Thursday, October 22, 2009
My dear cpu does things that no one can explain. It is refusing to upload Microsoft critical updates. I've been contacting them for a week. I've deleted files the easy way and the hard way, typing in the lengthy computer codes and downloading third party files which Microsoft says I need, but will not guarantee that they will work or do the job properly. Why can't MS fix their own mistakes?
It's been almost 36 hours since I posted the last, 'It's not working.'
I was trying to update another program, but alas, it too won't work.
Yes, I have checked for viruses and malware etc. My anti virus program that has had fits and spurts of wear says I have too many anti-virus programs, residually on the computer. I asked how to get rid of the extras, since I technically had uninstalled all the others. But I have to contact the company whose site is gumming up my works that I left because it allowed a worm and a virus to destroy my Christmas season and the new year 5 years back and when I said I'd get another competent program, their response was to leave their little piece in my computer, draining resources.
Enough whining. I'm going to get some cheese for that 'whine' LOL. Just deal with it, Lyn. C'est la vie ou le guerre.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Leelu and Razzle (the dog who they said couldn't get along with cats) -- boy, did we prove them wrong!
"Meow, meow. Didn't I tell you to keep that camera out of my face? It's not that I'm doing anything wrong. My paw is not pulling the food towards me; it's resting on the bowl. Meow, meow, yes, yes, that's it! It's resting on the bowl! Get that camera outta my face, meow, meow. I have five sisters--now That's a sister act!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
I understand my grief and the grief of others in this situation and wish each who has lost their dearly loved pet will find in the coming days that there are glimpses of peace and comfort. I am a Christian, a chaplain and I believe in the afterlife.
My God loves beautiful things as the creator of the infinite universe, galaxies, dimensions and quantum tachyons and our little world we call earth. My God is love. God does not waste precious resources.
I believe that the animal friends we are entrusted with during their short lives are one of God’s gifts to us to reflect unconditional love that God offers us. Humans struggle with unconditional love. Animals don’t seem to have difficulty with it at all.
My God of love who doesn’t waste creation has a plan for the well being of everything. Matthew speaks to God looking after the sparrows and flowers, saying that King Solomon was not arrayed as these. The God who loves us enough to care for flowers and sparrows, loves yours and my cat and/or dog. God has a plan.
God’s plans are often unfathomable. They are always loving, always wise and have our best at heart.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
They need to interact safely and we give them both little doses of each other's scents. A basket full of kitties on the bed gives Razzle a chance to stick her nose at the edge and the little ones to reach up with their teeny paws and scratch her nose. Their little claws snag more than scratch; tickle more than hurt.
Their round faces have blue eyes with one exception--one has a pink eye and is pure white. Though they are nearly all white, faint markings are beginning to show. Since their parentage is a cross between Persian, Himalayan and Tabby, it will be interesting to see what emerges.
Leelu feeds and licks them well, so they are very clean and plump. Their teeny tiny paws don't sustain their plentiful bellies and round heads, so they mostly drag or roll around. Their bed is in a stack of soft towels, but they snuggle and pile on like a football game tackle rather than lie in a row like sardines. The hair is finally showing on their tails. When they're full grown, they'll have fluffy raccoon tails like Leelu's.
A source of pleasure to all, everyone traipses through the bedroom to peak in the closet drawer--the location which Leelu continues to insist is the best spot. Such is our daily routine, along with constantly replenishing mom's bowl of food and washing an amazing number of towels every day to keep pace with the six charmers whose main goal in life is to eat, poop & pee and, then sleep.
My job is going to increase as they grow bigger and I will need to scoop the litter box and catch the escapees as they go exploring. I take that back. That's what kids are for, right? LOL
Friday, May 22, 2009
A simple action, bending, reversed the enormous progress I had made. Now I am crawling to locations. If I can get up, it is to walk with painful slowness, inching my way from my zero gravity chair (which takes pressure off the disk compression) to the bathroom and back. No amount of heavy drugs which the doctor has prescribed take it away. And I hate them because they make me feel dizzy and sleepy. My alertness disappears and stupidity reigns.
No position: sitting, lying, walking or standing/leaning puts me into a relaxed mode. Some positions cause more internal screaming than the others, but all remind me to be grateful for those days of lesser pain which allow movement without grunting. I'm not certain why some pain evokes an audible response, but I have discovered they do. This is one of those days. May it pass like a dream at the waking.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Leelu explored anywhere and everywhere, outside and inside; on the go and attractive to those she encountered.
I explored many lands and locations; researched diligently outside and inside and people I met indicated they appreciated my attention.
Motherhood descended upon Leelu and she spends her time nurturing her suckling little ones; remanded to the box I created for her.
Motherhood descended upon me and I nurture my little ones who, as they grow older, increase their demands on my time and energies. (Some days they seem to 'suck' the life out of me. LOL) Do I feel stuck? Honestly, somedays, yes. Most of the time, no. For the rewards outweigh the challenges.
Leelu creeps out of her box for short excursions while bugling-tummy-kitties doze in the plush towels bunched together to keep warm.
I creep out, through the net, while my little ones doze or are otherwise occupied--as long as they are satisfied.
Leelu returns to snuggle and comfort her precious charges the moment they whimper.
I turn to my precious charges when requested and give comfort and hugs when they let me.
Motherhood is motherhood...regardless of the species.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
They haven't opened their eyes but that doesn't stop them from finding their place to suckle of mom's bounty. Seeing the gray hued fur on five of them, one standing out with pure white fur, lined up like sardines in a row; some suckling, others hanging on with their mouths, but asleep touches me with a sense of peace. All is right with the world.
Their pug faces are a tribute to the gray cat down the block. Mom has beautiful markings on her white fur. Her blue eyes stare with unflinching stance, taking in all activity around her. Aware always of the needs of her little ones--she knows when to relax and when to fight.
Speaking of fighting, two of the little ones vie for the same spot and blindly strike at each other with scrawny claws. Humorous to behold. It brings a smile to my day and I hope to yours.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
When faced with a query about the truth of Jesus and the resurrection, I submitted the following to the man who opened his blog for others to comment:
First, I would say that any belief starts from faith. For Christian faith, I believe God calls us and we respond to the love that distinguishes Christianity from other religions. This is an intangible, but no less valid that recognizing any expression of love.
Next, I submit that you ask God, directly, in the form of a prayer for guidance the exact question you seek. For example, “If I am to believe in the resurrection, can you not direct me to the answer?”
I trust that God meets us where we are and leads us step by step. God’s word is a light for our path Psalm 119 and shines on the path enough for us to take the next step.
On the idea of the veracity of the resurrection, I submit the following:
Jesus showed himself to witnesses: first the women, then Peter and John, then two on the road to Emmaus, then the eleven (including Thomas who touched his wounds for proof), and then to the 500 and then he was with the disciples again when he went to heaven. All of these instances are told in the gospels and Acts.
Jesus claimed to be the son of man and the Son of God able to forgive sins (Mark 4-no one can forgive save God alone)and John the baptizer witnessed the spirit descending on Jesus like a dove and the voice from heaven calling Jesus his son (with whom he was very pleased.)
Other historians (e.g. Josephus) corroborate Jesus’ real existence and the Quran references the prophet Jesus. Most historians accept the circumstance that there was a real person named Jesus about whom all these things are written.
I submit that claiming to be the son of God is a claim to made by either the true Son of God or by a crazy person. If I were to claim to be God’s only son, I would be escorted to a psychiatrist for abnormal behavior. This is because I am not that person and my behavior is aberrant if I claim I am. Would the Quran call me a prophet? I don’t think so. Would historians call me a prophet, a sage or someone to be revered? Yet, he is, consistently, called a prophet by others and not a “crazy person.”
Either Christ is crazy or he is who he says he is. Christ claims that they would kill him and in three days, he would rise again.(Matt 20) Either this is true or he is a false prophet.
Josephus, a Jew, and the writers of the Quran—two sources from faith groups that deny that Jesus is the son of God, speak of Jesus as the Christ, a prophet. They don’t speak of him as that crazy idiot who claimed foolishly that he was a prophet.
Proving something to be true, doesn’t make a believer, just as not being certain of what to believe make one an unbeliever. Fortunately, I am not God, the judge nor am I applying for the position. The truth of belief that people seem so ardently challenging you to follow is ultimately a question that only you and God can answer.
I applaud your search. Paul commended the Bereans as people who studied diligently. It is only in the constant study and examination that we will truly find the truth. The truth can set us free. Free to be more Christ-like, gentle with sinners and critical of arrogance.
I hope that I was of some benefit in your search.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
I pray for the living when someone has died
For the living must go on when they want to hide
I pray for the living when someone has died
The love goes on, but no longer is there pride
For there is much to do and so little time
And yet the time seems to crawl by
As conflicting feelings well up and pry
Open all the pain and joy that no longer is mine.
I pray for the living when someone has died
For the living must go on when they want to hide.
The AP reported the world news: In
The AP reported that 5 were killed in
The number of dead from the swine flu is diminishing. The world took the pandemic fears seriously. I read a blog of someone who claimed the swine flu was overrated. Sometimes damned if you do or don’t. Because people took the CDC seriously and prevented exposure and washed thoroughly and we didn’t lose 200,000 people as in the early 1900s then we are overreacting? I don’t think so. We escaped a disaster of staggering proportions. And for everyone who died there is a family or group of friends left behind.
When I was nine I lost my dad and I began a poem that I finished when I was older. Still the parts of pain that a 9 year old understood amaze me today. Profound.
Friday, May 1, 2009
There are some people whose words may be directed at a specific audience e.g. writers, but whose words are transcendent because one can substitute other nouns e.g. any trade, within the sentence and the thought remains true.
The Http://Behlerblog.Wordpress.com is like that. Lynn writes with such honesty and clarity that her blog consistently rises to the top of worthwhile reads.
Her blog today addresses publishers that seem too good to be true. As is true in all walks of life, be wary of those things which seem too good to be true, they probably are.
My mother used to quote the adage, "Things are seldom as they seem, for skim milk masquerades as cream."
Lynn writes five points: Beware of doing business with one who:
Says Looky me! versus working and building relationships within industry.
Is more Arrogance than confidence (where is their real focus?)
Has an Agenda of their own (which may be to your detriment)
Deals with you in an abusive way, expecting you to save them
P.O. or burn bridges with contacts and resources.
She expresses it better. It's worth checking out her full article...she cites specifics to support her claims. While it's directed at the publishing industry, its value is far beyond one industry. Her words are priceless to those of us who follow her.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Came across this today from Mark Twain.
"Whenever I am about to publish a book, I feel an impatient desire to know what kind of a book it is. Of course I can find this out only by waiting until the critics shall have printed their reviews. I do know, beforehand, what the verdict of the general public will be, because I have a sure and simple method of ascertaining that. Which is this -- if you care to know. I always read the manuscript to a private group of friends, composed as follows:
- Man and woman with no sense of humor.
- Man and woman with medium sense of humor.
- Man and woman with prodigious sense of humor.
- An intensely practical person.
- A sentimental person.
- Person who must have a moral in, and a purpose.
- Hypercritical person -- natural flaw-picker and fault-finder.
- Enthusiast -- person who enjoys anything and everything, almost.
- Person who watches the others, and applauds or condemns with the majority.
- Half a dozen bright young girls and boys, unclassified.
- Person who relishes slang and familiar flippancy.
- Person who detests them.
- Person of evenly balanced judicial mind.
- Man who always goes to sleep.
These people accurately represent the general public."
Saturday, April 18, 2009
BTW, if you're interested in being someone's towtruck or that Good Samaritan passer by, let me share how one did it: my true story of when my car broke down one night many years ago in a bedroom town on the outskirts of L.A.
The streets were vacant and dark. My friends and I called a friend that I knew lived in that town (I lived quite a bit farther away) and asked if he knew where an open service station would be. He knew of only one; he asked me where I was and said he'd be over. He came; pushed the car gently to the nearest station and after talking with the owner for a bit, told me that the attendant would work on my car as soon as they finished the one on the lift. I was ready to go into the station to sit on those hard plastic chairs smudged with grease stains, but he called me over to his car and unlocked the trunk. In it, he had a picnic basket full of tasty finger food treats and a bottle of wine with glasses, water bottles and a thermos of coffee. (He says he always has a basket ready at any time.) We all sat and sipped and nibbled and chatted--he'd brought enough for all four of us to enjoy over the next two hours waiting for my car to be fixed. We followed up with water and coffee (no drinking and driving for us) and I went home that night with a smile. A bad evening evolved into a wonderful time and I got by with a little help from my friends. I think Barbara Sher (and the Beatles) would have approved. :)
Monday, April 6, 2009
It really was a crutch
To speak of such and such.
Though often out of touch
Using too big words such
Yet in the attempt to clutch
At fame, anonymous stretched overmuch
To arrive at silly poems; nonesuch
Earned as much
As a penny or such.
by Anonymous (unless you like it, then I wrote it :D)
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Leelu, my cat
Walks into my flat
Her tail in the air
As she smells here and there.
I smile and tap
Upon my lap.
And nuzzles my nose
To tell me
That she's glad she chose
Leelu, my cat
Says meow in our chats
And plays Paw and Pat
It’s a game we play.
And we like to say
That We made
It up so we show
How it’s played.
Others, I know
Play it too,
So it must be
My sweet Leelu.....
Let me know if you want to see the rest of the poem :)
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The kawoosh of a can lid screams the siren call to all animals--the dogs and cats line up for the licking (akin to kids getting to lick the spoon, bowl and spatula of the remaining chocolate icing.) Plop and scrape; the whining grows insistant.
I use a cat food spatula--tiny enough to scoop every morsel from under the rim, although nothing beats the camel-like-tongue of our doberman mutt; she can sniff a microscopic morsel from 200 yards and beat everyone off the line to get it. She shows a "gimme" attitude for when she arrives on any scene, if another animal beats her to the morsel, she'll wiggle her large behind to insure she gets more than her share. It's hard to argue with the biggest butt around.
Meanwhile, Leelu, impatient, bounds off the counter, skimming the toilet seat (it's important to keep it closed for her access as well as keeping the dogs from using it as an alternate water bowl) and tangling my legs until I bang the dish on her counter alerting her to her breakfast pleasure.
Ah pleasure; she mews her 'thank yous' intermittently between bites. Chomp. Mew *thank you," chomp, Mew "thank you", chomp, Mew "this tastes great", chomp, Mew "thank you," chomp, "I love you." chomp, Mew "thank you" and so on until she's done. She's a social buterfly. I think she keeps up the conversation so I won't leave her to eat alone. Now, Jaz is anther story. Jaz, the cat, loves her privacy. But that's another day.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
I like to reference Somerset Maugham in his short story, 'The Tobacconist' in which the aging janitor is fired for not being able to read; in his depression he takes a walk and looks for a tobacco shop to buy some smokes. When he cannot find a shop, he decides (along with his wife) to take his savings and open a cubbyhole tobacco shop--it is successful and he repeats the pattern 10 times. Sitting with his accountant reviewing his books, his accountant reports his amazement at the fact of his multimillionaire success and that he is unable to read or write. "Just think where you'd be if you could read or write!" his accountant notes, to which the man replies. "If I could read or write, I'd be a janitor."
To that end, I believe things will work for our good. Have a great day and keep hope alive. :)
Sunday, February 15, 2009
While serving on the USS America, my colleague was training a new sailor on how to announce over the P.A. system that the ship’s Captain was leaving. The protocol involves broadcasting the name of the ship (synonymous with the Captain) followed by the words, ‘departing’. In anticipation, the officer required the sailor to practice the singsong formula: "America, …Departing"; "America, …Departing" until the Captain was ready to leave and his aide called to say that he was on his way. My colleague whispered, “The captain is leaving” to the sailor who in turn announced: "CAPTAIN ... AMERICA ... IS LEAVING."
Holding up my dirty sock, and smelling the stinky toe, I stop. It drops. I think it winks at me!
“Where is your other sock?” my mom asks for the third time tonight.
“Dunno.” Looking down at the one in my hand and then at the floor for the match. No, it’s not there.
“Do you know where my other sock is?” I whisper to the sock in my hand. I hope that no one knows I’m talking to my sock.
The sock says nothing but sags down low, looks sort of sad; not bad exactly, more twisting its toe—or is it a head—in a shrug? I let go and it falls to the rug.
I lean down low and creep up close, bending my head till I scrunch my nose and eyes and ask again. “Can you tell me where lonely socks go?” Wrinkling my nose from the smell of its toe, I’m not sure if it’s friend or foe. I wait for more, but it chooses not to say; so, I’m stuck with a puzzle. Can I learn today, the secret place where lonely socks go?
Perhaps, some sock can explain how lone socks know to start on a journey and go where they go. There must be one who’s been there and back who will tell its tale; I just have to find it and follow its trail; back to the place where lonely socks go.
So many of mine have gone away that I am certain there must be a special space that lonely socks gather to meet up with others as they travel the world or search the earth; a place where they might need my help to come home.
I seek the one that’s been there and back but I mix up whose’s whose and which’s which, so I’m not certain I’ll track which of my socks has come back from that space where lonely socks go. ...
There's more to the story, it's plain to see, each has lost a sock, maybe two or three. For this explorer the where is revealed yet a question remains though the solution is found. A conundrum exists in the story, as in life. The fun's in the journey more than solving the plight.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
“Lieutenant, that baby is dying.” The obstetrician’s condescending voice increased in volume with every sentence. “That baby has less than a five percent chance of being born.
The normally bustling Labor and Delivery unit at the
With shoulders squared—her epaulet designations clearly outranking me; she gave me no opportunity to speak. “You were called up here to talk some sense into her. You shouldn’t be giving her any false hope. Don’t use religion to prolong everyone’s trauma. No one needs to be put through this. That baby will die
Beeping monitors provided the backdrop for her continued diatribe, “You can’t change the reality with prayer.” Her pause gave me an opening.
“Eye-to-eye, I said softly with deliberation, “Doctor, …whether… that baby… lives or dies… is not up to… you …or me. Only God decides who lives and dies. If God wants that baby to live, it will live.”
The details of the story are engaging; the end result amazing.
It taught me with God, nothing is impossible.