I've enjoyed writing Tip's Tale the past few weeks.
Well, enjoy might be too strong a word. It has been challenging.
I had no real plan when I started writing it. I thought it might be a good idea to write something using Tip's voice. My relationship with that dog has lasted longer than almost any other relationship in my life outside of family, so I feel that it is OK to put words in his mouth.
I invited my brother to read the story to his daughter who will be 5 in August, so I have to swing the storyline in a direction that would not scare Gracilyn and that would be appropriate for her (wise-beyond-her-years) ears.
On the other hand, I haven't felt like writing for this blog recently because I have focused on Tip's Tale (as Kelly, a friend from high school dubbed it).
And speaking of that friend from high school, I have to say that is one of the best aspects of the Internet. Kelly and I attended the same high school and college. To say we were friends in high school is probably stretching it a little. We ran in the same circle of friends, but were not close to each other. In college, we ended up living in the same house off-campus our freshman year and got to know each other much better.
In our sophomore year, she moved into a regular dorm (probably a good idea) and I stayed in the house (probably not the best idea).
After graduation, we went our separate ways and there may have been a few Christmas cards here and there, but that was all.
I have been a member of one of those Internet sites that connects you with former classmates. When I saw Kelly's name on the list recently, I sent her a note and we have started corresponding again.
There was another Kelly in that house in college - Kelley, actually. She was my roommate. The other Kelly lived next door, I think. In a weird coincidence, Kelley recently moved to the Valley after living in California for many years and now Kelly has told me that she is moving to Charlottesville after living in Pennsylvania for a number of years.
A pair of Kellys/Kelleys coming home to roost.
I have not contacted my old roommate, however. And I am not sure why. She called before Christmas and left a message on the answering machine and I just could not bring myself to call her. The Ump made me feel really bad about not calling her, but I still did not pick up the phone.
Kelley is much more high maintenance than Kelly - in friendship terms, anyway. Kelly is the type person you meet after not talking to for awhile and when you start talking the years melt away with each word from your mouth like bites of cotton candy.
My friendship with Kelley was very intense at first and then became much more complicated and, finally, felt very smothering to me. More like the residue left on your fingers from cotton candy when you regret that you indulged and you don't have something handy that will take away the stickiness. (Analogy stretching at its best.)
I hope to see Kelly when she moves to Charlottesville later this summer. Kelley, well, I imagine I will contact her too. I just need to work myself up to it.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
All things green
Who can complain about the weather we have been having?
78 degrees in March is just ridiculous.
It has definitely stirred my interest in trying to get our yard back into shape again.
All the work we had done at the end of the year with the foundation and the new sidewalk out front ended up almost completely tearing up our front yard.
And when the contractors left, they threw down grass seed and straw - right up to the house. So now, in my mulch beds, there are bright green blades of grass slicing through the dark mulch.
Argh.
The Ump had a scrimmage to umpire on Saturday, so I decided to stay home instead of watching him. I love my husband, but when it comes to doing housework and yardwork, often we work better separately.
I spent the better part of Saturday morning working on the flower bed that is beneath our bedroom window. It was full of leaves and the cats and dogs had been digging in it. It was a mess.
There is something so satisfying about working in dirt, feeling the soil between your fingers (minus the earthworms I kept running into) and smelling that fertile, earthy smell.
Maybe there is a recessive gene planted in all of us that is triggered by warm temperatures and song birds. I know that I am happier at this time of the year as the days get longer and everything starts greening.
Except my yard.
Oh, there are parts of the lawn where nice thick thatches of grass are growing in happy communion. Unfortunately, the patches are not quilted together. My lawn appears to have male pattern baldness.
Since the Ump was pooped when he came home Saturday, we hit the lawn after church on Sunday.
Well, first we had to take a ride out to the farm to pick up some straw and a pitchfork and a chain saw.
Of course, this was not a short trip because we first had to talk to Marty out at the farm. Then we swung by and checked on Billy Wakeman who recently had knee surgery and was walking out of his house in a slow and steady fashion using a cane.
Next came a detour at the high school baseball field where Donn, John and Dana were trying to get the field in shape for the upcoming season.
By the time we got home, it was time for lunch. Then we attacked the lawn.
The Ump had borrowed an iron rake from the farm and used it to scratch up the rocks and concrete left behind by the contractor. I helped pick up rocks, but I complained most of the time because my back and arms were hurting from Saturday's yardwork.
The other thing is that the Ump has this way of telling me to do stuff rather than asking me to help. His tone just goes all over me. So we spent a good portion of the time squabbling while he threw down grass seed and we both shook two bales of straw on the lawn.
Next we had to water down the straw even though it looked like a storm was coming any second. (It didn't rain, so score one for the Ump.)
Turns out I don't understand how to spray water on straw. At least that is what he insinuated as he told me where and how much water to spray. I was so very tempted to splash a nice icy stream on him, but I figured that might get ugly.
After all, we just got out of church.
Today he paid a neighbor kid to come up and do some watering and some other odd jobs around the yard.
Good idea. Although I might have been a little more tolerant if he had slipped me a twenty.
78 degrees in March is just ridiculous.
It has definitely stirred my interest in trying to get our yard back into shape again.
All the work we had done at the end of the year with the foundation and the new sidewalk out front ended up almost completely tearing up our front yard.
And when the contractors left, they threw down grass seed and straw - right up to the house. So now, in my mulch beds, there are bright green blades of grass slicing through the dark mulch.
Argh.
The Ump had a scrimmage to umpire on Saturday, so I decided to stay home instead of watching him. I love my husband, but when it comes to doing housework and yardwork, often we work better separately.
I spent the better part of Saturday morning working on the flower bed that is beneath our bedroom window. It was full of leaves and the cats and dogs had been digging in it. It was a mess.
There is something so satisfying about working in dirt, feeling the soil between your fingers (minus the earthworms I kept running into) and smelling that fertile, earthy smell.
Maybe there is a recessive gene planted in all of us that is triggered by warm temperatures and song birds. I know that I am happier at this time of the year as the days get longer and everything starts greening.
Except my yard.
Oh, there are parts of the lawn where nice thick thatches of grass are growing in happy communion. Unfortunately, the patches are not quilted together. My lawn appears to have male pattern baldness.
Since the Ump was pooped when he came home Saturday, we hit the lawn after church on Sunday.
Well, first we had to take a ride out to the farm to pick up some straw and a pitchfork and a chain saw.
Of course, this was not a short trip because we first had to talk to Marty out at the farm. Then we swung by and checked on Billy Wakeman who recently had knee surgery and was walking out of his house in a slow and steady fashion using a cane.
Next came a detour at the high school baseball field where Donn, John and Dana were trying to get the field in shape for the upcoming season.
By the time we got home, it was time for lunch. Then we attacked the lawn.
The Ump had borrowed an iron rake from the farm and used it to scratch up the rocks and concrete left behind by the contractor. I helped pick up rocks, but I complained most of the time because my back and arms were hurting from Saturday's yardwork.
The other thing is that the Ump has this way of telling me to do stuff rather than asking me to help. His tone just goes all over me. So we spent a good portion of the time squabbling while he threw down grass seed and we both shook two bales of straw on the lawn.
Next we had to water down the straw even though it looked like a storm was coming any second. (It didn't rain, so score one for the Ump.)
Turns out I don't understand how to spray water on straw. At least that is what he insinuated as he told me where and how much water to spray. I was so very tempted to splash a nice icy stream on him, but I figured that might get ugly.
After all, we just got out of church.
Today he paid a neighbor kid to come up and do some watering and some other odd jobs around the yard.
Good idea. Although I might have been a little more tolerant if he had slipped me a twenty.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Story on the move
I decided that the best way to deal with this evolving story and continue writing my old column is to move the dog story to a new blog.
http://storyofadog.blogspot.com/
So check in there for the daily story of Tip's adventure. Hopefully, I will still have time to write about the Ump and me et al.
I encourage you to share this with folks you think might enjoy the storyline. I think kids might even get a kick out of it. I hope my brother shares it with my niece.
I've gotten some good comments already.
Thanks.
I think it's going to be fun!
http://storyofadog.blogspot.com/
So check in there for the daily story of Tip's adventure. Hopefully, I will still have time to write about the Ump and me et al.
I encourage you to share this with folks you think might enjoy the storyline. I think kids might even get a kick out of it. I hope my brother shares it with my niece.
I've gotten some good comments already.
Thanks.
I think it's going to be fun!
Chapter three
It's hard to describe a dog's sense of smell.
Imagine the sharpest scent you have ever smelled. Or the strongest. Like when farmers spread liquefied manure on the fields and that first hot day heats everything up. Now, amplify that by about 25 times. Can you imagine? That is how strong our sense of smell is.
Not only can dogs smell odors, but we can smell emotions. People don't know this, but they give off different scents. Fear has a very distinct odor, very sharp. And sadness, sadness is a heavy scent. Happiness is lighter, almost citrusy.
Among dogs, certain breeds have better noses than others. I happen to be a mixed breed - German shepherd and border collie. Both of these breeds are known for their highly developed sense of smell. I have cousins who have served in the military, and in the police force as drug dogs.
Dogs can sense odors at concentrations 100 times less than people, too. A dog can smell one drop of blood in five quarts of water.
Those of us with longer noses generally are thought to be better scent dogs because there is more room for the smell to move around and be diagnosed, I guess. All of the dogs around here have long noses, but mine is the longest. I have the black and white coloring of a border collie, with speckled legs and a curled tailed, but I've got the long, pointed nose and ears of a shepherd. I think the best of both worlds, but I'm not bragging.
I even heard her talking one day about dogs that are thought to be able to detect disease. I can do that, you know. I knew when she had cancer a few years ago. That was an awful time for me, because I couldn't tell her. I tried. That's probably the worst thing about being a dog living with a human family. There's so much I could tell them. So much.
The scent I am catching this morning has the heaviness of sadness and maybe a hint of fear. Definitely a human, but not an adult.
Imagine the sharpest scent you have ever smelled. Or the strongest. Like when farmers spread liquefied manure on the fields and that first hot day heats everything up. Now, amplify that by about 25 times. Can you imagine? That is how strong our sense of smell is.
Not only can dogs smell odors, but we can smell emotions. People don't know this, but they give off different scents. Fear has a very distinct odor, very sharp. And sadness, sadness is a heavy scent. Happiness is lighter, almost citrusy.
Among dogs, certain breeds have better noses than others. I happen to be a mixed breed - German shepherd and border collie. Both of these breeds are known for their highly developed sense of smell. I have cousins who have served in the military, and in the police force as drug dogs.
Dogs can sense odors at concentrations 100 times less than people, too. A dog can smell one drop of blood in five quarts of water.
Those of us with longer noses generally are thought to be better scent dogs because there is more room for the smell to move around and be diagnosed, I guess. All of the dogs around here have long noses, but mine is the longest. I have the black and white coloring of a border collie, with speckled legs and a curled tailed, but I've got the long, pointed nose and ears of a shepherd. I think the best of both worlds, but I'm not bragging.
I even heard her talking one day about dogs that are thought to be able to detect disease. I can do that, you know. I knew when she had cancer a few years ago. That was an awful time for me, because I couldn't tell her. I tried. That's probably the worst thing about being a dog living with a human family. There's so much I could tell them. So much.
The scent I am catching this morning has the heaviness of sadness and maybe a hint of fear. Definitely a human, but not an adult.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Chapter two
It's a nice morning. Early spring is a nice time of year, as far as I am concerned. I don't like it too hot or too cold.
She doesn't like us to use the bushes closest to the house, so I usually head toward a patch of grass immediately out back. There used to be three big shrubs that we all used in the morning, but one day last year these men came with big chains, wrapped them around their trunks and pulled them right out of the ground.
I don't know why they took those trees. Major was particularly upset because the tree closest to the house had a low hanging branch that he would back up against so he could scratch his butt.
I hated to watch him do that because he would scratch himself until he bled sometimes. Like he was in a trance. Sawing back and forth.
Maybe that's why the trees went away.
This morning the cats are standing by their bowls. Sunday is sitting down with her back leg practically thrown over her shoulder while she licks her fluffy tail.
"How do you do that?" I ask her.
She stopped grooming, but left her leg in the air. Her light eyes narrowed. "Do what?" she said.
"Lift your leg like that. These days, I feel lucky just getting up."
"Well, how else am I going to clean my tail? How do you clean your tail?"
"Sometimes I can reach it when I'm lying down, but I definitely couldn't raise any of my legs like that."
She sniffed and then coughed. A tiny bed of moisture appeared on the side of her nose and she shook it off. "Sorry about your bad luck. Maybe Nulla can clean it for you. She's always rubbing on Brownie."
I wasn't looking for someone to clean my tail, so I left Sunday to her cleaning and walked toward the little garden in the back yard toward the fence. Not too close, mind you, because they had something put in the ground that causes my collar to shock me if I get too close to the fence. It doesn't really hurt, but it'll scare the bejeebus out of you if you've forgotten about it.
I think they got it because of Major. He used to wander into the neighbor's yard - well, we all did, really. But Major is one of those dogs who loses all track of everything when he puts his nose to the ground or catches wind of something interesting.
I thought I'd sniff the carport this morning, to see if there had been any activity overnight. Just a casual sniff, and I knew there was something wrong.
She doesn't like us to use the bushes closest to the house, so I usually head toward a patch of grass immediately out back. There used to be three big shrubs that we all used in the morning, but one day last year these men came with big chains, wrapped them around their trunks and pulled them right out of the ground.
I don't know why they took those trees. Major was particularly upset because the tree closest to the house had a low hanging branch that he would back up against so he could scratch his butt.
I hated to watch him do that because he would scratch himself until he bled sometimes. Like he was in a trance. Sawing back and forth.
Maybe that's why the trees went away.
This morning the cats are standing by their bowls. Sunday is sitting down with her back leg practically thrown over her shoulder while she licks her fluffy tail.
"How do you do that?" I ask her.
She stopped grooming, but left her leg in the air. Her light eyes narrowed. "Do what?" she said.
"Lift your leg like that. These days, I feel lucky just getting up."
"Well, how else am I going to clean my tail? How do you clean your tail?"
"Sometimes I can reach it when I'm lying down, but I definitely couldn't raise any of my legs like that."
She sniffed and then coughed. A tiny bed of moisture appeared on the side of her nose and she shook it off. "Sorry about your bad luck. Maybe Nulla can clean it for you. She's always rubbing on Brownie."
I wasn't looking for someone to clean my tail, so I left Sunday to her cleaning and walked toward the little garden in the back yard toward the fence. Not too close, mind you, because they had something put in the ground that causes my collar to shock me if I get too close to the fence. It doesn't really hurt, but it'll scare the bejeebus out of you if you've forgotten about it.
I think they got it because of Major. He used to wander into the neighbor's yard - well, we all did, really. But Major is one of those dogs who loses all track of everything when he puts his nose to the ground or catches wind of something interesting.
I thought I'd sniff the carport this morning, to see if there had been any activity overnight. Just a casual sniff, and I knew there was something wrong.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Chapter One
In the distance, I could hear the alarm going off. Brrank, brank, brank, brank - like some kind of injured goat.
In the kitchen, Brownie and Major got off their matching pillows, stretched and yawned, then went to stand by the gate. I stayed on my pillow for a moment longer. She never comes running straight from the bedroom to let us out. She goes to the bathroom, brushes her teeth and then she comes out with that annoying little dog at her heels.
Peanut. More like Pain-in-the-Butt. He's the most recent addition to the family and has really been soaking up the attention.
I can hear her coming through the living room, so I move into the kitchen to stand beside Brownie - who's whining - and Major, who stinks more than usual this morning. It's still dark, so I can just barely see her outline, but I hear Pain-in-the-Butt's toenail clicking on the floor as he spins and twirls at her feet, doing that "cute" dance again. He might be tiny, but he's every bit as old as I am. I can't imagine where he gets the energy. I'm stiff again this morning.
She stops and lets the little dog outside first, opening the double doors in the living room to let him onto the back porch. The cats, Nulla and Sunday, bolt for the open door, bells jingling as they bounce outside. I heard them talking the other day about how much they hate those bells. The birds are starting to return and those "stupid" bells make it impossible to get close enough to grab one, said Nulla, the orange cat.
I watch her lift the bar that releases the gate and I step aside while she wades into the kitchen between us. I let the other two bounce around and step on her feet. Brownie always acts like a fool in the morning. Whining and whistling through her nose. Major doesn't usually make any noise. He stands on his back legs with his paws on the gate so that he can get the first pat.
She opens the back door and the other two fight to be the first outside. I hang back a little because if I play my cards right, she'll scratch my back and that is just the best way to start the day.
It worked. "Hey, old man. Are you OK this morning?" she asked me. I stepped forward and she ran her hand down my back. I guide her by shifting my weight and she hits that spot that I simply cannot reach on my own. "Tip, are you going to go out this morning or are you just going to stand here?" she asked.
I wish I could tell her I'd like the other side of my back scratched, but maybe another day. Besides, I really do need to hit the bushes.
In the kitchen, Brownie and Major got off their matching pillows, stretched and yawned, then went to stand by the gate. I stayed on my pillow for a moment longer. She never comes running straight from the bedroom to let us out. She goes to the bathroom, brushes her teeth and then she comes out with that annoying little dog at her heels.
Peanut. More like Pain-in-the-Butt. He's the most recent addition to the family and has really been soaking up the attention.
I can hear her coming through the living room, so I move into the kitchen to stand beside Brownie - who's whining - and Major, who stinks more than usual this morning. It's still dark, so I can just barely see her outline, but I hear Pain-in-the-Butt's toenail clicking on the floor as he spins and twirls at her feet, doing that "cute" dance again. He might be tiny, but he's every bit as old as I am. I can't imagine where he gets the energy. I'm stiff again this morning.
She stops and lets the little dog outside first, opening the double doors in the living room to let him onto the back porch. The cats, Nulla and Sunday, bolt for the open door, bells jingling as they bounce outside. I heard them talking the other day about how much they hate those bells. The birds are starting to return and those "stupid" bells make it impossible to get close enough to grab one, said Nulla, the orange cat.
I watch her lift the bar that releases the gate and I step aside while she wades into the kitchen between us. I let the other two bounce around and step on her feet. Brownie always acts like a fool in the morning. Whining and whistling through her nose. Major doesn't usually make any noise. He stands on his back legs with his paws on the gate so that he can get the first pat.
She opens the back door and the other two fight to be the first outside. I hang back a little because if I play my cards right, she'll scratch my back and that is just the best way to start the day.
It worked. "Hey, old man. Are you OK this morning?" she asked me. I stepped forward and she ran her hand down my back. I guide her by shifting my weight and she hits that spot that I simply cannot reach on my own. "Tip, are you going to go out this morning or are you just going to stand here?" she asked.
I wish I could tell her I'd like the other side of my back scratched, but maybe another day. Besides, I really do need to hit the bushes.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
THE STORY BEGINS
An idea popped into my head while I was walking on the treadmill yesterday. I've let it ferment for a day and I think it might be fun to give this idea a try.
Each weekday I am going to hop off the treadmill and write here for 15 minutes. I must be vigilant with the timing so that it stays true to the experiment.
My plan is to start a story and continue it through this experiment. I haven't written a good short story in years and this seems like the perfect opportunity. I am not going to promise anything great. Some days the muse hits and other days she slams into the wall. That's one of the scariest things about being a writer - those days when you are dry as a bone.
I am sure stuff will interfere with my plans, but I will try to hold true to the idea and I hope you will join me. If you come into this after I have started, you can go to the archives and pick up the previous chapters.
I've written five minutes.
I have not decided on a story line, but I think it will be one that I am comfortable with - something that won't take a lot of research - but will come straight from that wonderful Rolodex in my brain that brings me such colorful dreams. I dreamt of Grandmom last night. It was a good dream. It's hard to believe she has been gone for almost 10 years. I keep her picture in my kitchen - right at eye level, so I talk to her often. It's almost like she still is in Covington waiting for me to come home for a visit.
Boy, was that a digression.
I also am not going to worry about punctuation and perfect grammar at the moment of writing. I may come back later in the day and give it a run through to make sure there are no glaring errors and I reserve the right to polish it and add details I think will help the overall story. So the earlier in the morning that you read the story, the more likely you are to catch the roughest cut.
I walk from 6 to 6:30, so writing will probably take place immediately after that. I may go get a bowl of cereal first to eat while I write.
10 minutes of writing
I'm marking the five minute breaks so you can see how much I can write in 15 minutes. That's not to say that it will happen this way every morning. Sometimes I can catch an idea like a curling wave and ride it out to the very end. Those are the best moments. Other times it is like I am riding a 10-speed bike in low gear up a hill. Sometimes I have to jump off and push.
One funny thing popped in my head on the treadmill this morning relating to my dog Tip. When he was a puppy almost 10 years ago, we used to spend an hour every morning walking around Woodstock - sometimes on the main thoroughfare, but more likely than not, we walked out above the neighborhood on a circular route that lasted about three miles.
We are still together in the mornings. I am on the treadmill and he is lying beside the treadmill licking his paws.
Fifteen minutes!! See you tomorrow. Oh, and if you are enjoying the story, invite your friends to the site to participate too. Use the comment button to comment to give me feedback.
Each weekday I am going to hop off the treadmill and write here for 15 minutes. I must be vigilant with the timing so that it stays true to the experiment.
My plan is to start a story and continue it through this experiment. I haven't written a good short story in years and this seems like the perfect opportunity. I am not going to promise anything great. Some days the muse hits and other days she slams into the wall. That's one of the scariest things about being a writer - those days when you are dry as a bone.
I am sure stuff will interfere with my plans, but I will try to hold true to the idea and I hope you will join me. If you come into this after I have started, you can go to the archives and pick up the previous chapters.
I've written five minutes.
I have not decided on a story line, but I think it will be one that I am comfortable with - something that won't take a lot of research - but will come straight from that wonderful Rolodex in my brain that brings me such colorful dreams. I dreamt of Grandmom last night. It was a good dream. It's hard to believe she has been gone for almost 10 years. I keep her picture in my kitchen - right at eye level, so I talk to her often. It's almost like she still is in Covington waiting for me to come home for a visit.
Boy, was that a digression.
I also am not going to worry about punctuation and perfect grammar at the moment of writing. I may come back later in the day and give it a run through to make sure there are no glaring errors and I reserve the right to polish it and add details I think will help the overall story. So the earlier in the morning that you read the story, the more likely you are to catch the roughest cut.
I walk from 6 to 6:30, so writing will probably take place immediately after that. I may go get a bowl of cereal first to eat while I write.
10 minutes of writing
I'm marking the five minute breaks so you can see how much I can write in 15 minutes. That's not to say that it will happen this way every morning. Sometimes I can catch an idea like a curling wave and ride it out to the very end. Those are the best moments. Other times it is like I am riding a 10-speed bike in low gear up a hill. Sometimes I have to jump off and push.
One funny thing popped in my head on the treadmill this morning relating to my dog Tip. When he was a puppy almost 10 years ago, we used to spend an hour every morning walking around Woodstock - sometimes on the main thoroughfare, but more likely than not, we walked out above the neighborhood on a circular route that lasted about three miles.
We are still together in the mornings. I am on the treadmill and he is lying beside the treadmill licking his paws.
Fifteen minutes!! See you tomorrow. Oh, and if you are enjoying the story, invite your friends to the site to participate too. Use the comment button to comment to give me feedback.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Quite a fellow
I've been in the Woodstock Rotary Club for 13 years.
When I first joined, I felt kind of like an imposter. I mean, who was I to be rubbing elbows with the business leaders of the community? Bankers, lawyers, insurance executives, people who managed hundreds of people.
At the time, I was the editor and general manager of a small weekly newspaper with a staff of about 15 or so.
Don't get me wrong. I was glad to be there. I had attended several meetings - covered them as a reporter. I saw firsthand some of the things the Rotary club did in the community. So when Jane asked me to join, I said I would be glad to.
In addition to being an international service organization, something that Rotary does for professional people is that it gives them an opportunity to get to know each other. Rotary helped me better recognize my community and gave me an opportunity to directly interface with community leaders, past and present.
Rotary has a wealth of retired professionals in addition to those currently on the job. I got the chance to find out a lot about the history of my club and my community from these veteran statesmen.
I can call them statesmen, because women were not allowed in the local Rotary club until the mid-1980s. We just now have women who have been in the club almost 20 years, whereas we have at least one male member who has been in 50-plus.
Rotary introduced me to a man I have considered a mentor. He has since retired, but at the time he managed a manufacturing plant outside of town - a very high-pressure job - yet he has always had the heart of a servant. Whether Rick was doing something through Rotary or leading the local campaign for the March of Dimes, he was an interesting combination of type-A manager and compassionate human being.
If I had a problem at the office, he was the first person I would call. He cut through the bull and often made me take a hard look at the situation (including putting myself under the glaring light of truth). It's great to have a friend like that. He's kind of like a big brother.
Last Friday night, the Woodstock Rotary Club celebrated its 81st anniversary. I have been the chair of this event for the past few years. It is something I enjoy because it celebrates the history of our club which is only 20 years younger than Rotary International.
Rick and his wife and the Ump and I sat at a table near the front of the room so that I could get up and down since I served as the master of ceremonies (would that be mistress? somehow doesn't sound nice).
The club was giving three Paul Harris Fellow awards that night and Rick was going to do one of those. Paul Harris is the founder of Rotary and this award is given to club members who best exemplify the Rotary motto of Service Above Self.
When Rick got up to give the award, he started with a quote from Shakespeare:
"I am not covetous for gold, nor care I who doth feed upon my cost.
It yearns me not that men my garments wear.
Such outward things I dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to court honor, I am the most offending soul alive!"
I smiled broadly at him, encouraging him because he had told me he was concerned that people might not appreciate the quote. He even memorized it. I was impressed.
Next he said something about the person being honored being a member of the marketing department in one of our local companies...
Is anyone else in a marketing department? I wondered, though it quickly became obvious that the award was going to me.
In 1999-2000, I served as president of this historic club. It was a tough year for me personally. I was diagnosed with cancer in early 1999 and did radiation treatments until May. The club would have let me off the hook, I am sure, if I did not step up to the podium in July, but I decided to do it anyway.
It was the best decision I could ever have made. It was like having a second job, but I gained much confidence and satisfaction from being a leadership position for this club. I learned even more about the club's history and devoted much time sharing that past with the members as we headed to our 75th anniversary.
So on this 81st anniversary night, all of those feelings came flooding back to me. I stood up to receive my medal and pin from the District Governor - trying hard not to cry too much.
I looked at my husband, and he said something about did I notice anyone at the back of the room. I looked beyond him and there were my parents! The Ump had conspired with Rick to bring my parents to Woodstock for this special night.
My mother is in the Rotary club in Covington and she is a Paul Harris Fellow and last year, she made my father a Paul Harris Fellow in honor of his service to the community.
It was the perfect touch to the evening because it is from those two people that I learned the importance of playing a role in your community. From the time I was a child, I have seen them give their time and energy to countless events and organizations that helped shape the Alleghany Highlands.
You don't work to earn honors. At least, that has never been my intention. I give the talents that I have to my community in ways that I hope will make a difference. I do not have children of my own, though I do have a lovely stepdaughter who has been in my life the past four, almost five years. I hope I am a good influence for her. And I want to live a life that honors my husband and my parents. And I hope I am doing what God wants me to do.
I guess this is kind of my Academy Award speech.
They like me! They really like me!
When I first joined, I felt kind of like an imposter. I mean, who was I to be rubbing elbows with the business leaders of the community? Bankers, lawyers, insurance executives, people who managed hundreds of people.
At the time, I was the editor and general manager of a small weekly newspaper with a staff of about 15 or so.
Don't get me wrong. I was glad to be there. I had attended several meetings - covered them as a reporter. I saw firsthand some of the things the Rotary club did in the community. So when Jane asked me to join, I said I would be glad to.
In addition to being an international service organization, something that Rotary does for professional people is that it gives them an opportunity to get to know each other. Rotary helped me better recognize my community and gave me an opportunity to directly interface with community leaders, past and present.
Rotary has a wealth of retired professionals in addition to those currently on the job. I got the chance to find out a lot about the history of my club and my community from these veteran statesmen.
I can call them statesmen, because women were not allowed in the local Rotary club until the mid-1980s. We just now have women who have been in the club almost 20 years, whereas we have at least one male member who has been in 50-plus.
Rotary introduced me to a man I have considered a mentor. He has since retired, but at the time he managed a manufacturing plant outside of town - a very high-pressure job - yet he has always had the heart of a servant. Whether Rick was doing something through Rotary or leading the local campaign for the March of Dimes, he was an interesting combination of type-A manager and compassionate human being.
If I had a problem at the office, he was the first person I would call. He cut through the bull and often made me take a hard look at the situation (including putting myself under the glaring light of truth). It's great to have a friend like that. He's kind of like a big brother.
Last Friday night, the Woodstock Rotary Club celebrated its 81st anniversary. I have been the chair of this event for the past few years. It is something I enjoy because it celebrates the history of our club which is only 20 years younger than Rotary International.
Rick and his wife and the Ump and I sat at a table near the front of the room so that I could get up and down since I served as the master of ceremonies (would that be mistress? somehow doesn't sound nice).
The club was giving three Paul Harris Fellow awards that night and Rick was going to do one of those. Paul Harris is the founder of Rotary and this award is given to club members who best exemplify the Rotary motto of Service Above Self.
When Rick got up to give the award, he started with a quote from Shakespeare:
"I am not covetous for gold, nor care I who doth feed upon my cost.
It yearns me not that men my garments wear.
Such outward things I dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to court honor, I am the most offending soul alive!"
I smiled broadly at him, encouraging him because he had told me he was concerned that people might not appreciate the quote. He even memorized it. I was impressed.
Next he said something about the person being honored being a member of the marketing department in one of our local companies...
Is anyone else in a marketing department? I wondered, though it quickly became obvious that the award was going to me.
In 1999-2000, I served as president of this historic club. It was a tough year for me personally. I was diagnosed with cancer in early 1999 and did radiation treatments until May. The club would have let me off the hook, I am sure, if I did not step up to the podium in July, but I decided to do it anyway.
It was the best decision I could ever have made. It was like having a second job, but I gained much confidence and satisfaction from being a leadership position for this club. I learned even more about the club's history and devoted much time sharing that past with the members as we headed to our 75th anniversary.
So on this 81st anniversary night, all of those feelings came flooding back to me. I stood up to receive my medal and pin from the District Governor - trying hard not to cry too much.
I looked at my husband, and he said something about did I notice anyone at the back of the room. I looked beyond him and there were my parents! The Ump had conspired with Rick to bring my parents to Woodstock for this special night.
My mother is in the Rotary club in Covington and she is a Paul Harris Fellow and last year, she made my father a Paul Harris Fellow in honor of his service to the community.
It was the perfect touch to the evening because it is from those two people that I learned the importance of playing a role in your community. From the time I was a child, I have seen them give their time and energy to countless events and organizations that helped shape the Alleghany Highlands.
You don't work to earn honors. At least, that has never been my intention. I give the talents that I have to my community in ways that I hope will make a difference. I do not have children of my own, though I do have a lovely stepdaughter who has been in my life the past four, almost five years. I hope I am a good influence for her. And I want to live a life that honors my husband and my parents. And I hope I am doing what God wants me to do.
I guess this is kind of my Academy Award speech.
They like me! They really like me!
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