****If you have come here on a search for symptoms or observations I have recorded here, I have learned so much since it was originally published. I can tell when somebody Googles, but I have no idea who Googled. ;) Do leave any questions that you may have and if I know the answers, I'd be delighted to help you. In the last two days one person wanted to know if mold can be crystal like. Yes. Yeasts and possibly histoplasmosis which becomes a true yeast once it is established in the lungs. And yesterday somebody wanted to know about eyes. I have three spots in my left eye. So please do ask because I've had to figure out so much on my own! Wikipedia is also a great help.***
I have arrived at a new level of awareness of the capabilities of our hidden enemy. I realized I must be there when I began contemplating the number of mold spores per square inch in the refrigerator. My refrigerator may never be dirty again. Others opening my refrigerator door may be assaulted by a wave of the odor of chlorine. If it is possible for foods to absorb it, my cooking may take on a characteristic hint of chlorine.
Well, actually, this may be true for my whole house now. Chlorine is the enemy of my enemy and it is now my best friend.
New rules for the fridge: Nothing moist may remain in it for more than one week. Even so, all moist foods should be contained in airtight containers. No more green fuzzies in my fridge!
Seriously, mold spores are always present in air--all air. That means in the accumulated dust that settles on everything, there are a good number of mold spores that are ready to grab at any moisture. Opportunistic little nasties! I realize now that I used to have quite a number of bad housekeeping habits. I thought I knew the truth about my dirt! I had no idea. New rule: No moisture anywhere! No damp towels, no drying wash cloths, no water standing under a soap dispenser, no damp dirty clothes (this was always a rule but now it will be enforced without mercy). The plumber will roll his eyes when he hears I've called again. I'll freak for a leak! Dusting and vacuuming will take on a new intensity around here. Any spec of dust may contain within it one of those dreaded mold spores.
I went to see what my choices are in disinfectants. Time and again, I saw "Kills flu virus!" plastered across the front of the bottle or can. My response? It ought to say, "Kills mold spores!" I guess that a great many people are mistaken and place the priority on getting rid of bacteria. If only they knew that bacteria aren't the real germies. Products that I used to think of as disinfectants will no longer be found under my kitchen sink.
Otherwise, I'm thoroughly occupied these days with helping get Ike ready to go to drum and bugle corps. The list of things to do to prepare for him to be gone for three months is as long as my arm. I'm writing lists and checking them repeatedly.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Pixel Man
The pixel man in the video stands in the shadow by the door. Ghostly images that move between the frames. He seems to jerk, or pull, repeatedly. I wonder if he is trying to open the door. Or if he is trying to close it against the world. Can't he escape? Or is there a threat outside?
Monday, May 07, 2007
Change under pressure:
On my blog rounds this morning, I visited Ron's blog and found this entry: emergence under pressure . . . in your church. Talk about sacred secular! This entry speaks to where I am in every aspect of my life right now.
Yesterday morning I came home from church reeling. It is one of those years--one of those bad years--where nothing in my life is going according to plan. If there is proof that we have very little control over our lives, the situation that I am in now proves it. All I know is that I'm in a pressure cooker that is about to explode. I have no idea where or when, but when it occurs, there is no telling how far the splatter will fly or how much. Or, in other words, I really don't know what is coming 'round the bend, but I'm craning my neck and ready for whatever comes my way.
Yesterday morning, sitting in the pew, a man who couldn't even follow the service handed me a filled out seeker's card to put into the collection plate. Every week there are new faces in our church. Shades of what occurred in Virginia echo here. People from other denominations are taking over the pews. The angry conservatives are going to make a move to steal the church. I've seen the writing on the wall for years now--I'm just waiting for God to open that window I'm always promised. In the meantime, I am sitting almost still, just waiting. Because through faith I do believe that God will show me what her will is and the direction she wants for me to go. Who knows where this will go or how it will play out in the end. Only God knows.
About that open window (if you will pardon cliches): I think God is preparing the furrow. For example, I have been leading a discussion group over a book on St. Benedict's Rule. I've never considered myself any sort of public speaker/teacher. Far from it. But--and very sweetly, as I have so often said that I am where I am because of the people I love--the women have been coming to me and telling me how much they have been enjoying the discussion. I usually tell them that is themselves--they take the ball and play with it, they make it happen. And yesterday morning I was pleasantly surprised by a similar compliment from a woman who had previously found the book daunting--and I was so happy! Her thoughts had been a concern to me.
Which brings me to another thing--love. I feel as though when the turmoil in the church begins to reach boiling, these wonderful women come to distract me, to bolster me, to hold me up, to warm me. There are no politics in it--their point of view doesn't matter. They are apolitical, faithful, spiritual and GREAT! (And maybe I shouldn't leave out the men who show their support, either. Thanks Z!) I don't need to say or do anything--they think of it all by themselves. I wish that I was as good as they are!
At any rate, what I'm saying is that perhaps I have a gift that I had never guessed at. Or, with God's help, I can do things I thought were impossible.
So, here I am at this juncture of forced change in both my secular and sacred life. Isn't it just exactly as Ron has just said in his blog? "There is something about looking ahead to a new horizon, not being able to really see what is ahead that causes fear... so much fear, we'll strain our necks, constantly looking back to the land of familiarity we just left." I'm trying to keep that new horizon in mind. It could be anything and it could be anywhere. I've been driven out of my charted course by winds that I hadn't foreseen. But it is done. Nothing is left but to box my compass straight and chart a new course.
Yesterday morning I came home from church reeling. It is one of those years--one of those bad years--where nothing in my life is going according to plan. If there is proof that we have very little control over our lives, the situation that I am in now proves it. All I know is that I'm in a pressure cooker that is about to explode. I have no idea where or when, but when it occurs, there is no telling how far the splatter will fly or how much. Or, in other words, I really don't know what is coming 'round the bend, but I'm craning my neck and ready for whatever comes my way.
Yesterday morning, sitting in the pew, a man who couldn't even follow the service handed me a filled out seeker's card to put into the collection plate. Every week there are new faces in our church. Shades of what occurred in Virginia echo here. People from other denominations are taking over the pews. The angry conservatives are going to make a move to steal the church. I've seen the writing on the wall for years now--I'm just waiting for God to open that window I'm always promised. In the meantime, I am sitting almost still, just waiting. Because through faith I do believe that God will show me what her will is and the direction she wants for me to go. Who knows where this will go or how it will play out in the end. Only God knows.
About that open window (if you will pardon cliches): I think God is preparing the furrow. For example, I have been leading a discussion group over a book on St. Benedict's Rule. I've never considered myself any sort of public speaker/teacher. Far from it. But--and very sweetly, as I have so often said that I am where I am because of the people I love--the women have been coming to me and telling me how much they have been enjoying the discussion. I usually tell them that is themselves--they take the ball and play with it, they make it happen. And yesterday morning I was pleasantly surprised by a similar compliment from a woman who had previously found the book daunting--and I was so happy! Her thoughts had been a concern to me.
Which brings me to another thing--love. I feel as though when the turmoil in the church begins to reach boiling, these wonderful women come to distract me, to bolster me, to hold me up, to warm me. There are no politics in it--their point of view doesn't matter. They are apolitical, faithful, spiritual and GREAT! (And maybe I shouldn't leave out the men who show their support, either. Thanks Z!) I don't need to say or do anything--they think of it all by themselves. I wish that I was as good as they are!
At any rate, what I'm saying is that perhaps I have a gift that I had never guessed at. Or, with God's help, I can do things I thought were impossible.
So, here I am at this juncture of forced change in both my secular and sacred life. Isn't it just exactly as Ron has just said in his blog? "There is something about looking ahead to a new horizon, not being able to really see what is ahead that causes fear... so much fear, we'll strain our necks, constantly looking back to the land of familiarity we just left." I'm trying to keep that new horizon in mind. It could be anything and it could be anywhere. I've been driven out of my charted course by winds that I hadn't foreseen. But it is done. Nothing is left but to box my compass straight and chart a new course.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
The "New" Neighborhood:
Ike thinks the main road we take to get here is an industrial wasteland. He is small-town. In a big city, this would still be a fairly decent neighborhood even if it is near the tracks, so to speak. The businesses here don't pollute.
The main road near the tracks is really a mix between small businesses, warehouses and private residences. This neighborhood itself would be called working-class, I suppose. The people here are very often young and are upwardly mobile. Two-thirds of the homes are privately owned residences and are well cared for. The other third are rentals that drag real estate values down. My house would sell for the same amount that I bought it for in the 80's before the housing glut drove prices down all over town.
I see this housing edition as an island situated on the right side of the wrong side of the railroad tracks. Or rather there is a siding that creates a private quarter to the north, separating this housing edition from the older homes on the other side. The homes here were built in answer to the need for housing after WWII and this is the only street in the neighborhood where the houses are not identical, or rather, not tract housing.
I took the long route to get to my point. In order to cross the tracks there are about four streets that have railroad crossings we can choose from. On one, that I rarely choose to take, there is a very old, decrepit two-story house. It is oddly built as though it grew organically according to the whim of its owners over the last century. I think it was probably one of the old farm houses that were here even before any other homes were built. It is painted two different colors and all the paint is peeling. The front porch sports a swan on each porch post. I always thought it was rather queer until I took a second look one morning when I wasn't in a hurry. The back door is surrounded by Christmas lights that the owner even lights on April evenings. More importantly than its condition, its odd shape, its swans, is its parklike yard, if you could call it that. Simply, the house is surrounded by trees planted in straight rows and probably four or five city lots of pure green grass.
There is an impressive aspect to it and I pointed this out to Ike one day. I think it is proof that even those who have little money and few assets can still have their own little piece of heaven and this is one that belongs to some small family who likes to enjoy their lives. It's evidenced in the Christmas lights around the back door and in the two chairs that sit facing toward the open tree covered lot between the house and the railroad tracks. A swingset sits in the shade of the trees a stones throw from the chairs. It would be a quiet place except for the trains.
While most of us are chasing our tails and trying to keep up with the Jones', these people have managed to obtain a house that takes their focus off the neighbors and to live life the way they want to live it. So, the point I wanted to make for Ike was to take the time to go sit out back after a hard day's work and enjoy what life has to offer rather than worrying about what you haven't got and what you may never be able to afford to have. And these people may be happier than their counterparts in their expensive houses out on snob hill. Some people just never get it: "Bloom where you are planted."
The main road near the tracks is really a mix between small businesses, warehouses and private residences. This neighborhood itself would be called working-class, I suppose. The people here are very often young and are upwardly mobile. Two-thirds of the homes are privately owned residences and are well cared for. The other third are rentals that drag real estate values down. My house would sell for the same amount that I bought it for in the 80's before the housing glut drove prices down all over town.
I see this housing edition as an island situated on the right side of the wrong side of the railroad tracks. Or rather there is a siding that creates a private quarter to the north, separating this housing edition from the older homes on the other side. The homes here were built in answer to the need for housing after WWII and this is the only street in the neighborhood where the houses are not identical, or rather, not tract housing.
I took the long route to get to my point. In order to cross the tracks there are about four streets that have railroad crossings we can choose from. On one, that I rarely choose to take, there is a very old, decrepit two-story house. It is oddly built as though it grew organically according to the whim of its owners over the last century. I think it was probably one of the old farm houses that were here even before any other homes were built. It is painted two different colors and all the paint is peeling. The front porch sports a swan on each porch post. I always thought it was rather queer until I took a second look one morning when I wasn't in a hurry. The back door is surrounded by Christmas lights that the owner even lights on April evenings. More importantly than its condition, its odd shape, its swans, is its parklike yard, if you could call it that. Simply, the house is surrounded by trees planted in straight rows and probably four or five city lots of pure green grass.
There is an impressive aspect to it and I pointed this out to Ike one day. I think it is proof that even those who have little money and few assets can still have their own little piece of heaven and this is one that belongs to some small family who likes to enjoy their lives. It's evidenced in the Christmas lights around the back door and in the two chairs that sit facing toward the open tree covered lot between the house and the railroad tracks. A swingset sits in the shade of the trees a stones throw from the chairs. It would be a quiet place except for the trains.
While most of us are chasing our tails and trying to keep up with the Jones', these people have managed to obtain a house that takes their focus off the neighbors and to live life the way they want to live it. So, the point I wanted to make for Ike was to take the time to go sit out back after a hard day's work and enjoy what life has to offer rather than worrying about what you haven't got and what you may never be able to afford to have. And these people may be happier than their counterparts in their expensive houses out on snob hill. Some people just never get it: "Bloom where you are planted."
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Off the walking trail!
What with the move and everything, I lost out on the fifty miles in fifty days challenge that I would have participated in. But Carolyn had a more fun idea, perhaps. She found this link called Map My Walk. With it, you can plan your walk and know in advance how far you have walked.
Here is the link to my profile: Annie's walks. This is helpful since I'm not living at home right now and part of my problem with walking is where to walk.
I posted my river walk below my blog entry posts. Don't go much further than that because my links have become so obsolete that I am embarrassed--but not enough to do anything about it today.
Another problem with walking around here is that this neighborhood has more pit bulls per capita than any other neighborhood in the USofA. They have pit bull conventions and planned pit bull meets.
I'm leary of pit bulls. What can I say? Seeing a pit bull makes me do a U-Turn.
Here is the link to my profile: Annie's walks. This is helpful since I'm not living at home right now and part of my problem with walking is where to walk.
I posted my river walk below my blog entry posts. Don't go much further than that because my links have become so obsolete that I am embarrassed--but not enough to do anything about it today.
Another problem with walking around here is that this neighborhood has more pit bulls per capita than any other neighborhood in the USofA. They have pit bull conventions and planned pit bull meets.
I'm leary of pit bulls. What can I say? Seeing a pit bull makes me do a U-Turn.