My Clouds

You might have noticed the picture of clouds on my page, here. Did that seem odd? Well, you haven't heard anything yet.

Yes, I have a fascination with clouds. Specifically it is the Cumulus type that will hold me transfixed. Cumulus can be remembered as "puffy" to distinguish from the other two types of clouds, Stratus("stretches across and feathery") and Nimbus("storm clouds"). Although there seems to be an argument about just how many cloud types there are, the most common type is the Cumulus cloud. Generally it is the one that grows vertically in the sky, reaching up to heights in excess of 39,000 feet releasing incredible amounts of energy through the condensation of water vapor within the cloud itself. Although the Nimbus is the "storm" cloud, Cumulus can also dictate bad weather. When the puffy clouds begin growing to excessive heights and there is a darker horizon, seemingly behind them that is when they are called cumulonimbus clouds, associated with powerful thunderstorms known as super cells. This might be my favorite version of them. It is very poetic if you think about it. There is this soft-looking, white, innocent cloud in all its glory yet harboring just beyond it a terrific storm. These are also called thunderclouds. In North Carolina, I like to call them "our relief". Oftentimes, they are a welcome sight, especially in the midst of one of our dry summers.

Now that I have fed the science geeks let me tell you that none of this much matters to me. What happens when I see these particular clouds is an uncontrollable sense of warmth. It takes me back to the beginning, where a personal myth of mine was created and has yet to be proven wrong:

My childhood was turbulent at best. I won't go on and on about that because I am not alone in this statistically. Suffice it to say there were lots of moments alone when all I did was talk to God, praying for guidance or solace…anything to ease my fears. More often than not, I would seek this comfort with nature as my medium. We almost always lived near woods and I would get lost there in thought. It was almost like magic that every time I sought out "help" my Cumulus clouds were there. However, in my childish mind, they were God's couches. I just knew that He was there, sitting on them, smiling at me, offering me warmth, guidance and a reassuring energy. It never failed! I ran outside my home and looked up to see those big, puffy clouds illuminated with the sun behind them. I truly believed He put them there for me! I was absolutely convinced that this was God's way of telling me, "I'm here, you are going to be okay"…EVERY time!

Fast forward, too many years for me to own up to and I still am charmed by this sight. Do I still believe that it is proof that God is there? Ehhh, I'm not so sure but neither am I convinced that it is not true. Truthfully, it doesn't matter because they are still the sight that has the power to calm me…to remind me that there is so much more than this one silly moment…to release any stress from my mind with an audible sigh.

Now you know that I am not trying to capture you or your car's license plate number when you see my cell phone out the window aimed upwards; nor have I slipped into some suicidal state of unaware when gazing upwards through my sun roof; Nope it is just me indulging my cloud fetish and perhaps being a reckless driver haha

So tell me what is it that has power over you? Is there anything that you can touch, taste or see that has the ability to change your state of mind instantly? Leave the comment below and lets open our minds up together.

Service?

Customer service. Gasp...yes, I said CUSTOMER SERVICE.  How about lowering our standards to account for our ever-evolving society leading us further and further away from that personal touch and just expect SERVICE!  Where has it gone? How is it in a world with a population explosion does that translate to decreased customer service? We have more people that are in need of services. We have more people able to provide services. What am I missing?

Recently, I have been having some major car problems. I took it to the mechanic that I have been exclusively using for 6 years+. He supposedly 'fixed' it after giving me the price that was $100.00 MORE
than a dealer. Yes, you heard me right...MORE THAN A DEALER. My car started. I was ecstatic! In the following week though my service engine light never went off and it stalled on me twice. I called this man and his only answer was that I bring it back in days later and he 'would see". He was not guaranteeing me no charge though. Again, yes you heard right.... it was not an absolute that he would not charge me to complete the job he had already agreed to do. Please, someone, tell me how this has become acceptable? I paid him to do a job that was not done. Black and white!!!

This is merely the most recent example of customer service fails; there have been many.  I wonder if they think there are soo many of us that one person dissatisfied will not affect their business. Are they just trying to see what they can get away with, perhaps? I don't know the answer. I do know that I wish I could send this out to the world and especially businesses to enlighten them. I will pay $100 more out of loyalty to a good mechanic. I will drive further than the local jiffy lube to get my oil changed to get service from a place that smiles at me and treats me like a person. Customer service is something we should expect. 

Bob Dumas of G105 had it right...DO NOT pull up at that McDonalds window!!! Make them satisfy you before they get to move on to the next customer in order to satisfy their "numbers". We must begin to demand our rights again!

I'm sure you have a story or two as well, do share below.

Car Idol

Men are said to see their cars as women. They call it 'she'. They pamper 'her'. It is purposed that they have the market on this relationship. I am here to disprove that. If you have ever seen me in my car, that might be evident. My baby must have a few things to be in tiptop shape. One, a sunroof; Two, a CD player with burns of my favorite tunes; Three, a kickass sound system. Then we are in business.

I am closer to who I am when I'm in my car than anywhere. I can't site any particular reason but I feel completely free and in control in my car. I accelerate. The breeze whips through my hair and sometimes my hands because yes, my windows are almost always down. Today was one of those beautiful days were my girl and I had some solid alone time. We drove the long way home from school, past all the parks and historic areas. We ventured downtown were the cityscape comforts me with excitement. Tonight we might take a ride again to have the lights hug us both with hope. What I have left out is some activity while she and I explore--singing!

The boom may be heard from some ways away while I'm on the open strip.  Now, most men blast their stereos to get us women to look or even other men to envy their girls. I jam because it frees my soul. I jam because I immerse myself in the emotions of the song. Hey and sometimes I just want to JAM with songs that make no sense. I feel so alive when I am on the road, blasting my stereo/CD with the wind whipping through.  I wasn't going to tell you this part but another reason for loud music is to drown out my own singing. LOL

So if you pass a redhead, driving fast, with the stereo blaring, and long hair blowing about madly while she sings her heart out while bopping her head...don't laugh because me...I'm having the time of my life and nothing could take that away. Well there was that once that I got stopped by a bike cop to turn my radio down---that is another blog.

Driven

She's a terror on the roads
They all stop and stare
The wind whipping through
With the sun in her hair
She's bopping her head
Her foot heavy in tune
Ripping up the roads silence
Stealing glances at the moon
She'll pass you quickly
But a moment for you to see
Reality suspended in this motion
Only the feeling of being free
She's forgotten all her sorrows
A true smile replaces the pain
Mistakes are racing behind her
The past screams her name
Slow down but a second
And you may just hear her say
With a daredevils smile full of laughter
"try and catch me another day"

Catherine Ellen Ballinger

Gifted Horses

Birthdays. Christmas. Anniversaries. These are the annual occurrences that obligate us to give gifts. I find so much stress involved with this process: Do I acquire the lists and get the specific item? Instead, do I opt for the thoughtful gift that proves I know this person? Ooo or do I buy the thing that this person needs, rather than wants? This horrific period begins, for me in August and relentlessly doesn't let up until the end of December. Oh no, I'm not talking about just Christmas, I even have a birthday on December 31^st (sucks to be him).

1. August 6^th- Brandi, my darling niece
   
2. September 7^th-DeVeer, my BFF
   
3. September 20^th-Tanya, my sister
   
4. October 5^th-Daniel, my favorite child
   

   November…and breathe
   

5. December 25^th THE Present Day
   
6. December 31^st-My father
   

Now these dates are just my musts! There are a few friends birthdays scattered in there as well, and all during this time frame. I guess there is a lot of sex going on in winter months, huh?

All this said, let me defend that I truly do enjoy giving gifts. My internal problem begins when I notice that it has become this mandatory thing. It's no longer about , "I love you, I appreciate you…here is a token of my affection" It is more like, "It's my day and if you don't buy me something expensive then you don't really love me." While shopping or out and about on a regular day, if I come across something that I know is of interest to a family or friend, I am thrilled for that purchase. Let me point out that this is no particular schedule though. I suck at hiding things so it would be a gift given immediately; that pleases me to no end! However, this begins an internal process in the recipient, I have noticed. They seem weirded out by my sporadic gift-giving. They wonder what is the occasion, what it means, what they did and most of all, do I have to reciprocate.

I am upon this crisis time currently. Wish me luck!

In conclusion, were I rich, I guess none of this would even be in question.

My Passion, my love

I love poetry! I worship the written word. Especially I am filled with adoration when I gaze upon inked paper with a piece of someone's soul spilt. It is the moment that life is breathed into this medium to represent a light or darkness inside another human being for all of us to view, to admire, to learn from. I have been writing since I was 11 years old. My first poem came on the heels of a fight my parents were having. I could hear them screaming and I was terrified for the changes I thought that might result. I feared for them. I sat by that North Carolina window and stood looking out at the fields and began to write...in my head. The words poured forth and I searched for something, not knowing what....I was propelled to write. Eight simple lines flew from my fingers, emptying my heart, erasing my fears, filling my mind with hope. Maybe it was God that day but I immediately felt a sense of relief, as if I knew it was all going to be okay. It was that day that I felt closer to God, ie myself then I ever had before.

Since then I have read many poems and literature of all kinds. I have favorite poets of yore. I have even met friends and family that write. They all touch me in one way another as the written word never fails to do. That being said this is the only poem that I have ever read and every time I read it, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of emotion, bittersweet happiness and tears that are uncontrollable. It is a shame I don't have more readers/followers/friends here so that more may read this work of art.

Warning: Kleenex is needed and a longing for a loved one to hold will ensue.

I Do
by Rudy Herrera

 

There she lay in the hospital bed;

a woman past 90, the woman I wed
 

We met in the summer, in the middle of June

just wrapping up lunch on a cool afternoon
 

I was walking with coffee that I had just bought

from this quaint little vendor, who had just brewed a pot

Heading back into work, while crossing the street

I looked up ahead… my heart skipped a beat!

There waiting tables in a sidewalk cafe,

stood a beautiful angel with some cups on a tray

I shuffled in closer, my heart in my throat

and standing before her, my chance seemed remote

I swallowed my fears and held my head high

I mustered some courage and let out a sigh

"Can I help you?", she asked, her voice very soothing,

but I suddenly froze... my mouth wasn't moving!

With a full cup in hand, I panicked and mumbled

an order for coffee that came out all jumbled

She glanced at my cup with one eyebrow bent

and perceptively smiled at my hidden intent
 

I tried to explain, with an abrupt lack of charm,

and coming up short, I spilled on my arm

We both had a laugh and both took a chance

we both fell in love at a Thanksgiving dance
 

I proposed soon there after, her answer was yes

I'll never forget her in that gorgeous white dress

She proudly repeated the priest's words aloud,

"til death do us part", she solemnly vowed
 

"Repeat after me", the priest nodded his head...

"I wrote my own vows", I smiled and said

I squeezed her hands tightly and drowned in her eyes

I took a deep breath and disclosed my surprise
 

"In life and in death, I belong to you...

my heart, my soul, my life, I do."

Her eyes watered up, her face full of joy

and the following year, we were blessed with a boy
 

I worked extra shifts, early on in our life

but never thought twice, for my baby and wife

With love in our home we raised our son right

and sometimes, though rare, we'd bicker and fight

 

And still every morning, to start out my day

I'd made it a point to kiss her and say,

"In life and in death, I belong to you...

my heart, my soul, my life, I do."
 

Our son grew up into a good, strong, young lad

with a compassionate mother and a proud dear ol' dad

I remember the day of the infamous war...

the reports of the bloodshed, violence and gore

Our boy so distracted, he lived in deep thought

his conscience so torn, his heart so distraught

Determined one day, our boy, he enlisted

No more a boy, our young man persisted
 

"I cannot sit idly by anymore"

He flew out that week to help in the war

Though she understood, his mother, she cried

And while forcing a smile, a part of her died
 

I myself shed a couple of tears,

some were of pride, and the others... my fears

He wrote every day, that whole month of June;

He missed us all so... he'd be coming home soon
 

The final letter came on the 4^th of July,

"With regret to inform us" our pride n' joy died

A piece of us gone, we mourned every year

from that year on after, the 4^th brought a tear
 

On the strength of our love, we trudged on with life

as hard as it seemed for me and my wife

Time flew by quicker with each passing day

nonetheless every morning I'd remember to say

"In life and in death, I belong to you...

my heart, my soul, my life, I do."

And now she lay in the hospital bed,

a woman past 90, the woman I wed
 

I prayed to the Lord to take me instead

I begged and I pleaded for the life in that bed

One morning I felt a soft hand on my cheek

as I awoke to a voice, frail and meek
 

"In life and in death, I belong to you...

my heart, my soul, my life, I do."

My radiant angel sat up in her bed

"good morning my dear", she smiled and said.
 ....

I thanked the "All Mighty" with a sniffle and wheeze,

as I broke down in tears and fell to my knees

Now tonight, in our home, at the end of the day,

I climb into bed... I kiss her and say,
 

"In life and in death, I belong to you...

my heart, my soul, my life, I do."

In the morning she awoke, her tears like a river,

as the man of her dreams lie dead right beside her
 

He now lays at rest along side their son,

the man that she wed, still second to none

Alone in a graveyard, with tears in her eyes,

she smiles and remembers, then proudly she sighs,
 

"In life and in death, I belong to you...

my heart, my soul, my life, I do."

Thank you Rudy. 

Noodle Soup

"Hi, my name is Catherine and I am a Noodle Soup-aholic"
 

Is it really a soup? Oh you know what I'm talking about…Ramen Noodles, Maruchen or cup of noodle. All walks of life have had the pleasure of this dish at one time or another in their life. In fact, for the less fortunate it is quite the cuisine. Low income families, college students, single people or even those of us with less than perfect culinary skills choose Ramen Noodles as a staple in our homes. The jury seems to still be out on whether it is actually bad for you or not. Obviously it is not good but the only real drawback is the sodium levels. The next question that must be begged is how do you eat your Ramen? I like to cook two packs and keep a lot of broth so that I may dump in a ton of smooshed (oh It's a word) up crackers. Mmm, there is nothing like soup soaked crackers. Let us not forget the perfect noodle length. There are those of us that would defile the noodle and pre-break it up so that it will daintily place upon our forks. This is opposed to the sloppy, slurping of noodles hitting up against our chins when the fork will not tame the wild few. Guess which one I like?

In direct opposition to my disheveled way of eating Noodle Soup my sister likes very little broth. I would cook her packaged noodles; take it out of the broth and place in the bowl dry. Then we add ice cubes that will melt upon contact and create a lukewarm broth, eh gads! And yes, she wanted the noodles actually cut up with a knife before she would take a bite.

Now that those questions have been answered, how about which flavor do you like? There is Oriental, Beef, Chicken, Pork, Shrimp and even a Chili kind. Now those are just the kind I have found. Personally, I like Oriental the best but in truth, they all do taste too similar to differentiate.

How do you like your Noodle Soup if you dare to step out into the light and proclaim, "Yes, I eat Noodle Soup"?

Dear Sleep, I miss you

Insomnia. Sleeplessness. Restlessness. The younger generation might even call it Vampirism to quiet its intensity.  These are the words that float in my mind each and every night when I lay my head down to attempt to sleep.  The world is beginning to recognize this growing health concern that  results in sleep deprivation. Turns out I am not alone. Statistics state that 48-51% of Americans are experiencing Insomnia three to four times a week on average. That means one out of every four people experience some form of this disease. Although there are many sleep study clinics, specialized physicians and Homeopathic shops trying to treat this epidemic there are others that are obviously gaining from this. 

The pharmaceutical companies have become fat cats off ever-increasing numbers of Americans that cannot find sleep due to racing thoughts, sleep apnea or night terrors, to name a few. They push their drugs onto the doctors, who then convince us that this pill will fix us. Web Md reports that over 10million Americans are on one drug or more for their sleeping problems. Also, it is reported that millions of dollars are lost due to absences in work and lower productivity because we are sleeping less and less each year. 

Welcome to my world, nightly. Maybe I should say daily. Frankly, I lose track of what exact time it is and sometimes what day it is due to my insomnia. While researching this phenomenon they generally cite either two causes; One, being a psychological issue, such as racing thoughts, Obsessive Control Disorder (ocd), etc. The other is due to a physical condition such as Diabetes, rapid weight loss or gain, etc. I wonder if there are a few people that are just  born this way. My plight with sleep began when I was very young. 

I remember being a preteen thinking,"When I become an adult I'm going to stay up as late as I want and sleep only when I'm tired". That was my biggest incentive to adulthood. Well my parents didn't agree with this choice of course so a bedtime was strictly enforced. I couldn't sleep! I'd sneak down the hall and sit behind my father's big recliner and watch television with him. It was some of our best bonding moments he never knew about. However,  when I did get busted there was hell to pay with little sympathy for my "condition". It got so bad that I began taking Dymatap, a candy-coated cold medicine, to induce sleep.  I was popping cold medicine so i wouldn't get in trouble for not sleeping! 

Now here I am working a third shift job for about three years now in hopes that this lifestyle choice would better suit my disorder. Sadly, it has not. I lose time, I lose days and I lose lots of opportunities with family and friends. Everyone that knows me is not in the least surprised to find me asleep while they are talking to me or my head thrown back in the car snoring when I'm supposed to be helping navigate. My friends and family have adapted but I am always left feeling guilty that I cannot meet their expectations of a fully functioning daytime person. 

I don't know what the answer will be. I don't know how far ,we as Americans, will have to fall to realize this rat race that we are living is not working out. I don't know but I want anyone relating to this to know you are not alone and to my family and friends...I'm sorry.

 

Keith Olbermann: Burning of the Koran

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qROBHIFswOA

Terry Jones...a minister?!!! haha What a freaking joke. My goodness how to articulate in a rational manner the pure bile that this ...man of God(I use this term loosely) spews? If you hadn't heard yet, Mr.Jones plans to and encourages his church (yes, gasp this man runs a church) to burn the koran in ...memory(?) of the 9/11 disaster. First of all, tell me how this act speaks on the lives that were lost on that horrific day, please? What healing or positivity can be gained from such an act of terrorism? Is not the job of a "holy man" to ease tensions, create harmony and extend tolerance and love? WWJD, Mr.Jones?

What happened that day was perpetrated with the illest of intent...to destroy not just parts of America but a part of our souls as a people. New York and the targets were symbols of our great nation in many ways, like a Christian's bible. They torched that! They did their best to tear us apart by defacing a beloved thing. A terrorist faction did that, not a religion! The koran is a beautiful book full of stories, fables, morals, just like the book we call the bible. It is a specially depraved person that can twist the words of a higher ideal into something sinister.   Now, Mr.Jones plans to do the same thing to show them that we, are the good guys? The good guys that are doing the exact same thing the terrorists did. Terrorism is not a racial term my dear idiotic freaking small-minded bible thumping neanderthal! It is a label given to any person(s) or factions that means to do harm to another. For clarifications sake let me quote Mr.Webster to be accurate:

ter·ror·ism

–noun

1.the use of violence(burning: check) and threats to intimidate or coerce, esp. for political purposes.

2.the state of fear (eliminating their bible ie,a threat to anyone that holds that book in reverance, Fear: check)and submission produced by terrorism or terrorization.

3.a terroristic method of governing or of resisting a government(ie, religion, faction, idealogy, etc: check).

 

Well, well Mr.Jones, it appears that I am not the only person that understands YOU ARE A TERRORIST!!!

Friggin’ Facebook!

I'm not going to Facebook!

My whole life my mother has taught me to not follow the crowd, the trends, but to find the path that I choose all on my own. This is my resistance to Facebook but there is more.The one exception to this rule I made was MySpace. I came to MySpace reluctantly, so many years ago. Truthfully, I have never had that social need that the masses seem to derive from these social networks. For me, friends really have to be that to have a place on my "friends" list! Is it really such an odd concept? However, MySpace hooked me! I love the creativity to be found and experienced there from silly apps to the themes and even the base knowledge you learn from applying html for comments and backgrounds, etc. So it took me a while to get there and then a new "thing" came up, Facebook. Now everyone is flocking there for the newest fix. Yes, I refuse to go on principal but also I feel sure that I will pour myself into that and then a new one will pop up.  No thank you, I'm not going to Facebook.

In conclusion, I'll probably end up going to Facebook but with a HELLA chip on my shoulder dangit!!!

September 7, 1968

Today is my best friends,DeVeers', birthday. The story of him and I becoming friends could make a great book and an even better love story had it went that way. It was mid 2002. We found one another on the all powerful America Online network for pen pals. He and I were both just looking to connect in a literary way, I think. I suppose in hindsight maybe we were both hoping for a romantic tyrst of sorts but fate had other things in mind. We did the normal getting to know each other, exchanging of stories for weeks, maybe months on end until one day we find we actually lived merely minutes away from one another. We met up one very long night at a local 24 hour Kmart haha We just walked around the store for hours talking, comparing lives.

It was barely two weeks later that he moved back to Connecticut. We lost touch for a few months, during his transition.One day out of the blue he returned to me, via an email and we began our friendship again over the phone for years. We melded together quickly. He and I both considered ourself outside the realm of the standard quo. We both were searching for things beyond this world and minds of most. Together we began that  journey, supporting one another and sharing what we learned.

Fate, yet again, stepped in and  brought us together again. DeVeer needed a change of scene and I provided that in my little apartment, with my son, Daniel in North Carolina. It was then we were really tested. I guess the glow wore off and the arguing began. They say you hurt the one you love the most. I am here to tell you that that tired cliche is true! We lived together for about three years learning how to love one another unconditionally...learning how a man and a woman can mean much more to each other than sex...realizing that sometimes our soulmates don't have to be the romantic one that all the movies dictate.

Fast forward 9 years later and DeVeer is still my one and only best friend. Come arguments, tears and many fears, he is still the one person I cannot live without.

My First Day

I was born in 1974 so I'm no spring chicken but neither am I the old lady yet. However, when it comes to technology and the latest fads you might call me the latter. For example, I don't have a Facebook (that was intentional) and I only joined MySpace about 3 years ago. I don't have a smartphone and to be honest, I don't want one, gasp! So here I am with one of the more modern social inventions, blogging. Why, you wonder? I can explain.

I'm here to alleviate the burden of my mind. I am here to exercise the thoughts that are pent up inside. I come here with the abject adoration of writing in mind. I worship the written word in all its forms and feel a constant need to express that. It's as if my fingers can hardly be still for want of the creative process. I'm not confident anyone will read this or find my words instilling a revelation but that matters not as long as my heart is allowed to be free.

In conclusion, if you find a moment to relate in, or a second of a smile then I am happy to have helped but if not, I am happier to have tried.