noticed the ABS light was on, and also the battery light. I know that sometimes happens if the ignition key isn’t turned to the right position, so when I got to a red light I turned off the car and tried re-starting it. Click, click, nothing. So I put on my flashers and got out of the car. There is a mechanic across the street, so I ran over there and explained my plight, as best I could. Three guys from the shop pushed my car across four lanes of traffic into the driveway of the garage. After the car was jumped and the battery charged a little, they determined that the problem was the alternator. Well, since I was sort of stuck, so I told them to fix it. They had the part, they put it in, but the part was bad and they had to order another one from their supplier, which took another hour to get, plus the time to install it. This was one of the few times I actually had a use for my cell phone. I managed to call work to tell them I wouldn’t be back today.

Have you ever noticed that all mechanics’ waiting rooms look alike? Dirty glass on two sides, dirty brown floor, a door going into the garage, a wood-framed window set into a paneled wall. I sat on what appeared to be a bench seat from a truck covered in brown plaid vinyl, next to which was a 1950’s vintage end-table with ragged, out of date magazines. The only difference in this particular garage was that some of the magazines were in Korean.

While I was waiting, several other customers came in, none of which spoke English very well, but none of which spoke Korean, either. This is a multi-cultural neighborhood. There was a lot of gesturing between the customers and the shop owners, but I guess communication was finally accomplished.

I’m glad I had brought something to read. While I waited for my car I finished Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Wiesel’s Night, which is a graphic first-hand account of the horror of the Nazi death camps. This is the current selection for the One Book, One Chicago program.

Put work aside in favour of fun - you've earned a long, festive break! Children give you a welcome opportunity to forget your cares. Take your favourite young people out for a trip to the zoo or museum. Their innocence can help you see the world with fresh eyes. You're not nearly as jaded as you pretend.

Today was one of the rare times I actually took the advice of my horoscope (see above). I took a vacation day today and spent most of it with my granddaughter, Becca, who just turned five years old yesterday. I went over to my daughter's house to give Becca a shirt I had picked up for her when I was at the BX at Great Lakes on Friday – my company actually gave us Good Friday off. It was a summery shirt, white with a blue and green glittery butterfly on it. I had been thinking of taking Becca to the Art Institute today, but when she saw the shirt, she cried, “Oh, I LOVE butterflies!” So I took her to the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum instead, where the main attraction is a butterfly haven. I think she had a nice time. She has a totally infectious smile.

It’s amazing how much more fun grandchildren are than one’s own children. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that the burden of responsibility for years and years stretching far into the foreseeable future doesn’t come with them. And it also helps that I can choose to take them one at a time instead of all at once. Becca was a perfect lady, did just as she was told, held my hand when crossing the street, didn’t try to touch the butterflies, and was careful where she walked. I bought her a Beanie Baby butterfly, a necklace, and a pencil with butterflies on it at the museum gift shop.