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![]() A year ago my husband was convinced to run for a position on our HOA's Board of Directors.
He was elected, which pleased and surprised him. His fellow board members proved to be a great group with smart ideas to improve the resort they all love as well as to lower HOA dues. Seemed like a doable thing. A no brainer. Then reality hit them in the side of the head - blindsiding them. It isn't just a matter of attending a meeting, making reasonable informed decisions. It is homeowners with their own agenda. It is calls at 10 pm complaining that security didn't close the gate. It is demands that 'my condo' be given special treatment as I voted for you - because I'm your friend - because I deserve special treatment, a sense of entitlement. Then you have the people that use threats, their favorite being 'I'll sue'. And it is letting an employee go that you like as a friend It is long - unpaid - hours. It is trying to balance what is good for one homeowner against the good of the majority. It is knowing the cost of something and knowing you have to turn down the majority - or increase their dues, which no one wants except the guy who has so much money in the bank that he doesn't even consider that not everyone is in his position. And there is the ever present, 'You're doing a good job BUT' That favorite 'BUT'. Why does anyone do it? Why do they take the abuse flung their way, the problems that constantly crop up that have to be attended to, of knowing things that others do not know and can't know because of legal implications. Is it simply a matter of pride. 'I started this and I'm damn well going to finish it.' Is it the strong, compelling reason that one simply wants to help their neighbors? The next time you start to complain, to demand what is due you, to add a 'BUT' stop and think about how much that Board Member does accomplish. And maybe you'll simply say, 'Great job.' and not add a 'but'.
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![]() Observers: Romney Olympic horse could be political liability - Headline Okay, something is really wrong with our political system if owning a horse makes you unfit for the Presidential office. Does owning a dog or a cat - or maybe a particular breed of dog or cat - become a political liability? I owned horses growing up, as did a lot of my friends. My Dad rode in Gymkhanas when he was in his seventies with his horse, Macho. Did that make us 'bad guys' or not suited for public office? When did we get away from being worried about a man's political leanings & ideals, about the friend's he takes advice from, his mental capacity to enact just laws for the Nation as a whole? How did we ever get to the point where owning an animal determines if that man is fit to be President? I would rather have a man who own's a horse in the White House then a man who is a horse's ass. ![]() There are white caps on my normally calm sea and dark clouds billow across a sky that is usually a clear crystal azul. It seems to affect people's moods. My husband is working on a computer that doesn't want to work properly. Tasks that he does every day are impossible to complete. Murphy's law is alive and well on the Sea of Cortez. I can feel his frustration mount and grow stronger, piling up like the dark clouds that are filling our sky. His ire spills over to me. I feel the tension and resentment and in turn my frustration grows. I want to yell back - to plead my case. "I'm not your computer. I haven't done anything to make hours of work disappear in a split second of time." I know if I respond we will end up in a fight. A fight that neither of us wants or even has reason for inviting. But it gives an outlet for anger and frustration on both parts. But, oh the damage that can be inflicted on each other. Words that one thinks they will forget and forgive but that linger in the webs of memory. A day's frustrations that will have no meaning by tomorrow - unless we let it take over today. So it is his day to rant - and my day to keep silent. My day to remind myself that it really isn't me he is angry with, but his inability to master a small piece of technology. A computer that gives him much pleasure as he composes his stories, arranging words that sing and thoughts that fly. But today it is none of these things, just like our calm sea roiling in its wild waves. So my Art of Anger today is very simple. I will bite my tongue - at least for the moment. ![]() It's my birthday today. I look in the mirror and see a young girl eager to be old enough to drive a car, to date a boy - a young girl eager for life to start. That is what I see. But the reality of it is that I just turned 72. My hair is no longer deep brunette. My face shows all the laughter lines of decades of living. I still weigh the same as when I was 16. Inside I feel the same, but I no longer can swing up on a horse without effort (just the thought makes my body ache). As one of my sons just reminded me, "Mom, I'm 50!". I'm not sure how that happened. I'm not old enough to have a son age 50 - and he's the baby of the bunch. How did the time slip away so carefree? I look at the picture above and know that the old man, Henry Burkhart, is my great great grandfather and the young couple are my great grandparents. I look at them frozen in a moment in time with the dogs and the horses, ever trapped at that age for me. Did they feel only 16 when that picture was taken? Did Henry think back to his youth in Saxony? As my grandparents aged and they looked at the old picture, did it seem real to them or another lifetime? As that picture was caught in a time warp, so am I - caught in the wonders and dreams of my youth. I spiral backwards in time, the future is lost in midst and even the present is not real. It is my birthday today, and I'm all of 16. ![]() Do our animals define us? Some maintain that we tend to look like our animals - or they take after us. I remember an ad that Ellen DeGeneres used to do that showed pictures of dogs and their humans look-a-likes. We all know of the bully that has to have the meanest dog on the block. And the little lady with her 'Fifi" dressed in ribbon and bows. But owning an animal truly defines who we are as they are completely at our mercy (although in the case of ours I think the reverse is true). They depend on us for food, water, companionship and they give unstinting love and devotion in return. They forgive us if we yell at them. And most of us will feel terrible that we did lose our temper, even if it was a favorite vase knocked off the table and shattered beyond repair. What does it say of us that can't forgive? Or, worse yet, the ones that beat and abuse an animal or kick them out to live on the streets? The picture is a stray that lives in the neighborhood where our granddaughters moved recently. The kitten has found a soft touch and is getting fed while the girls try to entice her into the safety of the house. This defines them. It also defines the person who kicked a kitten out into the danger |
AuthorA confirmed beach bum, lover of kids & animals, and a committed a chaser of family history & relatives. Archives
July 2016
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