You Think YOUR Commute is Crazy

There’s a mass email floating around that says something like “The Road of Death in Bolivia” and it has photos of ridiculously dangerous roads.

But the tireless researchers here in BeckyLand have discovered it’s a combination of a bunch of crazy roads around the world. We’ve sorted it all out for you.

You’re welcome.

This is the Guoliang Tunnel in China … perfectly safe. Carved by the people of the village between 1972 and 1977. Before they had that, the only way to their village was by a stairway carved into the mountain.

Perhaps this next place was how the Guoliang villagers got home each night before they dug their tunnel. This is also in China – in case you ever want to stroll around Mount Hua. Read this guy’s account of taking that little hike. My palms were sweaty just looking at the pictures!

This is a road in Bolivia …

This road is in Russia. Ironically, easier to navigate in the winter.

So, how do you feel about YOUR commute? What’s your worst commuting story?

Fourteen Reasons Why Being a Blogger is Better Than Being a Logger

• Fewer blisters.

• No slogging through mud to get to work. All I have to do is kick piles of dirty socks, pizza crusts and newspaper clippings away from my desk chair. I don’t even need boots for that, most of the time.

• I’m only responsible for my own limbs.

• I don’t have to live up to Paul Bunyan’s standards. I only have to keep up with Xi Xue or Dawn Yang. Who? Exactly.

• We both use bull lines, but mine don’t hurt my shoulders.

• The only rivers involved in my work are Riverdance, River Phoenix, and YouTube videos of funny ways people fall out of boats.

• Bears don’t try to eat me—or my lunch—for lunch.

• I’m not required to wear plaid shirts, which is good as they make my neck look fat.

• No guilty loss of sleep due to clear-cutting virgin old-growth forests.

• I’m not called wood hick, river pig/hog/rat, or catty-man—at least to my face.

• I can work year round rather than seasonally. And if I don’t feel like working, I can cruise over to YouTube and find videos of extreme shepherding; I can close my eyes and memorize a page in my Urban Dictionary; or I can vote on entries from My Life Is Average.

• I only have one job title and it’s not whistle punk, chaser, high climber, choker-setter or tie hack.

• Blogging isn’t voted one of the worst, most dangerous jobs. Although time will tell.

• No scooping up after Babe, the Blue Ox.

On the other hand, there are no chainsaws, log rolling, or flumes for bloggers. And no BloggerJack Picnics where we compete in various bloggy events. There’s no jaunty Monty Python song about me, and I’ve never seen a school Blogger mascot.

Hmm. Maybe I should look into being a logger instead. After all, they’re practically required to eat loads of flapjacks and wear those cool suspenders. Besides, I’d probably look awesome in a beard. As long as it’s not plaid.

Do you think being a blogger is better than being a logger?

Awful Books

My son lamented the practice of ‘weeding’ outdated or unused library books. He said it felt like they were killing his friends.

I tried to explain it was a necessary evil to make shelf space for new books but I don’t think he cared. Then I stumbled upon a funny blog written by librarians Holly Hibner and Mary Kelly.

Now I have proof some books are downright evil and deserve to die.

But lordy … wouldn’t you hate to see something you wrote on there!

Watch them on Jimmy Kimmel … (it’s not really 7 minutes long)

Loved “Knitting with Dog Hair.” It reminded me of when my mom knitted (knat?) a sweater using yarn from my aunt’s buffalo herd.

And “Do-It-Yourself Coffins.” The bonus is that you get to use it as a table until you need it. I guess that makes it a coffin table. This would be your coffintable book, perhaps.

Now go visit their blog for more fun and hijinx! The comments are funny too. I’ve added them to my “Just for Fun” file in my sidebar too, so you can visit them whenever you visit me. It’s true. I’m a giver.

What outdated books are still on your shelves?

Holiday Mail for Heroes

For the third year, the American Red Cross has joined with Pitney Bowes and thousands of volunteers to deliver holiday mail to active duty service members, veterans and their families.

As a newly christened Navy Mom, this feels very personal to me. My son is not deployed to a war zone but he will be in Japan for at least two more years. It’ll be his first Christmas away — very far away — from his family. He has a big, loving family, but many do not.

Please consider taking ten minutes to write a card to someone in the military. As I write this, Veterans Day has just passed and many of us expressed the profound wish that our Armed Forces and those families who have sacrificed so much could be honored more often than one day a year. This would be another way for you and your family to express your good wishes and thanks to them.

READ THIS FIRST because there are specifics you must comply with so your card gets delivered. And HURRY because you must get them your card by December 7^th.

At the bottom of the Red Cross page is a “share” button. Please post to your social media sites too. Feel free to forward my blog post to your friends and family if that’s easier. The more the merrier!

The direct link to the Red Cross is … www.RedCross.org/holidaymail

And to this blog post is … http://beckyland.wordpress.com/2009/11/13/holiday-mail-for-heroes

Thank you!

Have any of you been offered something tangible like this or simply a kind word from a stranger that helped ease your burden?

Dinner Last Night

I’m not a fancy girl, but I went to a fancy dinner last night. It was part of Denver Wine Week and we were invited by our pal, Captain Vino, Man-About-Town and Wine Guy Extraordinaire.

Hubbie and I put on real clothes and I even slapped on some make-up and high heels. When I was done, my 17-year-old son proclaimed me — and I quote — “stunning.”

He was being sarcastic, of course, but it still counts as a compliment because he said it out loud and I averted my eyes so as not to see the eye roll that accompanied it. If you don’t see it, it never happened.

Dinner was held at the gorgeous Opus Restaurant, closed for the evening for our soiree, entitled The Loire Valley Grand Vintners Dinner. It included representatives from the Loire Valley Wine Bureau talking about the wine presented at each course, the region in France that produces it and why it was paired with a particular food.

I believe it was the first time I used a map to follow along with my dinner. (All those times at Denneys don’t count because we really were lost.) And if you don’t count my mother at Thanksgiving, it was also the first time a chef had plopped himself down at our table to chat after preparing the meal.

Here’s the menu … I know I made it too big and it has screwed up your screen, but I wanted you to be able to read it.

It was a full evening for us. We enjoyed delicious food and drink, met new people, visited a restaurant we hadn’t been before and we also got to tell our favorite jokes.

Hubbie got to introduce me as his first wife (see, it’s funny because — oh, never mind) and when people learned we had our anniversary recently, I was able to say, “We’ve had 25 great years — 15 for him, 10 for me.”

And, because this was a four-hour dinner, I also got to use this variation …

Me: “We’ve been married 25 years.”

Complete stranger, trying to be polite: “How nice!”

Me, pretending to be horrified: “Oh! Not to each other!”

Let me just say that every dinner should include great conversation with interesting people, five types of wine, an artistic array of scallops, AND cranberry froth.

But then I guess it wouldn’t be special. Like having your son say you look stunning.

What did you have for dinner last night?

25 Years

Today is my 25^th wedding anniversary. By coincidence, it’s also my husband’s. It’s like we planned it or something.

By tradition, 25 years of wedded bliss is celebrated as the “Silver Anniversary.” Neither one of us is very romantic — we have a much more practical bent plus we’re lazy. So very lazy. But this year I thought I’d try to surprise him with something different so I hopped online to find some ways to celebrate.

These are some of the ideas I found:

• Use sparkly silver glitter on flowers, cards, centerpieces, gift wrap, balloons, etc. Set the table with a paper silver tablecloth, rent china and crystal with a silver or chrome trim, use silver looking votive candles, place flowers in silver colored vases.

…. Or I could sprinkle glitter on the four-day-old pile of newspapers that has become our centerpiece. Maybe lighting them on fire would add a cozy, romantic touch.

• Toast one another with Champagne.

…. We already do this one. A lot. But mostly just when we toss another beer bottle in the trashcan, causing a lovely clinking sensation. Or is that when an angel gets its wings?

• Plan a picnic with paper silver-colored plates and cups.

…. Maybe, but neither one of us actually wants to go on a picnic in November in Colorado. But I’ll certainly consider planning one. The gift, I suppose, would be when I laid out the plans, saw his horrified face, then told him he didn’t have to go. Priceless.

• Purchase tickets for a movie, sports event, concert, theatre, etc. and wrap with a silver ribbon or place in a silver box.

…. We do this all the time. We tend to wrap them up in credit card receipts, though.

• Plan a trip to Silver Springs in Maryland or Florida, Silverstrand Beach in California or Ireland, or to a Silver Mine.

…. Or we could find everything on Netflix with Ron Silver, Sarah Silverman, Alicia Silverstone and Phil Silvers and have a marathon.

• Put together a CD with songs from the era of the marriage date.

…. Um … that’s pretty much all the music we have.

• Assemble a memory photo album with pictures highlighting 25 years together. Include the wedding, children, grandchildren, friends, trips taken together, homes lived in, etc. A nice addition is to include stories from children and friends.

…. Feeling smug about this one as we’ve been making photo albums for more than 25 years. We never look at them, however, because if you disturb the dust you sneeze for a month. (And really? People need to be told what to put in a photo album??)

• Create a poem, write it in silver ink, and display it in a silver colored frame.

…. I tried this one, but I’m not sure —

There once was a couple from Denver

Who loved to watch Netflix like “Ben Hur”

They secured a good date

But the mailman’s too late

And they couldn’t quite find a new vendor

• Put together a family quilt comprised of each square done by a family member or close friends.

…. Okay, just let me get started. Probably won’t take too long. I have a couple hours till dinner.

• Make a wish tree. You can use a big branch that you paint silver and decorate with silver ribbons, ornaments etc. Fill the branches with pictures of major events in your life, people who love and cherish you as well as tickets for a trip, travelers checks, gift certificates for different events and restaurants you could use on a trip, etc.

…. This one baffles me. What exactly would you be wishing for? That your life was different and didn’t have all these icky events and people who love you? That your anniversary was closer to Christmas so you wouldn’t have to haul yet another big tree into your house? That you could actually spend the travelers checks and gift certificates instead of impaling them on a dead branch in your living room? Pass.

None of these really speak to me as the best way to celebrate our 25 official years together.

Instead, I think I’ll find a shiny quarter — so simple, yet so symbolic — and we’ll flip it.

Heads does the laundry, tails cleans the kitchen.

Bonus photos!

This photo doesn’t do it justice, but see this enormous train and veil? It weighed at least 75 pounds and took 14 festively dressed Guatemalan children to wrestle it into place. But it segues nicely into the next photo, one of my favorites ….

That’s me and my dad trying to squeeze through the church doors without wrecking the dress or any of the Guatemalan children. Our hearts weren’t bursting with love for the photographer just then. It makes me laugh every time I remember it. I’m just glad the music was loud enough to cover our cursing.

What do you think makes for a worthy 25^th Anniversary celebration?

How To Be 78 Years Old

I recently had the opportunity to spend both quality and quantity time with my mother while she recovered from surgery. Her recovery took about eight seconds — for which I’m very thankful — but then I got snowed in at her house.

Here’s a photo of her bedquarters. [Get it?? Like headquarters?? Oh, I crack me up.]

From this command center she was able to direct and supervise all activities. Like me clearing two feet of snow off my car.

Spending this much time in her home was illuminating because I hadn’t lived with my mother since about 1982. Also because for about that same amount of time, I’ve been the oldest person I’ve lived with.

My mother has taught me many valuable lessons over the years, some of which I’ll share.

• Don’t giggle and fidget in church, but if you can’t help yourself, scoot over near another family so as not to shame us.

• Red wine vinegar is not the same as red wine.

• When arriving home after a long car trip, no one uses the bathroom until the car is unpacked.

• If you pay a kid a quarter for every tick they find on themselves after camping, they’re likelier to inspect their nooks and crannies more diligently. Plus, they’ll also check the dog.

As you can see, she’s a wise and wonderful woman.

And now she’s taught me something else … how to be a 78-year-old.

If you would like to act 78 years old, this will get you started…

1. Get up at 4 a.m., make a pot of coffee and read for three hours. Then go back to bed, making it seem like you get up early AND sleep late simultaneously.
2. Upon waking, immediately turn on the TV and make a full pot of coffee.
3. Eat constantly, but only tiny dabs of this or that.
4. Coffee, coffee and more coffee.
5. Watch TV but only for about 90 seconds at a time because everything reminds you of a story … or something you need to remember … or a question you’ve been wondering about for several years. Glance wistfully at your computer, knowing all answers live there, but also knowing said answers prefer to hide from you.
6. Turn the coffeepot off.
7. Two minutes later, brew a cup of tea.
8. Make sure you are — this appears to be of the utmost importance — make sure you are AT ALL TIMES within three feet of a box of Kleenex. If you think you’ll breach that perimeter, pluck a couple and shove them into your pocket or your sleeve or between two buttons on your shirt.
9. If you don’t bathe by noon, just take a “PTA Bath” reminding yourself that the mailman doesn’t care how you look. [Hint: The A stands for armpits, but the P and the T are not words an elderly woman with a proper upbringing should say. Except to her daughter. Who will crack up and tell all her friends what a hoot it is when old ladies lose their inhibitions.]
10. More coffee.
11. Even though you’ve cooked two-and-a-half million chickens for Sunday dinner in the last 50+ years, confess you never really liked to eat fried chicken. This makes your daughter feel guilty. Especially after she buys fried chicken to stock the fridge during your recovery.
12. When recovering from surgery, eschew stairs, Scrabble and salt. But not sherry.

My mom rocks.

What will you do when you are 78 years old?

The Zen of Stupidity

Normally I’d waste this space with my self-described hilarious blog antics but I’ve decided to try something different this time. I’m going to waste this space with a hilarious story about my extreme stupidity.

Lest you worry about my self-esteem, rest assured I am intact. Gorged and oozing, in fact, with self-esteem. I shouldn’t be, but there it is. One of life’s many mysteries.

I did something recently that is quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, as long as we agree to overlook the 10^th grade perm and the red pleather coat I begged my mother to buy me. (That’s when I learned that despite its delightfully shiny redness, pleather coats consistently fail to keep the Wyoming chill from blowing right through a skinny girl. At least I was smart enough not to complain to my mother who was itching to launch a well-deserved told you so.)

The perm and the coat don’t rise to the top of my Stupidity Scale, though, because I didn’t know any better. But I do know that hard drives crash and one should obsessively back up all computer data.

Duh. I know that. Third graders know that. Heck, even the squirrel on my deck knows that. Why else would he be twitching his tail in that holier-than-thou manner?

Do you see where this is going?

Did I obsessively back up all my files? No. No, I did not. Most of them, but not all of them. I have — and use — an FTP site … I have a million little USB drives … I email things to myself.

I know better, but I’ve never — in the 20+ years I’ve been computing — had a computer problem. I became complacent.

Here’s a weird karmic twist to the tale, befitting a BeckyLand story. My husband recently bought me an external hard drive so I could start using Time Machine which automatically backs up stuff every eighteen seconds. If the Broncos would have played at 2:00 instead of 11:00 that fateful Sunday, then I might have dodged a bullet. We would have set it up in the morning instead of waiting until after the game.

Guess when it crashed.

The stages of grief whooshed through my psyche at warp speed, so I was fairly calm by Monday morning. Waiting to talk to the Geniuses at the Apple Store was nerve-racking, until they told me it was hopeless and sent me home with a new computer for free. (Note to self: Apple Care ROCKS!) They even gave me my old hard drive and the name of a local data recovery place, Datatech Labs.

I visited them on Monday to tell them my sad story, one I’m sure they’ve heard a million times. Clearly, these are people who’ve been extensively trained in grief counseling. They spoke softly. They made no sudden movements. They even offered butterscotch candy and hugs …. Wait. I might be thinking of my grandmother. But they were very soothing. Never once did they mock or jeer or snicker behind my back.

My new best friend, Stephan, took my broken and battered hard drive into his softly cupped palms and carried it lovingly to the clean room to check it out. When he came out, he was smiling. “Looks like we can recover all the data.”

But then the bad news. $300 to repair the hard drive enough that they can get the data, then another $1700 to recover it. But only if they recover it. No recovery charge if they can’t get it.

[Despite the cost — and my ultimate decision not to pay for the recovery — if you ever find yourself in a similar pickle, you’d do well to call Datatech. They come highly recommended and they won’t mock you. They’d probably even give you a hug if you looked like you needed one.]

I’m not really into self-flagellation, but I do think I need to be punished. If you simply throw money at a problem, then you won’t really learn anything, right? That might be how Wall Street works, but we’re better than that, kids.

Realistically, nobody died, the sun keeps coming up every day, and I didn’t lose anything irreplaceable. I am much more fortunate than others. Everything I lost I can recreate, should I accept that challenge. It will be time-consuming, but not impossible. Some of the stuff I’ll probably never need again. As I tried to list everything I knew I lost, I’m sure I didn’t remember half of it. It was there because I had the space for it. So it seems like a good time for a purge.

Less like a tragic house fire, and more like a healthy, ruthless cleaning of my closets.

But the lesson is important … back up obsessively in several different ways because thumb drives can fail, large external drives can fail, software can fail. And always — always — blame the Broncos.

How do you back up your work?