Ample Opportunities

When I worked for one of large retail establishments, we used to have morning meetings.  At these meetings, the supervisors would address any issues in the store.  The managers, who had all been to management classes, were very careful to never say anything negative and to always be encouraging.

One day, when the stockroom was in utter chaos, the manager said, "There are ample opportunities for success in the back room".  We all laughed and then we went and worked on the back room.

I use this saying now whenever things are in chaos.  "There are ample opportunities for success in..........".

I am telling this story so that the next one will make sense.

The Real Presence

On Wednesday afternoon, after work, I spend an hour at chuch in Blessed Adoration.  We Catholics believe in the "Real Presence".  That is, we believe that once the host is consecrated during Mass, it IS the body and blood of Jesus Christ.  A consecrated host is kept in the monstrance inside the tabernacle on the altar.  St. Anthony's, like many churches, has a front altar and a back altar.  The back altar, directly under the crucifix in the sanctuary is where the tabernacle resides.  It is also where the priest used to celebrate the Mass pre-Vatican II.  Most churches left that altar in place and put another altar further toward the nave of the church, where the pews are.  The priest now celebrates Mass on this altar, facing the congregation.

The front altar is where, on Wednesdays, our Lord is taken from the tabernacle and is placed, in the monstrance, so that we can be physically closer to Him.  Blessed Adoration is a time to pray, to reflect, sometimes to just visit, to just "be" in His presence.

Now, when I was a child, for some reason, only grownups went to Blessed Adoration.  I prayed, as did most of my classmates and friends, with my attention on the crucifix.  It is part and parcel of our faith, to remember not just God's love, but His sacrifice.  I also learned that God was in Heaven and to look upward in faith.

So, yesterday, I found myself in prayer, focusing not on our Lord Himself, present in the monstrance but focusing on the crucifix.  I brought myself back several times and found myself again looking upward in prayer.  I started to wonder why.  I also started wondering why I was wondering instead of praying but that's a whole 'nother blog.

I think that maybe it is because looking at Him is just too hard - partly because I know that I am not worthy and partly because, when I do look at Him, I see the real me reflected in His brilliance.  It is easier for me to focus on a portrayal of Him than on Him.  I feel sort of like the little child who hides their face when they are talking to a grownup because they are afraid to look at them.

I have no answers and to be honest, I don't expect any.  I will go every Wednesday and I will spend an hour with Him and even if I can't do it the way I think it should be done, at least I am doing it.

The Bocking Chicken

A friend of mine posted her opinion about the "support Chick-Fil-A" movement and protests today.  She stated that she was tired of reading and sorting through all of the hate-mongers on facebook.

For those of you who don't know, or for my family reading this in the future, a little background.  Chick-Fil-A is a family owned fast food restaurant specializing in chicken.  The owner is Christian and his stores (all 1600+) are closed on Sunday so that his employees can spend the Lord's Day with the Lord and with their families.  He recently came out publicly in opposition to gay and lesbian marriages.  His stores do not refuse to serve gays or lesbians.  He does not refuse to hire gays or lesbians.  He merely stated that he is opposed, for religious reasons, to gay and lesbian marriage.

And the maelstrom ensued.  He was praised by some.  He was villified by some.  Mayors of some cities called for the ouster of all Chick-Fil-A franchises.

Today, August 1, was "support your local Chick-Fil-a" Day.  Those who agreed with the owner should eat at his restaurants.  Those who neither agreed nor disagreed but firmly believe in his right to believe whatever he wants and to publicly espouse it should eat at his restaurants.  Those who disagreed, of course, showed up in protest.

Now, back to my friend.  She is one of the most gracious and tolerant Christians that I know.  It occurred to me after I commented on her post that, aside from one post from my daughter and the one from my friend, I had not ready ANY posts about Chick-Fil-A.

I know that my friends are aware of the situation.  I know that all of my friends have opinions.  I think that my friends use other formats to share their opinions.  I know that a lot of my friends, like me, do not view Facebook as a news source.  It is a place to touch base, a place to share personal triumphs and tragedies, a place of comfort and denial.

So maybe part of the problem today is that my friend had to read all of the diatribes because her friends have not yet learned this.  So, to her, maybe it's time to winnow out your friends and to rid your life of some of the negativity.  To my friends, thank you and God bless you, one and all.

How I am today

I have forgotten.  I have forgotten how to write complete sentences.  I have forgotten to share my life with my friends who live in the internet.  I have forgotten to look at the bright side of life.  I have forgotten how to be Pollyanna.  Time to regroup.

I miss my dogs.  My dogs live with my husband because they are too old to have to adapt to change AND my landlord won't let me have them.  I see them occasionally but not as often as I should.  I did help take them to the vet last week for their shots - all their regular vaccines and rattlesnake vaccine and their nails clipped. This would be why the inside of my pickup is upholstered in dog hair.  Duck had to be lifted into the pickup and Holly needed her arse hoisted.  They are getting old.  They were, however, VERY good at the vets and got their nails clipped, too.  The bright spot of this story is that my vet (and vet tech) love me.  All three dogs, all three shots and nails, all for $120  God knew what He was doing when He landed myself in this town all those years ago.

The bright side?  My daughter can walk in my house without taking an allergy pill.  I no longer am covered in dog hair.  I am not normally the one who has to sit with Bonnie while she eats so that the big dogs don't steal her food.

I think living without my dogs is sort of like dieting.  This is going to sound harsh but I don't know how else to explain it.  I quit smoking, cold turkey, in 1990.  I quit drinking when I started driving a semi.  I am good at quitting things.  I can't just quit eating.  I have to eat correctly, to eat less, to eat better food.  I think that if the dogs died, I could grieve.  I would grieve.  I would fall apart...and then it would be over.  Now, I just don't get to be such an everyday part of their life that they can just ignore me.  I am now a reason for barking and leaping (that would be Bonnie) and lots and lots of touching and licking.  Then I leave and I am sad...and it is never over.

Wow, I am sure am glad I decided to resurrect Pollyanna!

Anyway, this is how I am today.

The Secret to Thick Hair

My cousin, Linda, posted a picture earlier today on facebook, asking if anyone remembered using one.  I do, but that is not what dragged me back into blogdom.

Family lore.  I love family lore.  I have no idea if this story is true or not as I was not born when it takes place but I heard it a lot of times and, since my parents NEVER lied, it must be true.

There are 4 of us kids.  Mary, the oldest, has a lot of hair but it is very fine.  Dorothy has gorgeous, thick, wavy hair and mine is just shy of being as thick as hers.  My brother, unfortunately, took after Dad.  Thin hair, thinning.

Whenever the subject of hair texture came up, my Mom would tell us about when Mary and Dorothy were little and they were back in Iowa visiting on the farm.  I don't know whose farm.  I don't even know which side of the family except I think it must have been Mom's side because she was amused rather than incensed.

My sister, Dorothy, was in the milking barn and fell in the cow gutter.  Yep, covered in everything that is in a cow gutter.  She was crying and dirty and nasty and smelly and one of the "boys" went to take her up to the house.  My grandma, looking at this filthy, smelly child decreed that she was not coming into the house in that condition.

So, in the middle of winter, or so the story goes, my sister was forcibly held under the outdoor water pump and watered down until she was deemed clean enough to go into Grandma's house.

And forever after, the reason that Dorothy has the best hair out of the four of us is that it was fertilized!

I feel good today

I am pleased with myself today.  I actually finished several tasks at work, mainly involving warrants.

I have a love/hate relationship with warrants, much like my relationship with math, and for some of the same reasons.

Anyway, warrants, when they come down fro the court, are entered into the nationwide law enforcement computer system.  Some warrants are only extraditable (enforceable) in the state where they are issued or portions thereof and some are good in all 50 states.

When someone is arrested on one of our warrants, if it is outside of our county, we confirm the warrant by teletype, thus placing a hold on that person.  In some instances a bond has been set and in some instances, depending on the severity and frequency of the crime, the person arrested is to be held without bond.

We then wait to hear from the arresting agency.  If there are local charges pending, those charges must be dispensed with before we can take custody of the subject.  If there is a bond amount set, it is possible for the person to post bond wherever he was arrested and secure his release thusly.  If the person is to be held without bond, he cannot secure his release.

When a person has satisfied local charges and cannot post bond, we are notified by the arresting agency via teletype after which, as a rule, we have 10 days to go and get him.

When a person secures their release by posting bond, the arresting agency should send a teletype stating that the person has posted bond, the amount and whether cash or through a bail bond company.

This last step often gets forgotten.  Either the jailers forget to ask or the dispatchers forget to send it.

The drawer which holds our warrants that have been served elsewhere held about 50 warrants earlier today.  I sent teletypes to the arresting agency for each warrant requesting the disposition of the arrestee and the warrant.  I have done this before and it is often akin to throwing a message in a bottle into the ebbing tide.

Today?

Today, I actually got responses on 17 different warrants.  That is 17 warrants that are on their way out of my office and on to the next step in the process.

I realize this is not all that earth-shattering.  I did not reinvent the wheel nor did I find a cure for cancer.

I did, however, complete something.

My job is such that I rarely get to see anything to completion.  I take calls, I dispatch deputies and the system does it's job.  I rarely get to see the finish.

Today, I did.  And it feels good.

Love or obsession?

My blog has evidently become a place for me to write those things too lengthy to fit in a facebook status.  I was blogsurfing today.  One of the blogs I read belongs to a woman I started reading because she, like me, is a dog person.  She is younger than I, married, with two children.  Her oldest child, who, two years ago committed suicide in her driveway during a family argument by shooting himself in the head, would have turned 23 today.

I cannot, thank God, imagine her pain.

She said today, in her blog, that she wished to God it had been her and not him.  She uses her blog, which used to chronicle her life, her kids' lives and her dogs' lives, to pour out sorrow, anger, guilt, and self-recrimination.

I wonder at what point grief becomes selfishness?  I am not judging her.  Truly, I am not.  She does, however have a husband and a younger child who love her, are with her, hold her when she cries, and grieve with her and, I am sure, need her.  I wonder how they feel when they read that she would rather be dead than be with them.  I pray for her.  I pray for her husband.  I pray for her sons, both of them.

It is so hard, though, to write another supportive comment when I just want to tell her to quit being so selfish and to cherish the love that still surrounds her, that has always surrounded her.

So, please, pray for my friend and her family and pray for me, too.