Tiger's Tears

I was thinking about my friend the GolferGirl today, because we usually meet on Wednesday for coffee. During the summer this becomes a scheduling problem, because the First Tee takes up a lot of her time.

Lately we've seen a lot of bad behavior in the sports world.

Okay, that sounds downright silly. More correctly, we 've come to expect bad behavior in the sports world.

But good news in the sports world is still news. Recently, Tiger Woods (definitely my main man in Golf, followed by The Shark) won a huge victory. He celebrated by sobbing openly and dedicating the victory to his deceased Dad.

I hope every future pro golfer saw and understood: Golf is a gentleman's game. There are nine core values taught to anyone who learns golfing from a golf pro.

Tiger has taken a huge amount of flack in his career, not the least of which was for his minority heritage. I thought Tiger handled it with aplomb.

I've heard it said that a real man only cries on three occasions: when Old Yellar is shot, when Dumbo is separated from his mother, and when a man loses his own mother. These are all metaphors for one single truth: the loss of something truly worthwhile, be it personal or universal to all men, is dispensation from the "men don't cry" rule.

I saw only positive reaction from any sportscaster or columnist to Tiger's tears. We can celebrate with Tiger and we can mourn with Tiger. Earl Woods will always be a giant in the sports world; Tiger is his legacy to us. Tiger's tears belong to us.

Real gentleMEN do cry. And we cry with them.

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Little Pond

Last Run, First Run

I didn't work the night they pressed the STOP button for the last time. I vaguely regret missing the end of an era, but the week had already been long, and I worked the next night to welcome in the new era.

Workmate Chuck was featured in both stories. That would be Charles Belanger of Prepress, who carried down the last negative from our department.

Chuck in the Pressroom, (we like our Chucks!) along with the rest of the Journeyman Pressworkers, spent their last night running the Goss behemoth that was our press, soon to be a relic of an ancient time. The pressmen will work the new press in Johnson City.

Our Mailroom fellow-employees, headed by my good friend Wendy will likely split, some working in JC, with others remaining and retraining for the new Printer (I guess we should call it) that will put out the inserts and glossies, here in Elmira. It will be relatively tiny, a niftly four-color toy that will fill what used to be the Mail Room.

As you go through the gallery pictures you will see our various bosses and coworkers, some retired and some now Johnson City employees. See how dirty the clothes are in the old pressroom. The new place is super-modern and quite clean. I've visited, but never seen it running.

Funny to think that the building-shaking, bell-ringing, nerve jangling startup is all in the past. Already the air was so much cleaner last night; I didn't need the albuterol inhaler. Not once. I worked the Advertising Graphics department, changing ad sizes over to comply with the new specs. We are used to being very, very busy.

Hope they don't phase us all out now.

We did an awful lot of waiting-around last night.

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Little Pond

Update: This is a version of the post I saved in Notepad. Something went wrong with Blogger just as I posted. I've learned to keep Notepad up and running while blogging to save my work outside of Blogger.

AGAIN???

It's freaking pouring out again! Can't we send this stuff out west where they want it??

I was forced to drive through a huge puddle going across the road, like I swore I wouldn't ever again. I was surrounded by traffic, and drove slowly so as not to hydroplane. And the morons passed me at high speed!!! Apparently they don't read this blog.

Each car completely washed mine, leaving me driving totally blind. Has everyone gone insane?

I didn't want to be out, but a headlight blew, and I went to AutoZone to buy a couple. Too bad the rain won't let up long enough to let me install the darned thing.

People who work nights are literally targets for bored policemen. Been pulled over tons of times, and they don't need a reason. How about going too slow? Yep, that's a good enough excuse around here.

And I'm up to my tuchis in overtime. Yes, we need the money for MammaDog's wedding, but right now I would prefer a full night's sleep. Four hours isn't cutting it for me now. It's only a short drive home from work, but I have actually fallen asleep at the intersections. Scares the hell out of the other drivers.

It's on to a little video gaming, and then to bed for a few winks. I still need a full eight if I can get them tonight. Wedding planning excursion tomorrow, followed by a night's work. The paper launches from the new CNY site Sunday night for the Monday morning edition. So far it's been Purgatory; Sunday night we expect sheer Hell.

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Little Pond

Five on Friday: Our big date?

As usual Criminal Grace dishes up a (sometimes) touchy meme. For us, anyway.

1. We are very, very married. Oh, so very married. With children. On the bright side, that doesn't mean no one ever asks. I'm looking forward to old age. My MIL was approached not long ago and the word went around that she was still a looker, and the one who hit on her was a luster from way back in high school. Tee, hee.

2. Frankly, I can't remember the last time RJ and I went on a date. Must be not in the past year or so. And thank you very much for reminding me.

3. My ideal date is a cruise to nowhere and back on a very small charter. With people waiting on us hand and foot.

4. Has dating become archaic? Snort, I say! SNORT! Couldn't happen in a million years. Even tightly regulated societies have highly ritualized dating. The reproductive impulse is THAT important and strong. Remember Amok Time?

5. Online dating services? Carefully go for it. And be prepared for a bumpy ride. People with much in common will click (literally; I couldn't resist) and those who don't won't. Same old, same old, just a different medium.

Maybe after the dust settles from the upcoming wedding, we will pretend we were the Wedding Crashers.

Or, maybe not. RJ never saw the movie.

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Little Pond

Very Sad

Have you ever said that a place that is really beat up "looks like downtown Beirut?" Well, it's a phrase I hear a lot. I myself used it, too. Until, in the last few years, the city began to recover. It's a wonderful thing to watch a city rebuild after armed conflict. Beirut has become a real showplace.

We all watched as Sarajevo was chopped up, bit by bit, during the fighting and sniping there. It too has begun a remarkable recovery. I was heartbroken when it appeared, night after night, slowly being turned into rubble. And Sarajevo was a wonderfully ornate city, a real jewel in Eastern Europe. I am heartened to watch it begin its return to glory.

Knowing this is possible gives me little hope for Beirut. The conflict has raged there for millennia, for as long as the decendants of Abraham have been battling. It doesn't look like Ishmail and Isaac are going to settle things anytime soon.

It makes me very sad. Beirut has already rebuilt into a beautiful Mediterranean city. I can't begin to express the feelings that assail my heart to watch its destruction yet again. And since I am not immortal, I grieve that I may never see its rebirth.

After a half a century of watching, I may trust it will rebuild, but I may never see it.

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Little Pond

Americana

Native-born Americans take so much for granted. This is good; we are entitled to day-to-day security. If we obey the laws, we do not fear encarceration. If we are willing to work, we can pay our bills. Even if we are not willing to work, we expect to be fed and housed, at least for a while. We are not persecuted by the government if we are law abiding, even if we loudly disagree with national policy.

We grow up with these certainties and expect them. They are our entitlement. We step outside our country and this sense of entitlement may get us embarrassed or into trouble. Even then, we can petition the local embassy, to help us out. We rarely need to feel helpless.

We know this is not true everywhere. Many who come to America are political exiles. Some live here, yet with disdain and look to trip us, even harm our way of life. Some hate and plot to kill us.

In the midst of all the smug entitlement, prim disdain, and outright fanatical hatred, there is a small group of real Americans who are not native. They love this country and aren't afraid to tell us why.

They are the ones I want next to me when I tear up during the Star Spangled Banner. We can pass around the tissues after we cheer and applaud.

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Little Pond

Going on Day Twelve at the Paper

So I'm really looking forward to the weekend. We will then embark on the work-week that leads into the new CNY. Our Beloved Star-Gazette will no longer be published in Elmira, New York. Instead the pages will ship over "high-speed" telephone wires (an oxymoron!) to our multi-million dollar press in Johnson City, outside Binghamton, New York.

But if I could take a vacation, I would go swimming. Thanks to Criminal Grace for this week's Five on Friday:

1--I can swim very well because I had Swimming Lessons as a very small child. We would catch the bus early in the morning, and return home for lunch. It was part of growing up in Central Massachusetts.

2--I learned how to swim at Rotary Beach in Auburn, Massachusetts from the Red Cross instructors there. In the Baker family, everyone was required to learn. We spent a lot of time at the beach every summer. My parents now spend their summers in Kennebunkport, Maine.

3--I haven't swum in years. Here in Upstate New York, the Finger Lakes are "glacial," and yes, that does mean they are frigid. Frigid water + Multiple Sclerosis = a wonderfully funny show for everyone except the MSer. It truly defines the term "spazzing out." Thank goodness the water is there to hide the sudden incontinence.

4--Underwater swimming was always my favorite as a child, and I had the ear infections to prove it. And why would anyone swim underwater without opening their eyes? Of course now with contact lenses, I can understand, but as a child...

5--Salt water all the way: give me the ocean any day. If I ever won the Lottery, the first order of business (after paying all the bills!) would be a castle on the Atlantic Ocean. In Maine. And on St. Thomas.

Hope you get the chance to swim this weekend. Wish I did; the warmest local beach was recently closed be cause of the bacteria count. No doubt due to the recent wicked rains.

Update: Note the correction: Day Twelve. And I will work Saturday night, too. Now that I'm the mother of the bride, I am such a money-hoard... Hee, Hee.

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Little Pond

It's so hard to clean house

In the dark! The day is totally dreary, and the rains are light and intermittent. (Never mind: we now have flash flood warnings again!) I hate using the electric lights in the daytime, especially during summer. Even with them I cannot see the dirt that I know is there. I am doing a very light cleaning of the downstairs.

Upstairs, VeggieGirl and the HuggaMutt are still asleep, due to the low light. The kitchen is bright and cheery because the VG repainted all the surfaces and repaired cat-scratched wall paper yesterday. So I will let her sleep. I'll need her energy to get me through the upcoming wedding of Mama- and PapaDog.

Update: VeggieGirl has an interview with Cingular. She loves Cingular and her phone. Guess young girls do. She really needs steady work, so I hope she interviews well. Don't much care about Cingular, myself, though.

Just three months and few thousand dollars later, we will have a welcome addition to the Little Pond. He's already here and already welcome, but it will be official. Funny to remember him riding flat on his back on a skateboard past the house, several years ago. Didn't realize then that he was looking to impress MammaDog (years before she was MammaDog...); he certainly impressed me. He saluted, as much as he could without upsetting the precarious balance of his stunt. I saluted back: our first interaction!

Soon he will be my ever-loving son in law. 'Bout time, too.

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Little Pond

After the Rainstorm.

An email from the Elmira-Chemung Transportation Council:

"The two truckers that lost their lives in this incident could see that the water was crossing in front of them a little higher than the existing pavement; however both assumed it was water crossing the road and figured they could drive through it slowly, not knowing of course that there was no road left."
Note how deep the gully is. Now imagine how the truckers saw it. Surely, it must have looked like a pool of water flowing across the lanes.

Please do not drive into a flooded roadway. Not even slowly, thinking to back out if it gets deep. You may not get the chance.

I used to attempt to cross a shallow-looking flooded highway. (Because a Tracker has lots of clearance.) Never again.

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Little Pond

Wow!

BlogSister Karen has her newer, fresher site up for your approval.

A girl and her blog. It's a beautiful thing.

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Little Pond

Indoor Independence Day

Not raining, but not inviting, either. And I have to work tonight. But I had a nice long weekend.

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Little Pond

What is the opposite of winterkill?

Not Christmas in July. Just an ailing tree. I actually wanted river shots. But it's all muddy and not particularly high. There were rumors of a doe stranded on the islet, but I never saw her either. If you're still interested, click here for a short walk through the neighborhood and bragging rights for RJ.

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Little Pond

Friendly thought for the day...#2

A friend will help you get moving.
A good friend will help you move.
But your best friend will help you move a body.

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Little Pond

Feeling decidedly less squirrelly today.

Not very ambitious today. So it's great to have Five on Friday to fill in. Courtesy of Criminal Grace: Is Pat patient?

1--Honestly, I so lose patience in traffic. I drive rather slowly myself, but it's hard to watch people who can't seem to nose into traffic, or who miss a cycle of the stoplight because they are chicken.

2--When I am unwell, I may not even enter a waiting queue.

3--On the spur of the moment, I will disconnect, especially if I was put on hold by someone who called me. Otherwise, if I know I must wait, then five minutes tops. Isn't that why we have the Internet?

4--Ask my frustrated family: I will take the long and winding road over the straight highway any day. Scares the heck out of them, sometimes.

5--Rude, never! Politely, sometimes coldly, assertive, and only when I've already been wronged. If done to me, I grouch back that I agree, and let's go get the bastards! Some people turn into pussycats. Others, well that's the stuff of blogging.

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Little Pond

Darndest Thing

Walked Ellie to the post office this morning. Yes, doggie to the post office; Trish there likes to visit with her. It's the other, young fellow who's afraid of dogs. Same with Mike Miller MailMan. And MailMan owns a dog! Those guys just give off vibes, I guess.

So, anyway. We had a lovely, long walk that was punctuated by a visit with Zadie, the rottweiler across the street, and her owner. She was pretty tired when we headed back home, so I let out the leash in hopes she would potty one last time.

A squirrel was waiting on the porch! Ellie decided to show who's boss, and chased it into the plant flats left in the sun by Husband RJ. I moved forward to protect the flats and their precious baby plants. The next thing I knew, I was eye to eyeball with the squirrel, perched on the handrail. We both froze. Then the squirrel jumped right at me, bounced off my shoulder and booked a quick flight to the side yard.

Even if I had a camera, I couldn't possibly catch the scene, except maybe the closeup of a squirrel eye. But I do have proof of its escape by my shoulder. Except for the one freckle (where I was kissed by my guardian angel), all the marks are courtesy of our bushy-tailed interloper.

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Little Pond