This entry may be my last. If at least some of us disappear suddenly from planet Earth this Saturday, it has been nice knowing my family and friends.
May 21 is supposed to be Judgment Day, when Jesus gathers his Christian followers into the heavens, leaving behind nonbelievers, according Harold Camping, president of Family Radio. According to the San Francisco Chronicle, Camping calculates May 21 as the big day because allegedly it’s exactly 7,000 years from the date of the Noah’s Ark flood. Camping estimates that 200 million people worldwide will disappear into the heavens. The other 7 billion humans are SOL. (I’ll use the clean translation: So outta luck.) The rest may die in a massive global earthquake. (What? The 9.0 magnitude temblor in Japan wasn’t the Big One?)
Rapture watchers have pointed to signs such as the mysterious mass deaths of birds; fish dying by the thousands in Southern California waters; huge earthquakes in China, Japan, and Haiti; floods in the Midwest; the Gulf of Mexico oil spill; and global climate change.
While I follow Jesus, I don’t believe the rapture is going to happen Saturday for two reasons. First, I’ve been through this before. In 1972 a Jehovah’s Witness friend warned me to prepare for the Second Coming that year. As a naïve eight-grader whose father is a Pentecostal Christian, I not only believed my friend, I spread the news to other schoolmates. When the Second Coming didn’t come, I lost credibility with my friends. One of them broke off our friendship.
Second, I tend to agree with Mark 13:32-33 in the Bible: “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come.” (New International Version) So, if neither the angels nor Jesus Christ knows when the rapture will occur, how would a mere mortal know? After all, the Bible is not The Da Vinci Code.
But, to be safe, I will make copies of my house keys and drop them off with my siblings before Saturday so my two cats can be fed and kept safe. Although I follow Jesus, I don’t presume to believe I will be gathered up by him. Nor do I presume that my siblings and friends will die in a massive earthquake. I just hope to be ready if it happens.
Writing Diva
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
A Mother's Gifts
This entry offers no suggestions for what to get your mom for Mother's Day. (If you haven't bought anything yet, why are you reading this entry? Get out there and find something!) Today I'm writing about gifts that a mother leaves her children after she leaves this world.
My mom passed away almost 13 years ago. I can safely say it was the saddest day of my siblings' and my life. For a while none of us wanted to celebrate Mother's Day after her death. After all, what was the point? Mom wasn't with us anymore.
Then my sisters launched a new tradition. My sisters and I go to the cemetery to put flowers on Mom's "eternal condo" and on the graves of our maternal aunts and maternal grandmother. Then we go out to brunch to catch up on each other's lives and remember Mom and our departed relatives.
In the years after Mom's passing, I realized that she hasn't really gone away. She left each of us sisters with a "gift" -- Mom's characteristics revealed in each child.
My older sister T1 loves children, just as Mom did. T1 also has a generous heart and is the one who most frequently contacts our relatives, especially Mom's side of the family. And, despite her earlier protestations, she inhered Mom's cooking gene. She loves to cook, and she prepares great dishes and a carrot cake that reminds me of Mom's. (Who knew?) But don't mess with T1. She packs a punch!
T2, my younger sister, inherited Mom's eyes and no-nonsense way of taking care of business. Friends and family have learned the hard way not to tell her about their problems. She refuses to be a sounding board; she wants to be the solution. I remember in Mom's final days she was hospitalized and not getting the attention we believed she deserved. T2 got on the phone to Kaiser's doctors and told them that she had no qualms about going to court to make sure Mom was taken care of. One messes with T2 at one's own risk.
However, T2 has a soft side, too. She is a loving wife to her husband J and is a nurturing mother figure to her nephews and nieces. She and her husband want to adopt a child or two. I think she would make a great mother, the way Mom was.
The sister I think channels Mom most, though, is D. She also inherited Mom's eyes and nose and is serious. But D has a silly side, too. She can pinch you surreptitiously and then say, "What?" Both D and Mom have a mischievous side.
D is also sensitive like Mom and doesn't take a lot of crap. Also like Mom, D rarely cries in public. D is good with money, fastidious with clothes and neat in housework, and is the most self-sufficient person I know.
As for yours truly, I've been told I look like Mom. I'm highly sensitive. But I don't see as much of a resemblance in characteristics. I'm not as neat as she is, I can barely cook, I'm not that good with children, and I'm shy. I could only hope to be like Mom.
To those of you whose mothers are still with you, wish them a Happy Mother's Day. And for those whose mothers are no longer with them, remember the gifts she gave you. Those memories will make you smile.
Writing Diva
My mom passed away almost 13 years ago. I can safely say it was the saddest day of my siblings' and my life. For a while none of us wanted to celebrate Mother's Day after her death. After all, what was the point? Mom wasn't with us anymore.
Then my sisters launched a new tradition. My sisters and I go to the cemetery to put flowers on Mom's "eternal condo" and on the graves of our maternal aunts and maternal grandmother. Then we go out to brunch to catch up on each other's lives and remember Mom and our departed relatives.
In the years after Mom's passing, I realized that she hasn't really gone away. She left each of us sisters with a "gift" -- Mom's characteristics revealed in each child.
My older sister T1 loves children, just as Mom did. T1 also has a generous heart and is the one who most frequently contacts our relatives, especially Mom's side of the family. And, despite her earlier protestations, she inhered Mom's cooking gene. She loves to cook, and she prepares great dishes and a carrot cake that reminds me of Mom's. (Who knew?) But don't mess with T1. She packs a punch!
T2, my younger sister, inherited Mom's eyes and no-nonsense way of taking care of business. Friends and family have learned the hard way not to tell her about their problems. She refuses to be a sounding board; she wants to be the solution. I remember in Mom's final days she was hospitalized and not getting the attention we believed she deserved. T2 got on the phone to Kaiser's doctors and told them that she had no qualms about going to court to make sure Mom was taken care of. One messes with T2 at one's own risk.
However, T2 has a soft side, too. She is a loving wife to her husband J and is a nurturing mother figure to her nephews and nieces. She and her husband want to adopt a child or two. I think she would make a great mother, the way Mom was.
The sister I think channels Mom most, though, is D. She also inherited Mom's eyes and nose and is serious. But D has a silly side, too. She can pinch you surreptitiously and then say, "What?" Both D and Mom have a mischievous side.
D is also sensitive like Mom and doesn't take a lot of crap. Also like Mom, D rarely cries in public. D is good with money, fastidious with clothes and neat in housework, and is the most self-sufficient person I know.
As for yours truly, I've been told I look like Mom. I'm highly sensitive. But I don't see as much of a resemblance in characteristics. I'm not as neat as she is, I can barely cook, I'm not that good with children, and I'm shy. I could only hope to be like Mom.
To those of you whose mothers are still with you, wish them a Happy Mother's Day. And for those whose mothers are no longer with them, remember the gifts she gave you. Those memories will make you smile.
Writing Diva
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Retirement? What’s That?
Earlier this month I argued with a fellow Sacramento Bee commenter about his contention that Baby Boomers (I’m one.) should retire early to allow younger people to assume their jobs. I responded that I can’t retire because my state pension is being threatened.
Then I read a Los Angeles Times article about a USC Dornsife/Times poll stating that California voters support a cap on pensions for current and future public employees and a later age for collecting them. I raised my hands in frustration. It’s bad enough that Republican state lawmakers want to cut my benefits in exchange for a balanced budget.
I have been an employee of the State of California for 10 years. I joined a state agency in March 2001 after working 12 years in newspaper journalism. I left journalism because increasingly I had to choose between eating and going to work. (I had a coworker ask me how I kept so slim. I replied, "Stress.") I left journalism before newspapers started losing money to the Internet (that is, search engines for articles and Craig’s List for ads). I saw many of my friends and former colleagues either take a buyout or get laid off.
I have been an information officer/editor for my present state agency for five years. I like my job and intend to retire when I turn 67. My retirement age would give me 25 years of state service at 2.5 percent of salary. God willing, I would also earn Social Security along with my individual retirement account and my 401K.
Even when I retire, if I’m still healthy, I plan to work. I hope to work for a media company as an editor, as a typist, or even as a greeter at Wal-Mart. I will retire only when I am physically or mentally incapable of working.
My message to those “young’uns,” as my southern father would call post-Baby Boomers, is, God willing, I’m not going anywhere. Retirement isn’t as it was in my parents’ generation where they could travel around the United States and didn’t have to worry about their next paycheck. If I were a squirrel, I got my nut. Get your own!
Writing Diva
Then I read a Los Angeles Times article about a USC Dornsife/Times poll stating that California voters support a cap on pensions for current and future public employees and a later age for collecting them. I raised my hands in frustration. It’s bad enough that Republican state lawmakers want to cut my benefits in exchange for a balanced budget.
I have been an employee of the State of California for 10 years. I joined a state agency in March 2001 after working 12 years in newspaper journalism. I left journalism because increasingly I had to choose between eating and going to work. (I had a coworker ask me how I kept so slim. I replied, "Stress.") I left journalism before newspapers started losing money to the Internet (that is, search engines for articles and Craig’s List for ads). I saw many of my friends and former colleagues either take a buyout or get laid off.
I have been an information officer/editor for my present state agency for five years. I like my job and intend to retire when I turn 67. My retirement age would give me 25 years of state service at 2.5 percent of salary. God willing, I would also earn Social Security along with my individual retirement account and my 401K.
Even when I retire, if I’m still healthy, I plan to work. I hope to work for a media company as an editor, as a typist, or even as a greeter at Wal-Mart. I will retire only when I am physically or mentally incapable of working.
My message to those “young’uns,” as my southern father would call post-Baby Boomers, is, God willing, I’m not going anywhere. Retirement isn’t as it was in my parents’ generation where they could travel around the United States and didn’t have to worry about their next paycheck. If I were a squirrel, I got my nut. Get your own!
Writing Diva
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
America! Stop Gawking!
In a two-week span I’ve seen what I call human train wrecks on the small screen making outbursts that would embarrass people if they were made by their family members. I’m not sure what bothers me most – that the media is taking advantage of these people or that we’re watching and won’t look away.
I must start with Ashley Sullivan, a 26-year-old “American Idol” contestant who drew viewers into her roller coaster life. She would go into an emotional high when she performed well and would dive into an abyss of insecurity when the pressure proved too much. She got the boot before the top 24 semifinalists were chosen.
An “Idol” cameraman followed Sullivan when she tied the knot with her boyfriend Paul Suraiva during the Las Vegas auditions. A writer for the Entertainment Weekly website made snide remarks about the singer possibly killing her groom. I believe she may be bipolar and not taking medication. I felt sheepish for watching her story and feeling pity for her.
Another train wreck who is more famous (or infamous, take your pick) than Ashley Sullivan is Charlie Sheen, the star of the highly rated CBS sitcom “Two and a Half Men.” Sheen, who had checked himself into a rehab facility after a violent hotel room incident with a porn star, left the facility, went to the Bahamas with two blond “goddesses,” and bit the hand that fed him, “Men” creator and producer Chuck Lorre. Then Sheen made the rounds of the news shows and spewed nonsense about “winning” and “tiger blood” and “Adonis DNA.” Luckily, his estranged wife Brooke Mueller had enough common sense to have her 2-year-old twin sons removed from Sheen’s home.
So far, Sheen has been on ABC, NBC, and CNN. (I’ve lost count.) He’s also been the butt of late-night talk show hosts. I worry about the two women living with him because Sheen is still a drug addict with a violent temper. I don’t see his situation ending well unless he gets help, which I don’t see him doing in the near future.
I’m going to do my part by turning off my TV whenever I see such nonsense. I don’t have the schadenfreude or the stomach for any of this.
Writing Diva
I must start with Ashley Sullivan, a 26-year-old “American Idol” contestant who drew viewers into her roller coaster life. She would go into an emotional high when she performed well and would dive into an abyss of insecurity when the pressure proved too much. She got the boot before the top 24 semifinalists were chosen.
An “Idol” cameraman followed Sullivan when she tied the knot with her boyfriend Paul Suraiva during the Las Vegas auditions. A writer for the Entertainment Weekly website made snide remarks about the singer possibly killing her groom. I believe she may be bipolar and not taking medication. I felt sheepish for watching her story and feeling pity for her.
Another train wreck who is more famous (or infamous, take your pick) than Ashley Sullivan is Charlie Sheen, the star of the highly rated CBS sitcom “Two and a Half Men.” Sheen, who had checked himself into a rehab facility after a violent hotel room incident with a porn star, left the facility, went to the Bahamas with two blond “goddesses,” and bit the hand that fed him, “Men” creator and producer Chuck Lorre. Then Sheen made the rounds of the news shows and spewed nonsense about “winning” and “tiger blood” and “Adonis DNA.” Luckily, his estranged wife Brooke Mueller had enough common sense to have her 2-year-old twin sons removed from Sheen’s home.
So far, Sheen has been on ABC, NBC, and CNN. (I’ve lost count.) He’s also been the butt of late-night talk show hosts. I worry about the two women living with him because Sheen is still a drug addict with a violent temper. I don’t see his situation ending well unless he gets help, which I don’t see him doing in the near future.
I’m going to do my part by turning off my TV whenever I see such nonsense. I don’t have the schadenfreude or the stomach for any of this.
Writing Diva
Friday, December 31, 2010
Buh-Bye, 2010. Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out
From the title, it's safe to say that I'm not shedding any tears over the departure of 2010. This year was a chastening one, from the three-day-a-month furloughs for California state government employees to the death of two cousins (brothers) to the theft of my car hood.
It wasn't all bad, though. I went to a convention this summer in San Diego. I sang in two choral groups -- the Tony Baldwin Chorale and the Solano Chamber Society, which performed the "Messiah." My mammogram was clear. I saw friends I haven't seen in years (my fault!). And I reaffirmed that some of my best friends are like sisters, and my siblings are among my best friends.
This year taught me hard lessons about tightening my belt and that many state workers have a second gig. I'm starting mine in January -- an editing business focusing on college papers and resumes, then branching out. I have to have more than one source of income to survive these days.
Money permitting, I'm returning to ballroom dancing and more singles activities. I want to have a life in addition to work, church, and visiting my family.
And I will continue writing until I can't form a sentence or my fingers stop working.
May 2011 be much better to everyone than this year.
Writing Diva
It wasn't all bad, though. I went to a convention this summer in San Diego. I sang in two choral groups -- the Tony Baldwin Chorale and the Solano Chamber Society, which performed the "Messiah." My mammogram was clear. I saw friends I haven't seen in years (my fault!). And I reaffirmed that some of my best friends are like sisters, and my siblings are among my best friends.
This year taught me hard lessons about tightening my belt and that many state workers have a second gig. I'm starting mine in January -- an editing business focusing on college papers and resumes, then branching out. I have to have more than one source of income to survive these days.
Money permitting, I'm returning to ballroom dancing and more singles activities. I want to have a life in addition to work, church, and visiting my family.
And I will continue writing until I can't form a sentence or my fingers stop working.
May 2011 be much better to everyone than this year.
Writing Diva
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Why I'm Not Putting up a Christmas Tree
Readers, before you accuse me of having a "Bah! Humbug!" attitude toward this holiday season, please know that I love Christmas.
It's just that I won't put up a Christmas tree.
That's not to say I've never put up a tree. When I lived in Walnut Creek in the mid-1990s, I put up live Christmas trees. Usually the tree was no more than 5 feet high because I lived alone and had to bring it home by myself. I made the tree my own, with glass ornaments and ornaments of the early 1960s Barbie, teddy bears, and Disney's versions of Winnie the Pooh and Tigger. I decorated the tree with miniature colored lights and a tinsel garland. The tree was in a corner of my dining area near the window where others could see it.
When I adopted my first cat Tuff-Punk in 2004, I realized that putting up a Christmas tree was no longer an option. He would bat the ornaments and try to remove the tinsel garland with his teeth. Moreover, he would try to eat the Douglas fir needles. I resigned myself to putting a wreath on my door and letting that be the end of it.
Three years ago, I bought an 18-inch fake tree that looks like a reject from "A Charlie Brown Christmas." But I was proud of having a tree and put it on my piano. I was happy -- until my other cat, Diva, climbed atop the piano and knocked the tree over. She thought knocking over my holiday decoration was a game. Sighing, I put the tree back in the upstairs storage area I call the "Shag Room." (More on that in a future post.)
The new "Simon's Cat" cartoon (http://www.simonscat.com/santaclaws.html) prompted me to write this entry. I remind myself that Christmas isn't always about decorations. It's about the birth of Christ and the love of friends and family, even if your family includes furry friends.
Writing Diva
Friday, October 29, 2010
A Mean Trick
I was going to write about going out and voting between now and Tuesday. However, a thief or more made other plans.
I got off my commuter bus at a Vacaville park-and-ride parking lot and walked to my car. I was tired and thought, "Three days gone, two to go."
When I arrived at my car, there was no hood. That's right, no hood.
At first, I didn't think it was my car. But it was a red 1995 Honda Civic. My stuff was still in there. The Club anti-theft device was still on the steering wheel.
For a moment I stood there in shock. Then, I got in the car to see if it would start. Thank goodness, it did. Then I called the police to report the theft of my hood. Five minutes later, I drove home.
Also thank goodness it wasn't raining hard, otherwise I think my engine would have been damaged.
I have been on the phone the past two days with my auto insurance company about the theft. The earliest that a claims adjuster would be out to see my car is in six days. In the meantime, I have to rent a car, which I'm claiming for reimbursement with my insurance company.
Oh, if you buy auto insurance based on how much it costs, you know the adage: You get what you pay for.
I just hope to keep my car running for another two years until I can get another used Honda. As for the losers who stole my hood: Karma is a witch, and she will kick your butts, cackling as she does it!
Writing Diva
I got off my commuter bus at a Vacaville park-and-ride parking lot and walked to my car. I was tired and thought, "Three days gone, two to go."
When I arrived at my car, there was no hood. That's right, no hood.
At first, I didn't think it was my car. But it was a red 1995 Honda Civic. My stuff was still in there. The Club anti-theft device was still on the steering wheel.
For a moment I stood there in shock. Then, I got in the car to see if it would start. Thank goodness, it did. Then I called the police to report the theft of my hood. Five minutes later, I drove home.
Also thank goodness it wasn't raining hard, otherwise I think my engine would have been damaged.
I have been on the phone the past two days with my auto insurance company about the theft. The earliest that a claims adjuster would be out to see my car is in six days. In the meantime, I have to rent a car, which I'm claiming for reimbursement with my insurance company.
Oh, if you buy auto insurance based on how much it costs, you know the adage: You get what you pay for.
I just hope to keep my car running for another two years until I can get another used Honda. As for the losers who stole my hood: Karma is a witch, and she will kick your butts, cackling as she does it!
Writing Diva
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