Most of you are familiar with Stephen Covey, and for those of you too young to have heard him I am sure you familiar with his work. I have been spending a lot of time thinking about where I fall short in his ideals, and I think one of my biggest areas of weakness is integrity.

According to Covey, honesty is saying what you did. Integrity is doing what you say. I have no problems sharing what I did, how I stumbled, how I succeeded. The problem I have is doing what I say I am going to. Sometimes, my enthusiasm is too much for me, and I agree to do more than I can possibly do. I have previously stated that I am a YES person. So, when approached by someone who needs help or suggests a fun project, I genuinely and sincerely say and mean yes. There are only so many hours in the day, and I am not as energetic as I once was, so I find myself in the middle of all of these fun and important things I want to do -agreed to do – and I crash. Either I don’t put as much heart into the project as it deserves, or I tell them that unfortunately I have bitten off more than I can chew, and let me help you find someone else to do this. 

One of my resolutions this year is to live with more integrity. It’s only a couple of weeks in, and I am already struggling to bite my tongue when opportunities come up. Keep your fingers crossed for me so I can learn the power of no, and I can complete my current projects with the heart that they deserve.

Do you have trouble with honesty or integrity?

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

Anybody who isn’t moved by the Velveteen Rabbit should read it again. I can’t wait to be real, myself.

I need authenticity in my own life as much as I need sunshine. I need to surround myself with imperfect, bumbling and clumsy (but always trying) people. I spend time with people who are genuine. Genuinely themselves. 

I am working on becoming real, and I don’t even mind having my hair loved off or my eye drop out to get there. 

Why do people say that? I think people who would think, “well, he’s just a dog” should never be allowed to own one. 

My sister has an ugly little Schnauzer. His name is Wilson (from Cast Away). Wilson has a weight problem that she can’t get under control because she has a two year old and a 7 year old. The fat little guy can get anything he wants from them! Long story short, Wilson is diabetic. The insulin caused pancreatitis, which is very dangerous in dogs. Wilson went to the hospital a week ago, and things look grim. 

Wilson is fighting for his life, though. He hasn’t given up the fight to live, and therefore she won’t put him down until he does. They have spent more than $4,000.00 so far to give him his best chance. Someone she knows actually told her the most horrible thing imaginable – she said, “$4,000??? You could buy a new schnauzer and go on a cruise for that. He’s just a dog!”. 

I have been spending extra love on my dog since Wilson got sick. It’s a scary reminder how much they mean to us when they get sick. Here he is at the park:

I would mortgage the house to try to save my sick dog. Is there something wrong with me, or is there something wrong with the lady that said that? When do you know you have tried enough on someone that is part of your family and means so much to you? 

 

In 1989, a young man named Trygue from Norway came to Nederland, CO with his grandfather. His grandfather on ice, that is. You see, Trygve’s grandpa (Grandpa Bredo) was a big believer in cryogenics and was convinced that if frozen, he could easily be resurrected once that technology became available. Being a better than average grandson, Trygve honored that wish and froze Grandpa Bredo and brought him with him on his travels. Trygve kept Grandpa in the shed out back of his house on ice until he was deported in 1994. The officials would not allow him to bring his icy grandpa with him, and also wouldn’t allow him to be buried. The law is shady when it comes to transporting frozen dead men in and out of the country, so until both countries come to an agreement, Grandpa Bredo will remain in his chilly Tuff Shed. 

Every year the town of Nederland celebrates Frozen Dead Guy days in March. Here is a list of events:

• Coffin races
• A slow-motion parade
• “Frozen Dead Guy” look alike contests
• A tour of the Tuff Shed where Grandpa is still frozen
• A “polar plunge” for those brave enough to go swimming in Colorado in early March (which generally requires breaking through the ice)
• A dance, called “Grandpa’s Blue Ball”
• Pancake breakfasts
• A market showcasing local artists
• Snowshoe races, and
• Snow sculpture contests.

Nederland has 1300 residents and is at 8230 ft elevation. I go to Nederland often as they a beautiful lake:

An awesome coffee shop:

And of course, the 4th of July Trailhead.

They call it the 4th of July for a reason, you can’t get to the trailhead before then with 4 wheel drive. I tried on Memorial Day once, after weeks of 80 degree weather in town, to be stuck in nearly three feet of snow. I am a quick study though, and only tried once!

I love Nederland, and if all works out well, I hope to move there in a couple of years. Keep your fingers crossed for me, and I will send you a photo of the corpse-sickle on top of the mountain!

 

Recently, there has been much focus on gun control, senseless violence, unthinkable acts that have caused nationwide anguish. I have no opinion on gun control, personally. I can see and even agree with both sides, so I am not addressing this issue. That is not what this post is about. This post is simply about the book I found, and how it made me believe the world isn’t as ugly as it has been throughout history.

Steven Pinker, Harvard professor of psychology, wrote a lengthy book called “The Better Angels of Our Nature”. This book studies the history of humankind, and reveals the decline of violence in our world. I am not even finished with it, but I am so grateful I found it. There’s no way to sum up even what I have read this far in a single post, so I am going to try to skim some of his main points. Though they seem unbelievable, all the shootings, murders, wars and even genocides – there is no denying that even as the population of the world is increasing, the overall violence is decreasing.

1.  Pacification Process -The transition from hunter/gatherer societies to an agricultural civilization created a more peaceful state of existence by decreasing tribal wars and raiding. The reduction in violent deaths is estimated at five to ten times less.

2.  Civilizing Process -Between the late Middle Ages and the 20th century, European countries saw a ten to fifty fold decline in homicide rates. The declination in violence is credited to the consolidation of feudal territories into large kingdoms and centralized governments – infrastructure, commerce and authority. 

3. Humanitarian Revolution- The Age of Reason and Enlightenment in the 17th and 18th centuries created organized efforts to abolish socually sanctioned violence – dueling, judicial torture, cruelty to animals, etc. These are the seeds of the pacifism movements, ending socially acceptable sadism. 

4. Long Peace -Since WWII, the great powers in the developed nations have ceased waging war on one another. (No, this doesn’t mean wars have ended, but historically speaking, we are in a time of peace.)

Since the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948, there has been growing repulsion to aggression on smaller scales – violence against women, children, homosexuals, ethnic and religious minorities and animals. Civil rights have been pushed forward at unprecedented rates and violence is no longer seen as macho, superior and good. Changing attitudes towards intolerance, prejudice, sexism, racism – even on the smaller scales such as bullying and spanking – have all contributed to the peace we now know.

The world isn’t perfect today – we still have far to go. But the past seems less innocent and the present less sinister when you take a step back and view the history of violence in our world. I’ve always been a glass is half full kind of girl.

 

This is for @We_deny_everything. I am not a poet, but he is so down about Christmas ads that he misses politics. I am giving him both.

 

‘Twas the month post election

And all through the states

Not a voter was worried 

About poor Romney’s disgrace.

 

The shoppers were strolling 

Through the market with care

Imagine their shock

That drunken Romney was there!

 

“How are we today, friends?”

He said with a mumble

“The economy is in shambles”

He shouted, then stumbled.

 

Hair was disheveled

His clothing a mess

With a faint scent of urine

He wasn’t his best.

 

Atop of a counter

He suddenly climbed

Shouting warnings of doomsday

That weren’t far behind.

 

Security was called

The children all cried

When Mitt opened his trench coat

To show what was inside.

 

Tasers and handcuffs

A broken jug of rum

Was a warning to all politicians 

Of what could become.

 

Children, heed this tale

Of sorrow and shame

Don’t be a politician,

Just look at McCain. 

 

No offense to anybody! This post was inspired by the Onion.

http://www.theonion.com/articles/filthy-mitt-romney-delivers-campaign-speech-to-aud,30522/?ref=auto

I am nearly finished with my book, and gearing up to complete it. My lovely husband has been sending me articles and even bought me a book about publishing so I can be ready. I see authors here that have built a following and that is helping them launch their work. I think that is a great idea. In one portion of the book about publishing, they spoke about the importance of blogging. Their rules were loosely as follows:

1. Blog timely and consistently.

2. Blog about a general topic to build that base of following; ie: Recipes or Politics.

3. Blog clearly and efficiently with few errors as your posts will be a sample of your writing.

I break every rule. Sometimes I blog 3 times a week, sometimes 3 weeks passes without a post. Sometimes I blog about being a swinger, sometimes I blog about current events, sometimes I blog about zombies. I rarely edit, and find many errors when I review my past posts. In an effort to clean up my blog and start following the rules, I have decided to write more often, regardless of what else is happening in my life. The main problem is number 2 – I don’t have a set pattern. I have been trying to find something I like to post about more than others so I can stick to rule number 2, but have yet to pinpoint what my focus will be. Also, since my book is about death and redemption, I have decided not to make that my focus. It would depress me and anyone who reads me, so I will just have to hope that even though the topic is different than my posts that a couple of you will still read my book. I will also make a stronger resolve to clean up my errors, however, I am not going to remove my personal voice. I write articles for various organizations and use an impersonal voice but I don’t believe that belongs in my blog. 

My point, now where was my point here.. Oh right. I am struggling to find something to blog about now that I am taking it more seriously (starting today, that is). I can’t think of a single thing to blog about, so I sent out a note to some of my friends and co-workers asking them what was on their minds today – good and bad. Here is part of the list I received.

1. The cop that shot the dog without cause.

2. The 17 year old suspect being tried as an adult for dismembering Jessica Ridgeway.

3. The lack of funding and overwhelming caseloads of child welfare social workers and how protecting our children is not a priority.

4. The fact that some bitch in an Audi keeps parking in her spot and management won’t ticket or tow that car!

5. The 32 year old Florida man who choked to death on cockroaches and worms after winning a cockroach/worm eating contest.

6. Does anal sex really cause anal fissures or is it just constipation?

7. Will the legalization of marijuana discourage new companies from moving into CO?

Since I am struggling to find a focus to write about consistently, and you are my readers, I decided I would ask you, my friends, what you would like to read about from me. To be a better writer, I need to be a better blogger. I need your help to figure out how to do that.

I like to think of myself as a rebel. An outlaw. One bad.ass.girl. The truth is, though I may step outside of the box in some areas of my life, I am pretty darn boring in 99 percent of what I do. I go to work. I come home. I volunteer. I call my family. I clean. I bake. I walk the dog. What I like to think I am doing is this: I save the world. I travel the planet. I make unplanned drop ins at the families homes in between exotic travels and adventures. I eat in exotic new restaurants and sample new foods. I take my dog on ultra marathon races across mountains and deserts. I am too cool for school.

If it were early twentieth century, I would like to have been a Flapper. Flappers were a “new breed” of young Western women in the 1920s who wore short skirts, bobbed their hair, listened to jazz, and flaunted their disdain for what was then considered acceptable behavior. Flappers were seen as brash for wearing excessive makeup, drinking, treating sex in a casual manner, smoking, driving automobiles and otherwise flouting social and sexual norms. (Thank you Wikipedia)

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F. Scott Fitzgerald described a Flapper as being lovely, expensive, and about 19. I think I missed the boat there. I can only imagine the excitement and scandal that it would create if I walked into a speakeasy on the arm of a mob boss… 

 

I would probably not have been a Gibson Girl, I suppose. Gibson Girls were the first real symbol of beauty for an American woman. They were used as models to sell merchandise that was fashionable and excessive. They were cool, independent, aloof and would never lower themselves to participate in anything classless, such as the Suffrage Movement. They went to college to obtain an adequate mate, and any man would fall prey to their beauty and prostrate themselves for a kind word or affectionate glance from a Gibson Girl.

 

 

Women gained the right to vote in 1920. So even with all the interesting and glamorous choices of what type of woman I wish I would have been in the roaring 20′s, I probably would have been sharing a cocktail with the Unsinkable Margaret Brown. I would be lamenting her loss as the first woman to run for public office, griping about cheating husbands and the state of affairs, and worrying about how this generation of women was going to continue her work. 

 

The moral of my story is this: Wherever you go, there you are.

 

Why is nay saying the popular thing to do lately? It seems like all we do is nay say, Snopes, doubt, disbelieve and scorn those who do. It is almost as if our culture views intelligence as the skeptics, the doubters, the negative nancies rather than those with hope, curiosity and an open mind. 

When I see something in my email or on facebook, if I am interested enough to consider it the first thing I do is look at Snopes  to see if it has already been reported by somebody. When someone tells me a fantastic tale, my first instinct is to doubt. When I see a report of Bigfoot, Loch Ness, you name it – I am sure there is some sort of deception behind it so I don’t allow the possibility to enter my head.

I am not a religious person, I am not even sure I am a spiritual person. But I see those with true faith (not the judgmental, critical, or blind to facts faith, the real kind that you can see in someone’s eyes) as holding something magic that I wish I had. 

Here is my Christmas tale. As most of you know, my daughter lost her three year fight with cancer on January second, immediately after the holidays. I had a very difficult year coping with that loss. Having no faith to rely on, despite the many people who said things like, “She’s in a better place” or “God brought her home”, I didn’t believe what they believed. Also, since I didn’t believe in much of anything, it felt like she was just gone, vanished, poof. I was heartsick and alone in a way only a grieving mother can be. The first Christmas without her, we returned to our isolated lake cabin where we spent the last year with Amber. The kids had walkie talkies for Christmas and left me alone with her grandmother to go ice fishing with their dad. Now, when I say isolated, I mean isolated. We were 30 miles to the nearest farm (or other residential dwelling), 75 miles from the nearest town (of 350) and the only people at the lake. There are three cabins at the lake, but since we had to plow our way in and the snow was still falling, there is no chance anyone else made it to their cabin. As my mother in law helped me go through old boxes of things deciding what to donate and what to keep, the walkie talkie downstairs kept buzzing. 
Grandma, can you read me? Over and out. Grandma, I want a cookie (giggling), do you read me? Yoo Hoo, mom, where are you? (more giggling). Wiping away my tears I told Vicky (my mother in law) that we had better go tend the walkie talkie. When we got downstairs she picked up the toy and went very pale. There were no batteries in either walkie talkie, and they were both on the counter. As she stumbled over the words trying to tell me this, the walkie talkie went off in her hand again. Haha, I tricked you! (That was Amber’s favorite game). That is also the last time that walkie talkie ever went off. I held that toy (and still keep it near my bed today) and wouldn’t let anyone put batteries in it, hoping that magic would happen again and I could hear my mischievous daughter’s giggle again. I never did. The real magic, though, is that I now believe. I don’t know what I believe, or in who or how. In fact, I am skeptical that anyone truly knows, but I shed my inner doubter and know that there is something else. 

So, this Christmas, let the nay sayer rest. Look for miracles, marvels, or other magic in the world. Be open to the unbelievable stories, unlikely discoveries, and fantastic ideas of other people. If you don’t shout at the top of your lungs “I DO believe in fairies”, then Tinkerbell may cease to exist. And really, isn’t life more exciting with an element of mystery and magic anyway?

Zombies are coming with the end of the Mayan calendar – that’s undoubtedly a fact. (Well, maybe  ) If Christmas rolls around and the world has disappointed you by not ending with a horde of zombies, relax. You can make your own.

First things first, you need to find a person to zombify. I suggest an employer, ex-boyfriend, mean teacher – somebody you have a beef with. After the first zombie or two you successfully create, you can begin marketing your zombie making skills and offer your services to your friends and family. You are bound to be a popular person with your new skills. 

Next, you need to make your zombie powder. Zombie powder has a primary active ingredient of TTX, or Tetrodotoxin, a powerful neurotoxin found in puffer fish. Slip it into your targets drink or food, and they will become very ill. Their heart will stop and their breathing will end, but they will remain conscious and paralyzed. They can remain suspended in a near death state for days with no detectable metabolic activity. A doctor will sign off on their death certificate, and you can bury the poor sap. Imagine hearing, seeing and knowing what is happening without being able to cry out – now that will teach that ex to trade you in for a better model!

After your victim is buried, you can return later to dig them up. They will need to be given another powder containing atropine and scopolamine. These are toxic and hallucinogenic compounds from the plants Datura metel and Datura stramonium (both known as the ‘zombie cucumber’). This powder, when administered, puts the victim into a permanent state of delirium and disorientation in which they experience delusions and hallucinations. This powder is best administered through the skin, rather than ingestion. 

The new zombies have severe amnesia, poor motor control, and extreme hallucinations. Simply put – they move slowly, barely speak, and are effective slaves. Tah Dah! You have your very own zombie to do your chores, follow you around, and terrify your enemies!

In Haiti, this form of zombification has been practiced for many years as punishment against their worst offenders. It has even been credited with large disasters in Haiti, such as the sinking of a large ferry in 1997. In 1985, biologist Wade Davis traveled to Haiti to find the scientific cause of the VooDoo curse, and from that wrote a book titled, “The Serpent and the Rainbow”. 

Who knew there was a “Make Your Own Zombie” manual out for 30 years and have not made good use of it yet? If your end of the world disaster plans fall through this year, I encourage you to make the best of it with your own horde of zombies. No need to wait around for zombies to come to you, go out there and make them yourselves!