Trixie Archer's Blog
October 21, 2017
Squirrels and the Dogs Who Chase Them
When I was little I dreamed of having a loyal pooch to call my own. I'm not sure why, but I've always been partial towards dogs with golden fur. Maybe it has something to do with a puppy that wandered in as a stray, an adorable golden retriever that someone had dumped one block into the county. Although we were instructed not to feed the pooch, my sister's and I snuck him table scraps on the sly.
One afternoon, while we were playing softball in the yard, the pup trailed along. Unfortunately, a ball ricocheted "just-so" pelting the dog in his front paw. The pup howled from injury and pain bringing heartbreak to all who stood in witness. Mom didn't have the money to pay for vet bills, so calling the humane society was the best that she could offer. That was the last we had ever seen of that adorable little puppy.
Other strays wandered in throughout the years, a collie, a mixed German Shepherd, and a Heinz 57 sort of mutt. One day, as fate would have it, a black puppy with gold-toned markings on his face wandered in. This particular dog was unruly and totally unmanageable. My brother Tom pointed out how the dog was able to survive outdoors through dangerously bitter temperatures...and thus he announced, "Archer finally has her wish, a dog that we can keep!" Not by want nor by choice that mini version of trouble became mine.
Dog often nipped at my hand and scratched my legs by jumping up in a wild frenzy but it was a dog after all and since I'd always wanted one as my own, I didn't allow a bit of pain to discourage me. If time travel were possible, you'd catch sight of little me walking down the street with that monster gathered in my arms. Dink never took to a chain but preferred to be carried. It was no matter, he was mine...and that was the best thing ever. Lugging Dinky worked out well until he grew too large and heavy for my scrawny arms. The day finally arrived when I was forced to leave him safe and sound in the backyard.
I've had a few dogs since and when I've been able to choose, I always pick a rescue with a tan coat. Maybe my preference is to honor the pup that could have been but never was. Who knows?
Regardless, I've always longed for a dog that wanted to play fetch with me, that would come when I called, that would be my loyal companion both to my face and behind my back. I hoped to someday find a match who would sit by the window on the exterior scanning the perimeter and no matter what room I wandered into dog would somehow know to follow from the outside. I guess I had been looking for a true-blue canine soul mate.
I dreamt of the sort of companionship to where I could take up jogging and dog would stay within three feet of me, never once being distracted by people, cars or critters. I longed for a great protector that had my back, always. I imagined a bark and bite in defense of partnered with a lighthearted comic relief to lighten the mood on most occasions.
What I ended up with (maybe because of the tall Maple trees in the yard) was a squirrel obsessed, stubborn, hole digging, mongrel. Sigh.
When I toss a tennis ball for a game of fetch she snickers. Her gaze remains fixed on the top branches of the tree, wanting, needing, craving for the sight of a grey squirrel. Her attention span for me is all of ten seconds before her longing for a good chase wins out. I've tried everything too. In fact, I'll often sprint, grab the ball and drop it at her side energized by enthusiasm. (hint, hint) "Come on dog...just one game of fetch for that joy will carry me months, please?" Nope. The dog often gives me this "you've got to be kidding me" expression as if my want for "dog activities" is somehow an unreasonable demand.
No matter what I do, what I say, what sort of prime cut of meat I throw onto the path, those blasted squirrels win every time! I've tried composing the best dog tune ever...with an ear catching melody and proficient rhyme to the lyrics, but I'm met with great boredom. I've tried chasing squirrels with her and although my neighbors seemed amused, I don't think that dog even noticed I was there. The urge she has to bark that crazy-high-pitched alarm to disorient and then nab...is much too strong. Tan dog or not, my relationship with her seems to only go one way, her way. Sigh.
I've stood for many years now in competition with squirrels. Even if I found a squirrel costume, put it on and climbed up into the tree, I just know dog would not wish to be with me. It just is. She knows the difference and she has her preference.
You know what really hurts? Watching the morning fitness buffs stroll by each day. There's this woman in our neighborhood who often dons lavender exercise garb. She holds a leash to her poodle and that leash always has a bend...you know, when the dog is walking in synch with their person. There is a contentment, a happiness shared. I'll peer out the window with great wonder, "why can't I have that...I always wanted to have that!" Then "it" happens, the dog will pause a moment and gaze up at her with a look of total love and admiration. I'm jealous, okay, I'll admit... There is great pain...witnessing what other people have and knowing that I may never realize that sort of puppy love for myself.
Oh, I've tried dog therapy...dog seemed motivated at first to ignore the squirrels overhead. She did rather well too, using the techniques that the dog whisperer suggested, wearing imaginary blinders, taking deep breaths and practicing mindfulness to overcome the will to chase...but in the end, the squirrels being the crafty beings that they are, wins every time. They know just how to tempt her by scurrying along the power line, waving their fluffy tails, taunting with a mocking gibberish. It's way too much for any recovering squirrel chaser to fight. Bing, bang, boom she surrenders time and time again.
Although now, when I call, she'll come to the door after the third attempt...she'll go on walks with me in our backyard and stay by my side about half the time...she'll pretend not to see those furry ornaments but I know, out of the corner of her eye, she is in fact scanning for them. She tries to be sensitive to my needs as a pet owner but there is a missing element to our relationship. Loyalty. She still seems put off when I awaken her from a nap and growls if I drive her to the vet...almost seeming as if she has figured out how to just give the minimum that prevents me from driving her to the pound. Although it is somewhat better now than it was I can't help but feel I've been slighted somehow. She is unhappy and her unhappiness has become mine by association.
Should I blame this on my first experiences of dog ownership or is this just the nature of life surrounding pets? Sometimes there's a good fit, other times, not so much. I keep trying to make the best of it, to continue growing, evolving, maintaining the belief that tomorrow will be better. I continue to praise, use treats and positive reinforcement hoping that one day soon, she'll respond more favorably. If not, I pray that someday I'll find a dog who cares less about squirrels and more about being "all in" with me.
So I've been going about my life, filling my time with cats instead...but the personality of a cat, sheesh...that would take twelve pages to tackle and too much space for this blog, so let's not go there, at least not yet.
For now, I'll continue caring for the golden haired squirrel chaser but I fear someday there will be a varmint, an open gate and a chase that will leave her in a land so far away that she'll forget the path back home again. Is it wrong to say if that ever happens, I will probably sigh tremendous relief?
There are some things in life that we can't change or control, it just is...squirrels and the dog who chases them...yeah, that pretty much describes my plight right now.
One afternoon, while we were playing softball in the yard, the pup trailed along. Unfortunately, a ball ricocheted "just-so" pelting the dog in his front paw. The pup howled from injury and pain bringing heartbreak to all who stood in witness. Mom didn't have the money to pay for vet bills, so calling the humane society was the best that she could offer. That was the last we had ever seen of that adorable little puppy.
Other strays wandered in throughout the years, a collie, a mixed German Shepherd, and a Heinz 57 sort of mutt. One day, as fate would have it, a black puppy with gold-toned markings on his face wandered in. This particular dog was unruly and totally unmanageable. My brother Tom pointed out how the dog was able to survive outdoors through dangerously bitter temperatures...and thus he announced, "Archer finally has her wish, a dog that we can keep!" Not by want nor by choice that mini version of trouble became mine.
Dog often nipped at my hand and scratched my legs by jumping up in a wild frenzy but it was a dog after all and since I'd always wanted one as my own, I didn't allow a bit of pain to discourage me. If time travel were possible, you'd catch sight of little me walking down the street with that monster gathered in my arms. Dink never took to a chain but preferred to be carried. It was no matter, he was mine...and that was the best thing ever. Lugging Dinky worked out well until he grew too large and heavy for my scrawny arms. The day finally arrived when I was forced to leave him safe and sound in the backyard.
I've had a few dogs since and when I've been able to choose, I always pick a rescue with a tan coat. Maybe my preference is to honor the pup that could have been but never was. Who knows?
Regardless, I've always longed for a dog that wanted to play fetch with me, that would come when I called, that would be my loyal companion both to my face and behind my back. I hoped to someday find a match who would sit by the window on the exterior scanning the perimeter and no matter what room I wandered into dog would somehow know to follow from the outside. I guess I had been looking for a true-blue canine soul mate.
I dreamt of the sort of companionship to where I could take up jogging and dog would stay within three feet of me, never once being distracted by people, cars or critters. I longed for a great protector that had my back, always. I imagined a bark and bite in defense of partnered with a lighthearted comic relief to lighten the mood on most occasions.
What I ended up with (maybe because of the tall Maple trees in the yard) was a squirrel obsessed, stubborn, hole digging, mongrel. Sigh.
When I toss a tennis ball for a game of fetch she snickers. Her gaze remains fixed on the top branches of the tree, wanting, needing, craving for the sight of a grey squirrel. Her attention span for me is all of ten seconds before her longing for a good chase wins out. I've tried everything too. In fact, I'll often sprint, grab the ball and drop it at her side energized by enthusiasm. (hint, hint) "Come on dog...just one game of fetch for that joy will carry me months, please?" Nope. The dog often gives me this "you've got to be kidding me" expression as if my want for "dog activities" is somehow an unreasonable demand.
No matter what I do, what I say, what sort of prime cut of meat I throw onto the path, those blasted squirrels win every time! I've tried composing the best dog tune ever...with an ear catching melody and proficient rhyme to the lyrics, but I'm met with great boredom. I've tried chasing squirrels with her and although my neighbors seemed amused, I don't think that dog even noticed I was there. The urge she has to bark that crazy-high-pitched alarm to disorient and then nab...is much too strong. Tan dog or not, my relationship with her seems to only go one way, her way. Sigh.
I've stood for many years now in competition with squirrels. Even if I found a squirrel costume, put it on and climbed up into the tree, I just know dog would not wish to be with me. It just is. She knows the difference and she has her preference.
You know what really hurts? Watching the morning fitness buffs stroll by each day. There's this woman in our neighborhood who often dons lavender exercise garb. She holds a leash to her poodle and that leash always has a bend...you know, when the dog is walking in synch with their person. There is a contentment, a happiness shared. I'll peer out the window with great wonder, "why can't I have that...I always wanted to have that!" Then "it" happens, the dog will pause a moment and gaze up at her with a look of total love and admiration. I'm jealous, okay, I'll admit... There is great pain...witnessing what other people have and knowing that I may never realize that sort of puppy love for myself.
Oh, I've tried dog therapy...dog seemed motivated at first to ignore the squirrels overhead. She did rather well too, using the techniques that the dog whisperer suggested, wearing imaginary blinders, taking deep breaths and practicing mindfulness to overcome the will to chase...but in the end, the squirrels being the crafty beings that they are, wins every time. They know just how to tempt her by scurrying along the power line, waving their fluffy tails, taunting with a mocking gibberish. It's way too much for any recovering squirrel chaser to fight. Bing, bang, boom she surrenders time and time again.
Although now, when I call, she'll come to the door after the third attempt...she'll go on walks with me in our backyard and stay by my side about half the time...she'll pretend not to see those furry ornaments but I know, out of the corner of her eye, she is in fact scanning for them. She tries to be sensitive to my needs as a pet owner but there is a missing element to our relationship. Loyalty. She still seems put off when I awaken her from a nap and growls if I drive her to the vet...almost seeming as if she has figured out how to just give the minimum that prevents me from driving her to the pound. Although it is somewhat better now than it was I can't help but feel I've been slighted somehow. She is unhappy and her unhappiness has become mine by association.
Should I blame this on my first experiences of dog ownership or is this just the nature of life surrounding pets? Sometimes there's a good fit, other times, not so much. I keep trying to make the best of it, to continue growing, evolving, maintaining the belief that tomorrow will be better. I continue to praise, use treats and positive reinforcement hoping that one day soon, she'll respond more favorably. If not, I pray that someday I'll find a dog who cares less about squirrels and more about being "all in" with me.
So I've been going about my life, filling my time with cats instead...but the personality of a cat, sheesh...that would take twelve pages to tackle and too much space for this blog, so let's not go there, at least not yet.
For now, I'll continue caring for the golden haired squirrel chaser but I fear someday there will be a varmint, an open gate and a chase that will leave her in a land so far away that she'll forget the path back home again. Is it wrong to say if that ever happens, I will probably sigh tremendous relief?
There are some things in life that we can't change or control, it just is...squirrels and the dog who chases them...yeah, that pretty much describes my plight right now.
April 21, 2017
A Sign of our Times
Last Saturday my son JD and I took a stand.
Julianne More had sent an email, a sort of invitation; "join us in the nation wide tax march." What could the actress say that would motivate me to put my beliefs into action? Julianne knew and I had to agree, enough all ready, let's see Trump's taxes. Accountability, holding the president to a higher standard, seeing who he is indebted to and if his decisions are for his pocketbook or the true integrity of our nation was the perfect reason.
Ms. Moore led me to invite JD, "there's a march tomorrow, would you care to join me?"
"Maybe..." my son replied.
We've all been watching Trump from the sidelines with disbelief. This administration seems to be stacking the deck. Make no mistake, it is stacked. When those cards are finally dealt, guess who will have the winning hand? The house of the wealthy...everyone knows the house is positioned to win at the expense of the general population.
Where is the proof of this? Trump's taxes...so let's have a look-see, shall we? Except...well...another broken promise by Trump. Heck...add that to the long list of disappointments plus the over-all tone of ogre and that proved to be enough motivation for us to march that day.
We had a choice, attend the march in Chicago or go with a smaller group in NW Indiana. We chose Chesterton, Indiana, joining about 40 other marchers.
The town square was quaint, a gazebo with old fashioned buildings in the great surround...birds chirping, dogs on leashes and fellow citizens grasping colorful signs. Real life politics stood at the heart of this small town community.
The warmth projected by the group was nothing short of amazing. Smiles, welcoming handshakes, "where are you from?" We shared tidbits, we bonded...we appreciated the moment of unity. JD and I became part of something much bigger than ourselves, we became part of a movement.
A mandolin player and guitarist filled the air with music. Lyrics were rewritten to match the current struggles at hand. I wondered if this resembled what the Vietnam protests were like back in the day? Although such demonstrations were a bit before my time, I felt the connection to history. Freedom of speech is a marvelous thing.
JD was treated like a celebrity. He was the youngest person there, carrying a sign, waving to the passersby who tooted their car horns in a show of support. For those who directed nasty comment, my son simply frowned. Peaceful assembly.
"I sort of expected we'd see angry Trump supporters," JD said. All I could do was nod in agreement. A sweet-n-sour experience.
We met up with a woman from the region and her daughter who traveled from Chicago to protest with us. "I thought there would be more of an impact to march somewhere other than a blue state," the daughter said. I could see her point. Shouldn't we challenge others to consider a different perspective, to study current events as they are happening and to draw a more well rounded conclusion?
There were many signs carried...creative thoughts, mostly in English and a few in Russian. Yes, there was that...the shadow of doom surrounding how Trump managed to gain the electoral vote and the ongoing investigation. Silence implies agreement...so it was time to speak up...to show our sign of the times.
JD used a borrowed poster. We simply didn't have time to construct something with Trump's face gazing across at Putin with the words, "show us the money" dyed in bold print.
Towards the end of the demonstration a man approached. The fellow was taken by the efforts of everyone there. JD and I were offered a generous hug. "Thank you for this..." he conveyed with emotion. All I could do was smile for the truth became apparent, we are all in this together. We stand for our country, with and for those who agree with us and with and for those who don't. That was something very profound to remember...every step forward carried the greatest importance because what Trump and his administration pushes through effects everyone and everything, now and for many years to come.
April 29th we plan on marching once again for better, we plan to pick up a sign and become entwined in this movement. The focus will be on our climate...if I live to breathe and global warming does not do us in, I hope to see you there!
March on~
Trixie Archer
Julianne More had sent an email, a sort of invitation; "join us in the nation wide tax march." What could the actress say that would motivate me to put my beliefs into action? Julianne knew and I had to agree, enough all ready, let's see Trump's taxes. Accountability, holding the president to a higher standard, seeing who he is indebted to and if his decisions are for his pocketbook or the true integrity of our nation was the perfect reason.
Ms. Moore led me to invite JD, "there's a march tomorrow, would you care to join me?"
"Maybe..." my son replied.
We've all been watching Trump from the sidelines with disbelief. This administration seems to be stacking the deck. Make no mistake, it is stacked. When those cards are finally dealt, guess who will have the winning hand? The house of the wealthy...everyone knows the house is positioned to win at the expense of the general population.
Where is the proof of this? Trump's taxes...so let's have a look-see, shall we? Except...well...another broken promise by Trump. Heck...add that to the long list of disappointments plus the over-all tone of ogre and that proved to be enough motivation for us to march that day.
We had a choice, attend the march in Chicago or go with a smaller group in NW Indiana. We chose Chesterton, Indiana, joining about 40 other marchers.
The town square was quaint, a gazebo with old fashioned buildings in the great surround...birds chirping, dogs on leashes and fellow citizens grasping colorful signs. Real life politics stood at the heart of this small town community.
The warmth projected by the group was nothing short of amazing. Smiles, welcoming handshakes, "where are you from?" We shared tidbits, we bonded...we appreciated the moment of unity. JD and I became part of something much bigger than ourselves, we became part of a movement.
A mandolin player and guitarist filled the air with music. Lyrics were rewritten to match the current struggles at hand. I wondered if this resembled what the Vietnam protests were like back in the day? Although such demonstrations were a bit before my time, I felt the connection to history. Freedom of speech is a marvelous thing.
JD was treated like a celebrity. He was the youngest person there, carrying a sign, waving to the passersby who tooted their car horns in a show of support. For those who directed nasty comment, my son simply frowned. Peaceful assembly.
"I sort of expected we'd see angry Trump supporters," JD said. All I could do was nod in agreement. A sweet-n-sour experience.
We met up with a woman from the region and her daughter who traveled from Chicago to protest with us. "I thought there would be more of an impact to march somewhere other than a blue state," the daughter said. I could see her point. Shouldn't we challenge others to consider a different perspective, to study current events as they are happening and to draw a more well rounded conclusion?
There were many signs carried...creative thoughts, mostly in English and a few in Russian. Yes, there was that...the shadow of doom surrounding how Trump managed to gain the electoral vote and the ongoing investigation. Silence implies agreement...so it was time to speak up...to show our sign of the times.
JD used a borrowed poster. We simply didn't have time to construct something with Trump's face gazing across at Putin with the words, "show us the money" dyed in bold print.
Towards the end of the demonstration a man approached. The fellow was taken by the efforts of everyone there. JD and I were offered a generous hug. "Thank you for this..." he conveyed with emotion. All I could do was smile for the truth became apparent, we are all in this together. We stand for our country, with and for those who agree with us and with and for those who don't. That was something very profound to remember...every step forward carried the greatest importance because what Trump and his administration pushes through effects everyone and everything, now and for many years to come.
April 29th we plan on marching once again for better, we plan to pick up a sign and become entwined in this movement. The focus will be on our climate...if I live to breathe and global warming does not do us in, I hope to see you there!
March on~
Trixie Archer
April 13, 2017
Checking In
Hello there!~
I know, it's been a while. I've been up and running on the other side of life. I've had no choice surrounding the "up and running" part. During the span when the grass was growing under my feet, I had fallen into an unhealthy routine. While the words were flowing nicely from my comfy perch...I had put on weight and landed in a place that would only invite problems that I didn't need. Sedentary breeds disease, so I had to make a positive lifestyle change.
I've been doing well. Recently, I joined the Y. I've been trying to swim at least once a week while working to add variety to my exercise routine. After all, fitness should be fun, right? As a result, I've lost 36 pounds and I'm feeling more like my old self once again.
I do have a couple of stories simmering on the back burner. To publish or not to publish, now there is the question. I'm not sure if there is enough magic in the plot to even consider... but I'll continue to add ingredients to flavor the stew. I have a large bank of ideas, some are worthy to share, others not so much. Sometimes the best approach is to take a breather and then try once again. Well, time to go to work!
Until next time....
~Trixie Archer
I know, it's been a while. I've been up and running on the other side of life. I've had no choice surrounding the "up and running" part. During the span when the grass was growing under my feet, I had fallen into an unhealthy routine. While the words were flowing nicely from my comfy perch...I had put on weight and landed in a place that would only invite problems that I didn't need. Sedentary breeds disease, so I had to make a positive lifestyle change.
I've been doing well. Recently, I joined the Y. I've been trying to swim at least once a week while working to add variety to my exercise routine. After all, fitness should be fun, right? As a result, I've lost 36 pounds and I'm feeling more like my old self once again.
I do have a couple of stories simmering on the back burner. To publish or not to publish, now there is the question. I'm not sure if there is enough magic in the plot to even consider... but I'll continue to add ingredients to flavor the stew. I have a large bank of ideas, some are worthy to share, others not so much. Sometimes the best approach is to take a breather and then try once again. Well, time to go to work!
Until next time....
~Trixie Archer
January 13, 2017
Lifeline or Deadline?
There is a deadline. There always seems to be a deadline. Pay the water bill, feed the parking meter out front before the last 15 minutes are up, fix the leaking roof, save money for retirement, read two books for class next week, respond for jury duty and yes, write this blog.
We are all different in our approach...unique, motivated or uninspired. Some may begin a week in advance, gather information, weigh things and consider all angles, while others may thrive on adrenaline and need the quiet of night to glue a collage onto a presentation board. If it all works out in the end, what's the difference?
Blood pressure, stress, a last minute flat tire that requires effort to fix. Hey, no matter how prepared one seems to be, a bad day may happen regardless. A bird flies overhead and "splat" moments before walking through the doors for that career changing presentation. The designer suit that normally offers a boost of confidence, toast.
We all make the best of our styles for accomplishing. I see this contrast between my daughter and son often. Daughter is the sort who begins a task many weeks in advance. She'll take notes, measure and gather information. She'll lay things out in a logical sequence. I hear classical music as she works. The end result is a display of human perfection. The shimmering font is married to the color scheme on her poster board. Her satisfaction for a "job well done" is apparent.
My son on the other hand, does his best while working at an accelerated pace. His mind clicks differently. He thrives with movement. Son's inner music carries the fast beat of punk rock. He meshes with an impossible tempo, he is a quick shot of creativity...nailing a masterpiece each and every time. His display is illuminated by neon and spray paint on brick. While some may argue that graffiti is not befitting, the sales numbers indicate that his approach is quite effective. He is a natural.
Of course that leaves us with the mom style of meeting a deadline. After she has helped son and daughter with their projects, she finds her way to the computer at three in the morning. Her eyes are gritty and she feels burned out but she is the "little train who thinks she can," so she does. Word after word appears on screen. Her music playing is not music at all, but the sound of a noise maker projecting a constant loop of waves crashing onto the shoreline. She imagines seagulls, a sunset and hot sand beneath her tender feet. Her display is a combination of sand sculpture and twigs that are arranged into words. She seems trapped between child's play and the responsible life of an adult.
Who is to say which road is the one best traveled? If the deadline is met and the end result is that of quality, does it matter how anyone arrives there? We all hold value, we all have a choice surrounding the "how to" of self expression. So, we keep what works for us and toss the rest. We proudly stake claim to our own personal groove.
If everyone maintained the same approach with the same outcome with the same generic poster board, wouldn't life seem boring and uneventful?
So I say let's stop trying to squeeze everyone into the same box. Let's stop trying to freeze thoughts, microwave movements and collect snowflakes for the mantle over the fireplace. Embrace and appreciate...and as long as the job gets done, and is that of quality, no worries.
Good night all. See you in a few short hours when my 3 a.m. ramblings finds a path onto your screen.
Now where did I leave my glasses?
~Trixie Archer
We are all different in our approach...unique, motivated or uninspired. Some may begin a week in advance, gather information, weigh things and consider all angles, while others may thrive on adrenaline and need the quiet of night to glue a collage onto a presentation board. If it all works out in the end, what's the difference?
Blood pressure, stress, a last minute flat tire that requires effort to fix. Hey, no matter how prepared one seems to be, a bad day may happen regardless. A bird flies overhead and "splat" moments before walking through the doors for that career changing presentation. The designer suit that normally offers a boost of confidence, toast.
We all make the best of our styles for accomplishing. I see this contrast between my daughter and son often. Daughter is the sort who begins a task many weeks in advance. She'll take notes, measure and gather information. She'll lay things out in a logical sequence. I hear classical music as she works. The end result is a display of human perfection. The shimmering font is married to the color scheme on her poster board. Her satisfaction for a "job well done" is apparent.
My son on the other hand, does his best while working at an accelerated pace. His mind clicks differently. He thrives with movement. Son's inner music carries the fast beat of punk rock. He meshes with an impossible tempo, he is a quick shot of creativity...nailing a masterpiece each and every time. His display is illuminated by neon and spray paint on brick. While some may argue that graffiti is not befitting, the sales numbers indicate that his approach is quite effective. He is a natural.
Of course that leaves us with the mom style of meeting a deadline. After she has helped son and daughter with their projects, she finds her way to the computer at three in the morning. Her eyes are gritty and she feels burned out but she is the "little train who thinks she can," so she does. Word after word appears on screen. Her music playing is not music at all, but the sound of a noise maker projecting a constant loop of waves crashing onto the shoreline. She imagines seagulls, a sunset and hot sand beneath her tender feet. Her display is a combination of sand sculpture and twigs that are arranged into words. She seems trapped between child's play and the responsible life of an adult.
Who is to say which road is the one best traveled? If the deadline is met and the end result is that of quality, does it matter how anyone arrives there? We all hold value, we all have a choice surrounding the "how to" of self expression. So, we keep what works for us and toss the rest. We proudly stake claim to our own personal groove.
If everyone maintained the same approach with the same outcome with the same generic poster board, wouldn't life seem boring and uneventful?
So I say let's stop trying to squeeze everyone into the same box. Let's stop trying to freeze thoughts, microwave movements and collect snowflakes for the mantle over the fireplace. Embrace and appreciate...and as long as the job gets done, and is that of quality, no worries.
Good night all. See you in a few short hours when my 3 a.m. ramblings finds a path onto your screen.
Now where did I leave my glasses?
~Trixie Archer
January 6, 2017
January 06th, 2017
Happy 2017 everyone!~ I've decided to switch my Thursday blog to Friday for this upcoming year. When my daughter returned from college, there have been many obstacles in the way of writing. However, I am working on an idea for a new book...sort of stirring the pot to see how the flavors intermingle. Do I have the oomph needed to begin a new project again? Now there is the question.
Adding to my woes, just after Thanksgiving we tested our basement for radon. To our shock we had a level at nearly 6. At 4 a radon system to remove the invisible gas from the air is recommended. Needless to say, spending much time in my home office seemed less appealing.
With that said, I ordered a reusable home test from Amazon. Although a reading takes 6 to 24 hours, I am able to record instant results. Many have asked why I would do this instead of hiring in a company to give me an absolute reading. Well, we know there is radon gas and will probably need a removal system but what happens after? How do we test to make sure the pump is doing as it should?
It is my understanding that an elevated level can cause lung cancer. Coming from someone who has always believed in good health, this is unacceptable. What invite trouble?
Thus far, my office has a reading of 2.62...so I moved my writing back downstairs once again. I'm making my way around the basement, testing each room before I do a longer version that computes an average for seven days.
The bottom line is simple, have your home tested. Why place your health at risk just by breathing the air?
Until next time,
~Trixie Archer
Adding to my woes, just after Thanksgiving we tested our basement for radon. To our shock we had a level at nearly 6. At 4 a radon system to remove the invisible gas from the air is recommended. Needless to say, spending much time in my home office seemed less appealing.
With that said, I ordered a reusable home test from Amazon. Although a reading takes 6 to 24 hours, I am able to record instant results. Many have asked why I would do this instead of hiring in a company to give me an absolute reading. Well, we know there is radon gas and will probably need a removal system but what happens after? How do we test to make sure the pump is doing as it should?
It is my understanding that an elevated level can cause lung cancer. Coming from someone who has always believed in good health, this is unacceptable. What invite trouble?
Thus far, my office has a reading of 2.62...so I moved my writing back downstairs once again. I'm making my way around the basement, testing each room before I do a longer version that computes an average for seven days.
The bottom line is simple, have your home tested. Why place your health at risk just by breathing the air?
Until next time,
~Trixie Archer
December 22, 2016
A Heated Discussion
Through some oversight, the part that was needed for our furnace had never been ordered. I called our service contractor several times since December 1st only to land on voicemail or to be put on hold longer than I wished. I realized during the first week after the last CPR that our furnace was running on borrowed time. For one thing, the sound began to resemble a jet engine, LOUD and fierce.
With the forecast predicting the most horrible cold snap to date this season, with -25 degree wind chills, the motor seized up. Cold outdoors, cold in our house...cold, cold, wind blowing, nasty, nasty, cold.
I asked my family, "has anyone seen my long johns?" I suggested that we all change into our warmest clothes. We were sure to catch a glimpse of Jack Frost, horrible fangs and bad breath.
I placed an immediate call to our heating contractor and spoke with their answering service. "It won't be until morning but he'll get back to you first thing." At what point do we load the car with pets and kids to bunk with my sister? With our furry friends, that did not seem like a do-able option. My sis and her family are not keen with pets.
Instead, we hunkered down while I kept thinking of Laura Ingalls Wilder and the drafty homes built on the prairie. Even without heat in our well insulated home, it was probably still warmer than what the settlers were accustomed to in the dead of winter. Somehow that perspective made me feel a whole lot better about our situation.
As promised, the HVAC service professional called and arrived shortly thereafter. "There's no charge for this service today ma'am. I think someone dropped the ball in ordering your part. You'll just need to hang in there until Tuesday. Give us a chance to have a new motor shipped ASAP."
The contractor instructed how to spray WD40 to keep the parts running in his absence. So we did. Eventually fumes spread throughout our house, invisible to the nose until we set off a spark. It was odd, we wouldn't smell anything and then we'd click on the stove and the place reeked of kerosene. Were we sitting within the gut of an enormous time bomb? I felt a sudden loss of appetite. Ka-boom wasn't worth a bite or two of heated food.
On Sunday morning, no matter how much we sprayed, the motor would not click on. We were sunk. There were wind chill advisories. Sunday night was set for the worst.
We did all that we knew to do. We kept the draperies pulled over the windows, closed off the basement, bought a couple of portable heating units, baked things while counting down the minutes until Monday morning.
We put in a call to the repair man using the direct line he offered. "So sorry to hear about your misfortune, she probably won't come back now. Good luck staying warm tonight."
Through a miracle we tried the heat Sunday evening. Ol' Bessie hacked a few times but kicked on. If our furnace had a voice, it sounded hoarse, as if it were battling a metallic version of laryngitis. It didn't seem safe to keep Bessie running throughout the night, but what could we do? We couldn't freeze and we couldn't leave it on.
So, I woke myself up every two hours to run the heat for ten minutes throughout the night. It was just enough to punch back the chill. By Monday morning I had enough. Sleep deprivation intermixed with being chilled to the center of my being. I was ready to address a shipping box, crawl inside and mail myself to someplace warm....anywhere warm. My fantasy of having an escape hatch was spot on.
I phoned the service contractor just as soon as they opened. I was told they located the part in stock and that they would arrive by 10 a.m. to fix our heating. My eyes welled up with tears. I'd say that my eyelids froze together but in truth, it wasn't that bad. We made it through to the other side, heat was on the way!
Far in the after, I revisited how we must appreciate the little things in life, like a furnace that keeps us warm during extreme temperatures and the many uses of WD40. If all else fails there is always duct tape, but in this case I doubt that my favorite go-to would have done us much good.
Happy Holidays!~
~Trixie Archer
With the forecast predicting the most horrible cold snap to date this season, with -25 degree wind chills, the motor seized up. Cold outdoors, cold in our house...cold, cold, wind blowing, nasty, nasty, cold.
I asked my family, "has anyone seen my long johns?" I suggested that we all change into our warmest clothes. We were sure to catch a glimpse of Jack Frost, horrible fangs and bad breath.
I placed an immediate call to our heating contractor and spoke with their answering service. "It won't be until morning but he'll get back to you first thing." At what point do we load the car with pets and kids to bunk with my sister? With our furry friends, that did not seem like a do-able option. My sis and her family are not keen with pets.
Instead, we hunkered down while I kept thinking of Laura Ingalls Wilder and the drafty homes built on the prairie. Even without heat in our well insulated home, it was probably still warmer than what the settlers were accustomed to in the dead of winter. Somehow that perspective made me feel a whole lot better about our situation.
As promised, the HVAC service professional called and arrived shortly thereafter. "There's no charge for this service today ma'am. I think someone dropped the ball in ordering your part. You'll just need to hang in there until Tuesday. Give us a chance to have a new motor shipped ASAP."
The contractor instructed how to spray WD40 to keep the parts running in his absence. So we did. Eventually fumes spread throughout our house, invisible to the nose until we set off a spark. It was odd, we wouldn't smell anything and then we'd click on the stove and the place reeked of kerosene. Were we sitting within the gut of an enormous time bomb? I felt a sudden loss of appetite. Ka-boom wasn't worth a bite or two of heated food.
On Sunday morning, no matter how much we sprayed, the motor would not click on. We were sunk. There were wind chill advisories. Sunday night was set for the worst.
We did all that we knew to do. We kept the draperies pulled over the windows, closed off the basement, bought a couple of portable heating units, baked things while counting down the minutes until Monday morning.
We put in a call to the repair man using the direct line he offered. "So sorry to hear about your misfortune, she probably won't come back now. Good luck staying warm tonight."
Through a miracle we tried the heat Sunday evening. Ol' Bessie hacked a few times but kicked on. If our furnace had a voice, it sounded hoarse, as if it were battling a metallic version of laryngitis. It didn't seem safe to keep Bessie running throughout the night, but what could we do? We couldn't freeze and we couldn't leave it on.
So, I woke myself up every two hours to run the heat for ten minutes throughout the night. It was just enough to punch back the chill. By Monday morning I had enough. Sleep deprivation intermixed with being chilled to the center of my being. I was ready to address a shipping box, crawl inside and mail myself to someplace warm....anywhere warm. My fantasy of having an escape hatch was spot on.
I phoned the service contractor just as soon as they opened. I was told they located the part in stock and that they would arrive by 10 a.m. to fix our heating. My eyes welled up with tears. I'd say that my eyelids froze together but in truth, it wasn't that bad. We made it through to the other side, heat was on the way!
Far in the after, I revisited how we must appreciate the little things in life, like a furnace that keeps us warm during extreme temperatures and the many uses of WD40. If all else fails there is always duct tape, but in this case I doubt that my favorite go-to would have done us much good.
Happy Holidays!~
~Trixie Archer
December 18, 2016
Gift Box
In contrast to the last post, this week I'm leaning towards a sigh of great relief. As you know my liver wavered much towards lily. I finally met with my family doctor to go over the CT results and the lesions do not appear to be cancerous. I have an appointment with a specialist next month to map everything out for future reference, but above all, the news is all positive.
On the flip side, we have medical bills rolling in. Even with insurance, deductibles must be met. Forget our budget now, open wallet and empty everything we saved into the jar and hush up!
With all of that said, I've asked for a very large appliance box instead of a store bought gift for Christmas this year. Call me crazy but it would be exciting to build an escape hatch. I'll post a sign above the cutout door: "no electronics, no cell phones, beeps, blips or distractions." I say, turn off the noise, forget your troubles...just breathe and dare to imagine a better reality. An emotional, physical and spiritual recharge port...no distractions, just plan, plot and begin to contemplate the next leg forward. Story time!
Clip-clop, clip-clop...horses...am I hearing a distinct patter from the Oregon Trail...have I transported back to the mid 1800's? Spin the wheel of time, where shall we land? A new storyline, a continuation from a past story...or should I take the winter off and read until my eyes can no longer focus?
If I tire of pretending, I can slap a few postage stamps on the side, scribble an address and mail myself to somewhere warm! With the mercury dipping towards unbearable, Florida sounds great about now. I'll pack a flashlight and many books for the journey, however my vision is not so keen any longer.
When my daughter was a wee bit of a thing, I devoured novels. One after the other, reading 3 to 5 books per week. Now, I'm lucky to manage one book per year. My eyes fail to work like they used to so forget the tiny font. Just the same as I question who changed my sewing needles to a smaller version from what I remember, I ask who shrunk the print in most of the library books. The computer is easier for me, I can Ctrl + twenty times until everything morphs LARGE. Hello, words...so glad to read you!
When my daughter was 5, I acquired a box, slanted the folds to make a roof, painted it up and presto, instant play cottage. With our dog Chipper following close behind, I'd watch her drag that makeshift house throughout our back yard. She carried her books to the yard and told the pup stories. One evening she announced how she was going to camp there overnight. When her dad walked into the back yard through the dimness of 10 foot candles, the dog did not recognize him and began to bark feverishly. The next sound was one that belongs in the record books. I have no doubt that from end to end, over expressway noise, subway clatter and the wake splashing along Lake Michigan, my daughter's scream was audible. I've never heard a child shout in such a visceral manner before. Even after she realized that the stranger was just her dad checking on her, somehow spending the night in the back yard did not seem like such a good idea.
Daughter's cottage eventually wore out and ended up at a recycling center. The truth is, as most kids will attest, an empty box often carries more possibilities than the toys that are held within. A vacant box may transform into a boat, a spaceship, a house, a car, a submarine, a time traveling device, a quick change room for a superhero, foldable-collapsible-storable, until the next inspiration takes shape. The cardboard can be carved, bent, cut, reworked, re-pitched, re-sized, painted, illuminated, carpeted, drawn on...with draperies, tapestries, pillows and style.
....but most of all, with a deep breath and great anticipation, I dare imagine stepping inside if only to become a kid once again. 2016 will fall away as the Twilight Zone pendulum swings me into whatever reality I'm destined to explore.
I long for a world free from politics, hurtful banter, red, blue and an orange shoe hurled between opposing political parties, abandon all hatred and prejudice, without crime and sinister intent. Yes, all I want for Christmas is an appliance box...the square from a stove would suit my creative lifestyle just fine.
Are you with me?
Good. I'll see you on the other side of the cubby. Until next week, stay warm.
~Trixie Archer
On the flip side, we have medical bills rolling in. Even with insurance, deductibles must be met. Forget our budget now, open wallet and empty everything we saved into the jar and hush up!
With all of that said, I've asked for a very large appliance box instead of a store bought gift for Christmas this year. Call me crazy but it would be exciting to build an escape hatch. I'll post a sign above the cutout door: "no electronics, no cell phones, beeps, blips or distractions." I say, turn off the noise, forget your troubles...just breathe and dare to imagine a better reality. An emotional, physical and spiritual recharge port...no distractions, just plan, plot and begin to contemplate the next leg forward. Story time!
Clip-clop, clip-clop...horses...am I hearing a distinct patter from the Oregon Trail...have I transported back to the mid 1800's? Spin the wheel of time, where shall we land? A new storyline, a continuation from a past story...or should I take the winter off and read until my eyes can no longer focus?
If I tire of pretending, I can slap a few postage stamps on the side, scribble an address and mail myself to somewhere warm! With the mercury dipping towards unbearable, Florida sounds great about now. I'll pack a flashlight and many books for the journey, however my vision is not so keen any longer.
When my daughter was a wee bit of a thing, I devoured novels. One after the other, reading 3 to 5 books per week. Now, I'm lucky to manage one book per year. My eyes fail to work like they used to so forget the tiny font. Just the same as I question who changed my sewing needles to a smaller version from what I remember, I ask who shrunk the print in most of the library books. The computer is easier for me, I can Ctrl + twenty times until everything morphs LARGE. Hello, words...so glad to read you!
When my daughter was 5, I acquired a box, slanted the folds to make a roof, painted it up and presto, instant play cottage. With our dog Chipper following close behind, I'd watch her drag that makeshift house throughout our back yard. She carried her books to the yard and told the pup stories. One evening she announced how she was going to camp there overnight. When her dad walked into the back yard through the dimness of 10 foot candles, the dog did not recognize him and began to bark feverishly. The next sound was one that belongs in the record books. I have no doubt that from end to end, over expressway noise, subway clatter and the wake splashing along Lake Michigan, my daughter's scream was audible. I've never heard a child shout in such a visceral manner before. Even after she realized that the stranger was just her dad checking on her, somehow spending the night in the back yard did not seem like such a good idea.
Daughter's cottage eventually wore out and ended up at a recycling center. The truth is, as most kids will attest, an empty box often carries more possibilities than the toys that are held within. A vacant box may transform into a boat, a spaceship, a house, a car, a submarine, a time traveling device, a quick change room for a superhero, foldable-collapsible-storable, until the next inspiration takes shape. The cardboard can be carved, bent, cut, reworked, re-pitched, re-sized, painted, illuminated, carpeted, drawn on...with draperies, tapestries, pillows and style.
....but most of all, with a deep breath and great anticipation, I dare imagine stepping inside if only to become a kid once again. 2016 will fall away as the Twilight Zone pendulum swings me into whatever reality I'm destined to explore.
I long for a world free from politics, hurtful banter, red, blue and an orange shoe hurled between opposing political parties, abandon all hatred and prejudice, without crime and sinister intent. Yes, all I want for Christmas is an appliance box...the square from a stove would suit my creative lifestyle just fine.
Are you with me?
Good. I'll see you on the other side of the cubby. Until next week, stay warm.
~Trixie Archer
December 8, 2016
Lily Liver
Because I have to...not that I want to...yes, this is about the many "like it or not's" that we often face.
Like it or not seems to be a common theme for me this week. First I had to surrender to a CT scan. Okay, it was my first test like that ever...and as I marched forward, I imagined a dirge in unison to what I was feeling within. I told my daughter that in the same spirit of exploring outer space, we were setting out on a mission to discover the many secrets of my liver.
It was the unknown of what we were about to learn that had me biting my nails. To be or not to be, malignant or benign, life altering or life ending? Those were the questions.
As I laid there feeling a lot like Frankenstein, clothes on, arranged flat along an oversized table, I became 4 years old once again. A neighbor kid had tossed a rusted can and sliced off my eyebrow. I peered up at my sister M and asked, "am I bleeding?" Her face, ten shades of pale stirred in with fear was all telling. Fast forward as she buried my face into her sweatshirt and escorted me across the yard...fast forward to my dad driving mom and I to the nearest emergency room. Mom held a washcloth over my eyebrow...from her blue set that was sure to become one short. It was my birthday, my 4th birthday, something I would never forget.
Doctors, nurses, stitches...a protective cloth over my eye leaving enough of a gap enabling me to observe the sutures as they were stitched. I couldn't exactly comprehend was happening to me, what I did know right off is that I'd rather have been anywhere but in that moment. The same held true present day.
The CT scan, not because I wanted to, yes, because I had to....
The technician started an IV and pushed a saline through the line to make sure she had a direct connection. I could taste chemicals and feel the vapors in my nostrils. I felt an immediate panic. "I'm not liking this, no, not one bit," I admitted to her.
I was given ample warning about the dye, about how I might feel a hot flash and the possibility that it may seem as if I were peeing myself. That was the thing, lying there on the oversized table like that...I had no power or control. I was vulnerable and helpless just the same as the little me years ago.
"Something feels off," I admitted. I said a lot of things and after, I apologized for being so childish about the test. What else could I say?
I had fasted, no food and no water. If you want to keep me off balance, take away my water supply. Toddlers carry their favorite blanket, I have my lavender water bottle. It's thermal lined, the best of all water bottles and with ice, the fluid remains cold all day. When I'm nervous, I'll take a gulp. It helps, honest it does.
"Would you care for a few sips of water?" The technician offered. "Oh, please..."
After, I was able to calm myself enough to seem more agreeable. The tech was kind to explain that ultimately we all have the final say on what happens to us and our bodies. If the CT was too much for me, I could have refused. I would have loved to have said, "let's not and say we did" but, but, I was there not because I wanted to but because I had to be.
The dye injection wasn't as horrible as I imagined. My biggest concern was that I would learn the hard way that I was allergic. Fortunately, that was not the case.
After, I thanked the technician for her patience and as my skip transformed into a walk from the door to my daughter in the waiting room, I transformed from 4 years old to 50 once again. I have no doubt that the technician poured a stiff shot of something strong after her shift just from having to deal with me. She probably toasted the frightened middle aged child that needed a CT of her liver.
The second thing I needed to face this week not because I wanted to but because I had to...was a summons for jury duty. With the CT being the most stressful thing in the immediate, I removed the dread of surrendering my time from my list of worries.
The idea of trudging to the courthouse next week and focusing on strike that, overruled, and I'll allow that...was not on my list of top priorities. Call me selfish but after what happened to my brother Mike at the beginning of the year, the trial, the drunk driver being sentenced, stepping foot into a courtroom would have been triggering. I could only imagine...maybe that has always been my curse...only imagining.
Fortunately, I was notified through email that I would not be needed next week...it mentioned how the case was settled outside of court. A great sigh of relief...
So here I sit, awaiting the next round of "not because I want to, but because I have to."
I think of that 4 year old self who only had to worry about carrying enough sand for a pebble topped batch of mud pies. No worries, really. I suppose even then my mom would disrupt my world as she hollered that lunch was ready. With deep regret I'd stomp across the yard...not because I wanted to, but because I had to...and so life goes.
~Trixie Archer
Like it or not seems to be a common theme for me this week. First I had to surrender to a CT scan. Okay, it was my first test like that ever...and as I marched forward, I imagined a dirge in unison to what I was feeling within. I told my daughter that in the same spirit of exploring outer space, we were setting out on a mission to discover the many secrets of my liver.
It was the unknown of what we were about to learn that had me biting my nails. To be or not to be, malignant or benign, life altering or life ending? Those were the questions.
As I laid there feeling a lot like Frankenstein, clothes on, arranged flat along an oversized table, I became 4 years old once again. A neighbor kid had tossed a rusted can and sliced off my eyebrow. I peered up at my sister M and asked, "am I bleeding?" Her face, ten shades of pale stirred in with fear was all telling. Fast forward as she buried my face into her sweatshirt and escorted me across the yard...fast forward to my dad driving mom and I to the nearest emergency room. Mom held a washcloth over my eyebrow...from her blue set that was sure to become one short. It was my birthday, my 4th birthday, something I would never forget.
Doctors, nurses, stitches...a protective cloth over my eye leaving enough of a gap enabling me to observe the sutures as they were stitched. I couldn't exactly comprehend was happening to me, what I did know right off is that I'd rather have been anywhere but in that moment. The same held true present day.
The CT scan, not because I wanted to, yes, because I had to....
The technician started an IV and pushed a saline through the line to make sure she had a direct connection. I could taste chemicals and feel the vapors in my nostrils. I felt an immediate panic. "I'm not liking this, no, not one bit," I admitted to her.
I was given ample warning about the dye, about how I might feel a hot flash and the possibility that it may seem as if I were peeing myself. That was the thing, lying there on the oversized table like that...I had no power or control. I was vulnerable and helpless just the same as the little me years ago.
"Something feels off," I admitted. I said a lot of things and after, I apologized for being so childish about the test. What else could I say?
I had fasted, no food and no water. If you want to keep me off balance, take away my water supply. Toddlers carry their favorite blanket, I have my lavender water bottle. It's thermal lined, the best of all water bottles and with ice, the fluid remains cold all day. When I'm nervous, I'll take a gulp. It helps, honest it does.
"Would you care for a few sips of water?" The technician offered. "Oh, please..."
After, I was able to calm myself enough to seem more agreeable. The tech was kind to explain that ultimately we all have the final say on what happens to us and our bodies. If the CT was too much for me, I could have refused. I would have loved to have said, "let's not and say we did" but, but, I was there not because I wanted to but because I had to be.
The dye injection wasn't as horrible as I imagined. My biggest concern was that I would learn the hard way that I was allergic. Fortunately, that was not the case.
After, I thanked the technician for her patience and as my skip transformed into a walk from the door to my daughter in the waiting room, I transformed from 4 years old to 50 once again. I have no doubt that the technician poured a stiff shot of something strong after her shift just from having to deal with me. She probably toasted the frightened middle aged child that needed a CT of her liver.
The second thing I needed to face this week not because I wanted to but because I had to...was a summons for jury duty. With the CT being the most stressful thing in the immediate, I removed the dread of surrendering my time from my list of worries.
The idea of trudging to the courthouse next week and focusing on strike that, overruled, and I'll allow that...was not on my list of top priorities. Call me selfish but after what happened to my brother Mike at the beginning of the year, the trial, the drunk driver being sentenced, stepping foot into a courtroom would have been triggering. I could only imagine...maybe that has always been my curse...only imagining.
Fortunately, I was notified through email that I would not be needed next week...it mentioned how the case was settled outside of court. A great sigh of relief...
So here I sit, awaiting the next round of "not because I want to, but because I have to."
I think of that 4 year old self who only had to worry about carrying enough sand for a pebble topped batch of mud pies. No worries, really. I suppose even then my mom would disrupt my world as she hollered that lunch was ready. With deep regret I'd stomp across the yard...not because I wanted to, but because I had to...and so life goes.
~Trixie Archer
December 1, 2016
These Are the Brakes
The brakes went out in my imaginary car. I was driving down the highway, minding my own business and all of a sudden, I couldn't stop. The tires kept rolling on, faster and faster. I would swerve left then right, honk my horn and holler out the window for everyone to get out of my way! I was traveling straight down hill. Funny, how I didn't notice the slope of landscape until I began pumping the brake pedal to the floor only to fail. What was I thinking?
That best describes how the past cluster of weeks have played out on my end of the screen. First my health has crashed...to the point where I'm now on a very strict, low sodium, no refined sugar, more veggies and fruit sort of lifestyle change...then last night, the heat went out in our home.
Many may not realize this but once in a while having the brakes go out is a great opportunity for self reflection. My body began to complain because I wasn't taking the best care of it...so eating a better diet, exercising without fail each day, taking pause to clear my mind without a sugar buzz, is all for the best really.
As for the heat...that is a perfect reminder of how when things are going well we seldom notice the simple luxury of having a warm house. At this moment the thermostat reads 63 degrees. The heating contractor is due here at noon. I wonder how "low we will go" until they arrive?
As with my imaginary car so it with the great lesson of life...we all must simply roll with it and hope for the best no matter what.
Until next week,
~Trixie Archer
That best describes how the past cluster of weeks have played out on my end of the screen. First my health has crashed...to the point where I'm now on a very strict, low sodium, no refined sugar, more veggies and fruit sort of lifestyle change...then last night, the heat went out in our home.
Many may not realize this but once in a while having the brakes go out is a great opportunity for self reflection. My body began to complain because I wasn't taking the best care of it...so eating a better diet, exercising without fail each day, taking pause to clear my mind without a sugar buzz, is all for the best really.
As for the heat...that is a perfect reminder of how when things are going well we seldom notice the simple luxury of having a warm house. At this moment the thermostat reads 63 degrees. The heating contractor is due here at noon. I wonder how "low we will go" until they arrive?
As with my imaginary car so it with the great lesson of life...we all must simply roll with it and hope for the best no matter what.
Until next week,
~Trixie Archer
November 11, 2016
Politics & Sharks
In case you haven't noticed, I've missed a couple of blogs over the past cluster of weeks. I've been rather busy, arranging words, using my charms...speaking across the great internet in support of Hillary Clinton. I was hoping to prevent Trump, a bully, from taking over our nation. I was pressing for the most qualified candidate to be elected for the next term...but unfortunately, come election day, such efforts fell short.
Words have always been a strength of mine, a secret power, that bends metal, penetrates walls and arrives with the greatest impact to implement change. Change of heart, change of mind and as I was hoping, the right finesse to encourage more votes for Clinton. Calm waters, peaceful seas...a promising future...harps strumming soft as a prelude to betterment.
I wrote three posts per day to counteract an obvious tide of hatred. I swam those words against the strongest of currents. From north to south and east to west...tirelessly, through wind, darkness and cold... ignoring the hurtful banter that was shot back as my sentiments drifted up and onto the shore.
I'm a writer, I'm at home penning stories and did not have the opportunity to argue politics with anyone face to face. I did what I could do. I said all that I could say. Logically, rationally, always motivated by the love for my country and the want for a greater good.
My daughter scolded me. "Mom you shouldn't get into squabbles with people online. It's not healthy for you. Studies have shown..."
I interrupted waving my hand, "just three posts per day until the polls close. I'm saying my peace then disengaging. If Trump wins, I can rest with a clear conscience knowing I did all that I could to prevent him from being elected."
My daughter rolled her eyes and left me to swim my laps.
Although I promised myself that I would refrain from pulling Trixie Archer into a political firestorm...to not mutter anything resembling politics one way or another, I must say in the after, that maybe I should have.
There was a billboard with bright lights spelling out exactly what we are in for. Instead of reading that sign, some put blinders on, others wore sunglasses and yet there were a few that simply reached over and unplugged the cord. Most felt compelled by change for the want of change...the lack of reason or rhyme was more enticing than a tried and true path. So here we are...here we are, with an anchor tied around us as we sink or float together. What was, will no longer be, what is, has a dark cloud raining fear across our great nation.
I await the warning to be posted on the beach, "NO swimming...SHARK spotted!" Panic.
Words, they ring steadfast and true. For now I can say what I think but if things become very real, very fast under a Trump leadership, I may no longer have the freedom to declare opposition. I'll hold my breath and bite my tongue realizing that tomorrow is another day and a new election awaits far in the distance.
Maybe next time, instead of my daughter rolling her eyes, she'll join me in swimming words against the strong current and together we'll make a difference. More words will reach the shoreline rendering better odds of a more favorable outcome.
Silence implies agreement so we must never be silent especially if we do not agree. Freedom of speech is what America is based upon and we must flex this right in support of a greater good.
Regardless, of how this election panned out, I will continue forward in support of unity and justice for all. Until we have the next opportunity to cast a ballot, life goes on.
~Trixie Archer
Words have always been a strength of mine, a secret power, that bends metal, penetrates walls and arrives with the greatest impact to implement change. Change of heart, change of mind and as I was hoping, the right finesse to encourage more votes for Clinton. Calm waters, peaceful seas...a promising future...harps strumming soft as a prelude to betterment.
I wrote three posts per day to counteract an obvious tide of hatred. I swam those words against the strongest of currents. From north to south and east to west...tirelessly, through wind, darkness and cold... ignoring the hurtful banter that was shot back as my sentiments drifted up and onto the shore.
I'm a writer, I'm at home penning stories and did not have the opportunity to argue politics with anyone face to face. I did what I could do. I said all that I could say. Logically, rationally, always motivated by the love for my country and the want for a greater good.
My daughter scolded me. "Mom you shouldn't get into squabbles with people online. It's not healthy for you. Studies have shown..."
I interrupted waving my hand, "just three posts per day until the polls close. I'm saying my peace then disengaging. If Trump wins, I can rest with a clear conscience knowing I did all that I could to prevent him from being elected."
My daughter rolled her eyes and left me to swim my laps.
Although I promised myself that I would refrain from pulling Trixie Archer into a political firestorm...to not mutter anything resembling politics one way or another, I must say in the after, that maybe I should have.
There was a billboard with bright lights spelling out exactly what we are in for. Instead of reading that sign, some put blinders on, others wore sunglasses and yet there were a few that simply reached over and unplugged the cord. Most felt compelled by change for the want of change...the lack of reason or rhyme was more enticing than a tried and true path. So here we are...here we are, with an anchor tied around us as we sink or float together. What was, will no longer be, what is, has a dark cloud raining fear across our great nation.
I await the warning to be posted on the beach, "NO swimming...SHARK spotted!" Panic.
Words, they ring steadfast and true. For now I can say what I think but if things become very real, very fast under a Trump leadership, I may no longer have the freedom to declare opposition. I'll hold my breath and bite my tongue realizing that tomorrow is another day and a new election awaits far in the distance.
Maybe next time, instead of my daughter rolling her eyes, she'll join me in swimming words against the strong current and together we'll make a difference. More words will reach the shoreline rendering better odds of a more favorable outcome.
Silence implies agreement so we must never be silent especially if we do not agree. Freedom of speech is what America is based upon and we must flex this right in support of a greater good.
Regardless, of how this election panned out, I will continue forward in support of unity and justice for all. Until we have the next opportunity to cast a ballot, life goes on.
~Trixie Archer
