>But I’m still not complaining, as we are blessed to have health insurance. Cincy Children’s sent a statement with our old info. So, while on the phone for that, I remembered that the little one needs to have about 3 different appointments scheduled for May. No better time than the present!
>You know that someone is a real friend and loves you no matter what when you can be completely honest with them.
So honest, in fact, that when they ask you, “How was your birthday?” you feel safe enough to answer with all the honesty and sincerity in the world, “It sucked.”
Then, when she laughs and said, “Me too!,” you can laugh and commiserate together.
That’s when you’ve got sister kind of love.
>And JUST in time for my birthday tomorrow.
>**The title is borrowed from an episode of Charlie & Lola, a cartoon my daughters love. Hannah watched it so much the summer Abbie was born that she began speaking with a slightly English accent. Imagine: a quasi-southern West Virginia accent with an English twist.
This past weekend, the little one threw up every night. Every. Single. Night. Sunday night was the worst and had Hubby not had President’s Day off, he would’ve called in.
I have had some thoughts swimming around in my head and have been kicking a few ideas around, but I hesitate in being completely honest about what I have been living the past month or so, mostly because of fear of backlash similar to that I experienced last year. While I don’t want to dredge all that up again –because I DO NOT — I am saying that being open and honest would be a huge leap of faith on many levels. First, putting my personal stuff out there. Second, possibly being judged by what I may say. Third, being the subject of wagging tongues, should a new blow-up occur.
I, more appropriately, my family and I have been dealing with a lot of things. New things have been learned. Old wounds are healing. Processing everything takes time and is sometimes a consuming task, but it is one that I take on, knowing that on the other side, things will be better. They must be.
The thing is, healing takes time. It takes adjustments on all sides and sometimes the process hurts. The cool flip-side of the coin is the new perspective, the shifting in thinking, the realization that comes along with healing and growing. That’s the good stuff I want to share. We’ll see if I can take a new leap of faith, trusting in being honest, hoping that new wounds won’t be inflicted.
>I think this article is interesting, pointing to the fact that I’m pretty much weird.
Also, I don’t have time to write a real post. We are completely out of diapers, so I’m trying to get us all decent enough to tread outside and to the grocery store. Or Sam’s. Or Target. I can’t decide.
* * * * * * * * * *
13 Facts About Friday the 13th
LiveScience StaffLiveScience.com livescience Stafflivescience.com – Thu Feb 12, 10:30 pm ET
If you fear Friday the 13th, then batten down the hatches. This week’s unlucky day is the first of three this year.
The next Friday the 13th comes in March, followed by Nov. 13. Such a triple whammy comes around only every 11 years, said Thomas Fernsler, a math specialist at the University of Delaware who has studied the number 13 for more than 20 years.
By the numbers
Here are 13 more facts about the infamous day, courtesy of Fernsler and some of our own research:
1. The British Navy built a ship named Friday the 13th. On its maiden voyage, the vessel left dock on a Friday the 13th, and was never heard from again.
2. The ill-fated Apollo 13 launched at 13:13 CST on Apr. 11, 1970. The sum of the date’s digits (4-11-70) is 13 (as in 4+1+1+7+0 = 13). And the explosion that crippled the spacecraft occurred on April 13 (not a Friday). The crew did make it back to Earth safely, however.
3. Many hospitals have no room 13, while some tall buildings skip the 13th floor.
4. Fear of Friday the 13th – one of the most popular myths in science – is called paraskavedekatriaphobia as well as friggatriskaidekaphobia. Triskaidekaphobia is fear of the number 13.
5. Quarterback Dan Marino wore No. 13 throughout his career with the Miami Dolphins. Despite being a superb quarterback (some call him one of the best ever), he got to the Super Bowl just once, in 1985, and was trounced 38-16 by the San Francisco 49ers and Joe Montana (who wore No. 16 and won all four Super Bowls he played in).
6. Butch Cassidy, notorious American train and bank robber, was born on Friday, April 13, 1866. 7. Fidel Castro was born on Friday, Aug. 13, 1926.
8. President Franklin D. Roosevelt would not travel on the 13th day of any month and would never host 13 guests at a meal. Napoleon and Herbert Hoover were also triskaidekaphobic, with an abnormal fear of the number 13.
9. Superstitious diners in Paris can hire a quatorzieme, or professional 14th guest.
10. Mark Twain once was the 13th guest at a dinner party. A friend warned him not to go. “It was bad luck,” Twain later told the friend. “They only had food for 12.”
11. Woodrow Wilson considered 13 his lucky number, though his experience didn’t support such faith. He arrived in Normandy, France on Friday, Dec. 13, 1918, for peace talks, only to return with a treaty he couldn’t get Congress to sign. (The ship’s crew wanted to dock the next day due to superstitions, Fernsler said.) He toured the United States to rally support for the treaty, and while traveling, suffered a near-fatal stroke.
12. The number 13 suffers from its position after 12, according to numerologists who consider the latter to be a complete number – 12 months in a year, 12 signs of the zodiac, 12 gods of Olympus, 12 labors of Hercules, 12 tribes of Israel, 12 apostles of Jesus, 12 days of Christmas and 12 eggs in a dozen.
13. The seals on the back of a dollar bill include 13 steps on the pyramid, 13 stars above the eagle’s head, 13 war arrows in the eagle’s claw and 13 leaves on the olive branch. So far there’s been no evidence tying these long-ago design decisions to the present economic situation.
Origins of Friday the 13th
Where’s all this superstition come from? Nobody knows for sure. But it may date back to Biblical times (the 13th guest at the Last Supper betrayed Jesus). By the Middle Ages, both Friday and 13 were considered bearers of bad fortune.
Meanwhile the belief that numbers are connected to life and physical things – called numerology – has a long history.
“You can trace it all the way from the followers of Pythagoras, whose maxim to describe the universe was ‘all is number,'” says Mario Livio, an astrophysicist and author of “The Equation That Couldn’t Be Solved” (Simon & Schuster, 2005). Thinkers who studied under the famous Greek mathematician combined numbers in different ways to explain everything around them, Livio said.
In modern times, numerology has become a type of para-science, much like the meaningless predictions of astrology, scientists say.
“People are subconsciously drawn towards specific numbers because they know that they need the experiences, attributes or lessons, associated with them, that are contained within their potential,” says professional numerologist Sonia Ducie. “Numerology can ‘make sense’ of an individual’s life (health, career, relationships, situations and issues) by recognizing which number cycle they are in, and by giving them clarity.”
Mathematicians dismiss numerology as having no scientific merit, however.
“I don’t endorse this at all,” Livio said, when asked to comment on the popularity of commercial numerology for a story prior to the date 06/06/06. Seemingly coincidental connections between numbers will always appear if you look hard enough, he said.
Original Story: 13 Facts About Friday the 13thLiveScience.com chronicles the daily advances and innovations made in science and technology. We take on the misconceptions that often pop up around scientific discoveries and deliver short, provocative explanations with a certain wit and style. Check out our science videos, Trivia & Quizzes and Top 10s. Join our community to debate hot-button issues like stem cells, climate change and evolution. You can also sign up for free newsletters, register for RSS feeds and get cool gadgets at the LiveScience Store.
>I had the best laugh at my husband’s expense, thank to my daughter.
He said, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
She replies, “Again?!”
My thoughts exactly, sweetie.
>I was thinking about something last night, and wanted to post my thoughts here.
I came across the link about the prank call to Lindsay Roberts because I had Googled the name of one of the dorm wings on which I lived during my sophomore year. I hate to admit this, but I couldn’t remember the name, exactly. Was it Adeste Fi? I think, but, second-guessing myself, I thought it could’ve been something else. For reasons I don’t want to get into, my memory has holes in it. There are portions of my life which I remember vividly; other blocks of years are unclear and I often can’t remember things that I should remember.
I emailed a few college friends the link, asking, “Did this happen when I was there? I’ll croak if I forgot.” I mean that, but not in a mean way. I mean it in the way you hate forgetting a friend’s name. Or other things, that not while “life changing important” are still memory-keeping-worthy. It’s frustrating, and I hate every time I encounter a memory loss.
When I Googled the college name and dorm wings or other variations of that search, I found that there are a lot of websites out there purposed to talking trash about the university. It makes me sad to think that people feel they need to bash it. If they were so unhappy with the university, why did they stay? Why didn’t they just transfer to another university? Why stay somewhere you hate and then dump on it later?
I wasn’t trying to do that. The post reminded me of a couple of funny things from back then. But the post was made by someone, I believe, should have transferred to another school, even if he did have a full scholarship. But that’s neither here nor there, as it’s in the past.
Funny things happened while I was there. That university has its own environment and culture, definitely unlike any other. Living in the ORU bubble was an experience that, unless you’ve lived it or something similar, is kind of hard to wrap your mind around. It’s different. But different can be good. And sometimes, really funny.
>My local newspaper did a front-page feature in the Sunday edition a couple of weeks ago that I thought was really interesting.
I’m copying and pasting it here because I think you would have to register with their site to access it now. I’m interested to hear what other people think.
Remembering the Great Depression
It started with Black Tuesday, the crash of the stock market on Oct. 29, 1929. For 10 dark, dire years, Americans suffered through the worst of times – the infamous Great Depression.
By Sandy Wells
CHARLESTON, W.Va. — It started with Black Tuesday, the crash of the stock market on Oct. 29, 1929. For 10 dark, dire years, Americans suffered through the worst of times – the infamous Great Depression. Some chose not to suffer at all. Confronted with sudden, paralyzing poverty, they decided on suicide.
Most Americans just buckled down, tightened their belts to the pinching point and rode it out. Sacrifices shaped them, made them brave, prudent, grateful. Remembering the hardships they endured, they worry about people in today’s spendthrift society. Can they cope with repercussions of an ever-deepening recession?
Local Depression-era survivors in the community share anecdotes about the austerity of life in the 1930s.
She grew up in Brooklyn in the Roaring ’20s. Her father flourished in the lumber business. She went to private schools, wore the best clothes, lived in an elegant home furnished with the finest trappings his money could buy.
When the stock market crashed in 1929, her lavish lifestyle crashed with it.
“My father kept trying to hold out. He kept saying it would get better. Finally, he used everything he had saved. He got rid of the car. He had the house up for sale. He couldn’t take it.”
One Sunday morning in 1936, he got out of bed, went quietly to the basement and shot himself in the head.
She was 19.The memory haunts her to this day.
Ninety-two-year-old Florence Gentes monitors America’s current economic crisis with the fearful, knowing eyes of someone who survived the hardest of hard times.
“I see it all repeating itself. My father was in the lumber business. That’s construction. The same thing is happening now. It’s all stopping. There’s no money for construction.
“And this is only the beginning,” she said. “It will get worse and worse as more people get laid off. The way people in this culture squander money, I don’t know if they will make it. They live from payday to payday. People in my times were able to hold out longer because they had savings. We were a different breed of people, a much stronger people.”
Her strength was sorely tested as she scrambled to scratch out a future from the shambles of her privileged past.
“We sold everything we could sell. Oriental rugs, beautiful oriental lamps, crystal and china. My mother even sold her jewelry. She had beautiful diamond rings. She even sold her wedding ring.”
They rented the third floor of a friend’s home for $25 a month. She got a job as a secretary for $13 a week. On her meager salary, she also supported her mother who suffered for 11 years from severe depression. “I had no life. I worked and came home.”
City people suffered more, she said. “There are no cows on 42nd Street. Rural people did better than we did. They had farms and could grow food. We had to buy it.”
If they couldn’t buy it, they bummed it. “I would take the subway to my job in the city. You would see hundreds of people in the lines for soup and bread. For 10 years, I saw that.
“We didn’t have welfare like you have today. We used the word relief. You had to be broke, and I mean really broke, to get it. When I went to inquire about it, they said, ‘Do you have a job?’ I said I did. They asked me how much I made. I told them I made $13 a week. I told them I was also supporting my mother. They said, ‘We can’t help you because you have a job.’ “
If a husband had a job, the wife couldn’t work, she said. “A lot of women would take off their wedding rings and say they were single to try to get work.”
Any work was better than no work, regardless of pay. “I had a part-time job on Saturdays as a saleslady in a nice department store. I worked an eight-hour shift. My salary was $2.50 for the day.”
Things got worse. Her mother died. Her landlord sold the house. She moved to a rooming house. The house caught fire. She escaped with just her nightgown and a jacket.
A friend who owned hotels in upstate New York hired her for seasonal work. At the inn, she met cosmetics maven Dorothy Gray who asked her to help launch a new feeding formula she had developed for calves. She ended up selling the formula on the road. In one year, she doubled the business. Money poured in. Then, as milk prices plummeted, demand for the formula dwindled. Gray liquidated the business.
Gentes returned to hotel work until she retired. A friend lured her to Alabama where they developed the Huntsville tourist area. She worked there as a guide. In 1984, she landed in Charleston. A friend in Huntsville moved here to be close to her daughter and encouraged her to settle here.
Looking back on the convoluted journey, she said the lessons she learned as a Depression survivor helped her throughout her life. “I learned a great deal about what to do without. I learned that all you need is one pair of shoes. I always bought black shoes because they went with everything.
“The biggest thing I learned was how to handle money. Every week, I would put away a couple of dollars. Even when I was making more money, I put more money in the bank. That gave me the chance to travel the way I did.”The bottom line is, live within your means. I have always lived within my means.”
“My first day in school, we had the Depression,” said 86-year-old John Cavender. “When we went to the store to get food for the mule, the feed sacks were all pretty. My mother would let me pick the color sack I liked. She very carefully opened it up and dumped out the feed, and she would take that cloth and make me a shirt. She had a big gallon jar on her sewing machine.
“That was the button jar. She would take that material and get me six or seven buttons that would match. Any time we had a piece of material to throw away with a button on it, we always knew to take that button off and put it in that jar. We never threw any material away. It was put aside to make little Dutch girl dolls with big wooden shoes.”
During hard times, the resourceful Cavender kids found other uses for the buttons. “We would get that jar and get 12 black buttons and 12 white ones and play checkers on a homemade checkerboard that would have cost 10 cents.”
By the time he reached 18, things were looking up, he said. “People started getting jobs. I got a letter saying, ‘Your friends and neighbors invite you to join the Army.’ They started to draft me, but I beat them. I enlisted in the Air Force. They paid me $23 a day – once a month.”He ended up all right. “I stayed 35 years. I flew Mustangs and everything else they had. I made colonel. I was operations officer for the 130th up at the airport.”
“I was a country girl, so I didn’t know we were poor,” said 83-year-old Arlene Pettit. “We had pigs and cows and chickens and gardens, and my mother canned everything she could get her hands on”
Even in the leanest years, her mother found a way to make do, she said. “Mother could sew. At Christmas, she would make us dolls. She could afford to buy a doll from Sears for a quarter and she would make clothes for them. We got oats in huge boxes. She would take that box and make a cradle. She padded it and made little sheets and pillows, everything you can think of to play with your dolls. I’m sure that was one of those years when they didn’t have any money and that’s the only thing she could think of to come up with.”
Lessons in frugality stayed with her for a lifetime. A retired schoolteacher, she used to watch with dismay as students sharpened pencils down to a nubbin. “I would tell them that we were only allowed one pencil at a time. A pencil cost a penny. My uncle owned a grocery store. If we didn’t have a penny, we would take him one egg and that would buy a pencil.”My dad would not let us use the sharpener at school. We brought our pencil home and he would sharpen our lead every night, because it was hard to get even a penny. That sounds ridiculous, but that’s how things were in those days.”
“I was in high school during most of the Depression,” said 91-year-old John Mitchell. “I graduated in 1935, so I was right in the middle of the whole thing. My dad was a railroad engineer and he got cut back to fireman. He worked a couple or three days most weeks, and some weeks, he didn’t work at all. We had a big garden and we got by on what we raised.
“I remember that I was never unemployed. I washed cars for a quarter apiece. On Saturdays, I could make 75 cents or $1. I saved enough money, $3, to buy a pair of Thom McAn shoes. A neighbor boy and I hitchhiked to Wheeling to get them. The tax was 6 cents. The next year, we found out that the Thom McAn store in Marietta didn’t charge tax. We hitchhiked to Marietta to save that 6 cents.”Eventually, he saved enough to buy a car. “I bought a car for $35. I paid $20 down and $1 a week for 15 weeks.”
“I can remember people coming to our door to beg, hoping to get money,” said 97-year-old Ruth Shepherd. “[My mother] always felt they wanted to buy whiskey. She would tell them to come around back and she would fix them a plate. Sometimes she would find the food discarded. They had a way of marking the walk out front so the next one to come along would know this was a no-good place.
“She had an arrangement with Pat Withrow at the Union Mission to provide a bed for them and she would compensate him later, but very few showed up. They had to go through a church service first and they didn’t like that.”
She looked forward to the day when she could wear new clothes. Through the Depression, her mother made most of their clothes. “I had a sister about my age, and we swapped clothes. We went to different schools. I swapped shoes with a friend up the street. Our mothers wore the same size, and we would wear their shoes, too. It didn’t matter if they were comfortable or not.”
Her father died in 1922. To make ends meet, she rented out rooms in the big Virginia Street home she’d inherited from her mother. “My uncle moved in with us after his wife died and helped her remodel some of the property into small apartments that she could rent.”They also enjoyed some benefits of country life. “We had a cow and chickens in the back, and a cherry tree and an apple tree. A black man came every day and took our cow to the riverbank and tethered her with Col. Dickinson’s cow so the two cows would have company while they grazed.”
Ada and Frank Sayre
The Depression lovebirds couldn’t afford a fancy wedding. He could barely afford the $2 marriage license. But 70 years later, the bond remains as tight as their budget on the day they married.
She worked in a dime store in Parkersburg. He was a seasonal construction worker. Times were tough that August in 1938, but Frank Sayre decided to get married anyway. “One day at noon, I took off and went to the courthouse and bought a marriage license. They were $2, and $2 was hard to get back then.”
They married in a parsonage in Reedy. “We just called a minister and asked him if he was going to be home because we were stopping by. That’s how much notice we gave him.”
They set up housekeeping in a two-room apartment at Sixth Street and Hunt Avenue. Rent was $30 a month. Both recall walking to the A&P near Bigley Avenue and lugging groceries home in their arms. “We watched our pennies and made out,” she said.Her family in Jackson County got an early wallop of Depression wrath. “The thing that sticks out in my mind happened in the spring of 1929. My mother had to have surgery. One bill was $300. My father had that much in the bank. He wanted to take that out to pay the bill, but the doctor told him to just wait until he’d set enough aside. Just a short time later, the banks went bad and he lost that $300.”
>It’s no secret that I went to Oral Roberts University for my freshman and sophomore years of college.
I was trying to remember the name of my wing, Frances 4, when I was a chaplain. Amago Dei? I can’t recall it exactly. How sad. Seriously, where is my mind and why can I not remember stuff?
So, while searching for ORU dorm wing names, I came across the post below. I laughed so hard. In an instant, so many things about ORU came back. I wasn’t even a student during this… episode, but I wish I had been.
I think there’s one instance of a curse or inappropriate word, but it really is a stinkin’ funny story about how a student prank called Lindsay Roberts.
>I’m giving mad props to a fellow blogger, Snickollet, today.
If you don’t know her story and haven’t read her blog, please click here and check it out.
She’s cool. The cool kind of person I’d like to meet (and if I get to go to Boston in July and can work up enough nerve, I might just ask her).
She was in the Peace Corps. She’s an editor/writer. She was married to what sounds like a wonderful man. They brought two beautiful children into the world. He died of pancreatic cancer nearly 2 years ago.
And ever since, she’s been raising her babies all by herself. Her family is on the other side of the country. She lives in a city that has awful weather, and yet, every day, she takes them to daycare all on her own, goes to work, gathers her children afterward and does all the parenting. All the time.
I thought of her today as I was loading my own two children in the car. It’s been a little crazy this past week, and as I buckled the little one into her car seat, I thought of this incredible woman who does this same thing, each day, without any help at all.
If she has to go to the grocery store, she takes two children with her. Errands to run? They go, too.
I realized how blessed–and how spoiled–I am to have a partner who is really great about taking both or sometimes one child while I run errands and go to the grocery store. Something as simple as shopping alone is a luxury for many mommas, but I wondered today if this lady ever gets to enjoy that kind of luxury.
I imagine single parenting is the hardest job there is. You give of yourself every waking hour, no matter if you’re tired or sick. I imagine there is little time to one’s self.
It’s got to be exhausting, overwhelming… and so many other things I can’t think of right now. I applaud her for doing it, and for being honest with her struggles–and her victories– with her readers. She rocks.