Please Tell Me I Didn't Do That

Did you ever hit that "send" button and then think, oh crap, oh no, please tell me I didn't just send that?  Did you ever do that three times in a ROW?

I'm sparing the details, both because what's left of my ego can't handle to have this incident immortalized and because the details are boring.  Let's just say that I sent several versions of something that had teeny tiny mistakes in it. Mistakes that were sent to someone very important.  Mistakes that I would think "What the hell is wrong with that girl?" if I was on the receiving end.  Mistakes that would never exist period if I hadn't been trying to work while still sick and while 2 other people were in my office asking me questions. Mistakes---okay you get it.

So I feel like a complete and total idiot. I'm trying to figure out how to repair the receiving party's now-tainted-forever professional opinion of me. I never make mistakes like this and now I did it not once, not twice, but three times in a freaking 15 minute time frame.

I would like to...

1. Crawl in a hole in a deep cave somewhere and hibernate until this has been forgotten (will that day come?), or
2. Move. Yes, maybe I can move. I've always wanted to live in Ireland.
3. Become a permanent resident of the space station. I have to go back to school and get my astrophysics degree. Hmmm...I need something much more immediate.

The good news: it's made me more determined than ever to triumph over The Bronchitis from Hell. I will meet it in the parking lot and kicks it's arse. I will beat it with an ugly stick, banish it from Bradentucky, feed it to the alligators at Myakka.

...Yet sadly, that will do nothing to undo the damage of today's "send" trifecta. Oh help, gods of forgiveness. Give me a pass on this one?

Myakka and the Peanut Man

I’m a nature girl. It’s my inspiration. It makes me feel alive--youthful and ancient at once--and restores my perception of abundance.

Yesterday Husband swooped me out of the sick ward for a drive through Myakka River State Park. And though I still don’t have a long walk in me yet, the drive through winding roads was a fantastic reviver. It was laced with grandmotherly oaks trying to hold on to their Spanish moss in the wind and busy armadillos loving the harvest of worms from the damp earth courtesy of Friday’s rain. Even a few gators surfaced for photo ops.

Resurrection fern is brown and crinkly in times of drought or little rain, and when the water comes from the sky again, it bounces back to green lushness. I never recall seeing it so pronounced as it was on Saturday. Just look at it.

This 'dillo stopped to take his head out of the ground for a few seconds and seems to be saying, “Damn. It feels good to be alive.”

But you know what I loved almost as much as anything? The peanut man. Still there on the corner of Fruitville and Myakka Road, Peanut Man sits on the side of his pickup on Saturdays. The old dog I used to see with him as a faithful companion had passed on, and a new friend was with him.

I used to drive this road every day on my way to work running programs at a nature center near the state park. I knew I had to move on, but I sure miss the natural environment out there. It felt like a homecoming yesterday. On the way back I carried the refreshed vivid imagery I love, the feeling of wind still on my face, and peanuts on the pallet.

An Ode to Paul Wynn and an Ode to Grocery Stores on Superbowl Weekend

I have doubled my reading pleasure lately visiting Paul Wynn’s blog and started thinking “why not invent your own freaking Blog Award, Gropius?” So here we go, the Double Your Reading Pleasure award goes to…Adventures of A Grocery Store Clerk.

Of course it’s framed after a product you can find in every check out aisle. Be sure to stop on by his blog. It’s funny, always something you can relate to and many times helps you look at a common situation in a totally different way—from the clerk’s point of view.


What blog has doubled your pleasure? Give them this award and in your post, write about a subject that appears often on his/her blog.

To play, I’m sharing some grocery store tales of my own. Here’s what annoys me that other shoppers do in the grocery store, and yes, if these things haven’t happened to me at least once, they happen all the time. It drives me nuts when people…

• Reach in front of you to open the freezer and grab something out of it when you’ve been standing there for 5 seconds or less.
• Secure their place in line and then abandon the cart 14 times to go back and get things they forgot.
• Ram a shopping cart into your ankles—hard—because they just aren’t paying attention.
• Take advantage of a deli attendant with his back turned to secure an unearned advantage in line.
• Get all up on you and in your space when you’re paying for your groceries. You will have your turn at the podium, people.
• Come flying out of an aisle like a bat out of hell and look at you like you’re stopping an angel from landing when you’re just standing there, surprised…and frightened.
• Are mean or impatient with senior customers. Give them a hand for Pete’s sake!
• Walk around eating stuff that hasn’t yet been paid for…like packages they opened up or grapes from the produce section. Every now and then, Husband will do this with a bottled drink. At least when you pay for that, it doesn’t cost less because you have already consumed half of it.

Did I leave anything off the list?  THANK YOU to all the checkers in the world who put up with terrible customer behavior. What would we do without you?

Spread the Double Your Pleasure blog award liberally. I'm counting on you, Suzicate, Pines Lake Redhead, Picture Imperfect & others…

The Homestead

After three days of being stuck in the house sick as a dirty politician, I am literally going insane. I’d just like you to know that I care about you so much, if you could use an extra lung, there’s one right here I have coughed up. It may not make the flight to Russia or Sydney, but if you’re in the states, there are possibilities.

I’m feeling a lot better today, and tomorrow I might even be able to venture out in public again for a short trip.

I worked all day today remotely and was actually able to get some things done. Feeling like purging was my strong suit after exhausting nearly an entire box of Kleenex on this never ending supply of mucus, I decided to go all the way. I permanently deleted over 17,000 e-mails from my deleted box.

Yes, to our IT guys’ dismay, I was using the “delete” folder as a storage file of sorts that I could always refer to for those “see, that IS what you said” e-mails that must be sent months after the fact.

Although I felt a little sick to my stomach hitting that delete button, it was liberating as hell.

Working from home, I’ve also solved a new post-Christmas mystery. We stuck one of those window bird feeders to the office window just to the right of my computer, and each day when we got home, it had been knocked down. Probably squirrels. And confirming our suspicions today….

Flanders is justifiably pissed that I have shared this with you. She still doesn’t understand the lack of justice in a situation pitting a piece of glass and screen between her and her natural prey.

[Beyond the kayaks, you may notice that obnoxious rain barrel which is now spilling over into a new fishing hole.]

I hope you’re all healthy where you are. This strain of disgusting bronchitis is making its rounds here for sure.

The final resting place for all of my used Kleenex? I’m so glad you asked. They're in the huge bag of old bank statements I finally shredded and cleared from filing cabinets at home. You never can be too cautious about keeping thieves away from your things.

Roots

Three hundred. This is the 300th post on Gropius vs. Eddie. We've come a long way. I thought I'd go back to the roots of good 'ole Gropius, for those of you who think "What the hell kind of name is that?" or "Is this a man or a woman writing this blog?" or "Gropey? Sounds like something not so rated G."

So sit back while I share the fairy tale of Gropius with you.

Once upon a time, a little homeless kitty found its way to a friend of mine who seems to be a perpetual bachelor. I believe he has a fear of commitment, though he might argue on this point. It was so pronounced, this fear of commitment, that after having the kitty for three weeks, knowing he would keep it, he still hadn't named it. Because, you know, once you name a pet, it's yours baby.

The two of us were enjoying an architecture exhibit at a local museum, where we were introduced to the work of Walter Gropius. A German architect who taught at Harvard and founded the Bauhaus school and style of modern architecture, he was an interesting character.

• Me: "Aha! Gropius. It's the perfect name for your cat. It's different. No one can accuse you of being run of the mill. It will spark conversation for sure. And it will force you to do what you know you are doing anyway-keeping him!"
• Fear-Of-Commitment-Man: "Hmm."

This idea, this "Gropius" idea, went on for another few weeks. All the while a set of mutual friends went about trying to convince him that Eddie would be a better name. "You don't want to be calling this cat Gropey when some chick is over at your house," they argued. "They will think you're perverted."

But for me, it's a real question about whether you want to be unique and exciting or regular and boring. You know? Gropius vs. Eddie. So this blog was birthed partly as a joke. The whole idea was that if I could put this much time and effort trying to convince him to name the cat Gropius, I should win for sure.

It's been a while. The cat is now a man (minus the parts that neutering took care of). His name is Gropius. He's odd, but not too odd. He's not your average gentleman. And here we are at post 300.

I've always been more of a dog person so find it odd that, of my own creation, I refer to myself with the same name as Fear-Of-Commitment-Man's cat. Yes, strange indeed. And there you have it.

Your mamma said so

I just learned today that a friend literally poked a hole in her eardrum with a Q-tip.

Aside from my obvious concern for her, I am deeply disturbed. For there is nothing Gropius enjoys more than a good 'ole Q-tipped ear. The warnings are clearly marked on the packaging, plus it's one of those things your mother always told you...not to do.

I'm afraid this could also mean that listening to too much very loud music at one time in my life could account for at least some of the ringing in my ears. And that reading too often in poor light because reading in dim light is just more calming may--just may--have something to do with my ongoing denial of an eye exam for some sort of spectacles. I'm too young for that!! 

The fact that I have now come down with the full blown crud being shared across offices, towns and states is no doubt a direct result of not doing the right self-care things. Yep. Mother called it a couple days ago.  My sinus cavities are clogged with virusly mucous, the type of cough you never want to hear from someone next to you interrupts otherwise calm moments, and I can't even taste the brownies I am foolishly continuing to eat.

One of these days, Gropius and all the other grown kiddies out there will learn to listen to their mammas. Meanwhile, will someone pass me that Q-tip?

A funny quote in closing...

“Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful.”

The Story of Robert Wallace Howard

Ninety five years ago on this very day, Robert Wallace Howard was born in Louisville, Kentucky. Though he would spend many years of his life in North Carolina, the plane he piloted would carry him to many places. And his ambition, shrewdness and knack for making life-long friends would land him tens of starring roles.

Mom tells me that during the spring and summer of 09, Wally's favorite quote (which he thought reflected his life) came from Shakespeare’s play “As You Like It.”

“All the world’s a stage
And all the men and women merely players
They have their exits and entrances
And one man in his time plays many parts”

Some of my fondest memories of Wally are contained here. But there was so much more to this man, who in this life, played many parts. One of them I gratefully consider to be the greatest of accomplishments:  producing the greatest of human beings on Earth--my mother.

In his "wordly" life, Wally enlisted in the United States Army and served as a pilot in the Army Air Corps in the European Theatre during World War II. His military commendations included the Bronze Star Medal and EAME Theatre Ribbon with five Battle Stars.

During a distinguished banking career, he served as Senior Vice President of Wachovia's eastern region of NC. He was a community leader, serving in leadership positions with the Salvation Army, the East Carolina University Foundation, the Greenville Boys Club and the Pitt Greenville Airport Authority. He was even named Citizen of the Year by the Greenville Chamber of Commerce.

After death, we become particularly attuned to "what's left." What remains of a lifetime of relationships, doing good, making friends, making money, annoying a few scattered enemies, building a house with everything personally selected it contains?  In the case of Robert Wallace Howard, I take several things to heart which he imparted on me and everyone he knew:

1. When things seem bad, remember that the trifles of life are but small pieces of nothing in the Grand Scheme of Things.  Keep the big picture in mind.
2. Move on. There's always more beyond your current and past circumstances. When there's nothing left, well, it may be time for your next journey.
3. A good pipe, Baileys in your morning coffee and a view from your deck are more than enough. Always be grateful for the opportunities afforded to you in life.

Happy Birthday, Robert Wallace. I do miss you but know you must be bringing a touch of class and lots of color to that next role in the journey beyond.