Sunrise and sunset are different at the eastern edge of the time zone!

With sunny skies, little wind, warmish temperatures and fall color decorating the trees, today was a lovely day in Winchester, VA. But it just seems to get dark so much earlier here than in Indianapolis, IN.

How can that be, I wondered. Then, answered my own question. I'm on the eastern edge of the Eastern Time Zone, more than 600 miles east of Indianapolis, which is close to the western edge of the time zone.

If I were an early riser, which I'm not, perhaps I would see the sun rise minutes earlier than the folks in Indy. However, by 6 pm, it's dark here now.

What a difference a few hundred miles make!

I'm looking forward to spring and the return of Daylight Savings Time.

I can say it freely now: I like bluegrass music

Remember when you were a kid and went somewhere with your parents and tried to pretend that you were not really with them? Well, I did that a few times. I don't think I fooled anyone, including my parents.

It was sort of the same way with bluegrass/country music. My father, who's now 91, used to play guitar (not very well) and sing songs made popular by Bill Monroe, Ralph and Carter Stanley, Mother Maybelle, Hank Williams, and Patsy Cline. I used to pretend I didn't hear him. 

As a teen and young adult, I was trying to "prove to them" (whoever they were) that I wasn't a hillbilly and that I could indeed thrive in non-hillbilly conditions. I used to cringe at the fiddle sounds in Orange Blossom Special and pretend I wasn't captivated by the rhythm of Wildwood Flower.

I'm not sure what changed. Did I gain enough self-confidence to be myself? Did I gain enough knowledge of musical theory that I could appreciate the nuances of sound from opera to rock to bluegrass? Did I gain enough life experience to emphathize with the emotions in bluegrass and country music: love lost, love unrequited, hard times?

Somewhere in my mid-to-late 20s, I began to tap my feet to bluegrass, to sing-along, to hear the beauty of bluegrass harmony, to listen in amazement at the sounds of a dobro and a licketysplit banjo or fiddle.

Yes, I'm a child of the 60s and I "Cain't Get No Satisfaction" and I grooved to "InaGaddadavida," and knew "There's a Bad Moon Risin.'"

I weep with pleasure listening to Mozart. All I want is "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" and want to feel like a "Natural Woman."

However, I would like to ride "The Orange Blossom Special." I would like to hear the "Wabash Cannonball" rumble past. I occassionally have seen "The Wildwood Flower" here in the mountains of Virginia.

Yes, I do like bluegrass music.

I miss the "old" hardwear store; I'm glad it's gone

When I was eight or nine years old, I didn't think of myself as a tomboy. (Does anyone even use that expression now?) Of course, I didn't think of myelf as a sissy either. What I did know was that it was more fun to tag along with my Dad to the hardware store than to go to the department store with my Mom.


Hardware stores had a better smell and had aisles full of mysterious implements that I couldn't reach. It was a man's domain, and I was a visitor to this strage land. Maybe the smell was of metal rusting combined with oil, but I liked it. The deities were the men who knew where everything from a molly bolt to a belt for the tractor was kept. I don't remember any women staff.


The way I remember it (which may/may not be the way it really was) is that it was ok for a little girl to tag along with Dad, but when I was over 18 and went in the hardware stores by myself to select a tool or supply, I was looked at suspiciously, as if I had the wrong religion or had wandered into the wrong territory--sort of like Gary Powers flying over Russia.


Now, the big box stores that sell hardware may have a department called hardware. But they are more than that. They actively market to women. There are sections that sell home appliances such as vacuum cleaners, dishwasher. And just wander down the curtain and window covering aisles, called home decor. There are women who actually know where the molly bolts are and who can direct me to the lumber section of the stores.

Yes, I miss the mystery and smell, but I like that men and women seem to be equally ignored by the staff. Well, in fairness, there are actually helpful staff who've shown my everything from the deck stain to the molly bolts.

In fact the last time I went into the "hardware" store which is now a home improvement store, searching for a variable speed drill, I knew more about it than the "helper." I'm glad I was able to visit those mostly disappeared wooden-floored, male-dominated stores as a girl.

Boomers Do Social Media

Enough with the talk about digital natives and digital immigrants. Some of us Boomers have been working with computers since before the Millenials were even born. Ok, so there wasn't all the fun stuff to do--such as games, etc. And yes, we were using them for WORK.

However, some of us have decades of experience and do use social media and do use smartphones for work AND fun. We're individuals, and so are our colleagues in Gen X and Y and the Millenials.

Why go to my high school reunion—41 years later?

The 1968 graduating class from Natural Bridge High School held several reunions. I never ventured back until the one held in 2001—or 2002, I can’t remember. Nor can I remember my reasons for attending. Once again, a class reunion is planned—for Labor Day weekend 2009. Why am I planning to attend?
1. I never thought I’d live to be old—past 30, that is—and I want to see who else is surprised at still being alive.
2. Talk with others who experienced the same place long ago and far away that no longer exists. A high school with 400 students grades 8-12. No air-conditioning. No art classes. No sass to teachers and no messing up. Did they have the same or different experience as I, even though we were in the same time-space continuum? How did those experiences shape their lives?
3. Encounter my frenemies from that era and determine their current attitudes about themselves, the world and me.
4. Be amazed at how many of my classmates remained in the same geographic area.
5. Explore the influences from those years that shaped me into the being I am now.
6. To rejoice in myself. I survived; and to celebrate with other survivors.

Bumble Bee Thoughts

Today I saw the first bumble bee of the season and looked to see whether his face was black. Why? Because of my great uncle Charlie.



He must have given me the advice about bumble bees well before I was 5 years old since he died about the time of my fifth birthday. I remember being afraid of bumble bees when I was little and he told me I had to worry about a bumble bee stinging me only if he had a black face. Of course, I never could tell about the color of the face; they always looked yellow to me! Is it true? Are there black-faced bumble bees. I don't know, and that's not the important part of the lesson.


Bumble bees make a big boring buzzing sound and fly slowly; in some ways they remind me of helicoptors. The most memorable bumble bee experience in my life occurred about 15 months before my great uncle died. It was a hot summer day in the Shenandoah Valley. A wooden rocking chair, a favorite of uncle Charlie, was waiting for us on the back porch; I would sit and he would rock and tell stories and smoke his pipe. Of course, being a Southern child, I called him "Unk Chalie." It was years before I would learn the "correct" pronunciation of those words. It surprised me to learn his name when written contained the letter r!


The busy bumble bee started, about mid-morning, burrowing a hole into the wooden seat of uncle's favorite rocking chair. As the doy progress "Unk" and I peeked. The busy-boy bumble bee noise continued as he bored a hole deeper into the wood. The seat was a couple of inches thick and he disappeared below the surface. I was as impressed by this magic as by any trick that my amateur-magician father performed. The noise continued for hours.



Finally, my kind-hearted uncle became concerned that the bee might burrow too deeply and be unable to get out. So, he took his pocket knife and and cut into the wood to free the bumbling bumble bee.


What an experience. My uncle, who had been one of the original Forest Service employees, had been willing to let a bumble bee put a hole in his favorite rocking chair to give me a nature lesson. And he was willing to damage the chair even more to free the bee.





From my great uncle I learned to observe and respect life. How many people today would be willing to teach a child such a lesson?

So they think the recession will still impact us in five years

A few days ago, I read an article with a headline that said a majority of Americans believe we wil still feel the effects of this recession in five years. Yes, I agree.

I've been thinking about the ways in which I, personally, have been affected. One: ATA Airlines went bankrupt owing my small buisness about $10,000. I don't know about you, but losing that amount of revenue put a "crimp" in my financial situation in 2008. That fee would have helped fund a vacation to South Africa my husband and I had planned for January 2009, my annual SEP contribution, and some "just plain" fun projects. Now, admittedly, the $10,000 wouldn't have been enough by itself, but the loss of the $10,000 meant I had to shuffle other funds around. It meant we didn't go to South Africa this year.

Other ways I've felt the recession impact: I believe most people are kinder and more understanding of those who are unemployed or underemployed. I believe most of us think "There but for the grace of god, the universe, etc...go I...."

I personally remind myself to be grateful for the important things in life including friends, family, ability to move about freely, ability to express my opinion without fear of retribution, joy in the sunshine, joy in the moment.

Somehow, I am not filled with "fear" for the future. There have been some tough times and scary times that I have managed to get through. So I continue to have confidence that I will get through these tough times in a satisfactory way.

I think the recession reminds me to choose love not fear as a way to live.