The World of Dragonfly

As they say in the South, I’ve gone done lost my mind.  Well, not really.  That just sounds kind of cool to say and can leave non-southerners scratching their heads.  Anyway, some people make think that.  You see, I’ve signed up for a triathlon.

Now let me explain.  I like to work out.  And yes, I don’t mind sweating.  But the problem is that lately it’s become easier to rationalize not going to the gym.  Excuses such as “It’s too hot” or “I got out from work too late”  or “I just don’t feel like going” have gotten to be way too commonplace for me.  And because of that, I hadn’t worked out for almost two weeks.

Also, my husband has gotten back into doing triathlons after about a 20-year hiatus.  Three weeks ago, he ran the Bandits Triathlon up in Wilkesboro, NC.  For those of y’all not familiar with the great state of North Carolina, that’s up toward the northwestern part and getting into the mountains.  We left from Winston-Salem, where we’d overnighted.  We got up at 4:45 and left by 5:15–and that’s AM and not PM.  The energy when we got up there was infectious.  And it was cool, the mid 50’s to be exact, and all of the triathletes were more than ready to get into the 80 or so degree water.  What with the crowds gathering, the milling around of people, and the loud music playing at 6:30 in the morning, the energy just started zinging around.

That got me to thinking, “Well, maybe next year I’ll do one.”  Then Hubby egged me into signing up for one in two weeks.  Okay.  So it’s not international distance (almost a mile swim, 20-something mile bike, 10k run) or even spring (half that distance), but it’s a good, solid start.  It’s called Dash for Divas and has been billed as a way to get women interested in the sport since it’s for women only.  It’s a 250-yard swim, 7-mile bike, 2-mile run.  Short, I know.  But hey, I’d already done those things separately, so why not string them together?

I did just that yesterday as a test run, just to make sure I could do the whole thing.  Boy, the adrenaline was pumping in my body!  I fumbled a bit getting ready to start.  But then I did.  Of course, I started out too fast and had to order myself to slow a little on the swim.  Then came the transition to the bike.  That went well.  Then came the run.  Ouch!  My leg muscles had been so used to the bike that the transition was a little on the difficult side.  But I did it.  I know I can do it.

So what’s going to drive me to finish this?

• I know I can.
• I’ve got an encourager since one of my friends is going to do it with me.
• I’ve got groupies.  My husband will be there and also my friend’s husband.
• It’ll be fun.  Okay.  So a different, weird kind of fun.
• It’ll be a start to something bigger.

You see, I’m hooked.   While I may not have the body of a cheetah or move like one, I think I’m going to actually enjoy this.  So in two weeks, I’ll drag myself out of bed, most likely at 4:45 AM and head out to do what I once thought was impossible.  And that will be my reward.

Who is a hero? I think we all have definitions of who they are. Most of us can readily identify a hero as someone on the battlefield who saves the lives of his comrades by paying the ultimate price. To some, a hero may be a superstar in a sport like basketball or football. Or someone who saves a life such as a fireman or a doctor. Yes, all of these people are heroes in their own ways. But I think that too often we have heroes right in our vicinity and don’t even realize it.

One of my heroes is my mom. For years, she’s known that she’s needed to have knee replacement surgery. You see, she likes to be active. To keep that quality of life that she so desires, she finally decided to go ahead and have one of her knees replaced.

The surgery went well. But as her doctor said, the surgery was the easy part. The rehab to get the knee functioning again has been the hard part. She’s had a lot of pain, as is expected. A whole lot. A lot more than most people can imagine. She’s also had to spend lots of time with a device called a passive motion device, which meant many hours lying on her back and letting the machine do its work. She’s endured physical therapy, which as many of your physical therapy veterans may know, is no walk in the park. Now it’s starting to pay off. She can see the light of the tunnel because the pain is finally beginning to diminish, and little glimmers of how her knee will be when it is completely healed are beginning to show.

I’m proud of her. She’s a quiet hero. She knew what she wanted, and she knew it would be tough. But she’s not given up. She’s stayed on course with her therapy, and soon, her life will be better.

So look around you. Who are the quiet heroes in your midst? The ones who are enduring under tough circumstances? The ones who are facing incredible odds? Maybe it’s the neighbor who’s the single mom with two small children. Or someone you know who’s battling cancer. Or maybe it’s someone who’s finally beat an addiction. Whoever they are, like the heroes who are obvious, they won’t brag about their valor. Instead, they’ll live their lives as they are–the quiet heroes.

I admit it.  I have a hard time memorizing Scripture.  A really hard time.  Give me a number to memorize, no problem.  For example, until about 10 years ago, I still remembered my locker combination from junior high.  I have my bank account number memorized as well as my charge card number.  That one makes my husband a little nervous.

So yes, I have a harder time with words.  Tell me your name, and I forget it just a few minutes later.  Or, if I haven’t seen you in awhile, I’m likely to stand there and fumble around for it until you look at me as if I’ve lost my marbles.  I’m sure it has something to do with the way my brain is wired.  Maybe that’s why I was a physics major with a concentration in applied mathematics.  But I still love to write.  Go figure.

Back to my original topic.  This past summer, the pastor at my church, Peace Church, issued a challenge to the congregation.  If a certain number of people memorized Psalm 19, then the September fellowship dinner would be catered.  Never one to pass up a challenge or turn down a free meal, I decided I’d do it.  But of course, being one to procrastinate, I needed a swift kick in the pants that came in the form of Ladies Weekend at the beach.  One of my friends brought copies of Psalm 19, and so began the memorization.

But then I went back to the reality of work and my crazy life, and once more I decided to procrastinate.  Still, God wouldn’t let me go.  He kept on tapping on the shoulder of my spirit and quietly reminding me of the commitment I’d made to myself.  So after a lot of moaning on my part, I finally buckled down.

It was still hard.  Like I said, I’m a numbers person.  At first, nothing sank through my skull.  The words were a mystery to me, like they were written in a different language.  I wanted to stop with the reasoning that some other folks would memorize it, and it wasn’t my responsibility.  But gradually, I began yielding.  Not only did I just try to memorize the words, but I pondered the meaning of them.  What was God trying to teach me?  What was He trying to impress upon me?  And while I cleaned that weekend, I kept dropping by my Bible and taking a peek at Psalm 19.  It took awhile, but I finally memorized.

So what did I learn from Psalm 19?  First, God is a magnificent creator.  “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky proclaims His handiwork.”  (Don’t ask me verse numbers.  It was enough to memorize words.)  How true is that!  I also learned that God’s word is indeed going throughout the earth.  “Their [words] go out through the earth, and their words to the ends of the world.”  Also, the middle part of the psalm goes through the characteristics of God.  “The law of the Lord is perfect . . . The testimony of the Lord is sure . . . The commandment of the Lord is pure . . . The fear of the Lord is clean . . . The rules of the Lord are true . . .”  Wow!  And finally, “Keep back your servant also from presumptuous sins.”  I pondered that one for a long time and essentially realized that presumptions I make about the way my life should look like can easily cause me to drift into sin if I’m not careful.

Okay.  So now I realize that yes, Virginia, I too can memorize scripture.  Not only that, but I can delve into it.  Ponder it.  Learn from it.  I’m now much more motivated.  And not by food.  But hey, the free meal doesn’t hurt either.

Tonight is Basenji Beauty Night at our house.  We bathe them, brush their teeth, clip their nails, and trim any longish paw-pad hair.  Honestly, it’s like a spa night for dogs.  However, Wallace and Aspen usually don’t view it that way, Wallace more so than Aspen.

First, the bath.  Understand that basenjis hate water.  It usually goes like this.  Steve gets into his swim trunks because on occasion, there’s lots of splashing water.  Then he snags one of the dogs, usually Aspen since her curiosity overrides her caution.  While he’s scrubbing her, I go in search of Wallace.  He usually lurks underneath the dining room table.  What ensues is my chasing him around the table.  He threads his way through the chair legs like a champion agility dog and then takes off into the other room.  Finally, though, he sees that the end is near and runs up the stairs into our bedroom, essentially trapping himself.  Once they’re finished, an all-out slam session to rival the WWE happens.  Wallace chases Aspen.  She chases him.  They bite each other on the neck.  He slams her onto the carpet and holds her for the count.  I’m wondering if he’s expecting us to give him three points like in a typical wrestling match.  Then they tear around the downstairs some more, finally dashing outside.  Knowing that there’s exposed dirt out there, I cringe.  But somehow, they avoid rolling in it.

At last, they calm down.  It’s like throwing a switch.  One moment it’s Slam!  Crash!  Pow! as they play.  Then it’s ZZZZZZZ!  That’s the perfect time for our next phase, the nail trimming.  Aspen’s great about it.  She allows us to trim all sixteen digits without a problem.  Wallace, on the other hand . . . You see, he’s our firstborn doggy son.  When he was a puppy, we clipped his nails and cut one too short, quicking him.  Since then, it’s been a trial.  Once more, it’s like WWE, except this time, it winds up with me practically lying on top of him.  Steve shines a bright light on him to see his quick (We ‘av vays of making vou talk!), and we fight to clip each nail.  Finally, we finish.  Everyone’s chest is heaving from pent up stress, and Wallace skulks away to sulk in private.  One time, he literally stole the nail clippers and hid them in the living room.

However, all of that is changing tonight.  We actually bought something from the television called Peticure, which is like a Dremel tool to grind down their nails.  We did a test run a couple of nights ago, and it worked!  So a new era is starting.  Gone are the struggles, the thievery, the skulking (at least for nail clipping).  It’s a new dawn out there, and I’m looking forward to it.

Last is the teeth brushing.  Well, it’s more like gnashing on a toothbrush with doggy toothpaste on it, but the dogs enjoy it.  It’s also necessary since basenjis, who in their native Congo usually don’t live past the age of six, could feasibly lose their teeth at age six.

All in all, it’s a great night.  The dogs smell good.  Their nails are shorter.  Their breath smells better. And we sleep well that night.  Such it is for Basenji Beauty Night.

I work for the State of North Carolina. I love my job, and I applaud efforts by the government to move us in the direction of efficiency. In one such move, they changed our timesheet management system so that everyone across the state will utilize the same system. It’s a great move in concept, but not as smooth as all would have hoped in reality.

Our big move happened on April 1st, and I’m still trying to figure out if the powers-that-be meant it truly as an April Fool’s joke or if it was just a sheer, though somewhat painful coincidence, that they implemented BEACON then. Needless to say, it’s been, well, interesting. The support teams have been great at striving to work out the kinks, and yes, it is getting better.

But one thing that’s not gotten better, at least for me, is the amount of time that it takes to enter my time. This is how it goes. It happens at the end of the day. I pull of the Web page that sends me to the portal. It starts spinning the hour glass around and around. I stuff the water bottles and coffee mug that I’d brought from home into my bag.

My login screen pops up. I enter my User ID and password. Once more the hour glass does its spin. I stack my papers and straighten my desk. The home page pops up. I click on the icon to go to the time entry system. Now, a two little circles, one blue and one gold, start forming and keep forming over and over again. I go to the restroom and come back.

Now the timesheet entry home page is up. I click on the link to enter my time. The circles again appear. Staring at them, I’m mesmerized. I blink and pull away before THE MACHINE tells me to go and sell all I have to the widget maker.

The timesheet screen pops up. I click on the day and row for the time I want to enter. The circles start going again. I jump up, refusing to be taken in by their schemes. I wander the hall and talk to a coworker or two. I return to my office. The circles are still going. Suddenly, they stop. I can enter time!

The actual time entry to that one cell takes three seconds. I click on another row for some more time. The circles start again. Time slows in a time warp. At last, I can enter the remainder of my time and log off. By this time, I’ve about lost my sanity. I log off, which takes even more time.

All in all, I’m now late for my after-work activities. But at least I made it out alive. BEACON hasn’t taken my sanity–yet.

I’m not a big collector.  Sure, when I was a child, I was a huge unicorn collector.  And Star Wars figures collector.  These days, as a recovering pack rat, I generally try to avoid collecting stuff.  But I do enjoy music.  The shelves at the house are filled with lots of music.  Mainly country and Christian but also with some folk and rock’n roll mixed in as well.  Oh, and let’s not forget about the Eighties music I have as well.

I really enjoy finding music that’s not played on mainstream radio.  Just in the past year or so, I’ve come across a group and a singer who are definitely worth a listen.

The group, Red Mountain Music, played at our church a couple of years ago.  Essentially, they’re a group of musicians at the Red Mountain Church in Birmingham, AL who have taken an interest in taking all-but-forgotten hymns and setting them to new music.  As a result, they’ve produced five CDs so far that are incredible.  I have all of their CDs (does this make me a groupie?), and at least one of them is in my car stereo at all times.

The singer is a guy named Kareem Salama.  Egyptian by heritage and an Oklahoma native, Kareem composes and performs his own music on the two CDs he’s put out to date (I have both.  Again, does that make me a groupie?).  The music itself is folk, although I can certainly here country and other influences in it.  And his lyrics are very deep and thought-provoking.  Once again, at least one of the CDs is in the car stereo.

I hope that you’ll get a chance to visit their Web sites.  I promise you’ll be more the richer for it.  Maybe in the future, I’ll do a post on other singers I truly enjoy.  Happy listening!

We passed a milestone at our house last week. Aspen, one of our basenji dogs, became an ace. Let me introduce you to Aspen. Like I just said, she’s a basenji, which is an African dog native to the Congo. The breed has roots going all the way back to ancient Egypt. Basenjis are sight and scent hounds, meaning that they hunt both with their eyes and noses. And since they’re hounds, they tend to pursue small game out in front of their human masters, thus requiring planning and thinking by them to catch their prey.

So back to Aspen. She loves to hunt like her cousins in the Congo. She already had four kills on her list, two squirrels and two bunnies. Believe me when I say that the wildlife in our backyard usually grazes or plays with one eye on the dog door leading to the house.

Last Wednesday morning, I’d gotten up early to water the flowers since it was so hot outside. I noticed that she was delicately nibbling on something in the back corner of the yard. I frowned and turned back to the watering. Something didn’t seem right. I’d better go check on her, I thought. So I headed to the back corner. That’s when I saw it. She’d caught something and with the appetizer finished, she was getting ready to settle down for the main course. “Aspen!” I screeched, most likely loud enough to awaken any neighbors who were still sleeping.

I snatched her up and carried her inside. “Steve!” I shouted. “You wouldn’t believe what she did!” I slammed down the plastic door over the dog door.

He only groaned. “What?”

“She got a squirrel!”

Being the mortician of the family, he went to the garage, got a glove, and headed outside. It turned out to be another baby bunny. He dutifully disposed of it. Later, as Steve was crating them for the day, she yodeled twice.

Some of you may wonder if we scolded her. I have to admit, we didn’t. Hunting is deep, deep in her nature. I was actually proud of her for having the smarts to bide her time and wait patiently for prey. So now Aspen is an Ace in the basenji world.

Okay.  So I know that the Midwest is making all of the headlines this spring with the crazy weather that they’ve been having.  But I’m here to tell you that it is HOT here in North Carolina!  They’re calling for 100 today, 102 tomorrow, and 100 on Monday.  And it’s not even officially summer!  Yikes!

But that’s okay.  Really.  As a native southerner, I’m used to scorching weather, albeit at least later in the summer.  And it’s not a dry heat.  So sorry about that.  No, humidity’s thrown in there.  So the temperature that it would really feel like is 106 to 107, according to Accuweather.com.  It’s nice to know that by Thursday, a “cold front” will bring “cooler” temperatures that will push the highs to about 90.  So until then, those of you who are in the South right now, be thankful for AC, cool showers, and that delicious drink called sweet tea.  Cheers!

I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of gardener. This is very unlike my grandfather. When I was growing up, I remember visiting my granddaddy and grandmother at their house in Florence, SC. It was the same house they’d lived in ever since they’d gotten married in 1932. Out back was a huge garden. I’m terrible with guessing the size of something, but I think it was at least a half acre. He grew everything imaginable, and since he was retired, he was meticulous about keeping it weed free. Another thing I remember about him was the fact that he always smoked a pipe. Up to his last weeks, that pipe was always with him.

So what about gardens and me? Maybe instead of the Constant Gardener I’m the Careless Gardener. I plant the seeds. Wait a few weeks for them to sprout. Then occasionally toss on some fertilizer and water if it doesn’t rain every third day. And wait. The seeds sprout, but so do the weeds. So then I wind up spending all day weeding. But now, maybe, I’m being a little more careful. I’m checking the garden and at least getting out there every other week. And I’ve began putting down grass clippings.

One day, as I was checking the garden, I was leaning over the fence and looking at the tomato plants. It was moist since it’d just rained the day before. I thought I caught a whiff of something I hadn’t smelled in a long, long time, since 1995. It was the faint scent of my granddaddy’s pipe. I sniffed again. It was gone. But I had to smile. It was almost like Granddaddy was standing near me as if to say, “It’s doing okay. You’re doing a great job.” So maybe I’m doing something right. Maybe, one day soon, my garden will produce even a fraction of what his produced. But it doesn’t matter. What did matter was the good memories that one whiff brought.

It’s been one of those days. I’m not meaning that in a bad sense. Instead, I’m talking about one of those days where you wake up, go about your business, and suddenly look up to find that it’s almost ten o’clock at night. So where did my day go? Here’s kind of how my schedule went:

• 6:30 Wake up.
• 7:25 Head to work.
• 7:50 Head to a site visit with one of my coworkers.
• 2:30 Return from site visit with coworker.
• 4:30 Leave work. Head to gym after gassing up car (scary).
• 5:00 Arrive at gym.
• 5:15 Hit the gym floor.
• 6:20 Leave gym.
• 6:30 Arrive home to be greeted by 2 ecstatic basenjis.
• 7:00 Water desperately needy plants that need to be put into the ground and fix part of dinner while also figuring out which bills need to be paid.
• 8:15 Finish dinner and sit down to send out my Web site “launch” e-mail (Yes, I’m behind).
• 9:45 Start to write blog.

Whew! And where, exactly, did my day go? I’m not sure. I, for one, and looking forward to the weekend.