Gone Writin'

I finally remembered to turn the furnace on after our streak of warm weather, and I have cats sprawled across every vent to prove it. This is why I wear socks.

With Farmville out of my life, politics making it impossible to stomach nearly any form of electronic media, and the busiest time of year at work compounded with my recent promotion, I am stressed. The kind of stress I would usually rely on my mouthpiece to counter, but the mouthpiece didn't fit after the crown, and it didn't seem to be working that last year anyway, so I'm searching for a new stress-combating strategy.

Fortunately, it's Spring. Swamp Time. Time to be out in the muck battling the Curse and cursing the battle to make one space somewhat vital for an all-too-brief span. That takes care of the exercise portion of stress release, but it doesn't help with the emotional portion.

I'm writing. In the morning during my normal blogging time, and in the evening after Swamp Time. I have no idea how long it will last, or whether anything useful will grow out of it, but I'm doing it.

Therefore, for an undetermined time, I will be writing elsewhere in what I hope to be a productive and stress-reducing manner.

Enjoy your Spring.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Marketable Skills: Responsibility

I considered calling this one Accepting Blame, except my general rule is fix the problem, not the blame. Unless you're the problem. Then the blame is yours, too.

When interviewing for a job, generally you are given a list of job duties that you are expected to perform on a routine basis. This is rarely a comprehensive list, but it will cover the minimum expectations of both you and your employer. Meaning, if you can't do these things on a routine basis with a minimum of mistakes and no supervision, you should be fired.

If you are a server at Sonic and can't make change, you should be fired. If you work at a phone bank answering calls all day and regularly forget to turn on your phone or yell at back at frustrated customers, you should be fired. If you data-enter numbers, and you regularly transpose them, you should be fired.

The above paragraph makes the mistake most employees make: it assumes it is your employer's responsibility to remove you. Wrong. It is your responsibility to remove yourself. A person of integrity who agrees to perform certain tasks in exchange for money, who discovers he cannot perform those tasks, should refuse payment and find another job better suited to his skill set. Unfortunately, the workplace is full of lemmings who would rather be told what to do than lionesses who solve problems, especially when that problem is herself.

I do not mean people cannot make mistakes. People are people, competent or not, and everyone has bad days. When those happen, own them, do your best anyway, and expect to have some messes to clean up later. That's normal. But the consistent failure to do the minimum your job requires is unacceptable to everyone: the customer who can take his business elsewhere, your co-workers who have to bail you out while still doing their own jobs, and your boss who's literally paying you to cause problems she doesn't need.

If you make simple mistakes on a regular basis that cause extra work for everyone, you can expect to work in a hostile environment. I recommend accepting responsibility and doing what you need to do to get your act together. If you don't, your boss will do her job and fire you, and you will have only yourself to blame. If you're a lemming, that won't stop you from blaming everyone else anyway.

Push button. Receive bacon.

The Wind in the Willows

I've heard of this story, but never read it. I believe Disneyland has a Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, but my motion sickness made that impossible.

I bought a very used book at a charity drive, and, after reading one too many Lovecraft horrors (the nightmares started), picked it up for a stroll on the brighter side. I'm halfway through, because life got busy as it usually does, but far enough to say a few things.

One, charming prose. Some truly lovely sentences in there that beautifully capture the image or moment.

Two, welcome innocence coupled with strong moral character. Friendship, hospitality, generosity, hard work, and hard winter rest - a concept I heartily endorse - are illustrated in each story. Even flighty Toad has a good heart.

Three, while I generally don't care for short stories, these are just the right size for reading before bed. Since I haven't slept through the night in about two weeks, I don't have a lot of eye stamina for long bouts of reading.

The hardest part of reading these stories comes from me being too adult. Rat has a boat, a brace of pistols and a cudgel. Mole has Italian sculptures in his burrow. Badger eats ham and bacon, and wears slippers. However, they are animals, and the stories don't dispute their size. Would a rat-sized pistol even fire? Where does Badger get his ham? How do they earn their money? Children don't worry about this sort of thing (except me. This is exactly the kind of thing I worried about as a child). I keep derailing as I try to categorize the logic of the world. Alice in Wonderland is the closest I can come.

The illustrations don't help. Toad's carriage is people-sized, pulled by a horse, and contains a bird in a cage they later carry away. What bird is small enough to be carried in a cage by a toad? Toad is tried in a human court of law, and held in a human prison, if the pictures are to be counted as accurate, which they probably aren't. The author does make some attempts at reconciling the inconsistencies, since they have to coax the horse to pull the carriage when the horse would rather be part of the party, and Badger does explain that humans built what eventually became his burrows. Still, I've stumbled more than once as my brain balks at pure fancy.

I wonder if Mom never read me this book because these are the questions I would have asked as a child, and didn't want to deal with it at bedtime. Can't blame her, if that's the case.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Marketable Skills: Flexibility

This isn't easy for Turtles, and it isn't easy for some humans. Most of the time, things go as expected. That's why we're surprised when they don't. No matter how carefully you plan your work day, something is going to come up to derail it. That's when flexibility is useful.

Sometimes, the network goes down, taking the computers with it. Sometimes, the freezer goes out, leaving you with a potential loss of income and product. Sometimes, you get a bitter, jagged-edged disappointment instead of the news you want. You have to deal with these issues with calm courtesy (and hopefully some humor, which I haven't covered) instead of allowing the potential avalanche of disaster to crush you.

I think of Randall from Monsters, Inc. twining his monster-snaky way around obstacles with spineless ease. Computers are down? OK. Computers haven't always existed, so grab a pen, paper and calculator and do what you can, even if it's get a phone number to call them when the network is back up. A broken freezer might lead to half-priced ice cream, a call to a repair service and a trip to get ice from the gas station. Bitter disappointment is harder, but for a Christian, all things work together for good for those who love the Lord (Rom 8:28), so God will use even disappointment in His grand plan. You don't know the future. Don't bemoan the present.

Flexibility is about remembering your goal, and finding another way to reach it, preferably without panicking. Don't Panic isn't just advice for Hitchhikers. Or maybe it is. Aren't we all hitchhikers in this crazy galaxy?

If by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, 

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 

But make allowance for their doubting too; 

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, 

Or being hated, don't give way to hating, 

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise. 

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; 

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; 

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same; 

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, 

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools; 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss; 

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone, 

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 

Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, 

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, 

If all men count with you, but none too much; 

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, 

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son! 

It's true of women, too, and it's probably something you should post at your workstation and memorize. I knew it once.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Marketable Skills: Mind Your Business

Yes, it seems odd after harping on how important it is to be aware of your surroundings and courteous of your co-workers that I would tell you to mind your business. However, I don't mean mind your beeswax. I mean put your mind on your own business and keep it there.

It is very easy for humans to compare themselves with other humans. What is she doing? What is he getting? Why do they get X and I don't? That's not fair!

TT: Along with The Goblin King, I have to ask I wonder what your basis for comparison is? For all the life I've lived so far, I've never known any of it to be fair. I'm living proof life isn't fair, because I'm blessed above and beyond the norm, and way more than I deserve.

Even Peter asked Jesus what about John? (John 21:22) Jesus told Pete flat out, "If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you?" Meaning, mind your own business, Peter. I'm dealing with you, not John. I'll deal with John later, and it has nothing to do with you.

Talk about slap-down from the Savior.

As recently as yesterday, I would have said I have a pretty good handle on this skill. Between a very harsh lesson in my 12's, 6 years of therapy school about boundaries, and a natural tendency to not give a hoot and a half about other people's problems since I have plenty of my own, I'm good at minding my own business. In fact, when I start looking around for how co-workers may not be doing their jobs the way I would, I know I'm compensating for feeling out of control in my own life by trying to bring order to someone else's. Not helpful. Certainly not cool.

Today I had an extremely sharp reminder that I don't get my way all the time. I'm not in control of anything, really, except my attitude, and that's going to need at least one night of sleep to adjust. Things I thought were my business aren't, and things I didn't think were my business now are, and the whole world looks different than this morning, more of a yellow grey, with a bit of an acrid taste at the back of my nose. Time to reread Joseph's story.

Ah well. For what do we live but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?

Mind your business, and do your best at whatever job God puts in front of you. Your reward is in heaven, not here. Some days, that's all the hope we have.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Marketable Skills: Empathy

This one has been a little hard for me lately, which is no excuse. The skill exists regardless of my feelings. It is a thought exercise, not an emotional one.

Empathy is the ability to put yourself in another's place, even if you've never directly experienced what they're experiencing. Most people are completely incapable of doing this. This explains some of the incredibly stupid and hurtful things people say with good intentions at funerals. If you've experienced loss, you know it's better to keep your jaw clenched shut until you get home.

I've heard that people who read fiction have more empathy because they've experienced other lives through the written characters. Whatever. Good excuse to read fiction, as if you need one.

Your universe revolves around you. This is completely normal. However, at some point, you should realize that this is how every person experiences life. We are all little Suns thinking the entire universe rotates around us, when, in fact, we're lucky if we're one of those bits of shattered planet that circles Saturn or Jupiter.

When you understand you are not the Center of the Universe, you can start imagining what it would be like to be your customer. You work at Walmart (or don't. I mean, have you ever been asked where to find something in a store? It's because I have a "pleasant resting face," I know it is). Anyway, your customer needs X. You had a million things to do before the customer ever walked up. Congratulations! You now have a million and one. And you're going to treat Million and One like Number One because that's what you would want if your positions were reversed. If you needed X, would you want an employee who brushes you off and waves a vague direction with a mumbled reply, or one that leads you to the spot and hunts down the item? I will settle for clear directions and a specific pointed direction, but I'm more independent than most.

An old lady with a quavering voice calls in, and your heart sinks because she's going to take forever to help. Do you think she doesn't know that? Do you think she's not embarrassed by the quaver in her voice, or her slowness? She remembers when she was a fast, young whippersnapper like you, and she could leave you in her dust back then. She's someone's grandmother, for goodness' sake, not your personal hobgoblin! Show respect, treat her with the kindness and patience you would want extended to you (or your grandmother) in the same circumstances, and let God sort out the rest.

Empathy allows you to put your issues on hold, and help someone else in a calm, courteous way because that's how you would want to be helped. Empathy is essential in good communication, and it's quite useful in customer service.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Why I'm Writing Marketable Skills

Perhaps this should have been the first post, except sometimes I do things for a while without knowing why.

1) As I creep toward the management level, I see how rare most of these skills are. Typical employees only have one or two. Good employees maybe four or five, and good attitude is usually at the top.

2) I am frustrated by how rare these skills are (and that is most definitely feeding into the increasing snark of these posts). I haven't yet touched on a single skill that should not be practiced daily by an adult human in any aspect of his life. Yet, they aren't. Being courteous, considerate of others, and calm; having a good attitude, taking initiative and communicating your needs clearly: are these really that hard to do?

I work customer service. I trained as a therapist for 6 years before going into administrative fields (that's another post about don't indenture yourself to higher education for a career you may not pursue). Even before I started thinking management, I thought service. How can I serve the customer, my co-workers and my boss today? That's what adults think.

But we don't rear adults anymore. When 26 year-olds can be claimed as dependents by their parents for health insurance, when people with children come home and play video games instead of helping their children with homework (and who can when government education is now designed to make the parent obsolete?), when no one takes out the rotting trash because it's someone else's chore and you did yours already, we have a problem.

We are a nation of thoughtless brats doing our own thing, and screw anyone who gets in the way of our fun, and that goes twice for The Big Bad Boss. Newsflash, all you would-be socialists: the State doesn't give two biological waste deposits how you feel about your job. You'll get your "free" college, but you'll spend the rest of your educated life paying back the government in the job they give you while they take increasing percentages of your wages because they've run out of "rich people" to steal from. You don't want to be responsible for your own life? You won't be. You'll be told what to do, where to go, how much you'll make and how much you'll get to keep, and when you complain, it will be about how the Tea Party made all this happen (because providing scapegoats for the unhappy populace to blame is how socialists stay in power. Until the military outnumbers the disarmed civilians, that is).

That's why I'm frustrated. That's why I'm snarky. But it doesn't matter. Your brains barely understand human speech, let alone reading comprehension, so I'm ultimately writing as stress relief for myself, not as a way to convince you.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Marketable Skills: Communication

This is a skill that can be learned in school. In fact, you will almost never see it in the real world, so I recommend taking a few classes in case you're one of the vast majority of lemmings who has never written or spoken a coherent sentence. It will be years before you truly grasp what you're doing, but you can fake it until then.

Communication requires you to 1) know what you're trying to say, 2) organize your thoughts to maximize the impact of how you say it, and 3) know your audience to maximize their retention of what you have to say. Like when Peggy Hill wants to get Hank's attention, she mentions propane.

Rule 1: Communication is your responsibility. You are the one with something to say, and no one else, frankly, gives a rat's hind end about it. If you want to be heard, you must make your presentation clear and compelling.

Rule 2: Have a plan. Think before you speak or write. I seriously do not have the time to listen to you stammer and mutter around whatever point you have.*

Rule 3: Keep it brief. No one is going to wade through four dense paragraphs of anything to get the point at the last sentence. NO ONE. You don't do, so don't do it.

As a writer, this stuff is kind of basic for me, but it is a total freaking mystery to most of the world, who seem to believe all they have to do to communicate is open their mouths and let whatever unedited nonsense passing through their white matter at the time pour out. That may work for the significant other who just wants to get to the fun stuff, but it does not work on anyone else, so stop it.

Communication is hard work. People today are generally dumb as a bag of hammers and shallow as a rain puddle in Arizona. They aren't used to thinking at all, so you have to think for them in what you communicate. The proof is how easily lemmings believe anything they hear on TV. They're like that chick who knows they can't put anything on the Internet that isn't true. A news reporter can't possibly lie. He's a reporter.

Which leads to the caveat. There is great power in communicating well. People do tend to believe something written down, no matter how ridiculous, just because someone took the time to write it down without emoticons and punctuate it. If you are one of those communicative people, you can quickly rise to a position of authority over lemmings. Use your power wisely, because to those whom much is given, much is required (Luke 12:48), teachers will be judged more harshly (James 3:1), and causing little ones to stumble leads to serious consequences (Matt 18:6 and Mark 9:42).

Push button. Receive bacon.

*This attitude absolutely does not fly in the work world. You must practice patience in your dealings with the everyday, whether customers, co-workers or bosses. We'll cover that later.

Marketable Skills: Situational Awareness

Yesterday's post didn't cover it.

Yesterday, I lost 8 minutes of productivity diagnosing a problem with the printer that turned out to be lack of paper in the tray I needed. Have you noticed a theme in this posts? Refill the freaking paper tray, people!

However, I'm as much to blame because I didn't use situational awareness in diagnosing. I know we have a paper problem at work. Checking the paper level should have been my first thought instead of my last. Alas, I'm an optimist. I keep hoping someone else will start doing it, too.

Unrealistic expectations are the cancer of the interpersonal relationship.

Situational awareness has two parts:

1) Notice what's going on around you at the moment. In college, I learned the phrase be here now, and it applies everywhere. Pay attention to work when you're at work. Think about what you have to do and how you're going to get it done quickly and correctly. The second is more important than the first, but that's kind of like saying love is more important than hope.

This is hard for lemmings. They're usually thinking about the next iPhone fix. Smokers are usually thinking about the next smoke break. Anal retentives are thinking about how far away the bathroom is. I get it. I was addicted to Farmville for six years. I feel your pain.

Screw your pain. Focus on your work. Yes, it's hard. So is being an adult, and adults have to work to earn money to live. Until we all become socialists, anyway. Then we will work so others can live and we can die of starvation and curable diseases that no longer have available treatment resources. Welcome to Utopia, Sunshine.

2) Think ahead about your work issues. When you know a certain problem is common, like being out of paper, think about how that may affect your current project (or the project coming up you'll need special paper for) and make sure you have paper before you start. If what you do affects other people, plan your day to make their day easier. Save yourself time and frustration and come out looking like a rock star to your boss.

Ex: you stock produce. People can't buy produce if it isn't stocked. Plan your work so that when the store opens, customers can buy produce and checkers can check them out. No produce = no checking = unhappy customers and co-workers.* If you fail to plan ahead this way, your day will be spent putting out fires you set instead of calmly acting like an expert produce stocker who, yes, just happens to have those fresh kiwis you're looking for, sir. Here you go. Have a great day.

In a perfect work environment, everyone looks for ways to do their job better, everyone plans ahead and communicates their needs, and everyone is considerate of everyone else's time. That's being professional.

I have never worked in a perfect environment. I just do what I can to make it as perfect as I can, and hope to lead by example.

Addendum: don't hack off your co-workers unnecessarily. You share space with these folks at least 40 hours a week, and they have the power to make your life hell. It's like arranged polygamy. Whenever possible, plan your day to make theirs easier, and your day will be easier as a result. No one enjoys working with a Incompetent Cranky Puss, and even lemmings appreciate thoughtfulness. Well, some of them do.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Marketable Skills: Initiative

I've had to move a number of cats off my desk chair lately. I should probably open the laptop.

I considered a post about situational awareness, but initiative may cover it.

Once you enter the work environment, you will find yourself surrounded by mouth-breathers: people who stand and stare with their mouths open and wait to be told what to do, even when they're supposed to be the expert. Such people should be ashamed to breathe at all, but, sadly, they are the majority. I have on numerous occasions (not generally in writing) referred to them as sheep, lemmings, or Sunshine.

These folks are both the bane and the backbone of the workforce. Not being one of them should make your promotion a certainty, unless your immediate supervisor also happens to be a mouth-breather. In that case, you are working to impress her boss, and replace her. I recommend practicing competent kindness with co-workers during your ascension and a benevolent dictatorship to prevent a stampede.

The main problem with those lacking initiative is their failure to act when action is required. Whether it's simple inattentiveness, fear of fill-in-the-blank, or contemptible laziness, they will not step up and do what needs doing when it needs to be done. This can be as small as refilling the paper tray or as serious as allowing a customer's issue to escalate to the point of needing a manager. Most "manager-requiring" problems can be solved with the kind but firm application of store policy, unless store policy is "find the manager." In those cases, I recommend finding another job, preferably the manager's so you can change store policy. That's a stupid policy, unless your entire workforce are sheep and completely untrainable.

TT: I've found behavioral conditioning quite effective. Of course, you can put an iguana on a piano, but that doesn't mean it can play.

Initiative first requires you to pay attention to your surroundings. Look for things that need doing, and then do them, whether or not "it's your job." Sometimes it's not your job because no one thought they had to tell you to do something so simple.

At first, it will be small things like getting extra pens out of Supply or answering a call to help check at the front when you normally stock produce, but it will escalate to writing directions for tasks that should have directions, proposing the implementation of rules to save time and/or money/ the removal of rules that hinder productivity, or creating a job for yourself out of things that have always needed doing but no one saw before (yes, I've done that repeatedly. It's wonderful). You are on the ground floor, and your attentiveness here can bring you to the attention of those above you, for good or ill.

Caveat: the reward for doing a hard job well is to receive a harder job to do, usually with no more pay. This is why is it imperative to do all you do for the Lord. Lack of reward here means bigger returns in Heaven. That's not greedy; it's Biblical (Matt 6).

Push button. Receive bacon.

Checking In

Haven't had much to say lately, although I've been thinking a lot. Not much of it healthy.

I've been reading, too. Started with Anne McCaffrey's Crystal Singer trilogy, moved to Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles, and resumed reading HP Lovecraft to recover.

Lovecraft's The Case of Charles Dexter Ward is terrifying. Even if you haven't seen the B movie version The Resurrected with Chris Sarandon (for some unfathomable reason called Shatterbrain in the US) to provide horrific images to supplement Lovecraft's indescribable horrors, it's scary. Anything that takes place underground in the dark with open pits full of... well, it's scary. Enjoy.

This is Swamp Time for the Turtle, and I've been outside in earmuffs a lot. I'll be planting peas in another week and hoping for even better results than last year since I'll be planting them in spaces previously occupied by peas. Seems peas like being where other peas have been.

I cut through a clematis by accident yesterday, and had to take some time out for self-loathing and a bit of ranting. It's a young clematis and will no doubt come back just fine, but it was already budding, so I've delayed flowers by two months at least. Even seasoned gardeners screw up massively and hate themselves for it.

I've been going over my budget obsessively as I examine and reexamine how quickly I can pay off the mortgage. My contract says no penalty for early payoff. I doubt that's a standard clause, since everything I've read says it has to be in the contract to be true. I don't know if I was smart enough to put that in, my realtor was smart enough to insist on it, or God covered me.

The busy season is gearing up at work. I have plans to keep it under control, but life keeps getting in the way of my plans. Doesn't matter. The Turtle can teach rocks stubbornness. I will not be thwarted.

That's about it. Since I downgraded cable, I'm staying off Facebook more to avoid TWD spoilers. And politics. And general mass stupidity. The groupthink is getting painful out there.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Marketable Skills: Courtesy

I'm not talking about the yes, sir and no, ma'am practiced at your custody hearings. I mean actual courtesy.

Please and thank you do top the list. How hard is it to add please, and say thank you? Olympic gold medal hard, if a visit to Walmart is any indicator. Start at home, and practice with your pets. Say please when you call them to dinner and thank you when they come inside after doing their business. The animals won't mind, and it will become habit for you. Using those words regularly and without sarcasm softens both your voice and manner. While you're at it, try to mean the words. People know genuine courtesy when they hear it.

Think of others. You're not the only person who uses paper, so make the time to refill it, or any other supply you notice may be lacking. No, you don't always have the time right then, but do it when you do. God will notice, even if no one else does. Hold the door for the person behind you, man or woman. Nothing in your silly life can't wait 2 minutes. Help the person at the grocery store reach the top shelf. That's why God made you tall.

Make requests, not demands. Rarely do you have the authority to order another human to do something, unless you're a drill sergeant. You can ask them to do something, and if you ask nicely, and it isn't a ridiculous request, they're likely to do it. You're the same way; you know you are. We all like to be asked, not ordered.

Open your mouth when you speak. Your words are important. Don't mutter them. Don't garble them. Enunciate. Mumbling is dragging your mouth the way shuffling is dragging your feet. Both are lazy and discourteous. Don't do it if you are physically capable of doing otherwise. Most of you lemmings are, if you'll put your phones down long enough to let a thought form.

Do unto others as you would have them do to you. That actually is in the Bible: Matt 7:12, unlike many of those pithy proverbs Grandma chirped at us like "God helps those who help themselves" (patently false) and "Cleanliness is next to Godliness" (you made that up). The Golden Rule is about courtesy. The world isn't here to serve you. Quite the reverse, Jesus would say, so be polite in your service.

Courtesy dovetails nicely with calm. Practicing genuine courtesy while remaining calm is a combo that will fast-track you to management.

Caveat: courtesy alone isn't worth much. The incompetent can please and thank me to death and fail to solve my problem, which leaves them in the dust as I seek satisfaction elsewhere. Competence has a higher XP, but without courtesy, competence leaves customers cold.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Marketable Skills: Calm

We live in a society of drama queens. No task is too small to bemoan, no slight too slight to take offense. When you work in the world of customer service, and let's face it, all work except politics is customer service, one of your best skills is remaining calm.

Customers show up with all manner of baggage. Their particular problem with your company at that moment is just the tip of the iceberg, and if you are not careful, you may collide with a lifetime of therapy-deserving issues with a single sentence. When this happens, remain calm.

1) Focus on the immediate problem. Ask questions, slowly and carefully, and listen to the answers. Bring all your knowledge of how your company works into the situation. How did this situation come about? This moment is not about assigning blame. Some customers will begin with it's all the company's fault; some begin with apologies for how they screwed up: neither is relevant. Your goal is to correctly identify the problem and solve it, not assign blame.

2) Slow down. Angry and anxious people speed up. Their voices rise in pitch and volume. The words pour out of them because they expect an argument, and they've geared up for the fight. You're not going to fight with them. You don't have to. You're going to calmly diagnose the problem and present them with their options. Sometimes this means letting them vent a bit, but even that works for you. Once a customer feels they have been heard, they start to calm down, too. Keep your voice level and slow. Not insultingly slow, but normal slow. If you keep your cool, the customer will join you in the Land of Calm.

3) Be genuine. When you begin practicing this skill, and you will practice it every day you live, it will feel false. You don't want to be calm when someone yells at you. You want to either yell back or slam the phone down and hide in the bathroom. You will not do either. You will breathe deeply, focus more on them than yourself, and solve the problem. You may get thanked, you may not, but you will keep your job and probably rise to manager rather quickly, because this skill is rare indeed among the Commonwealth.

One caveat. You also have baggage, and that will come into play with some customers. When your usual calm slips, it may be your own issues being triggered. Hopefully, you will be able to tag-team those cases without prejudice because of your stellar service record. However, if it happens with every phone call, I recommend real therapy and possibly a job change. You have issues.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Marketable Skills: Attitude

Imagine for a moment you're self-employed. Don't get too cocky. As the saying goes, the self-employed soon learn he works for a jackass.

However, to one extent or another, everyone is self-employed. You are your own manager. You decide how you spend your time at work. You choose to be industrious, cheerful and competent, or you choose to be slovenly, recalcitrant and vicious. If you were your boss, which employee would you choose to keep?

The Duke's Handmaid beautifully illustrates the idea of the willing slave. Is it slavery if you choose it? I'm not saying be a slave, but I am saying attitude goes a long way in making drudgery into delight. Choosing to be happy, to do your best, to treat each day as a gift from God is hard. Some days I don't feel like it at all. However, I try to keep a few things in mind.

One, God made us to work. Before the Fall and the Curse, God put Adam and Eve in the garden to tend it. That's work. Our bodies are designed to move. Our brains designed to think. Work allows us to do both. It is a privilege to be healthy and mobile. I know a lot of Friends who aren't. I don't consider work something to do until I retire. Work is what I do. It gives me a reason to get up in the morning, and wears me out so I can sleep at night. Work makes me strong, and smart. Work gives me opportunities to glorify God in other peoples' lives. Work is a gift.

Two, I chose this job. I don't live in Russia, or China. The government doesn't yet assign me a job (although all you socialists out there are trying to change that, bless your brain-damaged little selves). If I hate my job so much I'm miserable day in and day out, I need to pour my energies into finding another job. Good heavens, people, stop hanging around a place you hate. Is your life really so miserable you don't know what's like to not be miserable? *shakes head* I guarantee a change in self is the only way you'll really solve your problems, but try another job if you're not up to that challenge.

Three, I have a job. There are lots and lots of folks out there right this minute who don't. They don't know where their next paycheck is coming from, or when. I am grateful that is not one of my problems. I have plenty of others.

Check your attitude. Christians, especially, since we have so many Biblical directives on this point. Is your daily work gratifying to your Master? Do you strive to do everything for his glory and in his service? You don't have to be a pastor to serve God, and your witness in a "normal" setting can have a huge impact on the unsaved.

I serve God first, but He likes it when I do a good job for my human bosses and co-workers. Love your neighbor as yourself.

Finally, most bosses will keep a cheerful fool just because good attitudes can make all the difference in getting through a tough day. A cheerful and competent employee? That's gold.

Applaud the jellyfish.

My Dad on... Eating From Bowls

Dad was not a teacher. Mom holds that title. What I learned from Dad was mostly caught, not taught. With a couple of exceptions.

How to Eat Pudding

1. Pudding is served in a bowl with a scoop of whipped cream on top.
2. Using the back of your spoon, frost the pudding with the whipped cream, covering all visible pudding surface. Keep it as evenly spread as possible.
3. Start at the edge and scoop pudding spoonful by spoonful from the wall of the bowl inward, creating a reverse donut. The goal is to have a tower of whipped cream-topped pudding in the middle of the bowl as the last full bite. Take your time. This is the only dessert you get.
4. Lick the bowl.
Exception: if the pudding is still warm (as in, Mom made it on the stove) eat it as fast as you can, 'cause duh-am! that stuff is good. Dad never said duh-am! but he would have agreed with me. After washing my mouth out with Lava soap.

How to Eat Original Cheerios Because Your Parents Don't Want to Feed You Commercially Sugared Cereals (or Maybe Because Dad Like Original Cheerios)

1. Fill the bowl with Cheerios and milk. DO NOT fill it so full of milk that Cheerios fall out of the bowl. This is a skill to be mastered, like pouring beer without spilling foam.
2. Using the back of your spoon, dunk the top layer of Cheerios into the milk to dampen them.
3. Sprinkle sugar on the dampened Cheerios. The sugar will now stick to the Cheerios so you get sugared bites instead of having to wait to eat the sludge at the bottom of the bowl. You may sprinkle sugar on each layer of Cheerios until you are done, 'cause the sludge at the bottom is kind of the best part.
4. Drink the milk from the bowl after the Cheerios are gone and lick the sludge from the bottom.

There was a lot of bowl-licking with Dad, except in restaurants. Learned that one the hard way.

Push button. Receive bacon.

My Dad

I don't talk about him much, but he's on my mind a lot. Maybe every day. It's hard to quantify something like that because the moment you ask "have I thought about Dad today," you have.

Dad was 5'6", which means I am 3 inches taller than he ever was. His driver's license said his eyes were hazel green, but they were the blue hazel that ranged from bright blue to gray-green depending on his shirt. I have his eyes. I have his near-sightedness and motion sickness, too. I wish I had his nose.

Dad finished the basement in the old house, including a free-standing gas fireplace with a suspended hood, but his favorite medium was metal, and his favorite projects were "things with engines." He built boats, trailers, cars, docks and an airplane. Many hours of my life were spent riding in Tolbert's Toy, a barely street-legal dune buggy he made himself.

Dad loved to ski slalom, chase hot air balloons, and go to Dairy Queen for banana splits. He loved cats (although you had to catch him at it) and kids, and they loved him back fiercely.

Dad spoiled me rotten. On Saturdays, he would be up and working in the garage by 6, and I would climb into his side of the bed to watch cartoons on their bedroom TV. I could call, and he would come all the way to the back of the house to change the channel for me. He brought my teddy bear to the hospital before my emergency appendectomy, and he once brought me some pads in a paper sandwich bag on an overnight youth trip when my period showed up early, and Mom was unavailable. OK, those last two aren't proof of spoilage, but just fond memories.

Dad never talked about growing up. He had a scar on his arm that he told me was the result of a wasp attack. That I believed him shows how young I was. Mom later said it was a knife scar from a gang fight, and he was terribly ashamed of it. He probably wouldn't like me sharing that, but he's not here so I'll share what I want.

Dad was incredibly strong. Mom told me they once came on an over-turned semi wreck, and Dad climbed onto the hood and pulled the windshield out with his bare hands to free the driver. I know there were jars we had to throw away after he died because he had twisted them shut.

Dad used to drive me to school because I didn't want to learn to drive, and he saw no reason I should have to. We listened to Larry Burkett together.

Dad worked for the State. I often wonder if he ever walked outside on his lunch break, or if we would lunch together now, and I would tell him about my job, and he would give me advice. Dad had amazing tact, and a true talent for getting along with jerks. Not that I work with jerks.

Dad would have been happy that I published two books, but I doubt he would have read them. His tastes were more biographies and technical journals. Maybe he would.

I don't talk much about my Dad, but I miss him. I miss him more every year he's gone. I know he would love his grandchildren, and would make spaces in the garage for stray cats and baby possums, and chase hot air balloons and stop for banana splits. I'm glad I have his eyes, and his motion sickness, and his tact. I wish I had his strength.

I should stop now. I can hear him: You'd better quit that crying or I'll give you something to cry about.

You kind of did, Dad, but I love you anyway.

Applaud the jellyfish.

The Things I Don't Say

During my blog review, I was surprised at how many details I left out. Some of those posts are so vague, I'm not even sure what life events I was talking about.

The same with my paper journals from the last 20 years. Not that I've journaled a whole lot on paper, but when I did, they are fairly general topics, and very few names, unless they are prayer requests.

Pretty sure I learned this as an undergrad. In the therapy field, the written word can get subpoenaed, and becomes part of court history and what feels like the entire world reads it. If that isn't enough to make a person's palms sweaty, well, you're a lemming. Write whatever you want. You won't notice when it bites you.

Of course, it should have been Harriet the Spy and Biloxi Blues that taught me to keep my pen shut, but my adolescent journals are not nearly so close-mouthed. God forbid, should any of them be published posthumously, my deepest apologies to all slandered. I was a child ranting about childish things.

Why don't I destroy those? Shrug. They're part of my history. Perhaps the nieces will realize Aunt Robynn makes mistakes, too, and not just in her close-minded clinging to guns and religion. I come from critical stock. I've worked hard to prune that branch.

Fact is, I write when I'm upset, and that's a terrible time to commit details to paper. Bad enough I say things I shouldn't. Writing them down is as close to permanent as we come in this life. I don't need that following me around like a time bomb.

Push button. Receive bacon.

9.99

I read a book review, went to find the book, and - sure enough - the ebook price is $9.99.

I can't pay $9.99 for an ebook. I can't. I have 300 page print books in my library with $2.95 stamped on the cover. Yes, they were purchased in the 70's, but that's where my values are.

When I like a book, I will buy a print copy. The zombie apocalypse won't see me lacking in good reading material (thank you, Dale, for the heads' up). I won't know if I like a book unless I read it first, and that's what ebooks are for. They're the sample to decide if that story is worth $15-$20 more dollars and valuable space in my 823 square foot house. If it isn't, I only spent $2.99 to find out. That's $2.99 you the author wouldn't have had from me if you'd priced your book at $9.99.

You might say the library is where I should read books first, but I haven't stepped into our library since they installed metal detectors. If I can't bring my machete, I'm not going in. Zombies can appear anywhere, people. ANYWHERE. Call yourselves scholars, she mumbles.

The most I ever paid for an ebook was $8.99, and it was Patrick Rothfuss' The Name of the Wind. I resented it deeply. Yes, I bought a print copy, and I didn't bother with an ebook for the next one.

If I ever charge $9.99 for an ebook, you have my permission to call me out for a hypocrite, and any other nasty name you care to level my way. If I won't pay it, I won't ask you to pay it, either.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Stretching and Zombie Skulls

I resumed Classical Stretch this morning.

I had to quit during my extended bout of vertigo that started over Christmas. Couldn't handle most movement for over a month. The funny thing was, during that month, my back didn't hurt. At all. Which was a tremendous blessing because I don't know how I could have lain completely still to combat the motion sickness while my back screamed at me for lying completely still.

However, my back was so pain-free, I started wondering if the stretching was causing the pain. I mean, I stretched for three months and had extreme back-pain all that time.

I needn't have worried. About a week ago, the back started hurting again, enough to wake me up at night, and follow me to work during the day, despite oils and aspirin. I'm starting to wonder if I should see a doctor. I mean, what are the symptoms of bone cancer?

TT: A co-worker asked why I thought it was cancer. "I always go worst-case scenario first," I assured her. She rolled her eyes and suggested I might start with a chiropractor.

The part that hurts doesn't even seem to have a specific name. I've looked really hard. The whole muscle is called the latissimus dorsi, but only the part that sits between that dimple in the middle of the backside and the top of my hips hurts. How does that part even get stretched?

Anyway, I have to do something physical. There is no point going into The Swamp when it's frozen, and that's where I work out my stress. For the first time, I'm wishing I had a set of weights.

TT: I did go out last night and spend 10 minutes hacking at the tree stump with my new-to-me mattock, thinking about zombie skulls (and a couple of not-yet-zombie skulls) with each chop. Have I mentioned people frustrate me?

I'm sad about how much flexibility I've lost in 6 weeks, but that's OK. I'm in this for the long haul. Like life.

Push button. Receive bacon.

An Inconvenient Life

I'm having one of those Elijah moments, when the stress has ebbed, and I'm really, really tired, irritable and depressed. I should be happy and grateful for the lag, but I'm not. I know what's coming, I know how little time I have to do things that need to be done yet keep getting pushed to the back-burner, and it annoys me.

I'm not a Type A personality, no matter what the folks at my day job think. If I were, I would have 10-15 books written at this point, and most of them published in the last three years. I try to live my work life cheerfully and efficiently, and I succeed for the most part.

Have you ever noticed how inconvenient it is to do the right thing? I use "right" here in a broad, non-religious sense. I could as easily say the "nice" thing. The paper is almost used up. The nice thing to do is refill it, but that's inconvenient, so leave it to the next guy, who has just as much work to do as you do. The nice thing is to let that car that's been signaling for a mile pull in front of you, but that could mean you miss the light and then you would miss the first 5 minutes of How I Met Your Mother, and that just can't be allowed to happen, so screw "nice." The nice thing is to pull that worm out of that puddle, but God forbid you get your hands wet and/or dirty. There are other worms. That one can drown.

People, in general, suck. Adam and Eve chose self over others, and their children have been doing it ever since. Even the first church couldn't sustain selfless giving past the first generation of believers.

I have a guiding rule about interpersonal relationships: be nice. It becomes increasingly hard to live that rule in a society of hypocrites that shoot off at the mouth about how we should all be taking care of each other yet have no problem cheating on taxes, or texting while driving, or stealing anything that isn't tied to someone's back. Don't see the problem? Then you're part of it.

However, your actions don't trump my choice. I will be nice, and you can all go to Hell in your handbaskets.

Push button. Receive bacon.

A Step Away

Somewhere in this blog I've mentioned the Gillhams, Bill and Anabel, of Lifetime Ministries. Can't find the post at the moment, but I will eventually.

Bill Gillham was a psychologist and minister, and made a career out of teaching that there is no "Old Man" after salvation, so the fight isn't between the New Man and the Old Man but between the New Man and Sin, "Sin" being an exterior personification of evil, much as Wisdom is personified in Proverbs. I'm not going to do justice to a lifetime ministry in one blurb, so I'll leave it at that.

On one of his videos, he said we always talk about Heaven being "up there" or "away yonder," but what if Heaven starts an inch above the ground? What if we walk through Heaven every single day, but we can't perceive it because we're still in our unresurrected skin suits? Would it make a difference to imagine yourself moving through Heaven as you move through your day?

Randy Alcorn makes the argument that this physical world will be resurrected, too, so we are, in effect, occupying the space Heaven will eventually occupy. I suspect Heaven is already here, but phase-shifted.

Anyway, it makes a difference to me to imagine Heaven around me all the time. I find peace in the thought that no matter what step I take, I'm stepping into Jesus, like Michael J. Fox's character in The Frighteners steps into ghosts. Only not ectoplasm-y.

I am a creature of moods, like Rosamund in The Lost Princess. Sometimes they shake me in their teeth, and all I can do is clamp my jaws shut and wait for the next mood. I've been there a few days, but I'm coming 'round. Heaven is a step away, after all. Why should I be moody?

Push button. Receive bacon.

I've Been Reading

The first month of 2016 has been a bit much at work. Three people left us for new jobs, The Powers That Be have rearranged other jobs, and I am training four people on four different "desks" (sets of job duties). I've never done this kind of training before, and my students are varied in skill sets and aptitude. Fortunately, they are all adults willing to try, and that is half the battle.

My hourly mantra, both spoken and prayed, is "we will get through this," and the proof of my enforced confidence is... we are. Everyone is learning, and adapting, and gaining competence, and the world is settling into a calmer pattern.

In the past, this kind of brain fry would involve Farmville clicking for hours in the evening, but I gave that up as being not only unhelpful but demonstrably harmful.

Anne McCaffrey's Crystal Singer kept coming to mind - the tale of a woman driven to be The Best in whatever difficult, prestigious career she could find - so I read that this weekend, and was relieved to discover I still love the book.

TT: Sometimes my younger-self feelings don't match my older-self worldview anymore, and I've lost some favorite enjoyments as a result.

I've moved to Killashandra, and will finish off with Crystal Line eventually. It's been nice to turn off the electronics - except for the blanket - crack the spine of an old scifi novel, and remember why I love Anne's style. Add some Benedryl and Bayer back and body aspirin, and I've even managed to sleep through the night two nights in a row. It's a miracle.

Push button. Receive bacon.

House of Prayer

I am a pray-er. I pray a lot. Not usually in specific, on-my-knees sessions, but throughout the day and night, an ongoing conversation with God covering requests, emotions, thanks and rants. Proverbs 3:5-6 is one of my favorite verses. I take the "in all your ways acknowledge him" part very seriously, expecting him to "direct my path."

TT: This was why it was so hard for me and him to be on the outs in the Winter of 2012. How do you stop talking to someone who's been in the room with you for 30+ years?

I take my example from Moses, who was "a friend of God." I talk to my friends, and I rarely hold back. So, I pray.

God recently reminded me he answers prayers long-term.

See, some of my prayers are immediate, like "God, I need that notebook for work. Please show me where it is." He did, btw, within minutes.

Most of my prayers are long-term, and I don't expect to see the results in this life, like "God, protect Big Brother and all of his Siblings in Black and cousins in emergency services. Protect them mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically from all that comes against them today." I have no idea how God actually does that for all the law enforcement officers in Topeka, but I know he's working on it, and I thank him every day Big Brother comes home well.

Years ago, I studied prayer under Jim Cymbala of the Mormon Tabernacle. Not personally; it was a devotional. Pretty sure he compared prayer to building a house. Houses are built one brick at a time. You don't lay a brick and expect the house to be finished. You keep laying bricks. Just because I don't see an instant result doesn't mean nothing is happening. My house of prayer won't be finished until this life is over and the next begins. God is kind to let me see results now, but he is kinder to produce results. That's why I pray.

Keep praying. Pray for the big issues and the little ones. Tell God your hopes and fears. He already knows them, so don't hold back. Our goal isn't to make God do something; it's to open our eyes to what he is doing, every day.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Wait and See

Have you heard the story of the old farmer who had a beautiful, well-trained horse? The whole village said that was good. The farmer said, "wait and see."

The horse runs away. The village says you were right, having a horse was bad.
"Wait and see."

The horse comes back with six wild horses. The village says you were right. The horse running away was good.
"Wait and see."

The farmer's son breaks his leg while breaking one of the wild horses. "You were right. Getting those horses was bad."
"Wait and see."

The kingdom goes to war, and all the sons are drafted, except the farmer's. "You were right. The broken leg was a good thing."
"Wait and see."

The point of the tale, of course, is we can't really tell what works for us or against us until the very end of the story. The meaning of each incident was affected by what went before and what came after.

My nature is to draw conclusions from facts. That isn't changing. I am learning that what seems a disaster might be opportunity, and what feels like an end may be a beginning. False expectations ruin more lives than actual problems.

I don't have all the facts. I don't know how God will use your life or mine. I only know that He has, and He will continue.
"Wait and see."

Applaud the jellyfish.

Mortgages, part 3, or The Happy Part

I got another end of year report from my mortgage company. The escrow account estimates.

See, insurance and taxes are paid out of the mortgage. At least, mine are. I don't know if that's normal or not.

All that money I've paid? I forgot a portion of it is insurance and taxes. Almost a third of the refinanced mortgage payments, actually, if my estimates are correct. That means in 10 years, almost a third of what I paid to the mortgage company was taxes and insurance, not interest. I would have been paying that anyway.

So, I haven't been wasting my time, or money, paying ahead on principal. The mortgage company isn't lying about what I've paid on the principal. That huge amount breaks out into smaller, reasonable amounts. I just had to take a couple of weeks and marinate on it.

I still wish I'd known to get a 15-yr, fixed rate mortgage with 20% down, but I did what I could at the time, and it wasn't horrible. I still have a real chance of paying this off in 3 years.

I'm not likely to ever "make the money back" by selling the house, but I never intended to sell the house. I bought this house for life. We like each other most days, and I like to think we respect each other the rest of the time.

So this is probably the last post about the mortgage for a few years, but I will absolutely let you all know when the last payment is posted.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Mortgages, part 2

So there I am with a new 30 yr, lower interest fixed-rate mortgage on the same amount of money, no PMI, paying extra on principal. Larry would be proud. I didn't know Dave yet.

I thought that was fabulous, so I put it on auto-pilot.  I met Dave, heard I'd still done it kinda wrong, shrugged it off, and lived my life for the next 10 years.

This winter, I ran some year-end reports. I do this every year, but this was the year I paid attention to the mortgage. I used a mortgage calculator from the Internet (and we all know those have to be true), and learned I might be able to pay off the mortgage in 3-6 years.

I got nervous, and excited. Could this be true? Was I really that close? I could be gazelle-intense (a Dave phrase) for 3 years, if it meant ending the mortgage. Hope in the future revived.

Then I ran some more reports.

I was stunned. HOW MUCH money had I paid on this house already?! Quicken doesn't lie, and I'm very careful about categories, so there it was in black and red. The first mortgage, the refinanced mortgage...

Where was my savings? Why wasn't the house paid off with those amounts? Were they lying to me about how much I owed? Who kept tabs on mortgage companies and how did I complain?

I got instantly depressed, then angry, then depressed again. The money was gone. I'd been duped. Again. Like Lavender Squeak, only with way more 1000's of dollars.

I ran more internet mortgage calculators and couldn't find the same results as the first one. I got more depressed as the time stretched far into eternity. Eight years feels like an eternity compared to three.

I used the mortgage company's calculator, and decided those folks just plain lie. They're like credit card companies. They probably call me a deadbeat because I pay early.

That's where I sat for a week.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Mortgages

You thought I'd moved on, didn't you? Nope. Just got real quiet while I kept worrying at it.

This is advice for the young people, who don't bother to read anyway, so I guess it's really for me to get off my chest.

I grew up listening to Larry Burkett of Crown Ministries on the radio on the drive to school. RIP, Larry. I'll hug you long and hard when we meet in heaven.

When I bought a house, I knew to get a fixed-rate (as in the interest rate remains the same through the whole life of the mortgage instead of going up and down with interest rates in the market) mortgage and pay extra on principal with every payment. I also knew to specify "principal" when I paid, so the money didn't get applied somewhere else, like interest. I knew to buy less house than the bank said I could afford because the bank is only in it to get the interest, and the bigger the loan, the more I pay the bank in interest over the lifetime of the loan.

I bought my house with a 30 yr, fixed-rate mortgage and paid extra principal on every payment. Not crazy extra but as close to $100 per month more as I could get by rounding up.

I hadn't met Dave Ramsey, also a Larry Burkett student, before I bought my house. I started listening to him years later, and it took a while for him to make sense. I get it now.

Dave says to put at least 20% of the cost of the house down in cash to remove the PMI (mortgage insurance) which is a huge portion of those initial mortgage payments.

I didn't have 20% at the time I bought the house, but God was kind, and between what I paid down with extra principle, and the house value going up, I was able to refinance in 5 yrs with a lower interest rate and no PMI.

I kept paying that extra principal, knowing the sooner I paid off the loan, the less interest I would end up paying the bank. I felt good about myself.

More tomorrow.

Push button. Receive bacon.

A Survey of...Daughter of Anasca

1. What’s your word count? Aiming for 100K. Haven't quite cut it that much yet. 

2. How long until you finish? Depends on when it gets published.  

3. If you have finished, how long did it take you?  Feels like 400 hours, but less than that, probably. 

4. Do you have an outline? I thought I did. That was most of my problem. 

5. Do you have a plot? See answer above. 

6. How many words do you typically write a day? skip, 

7. What was your greatest word count in one day? skip, 

8. What was your least impressive word count in one day? skip to my lady...

9. What inspired you to write? This one? Dare I say it? ElfQuest. And some movie involving Maureen O'Hara and Errol Flynn involving shepherds and ranchers.

10. Does your novel have a theme song?
Little John & the Band from the Robin Hood Prince of Thieves soundtrack This is the song running through my head during Dyana's fight with the boarase.

11. Assign each of your major characters a theme song.
Dyana: Annie's Song by Roger Whittaker. I can't believe I found this version! I love it!
Glorya: Love Has a Hold on Me by Amy Grant
Cahnar: I Will Be Here by Steven Curtis Chapman. I don't like this version. It's too slow, but, again, it was all I could find on YouTube. 
Spidraax She's Like the Wind by Patrick Swayze Yes, this could be Dyana's theme song, but it isn't.

12. Which character is most like you? Glorya.

13. Which character would you most likely be friends with? Glorya. 

14. Do you have a Gary-Stu or Mary Sue character? No. 

15. Who is your favorite character in your novel? Harimer. 

16. Have your characters ever done something completely unexpected? Yes. 

17. Have you based any of your novel directly on personal experiences? Not this one. Can't think of a single thing in this one. 

18. Do you believe in plot bunnies? Don't know what they are. Sound delicious. 

19. Is there magic in your novel? Two kinds. 

20. Are any holidays celebrated in your novel? Is marriage a holiday? 

21. Does anyone die? Yes.

22. How many cups of coffee/tea have you consumed during your writing experience? 4 per day on average. 

23. What is the latest you have stayed up writing? 11 PM. 

24. What is the best line? Oh, so many...
"What do you suffer in this arrangement?"
Before Cahnar could speak the word poised on his tongue, Harimer interrupted.

"Hamstring her. Height means nothing if she cannot walk."
"Thank you.That is the kind of help I want." 

25. What is the worst line? I suppose all the lines I don't giggle about.

26. Have you dreamed about your novel or its characters? Not these. 

27. Does your novel rely heavily on allegory? No. 

28. Summarize your novel in under fifteen words. There are worse things than marriage. 

29. Do you love all your characters? Yes. 

30. Have you done something sadistic or cruel to your characters specifically to increase your word count? No. I like hurting them for no reason.

31. What was the last thing your main character ate? Dyana? Poisoned fruit. 

32. Describe your main character in three words.
Dyana: reckless, headstrong, spitfire.
Glorya: cautious, determined, righteous. 

33. What would your antagonist dress up as for Halloween? Herself. 

34. Does anyone in your story go to a place of worship? Yes. 

35. How many romantic relationships take place in your novel? Two. 

36. Are there any explosions in your novel? Not this one. 

 37. Is there an apocalypse in your novel? Not this one. 

38. Does your novel take place in a post-apocalyptic world? No. 

39. Are there zombies, vampires or werewolves in your novel? No. 

40. Are there witches, wizards or mythological creatures/figures in your novel? Witches, yes. 

41. Is anyone reincarnated? No. 

42. Is anyone physically ailed? Not sure what this means. Disabled...actually, yes. 

43. Is anyone mentally ill? So very many. 

44. Does anyone have swine flu? No. 

45. Who has pets in your novel and what are they? No pets. 

46. Are there angels, demons, or any religious references/figures in your novel? Demons, yes. And plenty of religious references. 

47. How about political figures? These are princes and princesses, so, yes, I suppose. 

48. Is there incessant drinking? A liberal application of potions, yes. 

49. Are there board games? If so, which ones? No. Do have some hakisak, though.


50. Are there any dream sequences? No.


51. Is there humor? Boy, I hope so. 

52. Is there tragedy? Absolutely. 

53. Does anyone have a temper tantrum? So many. 

54. How many characters end up single at the end of your novel? Most of them. 

55. Is anyone in your novel adopted? Depends. Can in-laws count? 

56. Does anyone in your novel wear glasses? Nope. Not invented. 

57. Has your novel provided insight about your life? It was no walk in the park, I'll tell ya that.  

58. Your personality? Bits of me all over the place.

59. Has your novel inspired anyone? Quick, somebody comment! 

60. How many people have asked to read this novel? Nine? I gave it to eight of them. *evil grin*

61. Have you drawn any of your characters? Yep. Check out my website Elementals page for the little sketches. The big drawings won't fit on my scanner. 

62. Has anyone drawn your characters for you? Not to my knowledge. 

63. Does anyone vomit in your novel? Not in this one. I had enough of that with my first. 

64. Does anyone bleed in your novel? Everybody. 

65. Do any of your characters watch TV? Doesn't exist. 

66. What size shoe does your main character wear? Dyana: 5s. Glorya: 8s.

67. Do any of the characters in your novel use a computer? Don't exist. 

68. How would you react if your novel was erased entirely? I'd kill myself. After I killed whoever erased it. With a spoon. It would not be pretty. 

69. Did you cry at killing off any of your characters? No. 

70. Did you cheer when killing off one of your characters? No. 

71. What advice would you give to a fellow writer? Don't pour new wine into old wineskins. You'll end up with a mess. 

72. Describe your ending in three words. Happily until sequel. 

73. Are there any love triangles, squares, hexagons, etc.? Yes. 

74. On a scale of 1-10 (1 being the least stressful, 10 being the most) how does your stress rank? I don't understand the question. Where's my spoon?


75. Was it worth it? Totally.
Don't know if this survey was...

Bone Broth Recipe

Normal people call it "broth." That's really all it is - homemade broth.

This is my third Winter using bone broth, and I am willing to swear it's why I haven't gotten the creeping crud in that amount of time. While the rest of the office sounds like a Nyquil commercial, I'm doing fine.

I originally tried it for my teeth, but that was a bust. Turns out, it increases tartar, which is why it's important to buy antibiotic-free animals. I use chicken, but this could be done with anything that has bones. According to the blood type diet, chicken is poisonous to blood types B and AB, so those folks should definitely use something else to make their broth.

You're looking at 16 hours for this. I usually start the chicken between 10 and noon on a Saturday, debone it for dinner, and cook the bones overnight.

Chicken Bone Broth recipe

1. Cook a whole, antibiotic-free fryer chicken in a crockpot for 6 hours. Keep in mind, you'll be dissolving this sucker to ingest. Don't skimp on the wholesome goodness. Then again, you'll be making this once or twice a month, so don't be crazy, either. Don't add anything to the pot except the bird. It will cook just fine by itself.

2. Debone the chicken. This takes about 20 minutes if you haven't over-cooked the bird and you're being measured by seven animals trying to decide which would taste better - the bird, or you if you don't hand it over. Use the meat any way you'd normally use chicken.

3. Put all the bones back in the crockpot. I also add whatever skin and fat I haven't offered to the furbabies.

4. Add water. How much depends on how concentrated you want your broth, and how much space you have in your crockpot. I generally add about 6 cups. Enough to easily cover the bones.

5. Add lemon juice for blood types A, or vinegar for blood types O. The acid breaks down the bones, and that's why you're doing this.

5. Cook bones for another 10 hours. You can smash them up a bit after 5 hours, if you're awake.

6. Strain into another container to cool. A colander works fine to catch the bones and big chunks. I put that stuff into the trash because even though the bones are soft enough to crush with my tongue (I've tried it), I don't take risks with giving bones to my furbabies. The broth will form tallow on top, and aspic (jelly) on the bottom. These things all melt back into broth when heated, so don't be a sissy.

7. I separate the broth into 2 cup containers, and freeze all but one. I add broth to anything I'm cooking, and I've been known to just heat a cup and drink it if I feel I need an immune boost. You'll need to add salt if you do this.

You can add garlic and ginger to the broth for additional immune boosting, but I don't because the cats lick my bowls and garlic is poisonous to them.

That's it. If you can get over the ick factor of ripping apart a carcass, you, too, can enjoy amazing health benefits.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Not Fair

Sarah: "It's not fair!"
Goblin King: "You say that so often. I wonder what your basis of comparison is."
Labrynth

He's right, of course. Life is seldom fair, yet we all innately expect it to be. Why is that? If we evolved by chance, why do humans expect the universe to balance the scales, the "good" to be rewarded and the "bad" to be punished? How do we even define "good" and "bad"?

I generally mock those who live according to their feelings. I've asserted consistently that mind must rule over emotions. Emotions aren't bad. They are the sauce over the rice and beans of real life. But you can't live on sauce.

TT: I do understand some people process the world differently than I do, and their emotions lead them to conclusions just as accurate as my observation-based conclusions. I am not speaking of those people.

I really can't put into words how much my feelings have altered because of Heaven. Instead of looking at a budding plant and seeing its inevitable, meaningless death, I now look and see a future perfection. Don't worry, my feelings whisper. Every effort here will one day translate into beauty there. All life comes from God. No life is wasted. No life is lost.*

That reads as sort of new agey, but I assure you, I mean that one day, humans and the universe will be restored to what we should have been: physically, emotionally and spiritually. A flower that grows now has a purpose that translates into eternity. I may not understand it, but I believe it. I've always believed it, but I couldn't justify it biblically. Randy justifies it.

Now, Randy readily admits where his imagination takes over from scripture. He's not my new guru, and I don't take everything he writes as gospel. A lot of it is extrapolation, and some of it is a bit far-fetched. However, he extrapolates from the goodness of God angle instead of the meanness of God angle.

The first lie ever told was "Has God told you not to eat of any tree in the Garden?" Gen 3:1. Meaning, is God so cruel he made all of this and then won't let you enjoy it?

No. He isn't that cruel. His creation was good, and one day, it will be totally good, for all eternity.

Push button. Receive bacon.

*This has implications for those who reject Christ's gift of redemption. They, too, will exist physically for all eternity, but their existence will not be glorious. Jesus said more about hell in his earthly ministry than he did about heaven. It is also real, and terrible, and unending. Choose life, dear readers. Choose Jesus.

I Love Earth

While editing year 2012 of this blog, I accidentally republished a post from that time. If you're wondering what fixing pets has to do with playtime - nothing. Total accident. Probably. Not sure I want to dwell on it for hidden meanings.

Best to move on.

I love this earth. I feel like I'm not supposed to say that, being a Christian, but the fact is, I like being alive. Most of the time. When I'm alone. 

I like breathing. I like working hard in The Swamp. I like bugs and squirrels and the crane that visits every Spring. I don't care for a lot of stuff in the world, including tornadoes, but overall, I love the world itself. I think God did a good job making something that has survived everything we've done to it. 

For years, I've felt guilty about how much I love my furbabies. About how much I love the Kansas sky, and composting, and watching living things live. I'm told that my home isn't here, and I felt I was being unfaithful to God for wishing things could be different. I didn't want to go to a gold-paved heaven city when there was so much here that would be good if not for the Curse. 

So I lived sad, and angry, and guilty - even though I don't believe in the feeling of guilt - and I tried to confess it away or rationalize it or just pretend it wasn't true. In short, I've been miserable, and God wouldn't help me understand why He would make all this for us and then let us destroy it, and I was supposed to be OK with that. 

TT: You know, it's kind of like Lavender Squeak, now that I think about it. 

God spoke to me through Randy Alcorn. Sorry to sound corny, but that's what happened. Randy put into words what my heart has been trying to tell me for years that my mind couldn't grasp, even though I scoured the Bible looking for proof. 

Jesus redeemed the world, too. The universe also gets to resurrect, with all its skies and gardens and squirrels and whatnot. The city is one part of heaven, but heaven will be everywhere. All the universe will be heaven. A perfected universe that we can't ruin anymore. A place to work and enjoy and love for all eternity, just as I will love the One who gave it to me. Yes, creation fell when we did, but it also gets to rise when we do. God didn't abandon it. He saved it. We all get to live forever. 

I'm crying as I write this. I can't help it. My soul is coming back to life. The dry bones are turning to flesh. God is good. I just couldn't feel it. Until now. 

Applaud the jellyfish. 

Playtime

When I was young, mom occasionally sent me to my room to clean. The room cleaning was more  relocating the "nesting materials" that ended up piled around my seat in the living room or basement than removing actual dirt. I come from a family of "nesters."

Of course, I'd trudge off to my room to "put things away." When mom came in four hours later to check on my progress, I'd be smack in the middle of playing with all the stuff I'd moved.

Let's forget for a moment that "playing" is the "work" of the child, and "cleaning up" is like "stop thinking." The truth is I'd forget why I was there. One minute, I'm putting away dolls, the next Barbie-as-Ramana-the-Time-Lady would be hopping into her shoebox TARDIS with K-9 and robot Chester (my own invented character) to battle aliens on another planet.

Had the same problem last night, Day One of Final Edits on Star of Justice. After going through my usual reluctant-to-sit-down routine (I should put that coat away. And move the laundry piles closer to the machine. And at least run water for the dishes so they can soak. And I may as well make some tea and change into comfy clothes if I'm going to be sitting at the computer all night. You know the drill), I got my bum in the chair and started.

Then I panicked.

I'm not proud of it, but I had that "what am I doing?" moment I knew would show up eventually.

I don't have enough time. The book is too big. I'm going to miss something huge and be a laughing-stock. Not that it matters since no one is going to read it anyway, and I'll go down in history as "the woman whose enormous book never got read except by that guy from The New York Times who gave it an awful review."

OK, so even when I panic, I panic big.

But who should show up at just the right time? Jesus. Oh, He didn't look quite like Himself. He had big, crazy hair and front teeth like Chiclets and a tendency to leap before looking, but it was Jesus all right. I'd know Him anywhere.

So I calmed down and set to work and what do you know? Work turned into play. I remembered how much I love these characters and that's it not as bad as I feared and one bite at a time is the only way to eat a dragon, if your tastes happen to run to cannibalism.

Don't Ask

While I'm composing my next thoughts on heaven, I'll write about something that contributes to my longing for heaven.

A while ago, a friend inadvertently answered a question I've had for a long time. Why do people buy pets, and then not spay/neuter them?

I've never bought a pet. Mine all show up at my door as strays. The products of humans behaving irresponsibly. Fool that I am, I adopt them and care for them as family, but I can only do so much, and at the moment, I am past my limit. The idea of breeding more animals to end as strays that no one might care for angers me in a simmering kind of way that explodes on occasion. I don't talk about it, but it's there. It's part of the wrongness I walk through daily.

I've heard the argument about children learning the circle of life by watching a cat give birth. Unless the instruction includes the gruesome end of those kittens as coyote or raptor food, or roadkill, after a year of life on average, don't talk to me. In fact, I don't care what you're trying to teach them. What you're teaching them is its OK to be irresponsible with a life entrusted to you.

Well, this friend mentioned she advised her friend who bought a puppy to breed her to make her money back. This was a perfectly reasonable thought to her. Spend money on a dog, make money back on a dog.

What I heard was "I adopted this child. It was a very expensive adoption, so I'm going to pimp her out until she has a baby, and then I'm going to sell the baby to offset the cost of the adoption. It doesn't matter who I sell the baby to as long as they can pay. I may even keep one of the babies and pimp her out, too. And when my adopted child has finally earned her keep, I'll let her give up prostitution and be a real part of my family."

I can't tell my friend this. She would be shocked and appalled that I would think such a thing. I was shocked and appalled that she didn't.

My question was answered, but I wish it hadn't been. This is one answer I don't want to live with, but it is a perfect example of what I absorb every day. Until recently, that taint has had nowhere to go. It settled into my bones and sloshed around until being around people makes me long for death - theirs or mine, I don't care.

And that is an excellent setup for tomorrow's post about heaven.

Push button. Receive bacon.

A Lost Detour

I just finished bingewatching Lost for the first time, mostly because I tend to like Bad Robot productions. I have a few observations.

The show is aptly named. Nobody knew what was going on most of the time. Especially the writers.

Sad eyes and wistful smile aside, Kate is the most selfish and fickle person on the show. Whoever she ended up with would lose.

I've never seen a show improve so much with the deaths of three characters: Boone, Shannon and Michael. It became positively likable once they were out of the picture.

The most consistently poor decision-maker and Expert Victim status is a coin toss between Michael and John Locke.

Almost all of the drama of seasons one and two were people failing to ask Sawyer nicely for something. It was a physical relief when an actual villain showed up in season three.

TWD's The Governor remains my most hated TV villain, but he walks arm-around-shoulder with Ben Linus.

This is the only show I can think of where the show itself is a character.

I'm guessing Claire disappeared because Emilie de Ravin got pregnant and took time off from her fictional baby. Ironic.

If this were a video game, the only character with a chance of winning is Sayid.

Hurley is proof that humorous sincerity is the hippie-ride of life, taking you where you need to go and occasionally smashing through human roadblocks.

In the dead of Kansas winter, I would rather watch Hawaii-based Lost than New York-based Person of Interest, even though I like POI more overall.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Spirit vs Flesh

Spirit is good and matter is evil. This old idea finds new ways to express itself. During the writing of the New Testament, it was "gnosticism," and those writers, especially Paul, argued against it constantly. The main premise is whatever the body does has no effect on the spirit. The spirit can be completely pure, whether it resides in a serial killer or a newborn infant.

Seems someone is always trying to dilute or pollute God's truth (Can you say "Satan?" she writes in her Church Lady voice). The Bible never says the body doesn't matter. Jesus goes so far as to say if your hand causes you to sin, it's better to cut it off than go to hell because of it. That's one example. Randy Alcorn gives many, many more because one of his main arguments in Heaven is that Heaven is a physical place because humans are physical beings. We were created with bodies, and those bodies are part of what we are.

Early Christians went against culture by burying their dead instead of cremating them because they believed the body would resurrect with the person. Like Jesus. His body went with him back to heaven, even though he'd been only spirit prior to the incarnation (that's a big word for "turning into flesh). I have no issues with cremation in general because I don't think the God who created everything from nothing is going to have trouble recreating any body at his second coming. I prefer the idea of rotting in the ground until that happens because I'm a gardener and recycler, but that's likely another post.

I lived as a gnostic for many, many years. I believed I was a Christian even though I did none of the things Christians are supposed to do - give regularly to God's work, assemble together for fellowship and worship, make disciples, pray regularly, study the Bible. As long as I was saved, I didn't have to do anything more than ask forgiveness if I messed up to much.

The day my hypocrisy - that's what it is, really, to speak one way and live another: hypocrisy - came home to me, I made some changes. I resumed Bible study and prayer. I began to put my checkbook to work for God, even though the sums were small at first. I added "Jesus" to my daily vocabulary, determined that if I was ever to be beheaded for my faith, there would be plenty of evidence to convict me. I wanted to "store up my treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy."

My goal is for both my spirit and my body to serve Jesus faithfully as one unit. I want my body to join me in eternity, perfected, like I will be. I'm going to need it. I hear there's a garden, and I want in on that action.

Push button. Receive bacon.

More Thinking About Heaven

I rarely thought about heaven. I've read the Bible, maybe four times all the way through, and way more for certain sections. Pathetic, yes, but I think of it as an area for growth. I've read the obvious heaven parts, in Revelation, mostly, about New Jerusalem: big cube founded on twelve precious stones, gates of giant pearl, streets of gold, river in the middle, yada, yada.

I believe John is being literal. I don't read this as poetry. I expect New Jerusalem at first glance will match his description.

I'll be honest. Never cared for the idea. I don't like cities, or crowds of people. Don't care about golden streets or jeweled foundations. The Tree of Life has possibilities, and I always figured the sea creatures would live in the big river, since there's no more sea. On the whole, I accept that God made this city I'm supposed to be happy about, and it's probably more interesting than it sounds, but I figured He'd let me visit, and I could make my home somewhere else on the New Earth that New Jerusalem comes out of heaven to land on.

I'm not alone in this attitude. Most people have an idea of heaven that is either based on that brief description by John, or by completely ridiculous church traditions that have more to do with Renaissance paintings than Biblical accuracy.

No wonder it's easier to focus on day-to-day life. Who wants to live forever walking around a golden city in between church services?

Enter Heaven by Randy Alcorn. He scoured the entire Bible looking for glimpses of Heaven, and he found them. In the law, the psalms, major and minor prophets (so nicknamed for the size of their books, not their relevance), the gospels, and the epistles*. Almost every book in the Bible has something to say about heaven and what it will be like. We've just failed to look for it.

And those glimpses... well, it's got the Turtle thinking about heaven. Happy thoughts.

Push button. Receive bacon.

*If you're not familiar with the jargon, flip open a Bible or google "Bible table of contents." "The law" refers to the first 5 books of the Old Testament, "the major and minor prophets" start with Isaiah and end with Malachi, "the gospels" are Matthew through Luke, and the "epistles" (or "letters" start with Romans all the way to Revelation, which is prophecy.

Thinking About Heaven

I feel almost back to normal this morning. Thank You, Lord. The vertigo dance gets old before it starts. I'll keep up the symptom treatment for a while, just in case.

I promised to write about Heaven by Randy Alcorn. It's unlikely I'll use just one post, but I have to start somewhere.

The book is a long exhortation about how heaven is a physical place, and a physical, resurrected Earth will be part of it. If Randy is to be believed, this is not normal thinking among Christians of his vast acquaintance. Hence, the book.

I'm a Biblical literalist. I assume the meaning is literal unless context indicates otherwise. Jesus goes out of his way in the gospels to prove he has a body when he comes back from the dead. Randy lists those passages, so I don't need to.

If I have not always believed in a physical heaven, I no longer remember when I didn't. It makes perfect sense to me that a physical, resurrected Jesus should exist in a physical place. He didn't shed his body after resurrection. He told us he is the firstborn from the dead, and we'll have bodies like his after we are resurrected.

This is one of those moments when the Turtle publicly displays how insane she is. Except I find it more insane to claim a written set of beliefs (I am a Christian) and then not live according to them (I don't do any of the things Christians are supposed to do based on their holy book). I believe the Bible. I don't always understand it, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try. So, yes, I believe Jesus is both God and man, that he really died as a man, and that he really came back to life by his own supernatural power as God, and because he did, I can, too.  That is the foundation of my beliefs. Someday, we'll all find out if I'm right.

I've run out of space, but that's the gist of Randy's book. I'll cover why I'm reading it later.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Stupid 7 Habits of Highly Effective People

As I was reviewing this blog, I found my problem.

April 1, 2011. Apparently, I was reading The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People (curse you, Dave Ramsey, for the recommendation! or was that the year we started a book club at work?) and somewhere in there, it recommends being passionate about your work.

TT: Maybe it was Rabbi Lapin's book. They covered some of the same areas.

Anyway, that seems to be the moment I decided to start mastering my job instead of just being a pleasant, dependable employee. I did quite well, too, up until the moment I quit.

ARGH!

How was I to know how seriously I would take this new life tack?

When I started my new job at the state, I quickly mastered my assigned duties, and moved on to mastering other things in the office. I asked questions. I looked for problems and ways to avert them before they became my problem. My new boss wasn't big into telling me what to do. She wanted us to discuss options and synergize (my word). Well, the turtle is nothing if not willing to play by the rules, so I ran with the new rules of "figure it out" and mastered it. Perhaps too well.

My work motto for the last year is "be the solution, not the problem." As in, don't tell me all the ways you think you're thwarted. Tell me what you can do. Then do it with cheerful efficiency. Why are you talking to me about it?

In short, I now think like management. It's a real bummer. But it has led to my other motto.

No employee is paid what they're worth. They're either overpaid, or underpaid.

Good thing I'm not motivated by money.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Vertigo

Every once in a blue moon, I suffer from vertigo. I think of it as "motion sickness I can't stop." I'd have to check Quicken to remember the last time I had it because I went to the doctor. He couldn't help me. It went away eventually, but it was a long, miserable month of wishing for death.

This is my fourth day of vertigo. It is improving because the attacks are mostly limited to the few seconds after I sit up. If I can remain vertical, the nausea subsides and I can slowly, carefully, uprightly move on with my day. By evening, I'm mostly normal. Until I lie down.

If I remember correctly, last time I changed my diet to mostly rice and ground turkey to help with the nausea. I've already started that.

My back is killing me. If I can't bend, I can't stretch, and the turtle shell is screaming. This entire situation is somewhat intolerable.

TT: Within the last couple of years, I have finally realized "you can't survive everything." It was a sobering thought, and it surfaces more often than not nowadays.

Once upon a time, my allergist told me that sinus runoff causes nausea, but the best way to deal with it is to get up and get moving. The nausea will subside. He was right, and I've spent most of my adult life out of bed because of that advice.

But I can't just feel urpy and not try to fix it, so in these hours since Sunday when I'm trying not to move and staring at the ceiling, I consider my options. I'm taking Claritin during the day and Benedryl at night to dry up the brain pan. I'm avoiding wheat like ebola.

And I'm going to clean the basement with hydrogen peroxide, vinegar and baking soda (not all in the same bottle). I have fifteen year old wooden pallets down there that have been flooded every Spring, so it's a good bet the Black Death is growing under them despite the dehumidifier and fans. Mold is my only real allergy (although it's plenty, let me tell ya), and it may be seeping up through the vents at night to kill me.

Besides, the floor is concrete. If I start puking, it'll be easy to clean.

Push button. Receive bacon.