I bet you guessed it! Last week I received a very innocuous small brown envelope postmarked from Utah. Hmmmm...a message from a Morman? I doubted it. I couldn't imagine what anyone from Utah might be sending me. I'd never professed any interest in "The Bee Hive State" and the Osmonds were never a particular favorite, so what could Utah have to show me? [It should be noted that I truly don't have anything against people from Utah and, in fact, I'm sure there are some perfectly lovely sites in that state - I just don't have any personal connections and both me and Utah are probably all the better for it.]
I opened the envelope to find two vials teeming with black, frenetic bodies reminding me of the Brownian Movement I'd observed on slides in microbiology class at Angelo State University, oh so very many years ago. These weren't, however, cells. They were ants. Two vials containing 25 ants in each one. Surely you must know by this point that I was thrilled! (I really was).
My son, Justin, had bought me an ant farm for Christmas, a really cool one from Brookstone - with a habitat made from some exotic sounding "space age gel". It was blue and very pretty. According to the box it came packed in, this gel not only nourished the ants, but was the perfect medium for the tunnels just waiting to be dug by these rather formidable looking ants with easily recognizable mandibles. In fact, on the vial was a label that came with a sticker and a warning: "CAUTION: Ants can sting! Adult supervision required!".
What to do? There weren't any adults available when I opened my package and then I remembered that I am highly allergic to bees. Bee stings have sent me to the doctor many times. Were these ants going to do me in? Should I wait for an adult to drop by the house so I could transfer them from the vials to my ant farm? As you can see, I had quite a lot of questions and huge decisions to make. Should I risk it on my own and throw this "CAUTION" to the wind?
Not knowing when an "adult" might appear, I decided that given that I'm a mere three weeks away from turning 47, I might as well go for it and try transferring those ants on my own. I mean, surely age must be gaining on me - just a few weeks ago a very old looking man I used to know sent me his photo and took the time to point out that age was having an "effect" on me and I guess he wanted to make me feel better by including his own photo which scared the hell out of me (I didn't ask the guy for his photo because he's one of those people I don't respect much...well, at all for that matter - you know, one of the people who I'll have to "rename" when it comes to discussing his aberrant behavior in that book.). I forget exactly what his e-mail said and I would quote it at this point, but I immediately deleted it and then, just to be sure never to again have to see another photo like that, I included his e-mail address in my SPAM FILTER (Google Mail has GREAT filters!), because Halloween had long since passed and, well, he was scary and not in a fun way! Personally, I think he clearly must have been old, cranky and bitter. But I digress...
I'm happy to report that the transfer of the ants from the vial to the habitat was completely successful and the ants have just gone crazy. And truly, they are fascinating. There's no question this was one of my favorite Christmas presents - thank God my son was creative enough to "think outside the box" and realize that I was serious when I "hinted" that I had seen this "Antworks Habitat" at Brookstone. He's a good boy and he knows I'm not normal, which partially explains why he's not normal and, well, it works for us. He has come in frequently in the past week to admire my Christmas present. Truly, it is stunning how hard and diligently ants work and stay on task. I admire their tenacity.
When I first saw this "gift" at Brookstone, I remarked to Stephanie (his girlfriend), "How inspirational something like this could be! If I had an ant farm, I would put it on my desk and draw strength and energy from those hard-working ants.". Well, in fact, I have written several pages since they arrived and already those "Western Harvest Ants" have earned a line of thanks if I ever get this book proposal finished.
In other news, things are coming along nicely, which is amazing if you considered how many hours I worked my "day" job last week. My "day" job turned into a "night" job and it's been sort of a bit crazy downtown, even more so than usual. Most of it not in a fun way. Saturday we had a meltdown. Well, Vanessa almost had a meltdown. But in true Vanessa style, she pulled it together and congealed and went on to win the day and two clients in the process. Vanessa, you are my hero. Stephanie T., you are also impressive. Both of you ladies made last week bearable. I love you both.
It's been tough lately though, and every now and then, even a little scary. It's no secret that I am a caffeine-aholic. There's no 12-step program for this and if there were, I honestly wouldn't be looking to join. I will admit, however, that I have been cutting back a bit lately and most of my caffeine is now delivered via jasmine tea, exclusively.
For the first time in I can't remember when, I almost had a full-blown, wide-open panic attack Friday Afternoon. Stephanie and I were downtown at a restaurant picking up lunch and suddenly I felt as if I couldn't breathe and my heart was doing flip flops. The more I thought about it, the more my chest tightened and I kept feeling as if I were skipping heartbeats which, I know, is pure stress. I can't remember ever feeling as stressed as I do right now and I'm grateful that I have a lot on my plate, it's so much better than having nothing to do. I love my writing and I'm learning something new and picking through tons of old memories - many of them good, a few of them painful, and some just plain puzzling and questionable. But even stress borne of positive activity is still, well, stress and stress, in unhealthy doses, can have negative physical effects. Just because I "know" this, doesn't make any of it more pleasant. In fact, I have a call into my buddy Dr. Bob, because I need some professional advice on how to disengage or, at the very least, lessen the intensity.
I have probably 70 e-mails that I haven't even had the time or energy to look at from this past week. After a 12 hour day downtown, I come home, I toss back 1 or 3 glasses of iced tea, read a few posts and start getting ready for the next day. One reason I'm avoiding my e-mail lately is because some of what I've read has come from friends who have chastised me for not returning their e-mails or their calls. The bottom line is that for the next few weeks, I need every available moment to finish what I've started. In no way do I mean to ignore ANYONE, but I've come to a point where I am literally running out of minutes in the day. I so very much appreciate the e-mails filled with positive thoughts and well-wishes, offers of prayers and the lighting of candles are always wonderful to read and you can't imagine how much I need them right now - believe me, such gifts can make a HUGE difference in my day. But to get an e-mail that chides me for not replying in what the "sender" may consider a prompt manner, does me no real good and I don't have the time, extra energy or remote desire to get angry right now.
I guess what I'm asking for most of all, in the next few weeks, is patience. I can't afford to waste this opportunity and this opportunity requires focus and time and attention and patience, from those I care about (and you know who you are) and those who care about me (and I know who you are).
And of course, I'm three weeks away from turning
Now, one more thing about Jim, he makes these amazing "Native American Indian Flutes". He carves them - out of real wood and everything. Isn't that wildly talented? He reports they have a haunting sound and I have been informed that I will have the great fortune to discover this for myself. In fact, he sent me a link to the "Legend of the flute", so you can read about it for yourself if you're so inclined and I suggest you do.
I'd also like to send my Amarillo friend a special congratulations for his upcoming recognition as a 30 year employee at BSA (Baptist St. Anthony's Hospital). My first acquaintance with Amarillo was courtesy of St. Anthony's Hospital because that's the revered institution that brought my little family to Amarillo way back in 1985. Tim, Katie and I moved to Amarillo in August 1985 when Tim (Katie and Justin's Dad), accepted a position with the hospital as Accounting Supervisor. It is also where we lived when Justin joined our family in November 1986. Those were happy years and filled with lots of fine memories that I enjoyed sharing some of them with Jim earlier today after I teased him about the winter weather he's currently dealing with. This morning as I was retrieving my first cup of coffee, I was shocked to see a Fox News Report on all the snow Amarillo has received this past weekend. Poor Jim! Last weekend it was an ice storm. Hopefully the sky will clear for his hospital award banquet this Thursday. Jim - good on ya!
If you want to send my Daddy "Happy Birthday!" wishes, you may e-mail him at: email@example.com. He's a very special person. If you know him, you know that - if you don't know him, for gosh sakes, don't judge him based on how I turned out! Really, he did the best he could! :-) I'm certain it all goes back to the "nature vs. nurture" debate. He loves to receive e-mail. And I love him.