Two Snots Don't Make a Right

Oh, me and my quick temper. When will I learn? Forgive me, Lord!

So if you read my last blog, you know I posted some shades on Craigslist. They were titled "Room-Darkening Roll Up Blinds", and since I probably wasn't calling them exactly the right thing, the first part of my description read, "We can't remember what these are called, exactly .. but we have two vinyl roll-up blinds ..."

I get an email from a gal tonight that says, simply (unedited by me):

"there called shades"

That's it. A little rude, I think.

But what got me all fired up was her signature:

"No Jesus, No Peace .. Know Jesus, Know Peace"

Now, some people would just roll their eyes and think "whatever" and click 'delete'. Some nicer, calmer, more rational people. Some might even smile at the signature line and with a contented sigh say, "Yes, indeed". Some holier people. Me? Noooooooo ... I immediately wonder what other kinds of bitty messages she's sending to people that rub them the wrong way, not only about her, but about Jesus. I start steaming about Christians who do more harm in this world than good, and I .... I fired off an equally hypocritical message to her. Sigh.

Here it is, I confess:

"And the first word in your sentence should have been 'they're', the contraction for 'they are'.

Are you interested in them? Or are you just trying to be helpful?

Because how you're coming off is snotty and hypocritical, a poor Christian example of the loving Son of God who you are apparently professing to know."

Gulp. For those of you that are the praying types, will you do this for me?

1 - Pray that she doesn't hunt me down and kill me.
2 - Pray that I would learn my lesson, bite my tongue, sit on my hands, count to ten, hide in my bedroom closet and do whatever else I need to do to get my lightening quick temper under control.

After all .. if I know Jesus, shouldn't I also know peace .. within myself?

One Man's Junk ..

Not that kind of junk, sickos.

If you ever want to feel popular, post something "For Sale" on Craigslist. Better yet, post something for "Free". Or be really wild and crazy (read: stupid) and do what I did: post three things at once. Oy!

We listed our old sliding glass door for $100. (Well, I did. Steve is at work and will probably have something to say tomorrow about the low price. What can I say? I thought it was a good compromise between the others I saw listed from $0-$300+.) I have a guy who wants to come pick it up tomorrow night and another gal calling herself "a little old lady who needs it more than he does" .. who just might show up here tomorrow night and beat him with a cane. Oops - another email just came in.

This is more exciting than the last few minutes of an eBay auction!

We (I) also listed a couple of roll-up shades ($10 each or two for $15, what a bargain, eh?) that we installed as a temporary fix when we first moved in (as the house was sans window coverings). Less of a hot commodity, apparently .. but one guy says it sounds like just what he needs. Neat.

The kid that gets around, however, is our pile of river rock that we're offering for free. I thought I was going to have to BEG people to take this off our hands .. but I got 7 responses in less than an hour! Vultures! I love the bribes people offer up: "I'm not one of those flaky Craigslisters who doesn't show up." "I'm in Troutdale too so I can be there lickity-split". Notice not ONE of them has tried to differentiate themselves from the crowd by saying "I'll give you five bucks for the whole pile."

Yes, Tom Peterson (and Gloria too!), free IS a very good price!

This could be addicting. Why, oh why, have I been so diligent about donating unused items to Goodwill?!? I could have gotten money for those things .. had people fighting over me - er, them ......

Do you think I should make sure there's some furniture left in the house by the time Steve gets home? (If I never post again, it's because I've sold the computer.)

Oooh, gotta run .. two new mail messages in my inbox!

- PS to Mike G - Makes me laugh when I think of you thinking about Tom Peterson's junk right now. Teehee!

Baby Rabies

Here's a fun piece of trivia for you to pull out when the party conversation gets dull: Who campaigned for Senior Class President of Faribault Senior High in 1993? Ronda, that's who. My campaign manager was an off-beat theater/band guy named Pete who never quite fit into any of the typical high school social categories and was widely appreciated in the student body. He dressed in all black for his campaign speech and, in a magnificent imitation of Hannibal Lector, threatened to eat people's livers if they didn't vote for me.

Ah Pete, whatever happened to you?

My speech, slightly less colorful or frightening, was more of an anti-campaign speech, which are typically full of idle promises about what one would accomplish during their term if elected. I pretty much told the student body what I WOULDN'T be doing. (Ronda-ry, Ronda-ry, quite contrary.)

All that to say this: in the following blog, I am NOT saying that I don't like your kids, or even kids and babies in general. I am NOT saying that. Clear enough?

When I was in my twenties, I thought that my peers were pretty darn baby crazy.

I had nooooo idea what was awaiting me in my thirties.

Baby rabies. Women, foaming at the mouth, at the mere mention, sight (or most likely, smell) of a baby.

It's gonna be a long decade.

Most of you know that Steve and I don't have and don't want kids. We're what's known as "childfree", or "CF". (Baby rabid women may have another name for us, bwaha!) Some people use the term "childless", which infers some sort of loss .. whereas "childfree" resounds as more of a choice.

We knew we were going to be CF when we married almost 10 years ago. We heard a lot of "you'll change your minds" and "you've got plenty of time" and "never say never" during the first few years of our marriage. Other than that, however, there wasn't a lot of pressure to reproduce. We married young, before many of our friends, and no one had really started having kids yet.

Now, however, most of our friends have or intend to have children in the near future. And that's fine. We love our friends and we want them to make choices in their lives that make them happy. We would never dream of trying to convince them to NOT have kids. Well, okay ... maybe a little daydream here or there ..... kidding!

So that's not the issue. And no one is really pressuring us to have kids at this point, either, so that's also not the issue. (I probably spoke too soon: I'm 31 now and some might say I'm RUNNING OUT OF TIME!)

Anyway. Baby rabies. That's the issue. The disease that drives baby-obsessed women completely out of their once fully-functioning minds.

I was at a "girl's night out" earlier this week, hosted by a dear friend and attended by a bunch of women I'd never met before. Nice ladies, all very friendly to me .. until they started talking about their children. "Do you have kids?" a gal asked me a few minutes into the conversation. "No", I answered with a smile. "I'm sorry", she said, and turned back to the other ladies.

She's sorry that I don't have kids? She's sorry because she thinks I can't have kids? She's sorry that she can no longer relate to me and that I'm not worthy of her attention? Huh?

I expect that conversations will hover around topics known to most participants. The stories that followed about feeding dramas and never wearing necklaces/earrings/black shirts around two-year-olds .. well, those were to be expected. It was when the conversation turned to a woman whose "maternal urges are RAGING" that I realized these women were not just mommies, but infected with baby rabies.

She and her husband (let's call him, oh, Bob) have been married three years and have started "discussions" about a baby. Another woman notes that Bob seems to be avoiding her at church .. and is it because he's afraid she's going to try to convince him to have a baby? Titters of laughter circle the room. The woman assures her friend that she's "not imaging things .. Bob really IS avoiding you - and in fact, anyone who will bring up the issue!" Titters of laughter turn into gales, and the conversation quickly degenerates into how he'll change his mind (and how to change his mind), reminders to each other not to stop in for unexpected visits and jokes of "we'll know what you're up to if you don't answer the phone" ... I left the room before I heard if anyone actually encouraged this gal to "oops" her husband.

Does no one even care that Bob might need a little time and space to sort out how he feels about this intensely personal issue? Does Bob's wife ask her friends or family to back off a bit so he doesn't feel like a cornered animal? Forget giving him more time: Is it even a blip on people's radar that Bob might not even WANT a baby?

GAAACKCKCK!

Tonight, I was at a bridal shower. Each torn ribbon symbolized a potential BABY! Each little piece of lingerie was going to ignite the passion to MAKE A BABY! There was even a gift enclosed in a pink bucket with a picture of a baby on it! What the .. aren't we at a WEDDING shower?!? I found myself chanting a calming mantra under my breath, "first comes love, then comes marriage, THEN comes a baby .."

Steve has it easy. Sure, his friends are my friends, and they're all having babies. But men don't obsess the way women do. Men can relax and have fun and tell jokes and play games while women .. sit around with the kids. Or talk about the kids. Completely lose themselves in the kids. Ladies: I'm gonna go chill with the men if you don't give me a break once in a while. (Well, even then, I still might have to play tom-boy for a bit.) Here, use my sleeve: wipe the foam from around your mouth, take a few deep breaths and remember that even though I love you (and your off-spring) unconditionally, I also loved you PRE-BABY.

End of rant.

Oh, and incidentally .. I beat my high school opponent and silenced his rabid fans, who found it appropriate to write "bitch" on my campaign posters. Ahhhh. One of only three distinct memories I have of serving as my Class President. The other two I'll save for another day.

Lebanon (as in the country, for you locals)

Friends that are reading this post may be aware that my sister is married to a Lebanese man. He has many, many friends and family members still in Lebanon, and we are very concerned about the increasing violence that has been occurring there since Wednesday.

I am no lover of politics or the media, and I readily admit that I struggle to grasp both the enormity and the intricacies of conflicts like these.

What is not escaping my attention, however, is the mention of "dozens of Lebanese citizens" dead. Citizens that I pray are not my extended family who have so lavishly accepted my sister as one of their own. Or any of the gracious guests who embraced and kissed us at my sister's wedding. Or the lovely strangers who gave my parents a bowl of fresh grapes after they stopped to admire an arbor growing over their front door. Or the wonderful airport employee who helped Steve and I secure a flight out of Lebanon when we missed our first one due to us drinking in the sights a little too long.

War always breaks my heart. And, right or wrong, I always feel powerless to do anything about it. But this time, in addition to praying for peaceful resolution, I will be sending a quick email to my senators. If you feel so inclined to take either action, I would deeply appreciate it.

I have to. I've toured some of Lebanon's beautiful countryside. I've seen shepherds walking a small herd of goats along the road in the mountains. I've stepped foot into some of the exquisite stone churches there. I've seen their famous and exotic cedars. I've dipped my toes in the warm Mediterranean Sea (see photo above). I've walked through the ruins where paper was invented. I've wandered through downtown Beirut at midnight and been awed at the reconstruction that has occured there since the last war.

If you would like to join me in sending a letter to your senators, you can do so at www.senate.gov. If you're not sure what to say, I can provide you with a copy of what I'll be sending. And if you want to do a bit of reading on the conflict, I've attached an article from CNN online below.

http://www.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/meast/07/13/mideast/index.html

Being Poor

I've been spinning my wheels all night, working on our finances, looking for cheap furniture and part-time jobs on Craigslist, trying to make old furnishings work in our new home .. and generally being frustrated that I can't just go out and buy whatever I darn well please whenever I darn well feel like it.

Spinning those wheels in an attempt to turn straw into gold, I am. How very Rumplestiltskin-esque of me.

I turned back to my pile of paperwork that I abandoned earlier in the day and found an article I had saved from Heifer International's magazine "World Ark" (the May/June 2006 issue). An article that struck me deep the first time I read it, and stopped me in my tracks again tonight.

It's called "Being Poor", by John Scalzi. It can be read in its entirety at www.scalzi.com.
____________________________________________________________

Being poor is having to keep buying $800 cars because they're what you can afford, and then having the cars break down on you, because there's not an $800 car in America that's worth a darn.

Being poor is hoping the toothache goes away.

Being poor is going to the restroom before you get in the school lunch line so your friends will be ahead of you and won't hear you say "I get free lunch" when you get to the cashier.

Being poor is a heater in only one room of the house.

Being poor is hoping your kids don't have a growth spurt.

Being poor is thinking $8 an hour is a really good deal.

Being poor is finding the letter your mom wrote to your dad, begging him for the child support.

Being poor is not taking the job because you can't find someone you trust to watch your kids.

Being poor is hoping you'll be invited for dinner.

Being poor is needing that 35-cent raise.

Being poor is $6 dollars short on the utility bill and no way to close the gap.

Being poor is crying when you drop the mac and cheese on the floor.

Being poor is knowing you work as hard as anyone, anywhere.

Being poor is people surprised to discover you're not actually lazy.

Being poor is having to live with choices you didn't know you made when you were 14 years old.

Being poor is getting tired of people wanting you to be grateful.

Being poor is deciding that it's all right to base a relationship on shelter.

Being poor is a cough that doesn't go away.

Being poor is a $200 paycheck advance form a company that takes $250 when the paycheck comes in.

Being poor is knowing how hard it is to stop being poor.

Never Say Never

I've been deliberating ... to blog or not to blog. Does anyone really care about The Secret Lives of Rolanda and Stuart, aka The Not So Exciting Really Quite Dull But None-The-Less Happy Existence of Ronda and Steve?

And then I wrote a bit in my journal tonight. Hmm, nice to take some time for reflection. And then I posted for the first time in an email mailing list I joined a couple of months ago. Ahh, very therapeutic. Then I got caught up on a couple of friends' blogs and I thought perhaps people might be as interested in us and our comings and goings and musings as we are in theirs.

Perhaps.

So, despite a very recent conversation with Steve where I expressed something along the lines of "I'll never see the need to have my own blog", a-blogging I have gone.

The deliberations turned to more important matters. Blogspot, or MySpace? (I'm sure there are other options out there, but I haven't the least desire to research them.) MySpace seems so high maintenance and .. meh. Blogspot won.

I'm sure it will be quite some time before my blog is everything I ever dreamed possible. Wait, we've already exceeded that. The deliberations will no doubt continue - template, content, links, oh my - and will surpass in importance the original question of, simply, to blog or not to blog.

Stay tuned.