Deborah Sickle Hill

Category: Scenes from Real Life

  • Technology Failed Me!

    Technology Failed Me!

    That was the line my daughter hit me with when she came home from work.  It was an interesting comment since I had just finished this blog on that very topic but was still looking for a title. I’m going to plagiarize her comment.

    I hate technology.  Designed to make my life easier but in long run I think it makes it more complicated.  The goal of this morning was a simple task of outlining a curriculum for class this afternoon.  I fired up the computer, started the voice recognition and sat down to do some dictation.  The computer acted as if it had never heard my voice before.

      I re-calibrated the microphone and started from scratch.  The machine continued to act as though I’m was speaking Greek.  This meant for every sentence I typed, I had to go back and find the correct words the voice recognition replaced for mine.  On days when I have a lot of time this is not a big deal.  Today was not one of those days.

     Now I can hear you saying, why didn’t you just type?  The answer is because I have a bum arm and am supposed to let it rest.  Consequently, me and the voice recognition system went round and round.

     I finally got it running fairly smoothly and sat down to type.  I completed my paper and hit print.  We have a Wireless Network in my house.  That means I can be on the second floor hit the print button and the paper will print on the first floor.  This did not happen.

     Last week something happen with our router and the wireless stopped working. Since then, I’ve been dragging my laptop to the printer so I can connect the two by cable.  Yesterday we thought we’d fixed the wireless router. So this morning when I hit the print button I expected to go downstairs and find my prints waiting.  What I found was nothing.

     I trudged back up the steps and checked my laptop. A message read, can’t talk to the printer. I think, so much for the wireless fix.  I unplugged the equipment from my laptop and take it downstairs to try again.  Nothing happened. I can’t get the printer to function at all.  I think, there’s a new printer still in the box on the second floor, I’ll quickly set up that one.

      I found the printer and set it up. It’s the exact same printer as the one downstairs so it should not have been a problem.

     I hooked my laptop with the new printer and hit print. Nothing happened.  I realized there was a disk that I’m supposed to install.  I figured since they were the same printer I would not need additional software. 

     I popped in the disk and hit install.  An error message occurred.  It read, no drivers found, installation unsuccessful.  It directed me to click on a link for more information.  I did this and It read, you ding-a-ling you should not have your laptop connected to the printer while trying to install printer software.  I didn’t know that.

    I unplug the laptop from the printer and tell it to reinstall the disk.  The computer cranks away and another error message pops.  It read, if you really want to print do a dos-e-doe, twirl around, clap your hands and agree to sell your first born child.  After you sign that you agree with this try to reinstall the software.  So I signed and waited.  Another error message popped.  It said, I’ve decided we’re not printing today, so sorry for your bad luck.  

     I decided to write the information I typed onto paper. I’m in the process doing this when the computer tells me it’s going shopping to get software upgrades.  There’s no time to think about the idea. It simply said goodbye and my screen went blank. I can no longer access my document.

     I restarted the computer and it informed me it has to install all the upgrades it found before it abandoned me.  Estimated time before I can use the machine is ten minutes.

      Fine, I needed to eat lunch anyway.  I heated up some leftover spaghetti from last night’s dinner and ate while standing at the kitchen sink.  After all I only had 10 minutes before the machine allows me back to work and there was a lot I needed to do.

     Everything complete, I restarted the programs but couldn’t find my file. I looked everywhere. It was as though I never wrote it.  I suppose it’s possible I never saved the document; however, I typically save papers every so many paragraphs.  In my frustration maybe I forgot this time.

     After I searched files for about a half hour, I felt like throwing the printer and the computer out the window.  Logic stepped in and instead, I put on my shoes and went for a drive.  What I needed was a change of scenery.  I decided the comic book store was the place to go.

     At the comic book store, they were playing electronic music reminiscent of the group Tangerine Dream from the seventies.  The store had lots of eye catching, multi-colored paper covers to greet my eyes.  Titles that splashed the exploits of superheroes, imaginary universes and action, adventure films surround me.  Familiar friends like X- men, Wolverine, Ironman, Star Trek, Star Wars and Dr. Who were only a few.  The guy behind the desk was more than interested in shooting the breeze for a few moments.  

     Those few moments in a pop-culture environment with conversation having nothing to do with reality was exactly what I needed.  Feeling refreshed I headed home to tackle my technology nightmares.

     Back upstairs in my office I once again looked at the printer, laptop and thought, I’m going to give this one more try.  Once again I tried to install the software and once again the computer complained.  It told me to click this, click that, say three Hail Mary’s and eat a strawberry yogurt with granola.  I’m not going to let you print. I’ll show the machine who is boss; I’m going to turn this over to my tech squad, hubby, when he gets home.

      I returned to using the voice recognition program with another project.  Like earlier, it continues to be uncooperative. Instead of typing sentences like, I’m going to drive to the store to buy milk.  The voice recognition program typed… and runs were minimal.  These were not the same sentence.  They didn’t even sound the same.  I don’t get it.

     Maybe the moon is waxing or waning or maybe we are getting sun flares causing my equipment to run amok.  I don’t know but I do know if I lived in an imaginary reality like in a comic book, I would find a way to have machines do their master’s bidding. Not the master trying to figure out how to communicate with the machine or the machine doing what it wants when it wants.

      I worry sometimes about the level of dependence humans have on machines. Office machinery running amok is one thing, but I see those commercials for cars that park themselves and find myself concerned.  I hate technology sometimes. I don’t know if I’m ready for a world more dependent on machines.  Then again, machines probably aren’t real thrilled to work for people like me – technologically challenged.

  • Anyone See Where I Left My Scalpel? Now That’s A Brush With Reality!

    Its 11:11, an hour and ten minutes into my daughter’s five hour spine surgery. I’m sitting with her fiancé, a menagerie of electronic devices to keep me entertained and a fully charged cell phone.

     I’m on level 33 in the game Candy Crush and fiancé is on level 65, not that it’s a competition. Steve Harvey is on the television chattering away about Jack Russell Terriers. I have one of those.  Chicken-dog we call him due to his un-bounding ability to find the most minuscule piece of chicken bone from the trash. No one in the room seems to notice the television exists. No one cares that I have a chicken-dog at home or why I’m sitting in this artificial environment called a waiting room.  I however, cannot say the same about my feelings toward the other people in the room.

    I hear snippets of conversations, small windows into the lives of others, small dramas in adult human packages.  She did well, you can go back; He had problems and will be in recovery another hour; I’ve been here all night and I got a parking ticket; I’m sorry, we need to talk to you in private. Things didn’t go as expected.  This is what I am currently calling my reality.

    I’ve heard that word in different contexts lately making me wonder, what is reality?

    Outside the hospital walls, people continue to rush around grabbing coffee, the latest news, the morning dead-lock on I-83, pushing their kids onto school buses. In here I sit and wonder why it’s taking me so many attempts to get past level 33 in Candy Crush and what fiancé knows that I don’t.  Its easier then thinking that the woman I once spent forty-two hours giving birth to is lying on a table being flayed by a man I’ve met only once.

    Okay, maybe flayed is not the most accurate word. No correct that, this is what I feel, so it is the exact word for my current reality. What is reality? How can my reality consist of one way of life and the next day be completely alien from the day before? Are they the same? Is my reality the same as someone in a country where there is no electricity and my daily existence is spent finding food and fresh water?

    My first inclination is to say, no, they are not the same reality. How can they be? When I think about the veterans returning home after active duty, I think the same thing. How do they wrap their heads around the life they lived overseas in war zones too returning home to, hey, the neighbor cut the hedge too short?  Do something about that.

    My second inclination is to say; yes it is the same reality, only different facets. As quantum physics contemplates the ramifications of string theory, (alternate dimensions in time and space) I think I’ll view reality as a large, loosely woven textile. Twisted, strands of cotton into yarn blended together and the fibers criss-crossing, under and over each other. You pull one string and the whole thing wobbles or comes undone.

    There is a large family in the hallway outside the trauma intensive care ward. From their faces I can tell they are sitting on the edge of threads coming undone if not completely ripped. I make eye contact with their pleading, empty eyes. I can almost hear the word, why, from their minds. Why did this thread have to snag or be cut? I don’t have an answer.

    It’s surreal to see. Daughter’s fiancé and I are walking down the hallway toward the hospital cafeteria. He’s talking about a stock car race and the amount of hours they give him at work. I am flashing back to when I was in the trauma intensive care ward down at Shock Trauma in Baltimore. I can smell the alcohol and hear the doctors and nurses talking as they filleted me open to save my life. I never lost consciousness till the end.

    Daughter’s fiancé does not know my reality just sharply changed course on that textile of life. Nor do I think he caught how close we both just walked around another reality sharply snagged and unraveling as we passed that family in the hallway. A chill goes down my own spine. My spine, intact, closed within the confines of my muscles and skin. I flash to my daughter lying there in surgery.

    Do you think a doctor ever left a tool or cotton wad in someone, I hear someone say while in the cafeteria line. I’m trying to decide on a nice, healthy fish or a piece of cake. I pick up the cake and another cup of really bad coffee. I know medical issues like these happen more times than we might want to think about. After all, we are only human. All on that same piece of fabric that twists and turns under our feet.

    If a surgeon is having a fight with his spouse or had a minor accident on the way to work, do they take that energy into the operating room? Do they get as scatter-brained as I do when things knock me off my routine? If I were surgeon, on days like that, I’d lose my scalpel in someone for sure.

    I can’t handle thoughts like that right now. I grab a second piece of cake in case the first piece is not enough comfort food. I notice fiancé has grabbed three times his normal amount of food for lunch. Nerves, I tell myself. Maybe, he is closer to the unraveled part of the textile then I think.

    Do any of us really know where in reality we are? I don’t have any answers to this either. This cake is really moist; I wonder if they bake it here?

    The nurse tells us my daughter came through surgery well. I sigh in relief. My section of the textile is still raveled and I’m pretty sure the surgeon still has his scalpel. Not a bad day overall.

  • Happy Farters Day: How Low Have We Gone in Celebrating Dads?

    I’m at the Wal-Mart waiting for prescriptions and decided this would be a great opportunity to pick up father’s day cards. The Wal-Mart in my area has two rows of cards about fifteen feet long devoted to father’s day. The store is not crowded and I have the entire father’s day card ensemble at my viewing pleasure.

    Picking out a card for my dad was a breeze. He’s the sentimental type and I easily found a card depicting a little blonde haired girl smiling and laughing with her dad. Ah, I thought, boy does that bring back memories. If it brings a tear to my eye, which it did, I knew it would get him too.  I put it in my cart.

    Then there is my hubby who can be described in many ways, but sentimental and romantic are not among them. I don’t know if it was genetics, environment or he just likes to hide his softer, mushy sentimental bent, but he is more like Sheldon Cooper (Big Bank Theory) then Romeo (Romeo and Juliet). Sentimental father’s day cards are not an option.

    I have a choice. I can get him a card about drinking beer, being lazy, forgetful, being over occupied with cars or sports, being in the bathroom too long, reading in the bathroom, staying in bed with a beer, over-eating or farting. There are eight different cards about father’s farting.  Four cards on being in the bathroom. Three cards on offering new and improved reading material for being in the bathroom. This would combine being in the bathroom too long and reading in the bathroom.  In case you are keeping track.

    There are a couple cards for older kids to give their fathers. Things like, you embarrass me, I’m just as moronic as you, give me money, where are the keys to the car.  I have to add that in the pre-school – kindergarten age cards for fathers are; I love you, you play with me, you take care of me, things like this.

    My question is, what the hell happened from I love you to Happy Farters Day? Granted, I’m not in the Hallmark store. I’m in Wal-Mart. Does that make a difference? If I was on the east side of town would I find less fart and toilet related father’s day cards and more, thanks for going fishing with me cards, you taught me lots?  With the card picture showing two guys in a boat, one younger than the other, all tangled up in a fishing net.

    My hubby has said on numerous occasions that men, especially white, middle class men, are one of the only populations of people where it is acceptable to berate, tease and stereotype. He uses American television shows as his evidential media trail to prove his point.

    I think about this as I’m standing in the card aisle trying to force some of these cards to change so I can find something suitable. You know, humorous but intelligent and with style. My magic genie is not working. I find another toilet card depicting a gorilla on the toilet reading the newspaper. Really?

    I’ve been standing in this aisle for twenty minutes and it’s obvious nothing is going to change. So, I’m going to find a somewhat acceptable, humorous father’s day card, cross out what does not apply and with sharpie in hand, make it fit.  I search again for the ultimate card and come up empty handed.

    Is it that our stereotyping of fathers is so out-of-hand that no one can remember what their dad is (was) really like? Why stereotype fathers with the attributes of dysfunctionality and think it’s funny?  Is this really what our current society feels about fathers or men? Maybe, hubby is right. Maybe this is another evidential trail.

    Has the role of father changed that much in main-stream America that we resort to fart and toilet cards to express our hostility? As a social worker, I know that the percentage of fatherless families is staggering. The last statistic I saw was fifteen million children live in a household without a father. (The Washington Post)  In Baltimore, where I am from, 38% of children live in fatherless homes. The domino effect is horrendous for children and society.  The numbers continue to rise.

    Is this the reason I can’t find a decent father’s day card? Will there come a day when we won’t have father’s day? Maybe the people who wish to express honor and appreciation for their fathers are declining. If this is the trend and it continues, there will be no need for a day to celebrate and honor half of the genetic gene pool that brought all of us here.

    Maybe it’s the type of humor involved. I accept that. There are too many degrading, hello, I’m a dysfunctional dad and it’s my day, cards verses I’m a great dad, not perfect but I love you and you know it cards. There is no balance, at least not in these aisles.

    So what’s with happy farters day? Lack of responsible dads, lack of respect for dads, a disconnect between who dad’s are and how they relate to their families? Or is it something I haven’t thought of?

    My hubby does not like sports so that cuts out about an eighth of the selection. He does not drink and that cuts out a fourth.  I’ll be damned if I’m going to give him anything that has to do with bodily functioning to celebrate his fatherhood. That cuts out another half. The last percentages are the sentimental and pre-school cards. Where this does led me?

    I bought hubby a birthday card. I have a sharpie at home. Maybe, this is a sign I need to go into the greeting card industry. I certainly can’t do any worse then what I’ve seen today.

    So if you are a father and you get a father’s day card that does not have drinking, laziness, or jokes about bodily functions, give your family an extra hug. They obviously went the extra mile to find that special card just for you. Happy up and coming father’s day!

  • Gettysburg’s 150th Celebration: How to Survive and Maybe Learn a Lesson in Civility Along the Way

    Gettysburg’s 150th anniversary celebration kicks off June 27 and lasts through July 7th. For all the official information concerning reenactments, concerts and other events go to: http://www.nps.gov/gett/planyourvisit/150th-anniversay-faq.htm  Or  http://www.bluegraygettysburg.com/ Or http://www.gettysburgfoundation.org/.  For everything unofficial, stay here.

    I am a self proclaimed history buff, paranormal enthusiast with extensive history studying trauma. What would be more natural then for me to gravitate to Gettysburg, especially on such an epic occasion?   These days, I am in Gettysburg at least once a month. Usually, you will find me wandering around areas of the battlefield with a camera. I try to capture in photos the moods of July 1863 and now for me as I walk across the once blood soaked fields.

    These fields speak; the trees wail with woe, the buildings are still scarred from cannon fire.  The battlefield is so vividly re-conditioned to its original state that I can literally walk where great and courageous men made split second decisions that saved many, killed thousands and helped bring a turning point to the Civil War.  The history of the town, the people and the soldiers have been so painstakingly researched, preserved and presented for the next generation to remember.

    Why do we still harbor strong feelings toward a war that ended over a hundred years ago? Because it is the one time where our own people turned and divided. Brothers fault and killed brothers. Neighbors killed neighbors. I come from Maryland, a state divided in the war. We were neither Yankee nor Confederate and yet we were both.  So, there are many stories of families being ripped apart over the issues and ultimately burying their dead.

    I used to find it hard to believe that people could turn on each other the way they did before and during the war. That is until recently when I started to hear rhetoric about taking up arms, parts of states wanting to succeed from the country over this issue or that. At times the vocal violence was so lethal, I found it frightening.

    I don’t think most people have it within themselves to kill a family member or neighbor over politic differences of opinion. I’d like to think not. I know for sure, most people have never taken another person’s life and have no clue not only if they could, but what that would be like.

    I’ve worked with enough veterans and police officers who do know. It’s not pretty. It’s easy to spout at the mouth about wanting internal war. I don’t think people realize if there was an internal war, we, all of us, would be the ones fighting. Not just enlisted people or trained militants. It would be our children, elderly and disabled injured and potentially slaughtered. Our food not able to be harvested from destroyed fields. Food that is harvested, not able to reach its destinations. It is our socio-economic system completely collapsing. There would be no, forgetting we are at war because it does not affect me unless I catch a glimpse on what we currently call the news.

    We all need a dose of calming down and a reality check. Gettysburg, while now a thriving tourist destination, being home to one of the most explored, if not the most explored battlefield in the world, is one powerful reality check.  For 150 years she’s been screaming at us. Don’t forget!

    So, if you come to Gettysburg this year, especially during this celebration of remembrance, don’t’ forget. But at the same time, don’t’ let it swallow you whole. Depending on your own experiences and empathetic abilities, it can do that. Have some fun. There is a lot to take in.

    I’ve decided to give you the, if I was a Gettysburg tour guide this is where I would take you, agenda. If your favorite haunt is not listed, well I couldn’t list them all. This is just my list compiled over forty years of visits to town.

    Walking Along Cemetery Ridge

    Must Haves When Coming to Gettysburg:

    1. Patience! Crowds will be intense this summer and especially during the 150th anniversary. Remember, this is a walking town; pedestrians have the right-a-way. In the traffic circle, the cars inside the circle have the right-a-way. You can only go in one direction. When you get to your street, veer off to the right. Watching for traffic around you.
    2. Sunscreen, lots of sunscreen, hats and or parasols. If you are going to the re-enactments, there are few to no trees. The sun gets intense. Remember to shield the kids!
    3. Water! Bright sun and intense July heat equals dehydration. There are venders selling drinks all over town and at the reenactments. Lines can be long and many venders do not sell water. You can’t drink enough water.
    4. Bring cash. Most places accept credit cards, but some venders, again, especially if you are going to a reenactment, may only accept cash.
    5. Time. Give yourself plenty of time to get from point A to point B. Traffic will be difficult. The main historic district of town is located on two cross streets meeting at the traffic circle. Parking is limited.
    6. A map of town and the battlefield. The re-enactments are not on the battlefield. The battlefield is not one large land mass. It surrounds the town and if you are looking for a particular battle location or monument, a map and or GPS is a must.
    7. Sense of humor. Everyone is in town to have a good time, learn new things and experience a piece of history. There will be short tempers, babies crying, people walking into traffic, lines for restaurants and port-a-potties. Accept it and go with the flow. The park service is expecting over 20,000 re-enactors and half a million visitors this summer. Smile!
    8. A place to stay! Don’t come to town expecting to find a place, even if it’s camping. Be smart; get your lodging ahead of time. I’ve heard people are staying in York, Hanover, Chambersburg and Harrisburg for the re-enactment weekends.

    Pennsylvania Infantry Memorial

    Must Dos (According to me):

    1. Get in town early and have breakfast at one of the many restaurants. I’ve eaten several times at The Avenue Restaurant on Steinwehr Ave. across from O’Rorke’s Irish Eatery and Spirits.  The cost is family friendly, food good and lines not too bad.  OR
    2. Go to the National Park Service Visitor’s Center and Museum. They have a 19th century eating establishment on site. See the film, cyclorama and the museum. The museum displays give a wonderful, easy to understand presentation of pre, during and post Civil War information and life.  Visually stimulating, occasionally interactive displays allow for even the most museum skittish to benefit.
    3. Buy the two hour Battlefield Auto Tour CD from the National Park Service bookstore before touring the battlefield. Stops on the CD correspond to the tour signs on the battlefield. The CD not only gives logistics about sections of the battle but re-enacts stories from the perspective of soldiers, town’s people and generals.
    4. When on the battlefield tour, get out of your car and walk around! Check out the vantage points, variety of monuments and the stories they convey. There is a book you can purchase at the National Park bookstore called, So You Think You Know Gettysburg, by James and Suzanne Gindlesperger. It is an easy to use book giving GPS locations and stories behind some of the parks most memorable statues and monuments.
    5. Rent a horse, Segway or book a bus to tour the battlefield. There are over 6,000 acres of battlefield with out-of-the-way roads and trails.
    6. Have lunch.
    7. Take a walk down Steinwehr Ave. Watch fudge being made in the Chocolate, Fudge and Ice Cream shop on Steinwehr Ave. Dress up in Victorian clothing and have your picture taken. Have a home-made ice cream cone, take in multiple gift shops, art galleries, book shops and souvenir venders.
    8. Veer to the right at the corner of Baltimore Street and Steinwehr Ave. There are several bed and breakfasts, private historic collections and museums with minimal admission fees, candy shops, period clothing shops, restaurants and ghost tours.
    9. Have dinner at either the Farnsworth House or Dobbins House Tavern. There are many great places to eat in town but for me, these historic locations with their ambience, period menus and service can’t be beat. Farnsworth House is located on Baltimore Street. Dobbins Inn is located on Steinwehr Ave.
    10. Take in a ghost tour. Warning, there are several to choose from and one is not the same as another. Some take you directly in front of the building or location where the story takes place. Others only walk you around a circle, stopping here and there to tell a story.  Some claim to promise seeing a ghost via orbs on your photos (orbs most likely to be dust, bugs, dew or other weather related element). Some tell stories with minimal to no factual back story. While others give factual, historical information behind the stories and town’s people’s antidotes of unexplained events. You can have a great tour but a minimally effective tour guide and visa-versa.  Guides expect a tip after the tour.

    My favorite ghost tour is Ghosts of Gettysburg on Baltimore Street. The author, Nesbit wrote the series Ghosts of Gettysburg and runs this operation. Reservations are recommended. I prefer the longer tour as they take you down to the train station and college as well as around town.

    1. End the night head down to the Lincoln Diner at 32 Carlisle Street for a great piece of pie. Located across from the Railroad Station, this college diner is known for its large, scrumptious deserts.

    Sach’s Bridge

    If you have a second day in town, check out the Jenny Wade house on Baltimore Street. Take a carriage ride. Check out the Lincoln Train Museum on Steinwehr Ave., Soldier’s National Museum on Baltimore Street, and Hall of Presidents also on Baltimore Street.  Talk to some re-enactors stationed in encampments about life as a soldier. Pay your respects at the National Cemetery and location of President Lincoln’s famous address.

    Little Round looking down on Devil’s Den

    At the end of the day, find a large rock on the battlefield at Little Round Top and watch the sunset over Devil’s Den. This location, where thousands lost their lives in the Valley of Death is oddly serene and quiet in the rays of the setting sun.  While you are there, don’t’ forget the message these hollowed fields deliver. Find peaceful resolutions. War is not the answer and it’s never what we expect. Once started, it’s hard to turn back.

    Enjoy your time in Gettysburg!

  • It’s Drive-In Movie Time: Let the Films Begin!

    It’s drive-in movie time again. Even though nights are still on the cool side, it didn’t stop our local drive-in’s opening weekend from being a near sell-out for Lilo & Stitch and Mission: Impossible. 

    Like good American nostalgia enthusiasts, we gathered our blankets, hooded sweat shirts, lawn chairs, a bag of McDonald’s food, folding table and a game of Haunted Mansion Life (yes it’s a Disney thing) and headed for the drive-in forty-five minutes away.

    It was good to see so many other cars, vans and trucks in attendance. The enticing smell of popcorn, hot dogs and fresh coffee filing the air. Kids of all ages running about, throwing around balls, swinging on swings or playing games with family and friends around their vehicles. Adults sat around playing cards, friends were reunited. We were about an hour from show time. You have to go at least an hour before show time for a good spot and for socializing.

    According to the LA Times, at the height of the drive-in theater craze there were over 4,000 drive-in movie screens or about 25% of all movie screens in the country. Today there are only approximately 368 or 1.5%. Drive-in movies are a dying bread in great family entertainment.

    Why go to a drive-in when you can attend a modern indoor theater with rocking, cushy chairs and state of the art Dolby surround-sound? Here are my top ten reasons.

    10. It’s an American institution that should be preserved.

    9. Two movies for the price of one.

    8. Before movie social time with family and friends.

    7. You can talk all you want during the film and no one cares.

    6. Sit in the car, on lawn chairs, laying in a truck or van, in sleeping bags on the ground. Whatever floats your boat.

    5. You control the volume of the sound around you.

    4. Bring the kids in their pajamas. If they fall asleep, no problem. Wrap them in a blanket. Once you are home, just plop them into bed. (Yes, put them in a car seat on the way home)

    3. Bring your own treats but make sure to patronize the concession stand. Most drive-ins depend on this to off-set cost of the business. Our concession stand is like a take-out restaurant.

    2. It’s an event, not just a film. Everyone gets excited when you tell them it’s drive-in movie night!

    1. You get to watch the dancing concession stand food advertisement at intermission. “4 minutes till show time, just enough time to get a fresh bag of popcorn and a refreshing soda.. 3 minutes till show time…” As the dancing hot dogs in buns jig with a couple bags of popcorn to hooky carnival music.

    Want to know if there is a drive-in near you? Go to DriveinMovie.com. They have them listed state by state. See you at the drive-in!

    Oh yes, Lilo & Stitch and Mission: Impossible were great films. I recommend those too.

  • Oh No! Not Spam!

    As many of you know I have an internet business doing something called e-therapy. It uses an e-mail system for people who either do not want to make traditional weekly appointments in an office or are not able to. The key point of this is – e-mail is important to me. Very important.

    So, imagine my surprise to find some people are ending up in my Spam folder. It’s a crazy system. The web site has an e-mail address and they forward the mail from this to my e-mail account which has a different e-mail address. They are, what do you call it, in sync.  Only, after having this system in place for several months I find all kind of important information I have not gotten because SPAM ate it.

    This makes me a bit upset, peeved, ticked, pissed, you name it. No one warned me about SPAM. I grew up with SPAM. SPAM in a can. I have no idea what SPAM in a can really is. They tell me its ham but I like ham and well then there is SPAM.  There was also a bit done by Monty Python called Spam-a-lot. I only remember some pieces to this and I don’t think they were talking about SPAM in a can, but I know they were not talking about SPAM in my e-mail system.

    My mother never served me SPAM in a can and I had to learn about it the hard way, as a poor student in college. That’s not a good way to learn about SPAM in a can but I’m sure there are worse.  She also never warned me about SPAM in my e-mail system. Yes, I know there was no internet or e-mail back when I was growing up but I really don’t see this as a good excuse for mom not introducing and warning me about SPAM.

    Warnings, like, “Dear, when you get older, there will be this thing called the internet. People will send you things you normally get in the mailbox. You really need to be careful, especially if you open an internet based business, that you check this little hidden device called SPAM. No, not the stuff we see in the grocery store in a can. Now be a good girl and eat your ham.”

    Okay, maybe it’s not a good idea to blame my mother for my short-comings in regards to SPAM. Perhaps I should look at the inner recesses of my own sub-conscious. Could it possibly be I’m so confused about SPAM in a can, it’s not ham but it is, I like ham but not SPAM that I don’t think about my SPAM folder?

    Maybe I was traumatized as a young adult, sitting in my dorm trying to open SPAM in a can with my geometry compass tip (I didn’t have a can opener), and accidently swallowing it with SPAM that I fear flashbacks?  Maybe, I should have really thought harder about opening a business where SPAM was going to be involved on any level! Sh-t!

    It’s too late now. I’m almost finished my office so I can start seeing people face to face again. Still, I really wanted this e-mail system to take off… Damn…Damn you to hell you dirty, stinking SPAM! (That’s a spoof of Charlton Heston’s line in the film Planet of the Apes)

  • Step Away from the Cinnabon and No one Gets Hurt!

    This morning I discovered a wonderful and deadly secret, Burger King now carries Cinnabons.  I love Cinnabons! Until this morning, I could only get them at the airport. Usually, I could resist them, too worried about making my flight or having oozing cinnamon sauce dripping down my chin and shirt.

    Now, I can go less then a mile from my home, sit in my car and indulge in cinnamon-sugar ecstasy.  Burger King has Cinnabons!

    Like a cocaine addict, there I sat. Could have ordered the bacon, egg sandwich or better still, the oatmeal with fruit. No, I ordered Cinnabons, two of them. I deserved them, I told myself. Reasons why, I have no clue.

    I ordered, paid and planned to sit in the parking lot eating them. My napkins in hand for the dribble mess that only a Cinnabon can produce.  I opened the box. Two scrumptious, twisted, doughy circles dripping in brown cinnamon syrup and decadent white icing stared at me. Oh my! 

    My cell phone clock buzzed. I looked at the dash clock. It’s later then I thought. if I sat in the parking lot, I’d be late for my class on spiritual discipline. You know, learn not to over indulge. Keep an even-keel, that sort of thing. So, I have to eat the Cinnabons on the go. What could go wrong?

    I turn out of the Burger King parking lot and the first gob of icing hits my jeans. It’ll wait. I can’t turn, hold a Cinnabon and grab a napkin at the same time. I’m not that coordinated. Not a problem. For the three miles it takes me to get to my class on discipline, I gorge myself on these overly-large, incredibly addictive, way-more-than-I-can-eat rolls. Pleased, that I only have that one glob of icing on my jeans to contend with.

    At my destination, I pulled into the parking lot and found a spot. The rolls are eaten.  Not something to be proud of, but next time, I’ll order the oatmeal. No one has to know I slipped up and once again found myself in a sugary stupor. I’d gotten away with it! Ha, ha, indulge today, disciple tomorrow!

    I garb a napkin to remove the incriminating evidence from my jeans only to find… it is joined by five other considerable larger globs all down my shirt and jeans. Crap! Good thing they gave me many napkins. 

    Did you know napkins adhere to Cinnabon icing globs like flies on flypaper? Napkins ripped, shredding all over my shirt and jeans. I look like a kid just learning how to shave, ending up with toilet paper wads all over their face! 

    I should be in class several minutes ago! How in the hell am I going to clean this up and look dignified? No one is supposed to know I fell off the band-wagon! I wonder if I can lick some of it off. I don’t have any water and drowning myself in caramel-mocha coffee doesn’t seem like the answer!

    There is a knock on my car passenger window. It’s a friend of mine also going to this class. Her gleeful expression quickly turns to confusion. I’d be confused too if I wandered up to her car only to find her sitting there with napkin shreds hanging off globs of icing all over her shirt, hands and pants.

    There is really nothing to say here except, “Burger King now has CInnabons.”  She still looks confused. 

    “I’m not really sure how to help you with this one,” she says. Her head cocks sideways the way my dog does when I’m trying to explain the concepts of karma to him. 

    “That’s okay, I don’t’ know either.”  I wonder if I can claim this as  a new grunge/bohemian look.

    So, I’m going to class wearing shredded napkins and not-strategically placed globs of syrup and icing. A smile on my face. I’m taking responsibility for my actions. I’ll take the consequences, the tisk-tisks, the smirks, and the malaise when this sugar rush crashes. 

    I get out of the car and straighten out my newly decorated shirt and strategically hug my friend who says,  “Wow, you smell like a bakery, like Christmas cookies! That’s not too bad. It could be much worse.”

    And this is why I have her as my friend. Everyone should have friends like this.

    Hello, my name is Deborah Sickle Hill, Burger King has Cinnabons, and I have a problem. Damn good thing I’m taking a class on spiritual discipline.   I think I have a stomachache.

  • Why I Still Haven’t Painted That Wall

    The universe keeps telling me to slow down—loudly and often. Apparently, I have short-term memory loss.

    This morning started with a doable to-do list. That lasted about 30 seconds. I noticed a water stain on the wall, which reminded me the upstairs needs painting. Since I’m turning that space into an office, it suddenly felt urgent. And that’s when it all unraveled.

    7:30 a.m.
    “Okay, that wall… and that one… and wow, the ceiling? What mood am I going for? Time for a paint color deep-dive!”

    9:00 a.m.
    Two hours later, I’ve selected nothing but somehow watched a YouTube video on belly fat and found myself planning a trip to Lowe’s.

    10:30 a.m.
    In Lowe’s, I get overwhelmed by paint options. Do I want satin or semi-gloss? Quart or gallon? Also, how did I end up in the garden section eyeing Lily of the Valley bulbs?

    11:30 a.m.
    Back home with paint and leftover pizza in the microwave, I head out to the garage to get the roller. Instead, I spot the half-dug hole for a future fish pond and—naturally—start rototilling.

    11:45 a.m.
    I hit a rock, grab a trowel, and find myself digging with archaeological precision (old habits die hard). I find a marble. Then six more.

    Clearly, someone lost their marbles, and I wonder if it’s me.

    12:15 p.m.
    The rototiller hits steel wire and wraps around the axle. I flip the machine over and head to the basement for WD-40, dragging dirt through the kitchen.

    There, I realize I forgot to switch the laundry.

    12:25 p.m.
    Back outside, staring at the broken machine, I finally get it: This is one of those “slow your roll” moments from the universe. So naturally, I decide to blog about it.

    I grab my camera to document the chaos and end up taking pictures of the fish instead. They’re the real reason I came outside, after all. They survived the winter in an above-ground pond—the least I can do is give them a moment on the internet.

    Sure, getting only three hours of sleep probably didn’t help this morning’s misadventure. But if I’m honest, I’ve done this well-rested too.

    So now I’m making coffee. I’ll take it slow. I still have the afternoon to get something done.

    Maybe I’ll paint.
    Or maybe I’ll finally eat that pizza still waiting in the microwave.

  • Monument Rocks, Kansas

    ©Deborah Hill

    Kansas is the flattest place I have ever seen. Pancake flat. I-70 is one long stretch of flat, mile after mile of farmland speckled with occasional bouts of religious billboards. If you want to find your fate in the afterlife based on a billboard, I-70 in Kansas is the place to be.

    Nestled deep in all this flatitute is a natural site that took my breath away. I called it the Monument Valley of the Mid-west. They call it Monument Rocks and Castle Rocks. We found it only because of a small sign on the side of the road and a reference in the Welcome to Kansas booklet.

    It is located down a very long, meandering, dirt road through private ranches. There are no fences and cattle do have the right-of-way.  The monoliths are considered a National Monument by the Department of the Interior and one of Kansas’ wonders.

    I was positive, despite the sign saying public monument; we were going to get shot for driving across someone’s ranch. There was no hiding. There were no trees or buildings for most of the twenty-some miles of dirt road to the monuments.

    They seemed to erupt out of the flatland before our eyes.  Buttresses of chilling, lonely, death-white stone at least two stories high. We slowed the van down to a crawl and said nothing. There were no words to describe the awe in this eighty-million-year-old byproduct of the Niobrara Sea that once traversed from the Gulf of Mexico to Canada though this site.

    I got out of the van and just stood. The only sound I heard was wind singing around and through the stone arches. The milky buttresses hungrily sucked in the rays of the bright sun leaving nothing behind. They were not quartz as I expected, but made of white chalk with streaks of grey lines.

    I walked around the monoliths and arches trying to wrap my brain around my feelings. It was more than mere awe. It was spiritual. I was walking in the footsteps of countless others before me and walking over countless fossils of marine animals long ago extinct. I pulled out my camera, a video recorder and a digital voice recorder. I walked around for about an hour taking over a hundred pictures, a video, and recorded my thoughts and the environment.  I left knowing I had not succeeded in capturing the experience. Some places refuse to be captured.

    As we pulled away, I felt remorse and watched the site disappear in the dusty trail of our van’s wheels. I often tease that I am a restless wanderer but in this place, I felt grounded. If you get a chance, go see it. I understand the land where it sits was sold late last year but I am under the impression, visitors are still welcomed. ** Beware of rattle snakes!  There are no bathroom facilities! *****

    Directions: (derived from Kathy Weiser’s site, Legends of America)

    Monument Rocks is located about 28 miles southeast of Oakley Kansas. Take U.S. 83 south, then 4 miles east on Jayhawk Road, 3 miles south, and 1 mile east (dry weather road only). From Scott City, travel 18 miles north on U.S. 83, east 2 miles on Dakota Road, 1 mile north, 3½ miles east, and 2½ miles north.

    Castle Rock can be reached by taking the Quinter Exit #107 off I-70, traveling 15 miles south on Castle Rock Road to the intersection of GO-80 and GO-K, then 4 miles east to Castle Rock sign, and north across a cattle guard (dry weather road only).

  • 54,500 Sheep

    I’d love to sleep the hours I believe most Americans sleep. To be part of the: to bed at eleven, seven to eight hour sleep period and wake refreshed at six or seven a.m. people.

    I’d love to sleep like this, but I can’t. Doctors have tried numerous over-the-counter and prescription aids. I’ve read multiple books on healthy sleep habits. I’ve used a sound machine, played a video of the ocean, ear phones and meditation music, hugged a stuffed animal. My diet was changed. I stopped drinking caffeine and alternated the temperature of my bedroom. Exercise, yep, I’m doing it. Meditation is great but not for my insomnia. I’m not sitting awake worrying. My life is going well. Nothing works. AHHHHH!

    I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in 1981. Truth be known, I actually have Complex PTSD although at the time they didn’t have that diagnosis. The hows and whys of this are not important for this writing. I’m telling you this because it and some wacky thinking on my part are the reasons for my insomnia.

    I am so hyper-vigilant (on edge waiting for something inevitably horrible to happen) that any noise or movement jolts me awake with a startle. Then I’m up for several hours until I can no longer keep my eyes open. With any luck, I will return to some kind of sleep. Some nights this cycle takes an hour or two, other nights I’m up all night.

    The less sleep I get the more my thinking becomes derailed. Things that normally would not bother me become monumental. I start taking things more personally and become defensive. Skills and determination take a sharp decline and old thoughts of self-doubt and self-scrutiny flourish and will spiral out of control if I don’t intervene.

    I’ve tried many techniques and mild to wacky interventions to help me or force me to sleep. Occasionally, I think I’ve hit the right combination of circumstance, rituals and mind-set only to find it was all a fluke. I can blame my mattress, my hubby, the cat, the noise level in the room, hormones or any number of elements. While some of this is probably a contributing factor the end result is me and a need to find a way within myself to work with who I am now in a non-judgmental way.

    Sleep eludes me. So I try to spin it positive. The house is quiet, I can write. There is time to process my day and goals for the future. There is quality time with my cat. All nice things but sleep would be greatly appreciated.

    So, I am curious both as an insomniac and a therapist, what have you tried when facing insomnia? Did it work?

    Maybe there are some techniques or home reminds I’m not familiar with. If you have any I’d love to compile them for anyone who needs aid. Myself included. Sweet dreams!