The Dog Days of Winter: Death of a Catburglar

It was just another job for the Catburglar--break in, strip the place clean, get out . . .


. . . he had prepared for the possibilty of guard dogs, but not the Black Jaws of Death!

She was brutal and ruthless!


Just when he thought all hope was lost . . .

. . . he realized there was more to lose.


Suddenly flippin' burgers doesn't seem like such a poor career choice . . .


The Catburglar discovers and takes comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only fool to enter this house.


However, it's hard to find true solace in the company of a crocodile, especially when it's trying to eat you as a last meal.


Of course, since the croc was disembowelled, the Catburglar passed right through unscathed . . . well, all things considered, anyway. Deflated and all but dismembered, the Catburglar breathes his last.

New From Atari . . .

. . . It's 2007. The Frogs now control the major governments of the world. In their quest to blot out humankind forever, the Amphibian Axis of Evil invents a new game: Frogger 's Revenge: The Demise of Humanity. The object? Humans must drive down the road while the Tumbleweeds of the Hell Dimension--Damage (the small ones), Demolition (mid-size), and Complete Obliteration (you know the ones I mean!)--blow across their path from both directions. The humans must avoid the Tumbleweeds at all costs and make it to their destination in order to survive and save their planet. Coming to a highway near you!

The Curse of the Elephant Memory

There is scientific evidence supporting the idiom “An elephant never forgets”. The Greeks originally said this of camels but as time went by, the camels were shut out of the world of idiom attribution and all the glory went to the elephants--a fact the camels have not forgotten. If you read the comments on my post about collecting stuff, you will remember the reference Melinda made to my “elephant memory” coming back to haunt her. I don’t know what she’s talking about. I didn’t realized she had fears about what I remember. Sarah also has had some unfortunate experiences with my memory. We were friends for about 5 years before I finally got her birthday right. A common phrase around that time of year was, “You can remember lines from the most obscure movies that no one in the world has seen besides you, but you can’t remember my birthday!?!” It’s true, though, I have a ridiculous capacity for recollection, although, in recent years my short-term memory has suffered lags and lapses, much to the frustration of not a few friends. (Sorry, y’all! Truly I am!)

Having a good memory does have its good features. For instance, I remember where I was when I told Flee about the boy who split his chocolate with me. I remember information that helps me take tests really well. I remember what happened when my arm was broken at age 3 . . . the whole ordeal down to keeping my Grandma Robertson up late into the night on popsicle runs until I had consumed all the cherry ones. I remember what my high school crush was wearing the first day I ever saw him, which was the first day of 8th grade. I remember the very first time I met Angie Burns: at Sunset in Carlsbad when the AIMers came and did a flag ceremony--I was a junior in high school. I remember the silly game Melinda and I played in our quarters at Skyridge that involved launching a scrunchie back and forth without using our hands. (It’s amazing how you can find ways to entertain yourself when there’s no TV!) I remember what I was wearing the day I was baptized. I remember when I realized that I could understand what a Scottish person was saying with out having to ask them to repeat themselves. I remember great and silly moments from my life. I remember Scotland. Some of the good memories are bittersweet. For the good times, though, the love and laughter--I am grateful for my elephant memory.

Having a good memory also has its disadvantages because with equal clarity do I remember the bad stuff. I remember the fear I felt when my arm broke at age 3. I was terrified of my babysitter, a mean and horrible woman in whose character my mother was deceived. I couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard I tried. (Of course, she was the one crying when she realized what had happened to me because she had left all us children unsupervised.) I remember when my best friend since first grade and a handful of other girls I had known as long decided I wasn’t cool enough to hang out with them anymore. I remember the stupid things I did in pursuit of boys all through my adolescence that only acquired me extreme mortification. I remember the shame I felt when my 8th grade History teacher caught me cheating on an assignment--I couldn’t bear his disappoint in me. I remember everything I’ve ever done that has hurt someone I loved. I remember the day I realized the man I loved most in the world didn’t love me in the same way. Having the memory of an elephant has been somewhat of a curse. I can recall pain, fear, shame, and feel it so acutely once again. It has contributed to my struggles with depression and has prevented me from being my true self because I fear how I will be perceived or judged or reviled.

One of my favorite movies is The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. My memory has been a source of endless frustration for me and a double-edged sword. I would love to be able to erase certain things from my head, but unlike the “science” in the film, I don’t think I can do that without wiping out the good along with the bad. I don’t want to give up the good, even when the good makes my heart ache. At least, I know that it happened. And that really is the thing, isn’t it? Erasing my memories does not change the fact that the events happened and the way they affected me and shaped who I am does not change.

Yet as I grow older, I am starting to make peace with my elephant memory. I am beginning to see how God has used some of the more painful experiences to make me a better person today. I’m a more compassionate teacher, childcare worker, and friend because I know what it’s like to feel rejected. I’m more sensible about relationships because of my history with men. I take responsibility for the mistakes I make and accept when I’m just wrong because of 8th grade History. I certainly haven’t cheated again. I know that God is and will continue to work through my experiences with depression and bring somthing good from it. I’m working on not thinking so much about the more painful stuff in my memories, not giving things that happened years ago power over me today. It’s far from easy, but everyday I feel the curse is lifting.

The Little Things

The late Richard Carlson, PhD, authored a well known series of books called “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff”. His intent was to help people not allow the little things in life overwhelm and stress them. A noble cause and they are great books worth reading. One of the things I struggle with from time to time is not letting the small stuff get to me. In general, I believe that most stuff isn’t worth the worry I put into it. However, when it comes to the application of that belief, I still manage to go off the reservation.

Let’s face it, the little things do matter. How often have we heard the phrase, “It’s the little things . . .” in a positive reference and a negative one? OFTEN. I hear it all the time when people are talking about relationships: “And he put the seat down after he used the restroom! I know that’s such a little thing, but it was really considerate!” or “And he left the freaking seat DOWN!!! I know it’s a little thing, but ARGH!!!!” (You can tell it’s been awhile for me, that really is the best I could come up with.) Then again, maybe I’m just high maintenance. I happen to like real whipped cream and real butter. And you better believe I’m disappointed when I go somewhere and don’t get it when I expect it. The butter is not nearly as big an issue as the whipped cream. Call me crazy but I just don’t think hydrogenated vegetable oil whipped to a creamy consistency mixed with high fructose corn syrup is an acceptable substitute for the real deal. Can I get a “BLECH!”? It takes all the glory out of desserts, cheapens them. Here is this gorgeous towering helping of chocolate decadence, drizzled in raspberry sauce and more chocolate decadence and it is topped off with faux whipped topping. It’s like the most stunning platinum ring you’ve ever seen with a cubic zirconia for the stone. Yeah, those darn little things! How about getting cut off in traffic? Or losing your car keys when you’re already late for work? If they’re such little things, why do we respond to them with such frantic drama? Why does the fact I keep locking myself out of the house every time I go out to feed the dogs and have to either break in or borrow the neighbors phone to call for a locksmith make me completely INSANE?!?!? After all, it’s a problem that has an easy, albeit inconvenient remedy. Wouldn’t that qualify as a little thing?

Of course, on the positive side of it, I do love little things. I like watching my dogs get so excited playing with an inanimate canvass cow. Or the facial expression on, Sonny’s face when he realizes he’s committed an infraction, but he’s trying to play it cool. Driving by the cemetery after a heavy snow in the morning while it’s still dark. Or the little girl just beyond the somber, black-clad mourners in her bright pink dress and white tights dancing and doing cartwheels. Finding a no-waiting cashier in Walmart on a Saturday. The smell of Sarah’s coffee in the morning (she makes the best!). My mom gently scratching my head. Listening to A Prairie Home Companion with my dad. Having the boy you like offer you half a chocolate after telling you about how he just read Anne of Green Gables, among other things, over the fall break. Realizing that your dog is only coming to you for affection in an attempt to lure the other dog away from the chew thing she wants so she can run off with it while the other isn’t looking. Little things. They may seem insignificant and you may be the only person who gets to experience some of them at a given moment, but they stay with you.

Maybe we shouldn’t sweat the small stuff and maybe it all really is small stuff, but I really go back and forth on this issue. It is when I’m in my “This is not a little thing, I’m freaking out here!” state of mind that I’m the most agitated and combative. I don’t handle the “Oh, Lisa, calm down. It’s such a little thing!” comments kindly. “Oh yeah? Well so is head lice!” Tell me that doesn’t make you shiver.

Now, If I Could Just Make Peace With My Body . . .

I'm always fascinated with the abilities of the human body. I grew up loving to watch gymnastics, figure skating, ballet, and old musicals. I loved how graceful these athletes were, they moved so beautifully! What's it like to fly through the air or spin or move like that? I want to do that! When we lived in Albuquerque, my mother looked into getting me involved in some kind of activity. We discovered I wouldn't be able to take ballet because I had flat feet. I had to get fitted for corrective orthotics, which I still wear. Ice skating would have been my next option, but we ended up moving to southern New Mexico, where no ice rink would prosper. I dabbled briefly in soccer, but I wasn't very tough and kept having the wind knocked out of me. I complained enough that my parents didn't make me stick with it. I wish they had or found some other sport for me to get involved in, something that would put me into a habit of challenging and strengthening my body. I've grown up with a greater tendency to not push myself when something is a physical struggle for me. I get tired of having to work so hard and not acheive results as fast as those around me. I know every body is different. I know everyone has hang-ups about their body, particularly women. I've seldom,though, come across anyone who has the hang-ups with her body that I have with mine.

I'm incredibly UNgraceful, I fall down a lot and tend to injure quite easily; although, I'm getting better about that. Of course, I try to avoid activities that would increase my likelihood of losing against gravity and sustaining injuries. It's hard to avoid walking completely, though. I mean, I have to walk from my bed to my bathroom and from my car into the school building, right? It's been one of my life's great conundrums. I'm just pliable. Always have been. There's something about my joints and ligaments. They can hyperextend or twist quite a bit before something tears and tearing almost never occurs. My brother often refers to my hands as "putty". I've had one broken arm and two toes my whole life, which is interesting considering all the falls I've taken. It took blunt force trauma to crack those puppies. Everything else has been scrapes, swelling, and painful humiliation because my crashes generally occurred in public venues. If you've ever seen those doll-toys where the doll is constructed from large beads connected by an elastic string--you know, the kind where you can pull on the leg until the string shows and let go and it snaps back with a 'clack!'--well, that's what it's like living in my body. I went swimming once and was kicking around in the water and my bones in my leg separated at my knee. I actually felt my leg below the knee stretch away from my knee and snap back. Another time, I was doing a climbing wall and I was trying to push up on the first foot hold and my upper leg slipped away from my knee towards the wall while my knee and shin pulled away. I howled in pain, "My knee! My knee!" (Amanda always loves that story and to re-enact my screams of misery, even though she didn't actually witness it.) It slid back in place but it was painful.

And let me just tell you, it's scary to feel the parts of your body that are supposed to stay connected attempt to make a break for it. I had another experience with that today. I was playing baseball with my students, which doesn't require a lot of exertion given that most of them have little to no coordination or athletic ability. I was jogging the bases and one of my assistants decides to grab me and hold me so that the boy who has the ball can tag me. In my efforts to evade her grasp my knees AND ankles completely gave way . . . my feet were going one direction, my shins another, and my quads another. I was certain I was going in for a crash landing, but somehow managed to stay upright. Given the bellows of laughter from both my assistants, I'm sure it was hilarious to watch--like maybe watching the Scarecrow off The Wizard of Oz. My knees and hip were sore afterwards, along with my dignity. Can I not even change direction without my whole body getting confused about what it needs to do?

The truth is my body is an enormous source of frustration for me. I have no natural strength. I have to work really hard to build it up and even then, I'm still not as strong as an average woman of my size. I worked out for months to have the strength and stamina for that climbing wall, only to be thwarted by my ligaments. I am whining here, but don't misunderstand me. I can laugh at my mishaps, I do it often. However, at times I'd just as soon not have mishaps. I've frequently asked God why. Why did He make me this way? If I'm so "fearfully and wonderfully made", why is my physicality such a challenge? Why do I have to work so hard just to be average in this area of my life? "Haven't You given me enough?" I'm working on my attitude. I'm working on accepting myself and all my flaws and seeing what God sees through the blood of Jesus in spite of them. Why is it so hard to see ourselves the way He does, anyway? I'm being rhetorical here, mostly. I know that exercise and nutrition is the only way I'm going to even come close to having the type of functioning body that I want, so, along with working on acceptance, I'm working up my courage to try again . . . just one more time. It would be nice, though, to know what it's like to have a body that can do anything easily and fearlessly, for a change. I suppose I'll have to settle for running down the moving sidewalks at airports in order to acheive some sense of how it feels to run like the wind. At least if I fall down on one of those, I've not come to a complete hault. In the meantime, I will take advantage of having the ability to walk and be thankful that I can.

Collector of Much, Connoisseur of None or Things That Are Weird About Me

I realize there is some redundancy in my title. I searched through thesaurus after thesaurus trying to make it sound clever. But it all means the same thing. Moving on . . . I have always been intrigued by collectors. I have always been intrigued by what they collect. The idea that someone likes something so much that they must possess every possible manifestation ever created, designed, or produced--intriguing. Stamps are pretty popular across the board. Then there are baseball cards, comic books (my brother used to own a formidable collection of Spiderman comics), dolls. And who could forget the Beanie Baby craze. Little colorful creatures stuffed with pellets or something . . . why? I guess they were cute, but they made grown-ups act strange.

In one of my favorite movies, "Amelie", Amelie collects flat, smooth stones for skimming. The boy she falls for collects laughs and discarded pictures from photo booths. I have often thought about recording laughs, especially of my kids. My friend Nikki has a fantastic laugh. I see the thrill in collecting things and have enjoyed getting to know my friends' likings and preferences in things they can collect. It makes it possible for me to get them that one item that will always rescue me from birthday gift failure. I have a friend who loves pigs and collects all things piggy (Nye!). Another who loves frogs--Yo, Andie!!! My first grade teacher collected Barbie Dolls. She had them in this fantastic display case, original Barbies from the 50's and 60's! My friend Melinda loves bears and Cynthia loves cats. And all around me people collect things, animals, things that are designed to look like animals. I even have a student who collects "feffers" (feathers). And without fail when we go outside, if there is an empty plastic bottle within 100 foot radius, he will find it fill it with dirt,rocks, leaves, twigs, and some unsuspecting insect and VOILA! He's created his own little ecosystem.

What do I collect? For a long time I didn't really consider myself a collector of anything. I didn't like any one thing that I just had to have multiple versions of. However, when I was living in Scotland I brought home the cutest pair of earrings: silver, with blue hearts. I showed them to Melinda, who didn't display the enthusiasm I expected from her. Instead, she said, "What is it with you and blue hearts?" Shocked and affronted, I emphatically denied that I had a "thing" with blue hearts and stomped off to my room. As I was putting my fantastic, underappreciated earrings in my jewelry box, I noticed something. I had four other pairs of earrings of the blue heart variety. Apparently, I was drawn to them and collected them. Over the years I've come to realize that I actually collect quite a lot of things . . . and always have.

When I was a teenager, I collected old calendars with outdoor photographs of scenic views. I tore the pictures off and literally papered my bedroom wall with these pictures of beautiful places. I've been known to collect movie ticket stubs. I know I have every single stub from every movie I saw in Scotland during my mission time, and I often find others from films I saw years and years ago. I collect movies, but my collection is paltry, indeed--working on it. My most current collection craze, though, is lip color. I purchase more lip-gloss/stick/balm than anything else. It's almost crazy how I can't pass up a color I adore, and what's worse, putting on make-up is NOT one of my favorite things. The effort it requires . . . ARGH! Yet, my purse floweth over!

And that's just what is in my purse! I have more in my car and around the house.

I also seem to observe and compare rather odd things, like public restrooms. The two coolest restrooms in town are at Ocean's Massage Therapy and Little Red Riding Hood nursery. No, I don't have pictures of them--that would be weird! Erm . . . Yesterday I was at the brand, spanking new Walmart out on 82nd, the "upscale" side of town. I confess myself disappointed in their restroom arrangement. The store is huge and there are only 3 stalls at the front portion of the building. Maybe there's more at the back, but 3 just seems unrealistic. Everyone knows the first place to look for a restroom at Walmart is at the front. Not only that, but I expected nicer toilets for that side of town. They looked like they came from an 80's roadside rest stop and were re-fitted with state-of-the-art sensor-automated flushing mechanisms. The combination was less than visually-pleasing. I have a thing for showers, too, and would like to take this time to thank Sarah for including pictures of the showers where she's been staying: You SO rock!!! I have a nice shower, thanks to the talents of The Brother. My favorite showers are the ones at the gym I used to frequent last time I was in Glasgow. There were great showers at the General Walker Hotel in Bertchesgaden, Germany--some of you may recall. I've recently started collecting the little sayings I find on church signs. I find them pretty interesting. I'd include some here, but they are truly worth their own post, so stay tuned. As you come across them in your own worlds, if you would be so kind as to send them to me, I would most appreciate it. Let us not forget the Peanut Butter Cookie Crisp. No moron or genius bought them up that disastrous weather weekend. Some moron at General Mills decided to take them off the market! I found them on a CLEARANCE shelf at Target!!! Naturally, I bought 4 boxes when I first made this discovery. Last night they were marked down to under $2 and I grabbed 6 boxes. Fortunately, good sense kicked in and I couldn't justify throwing needed funds away on cereal, no matter how good it tastes. So, I made my peace with the impending future without Peanut Butter Cookie Crisp and left the store with just two. How bereft I shall be!!! Intriguing indeed.