The Plight of a Midget T-Rex

"Hey, can you grab this for me?" "Um…can you reach this?" "Wait, you need what from on top of where?" "Help! I'm stuck up here!"

These are phrases that have inundated my vocabulary. Not because I like the way they sound rolling off my tongue, but rather, out of necessity. Why? Because I'm vertically challenged. Actually, no, I'm just plain short. I might as well say it like it is. I'm proud to say I'm a tall 5' 3" if I stick my chin slightly in the air and make sure my heels barely touch the ground. Unfortunately, my height is only amplified by the fact that I also have short arms. Double whammy.

Now, my cousin claims the short arms scenario is due to our Norwegian ancestors who (he says) rowed in longboats and could only move their arms a certain length to avoid hiding the rower sitting directly in front of them. As generations evolved, the length of their arms remained short. Granted, this theory is humorous, but I doubt it holds much merit.

No matter the cause of my dilemma though, I am reminded daily that my legs and arms are shorter than average. I'm reminded at work when I have to ask my office buddy for help reaching something (it's sickening the way she doesn't even have to stretch, and she's not even unusually tall). I'm reminded after I take my car in for an oil change and I have to move the seat forward again before driving away. I'm reminded in my martial arts classes when doing just about any technique, but especially sparring. I'm reminded at home by the frequency of needing my step stool.

At first, I resented it. Not because of the teasing though. (Actually, I don't mind the teasing a bit because, first off, my shortness really is funny, and second, I feel loved.) No, I resented my shortness simply because I didn't like being short. I didn't like needing to ask others for help. Jumping up and down trying to reach something. Swinging my legs while sitting in someone else's chair. Trying to keep up with other people's walking strides. Needing the "junior" sword in my martial arts class (which became quite funny after a while, and is still a joke).

Then it hit me. If I wasn't short, I'd never have the endearing nicknames, like Short Sword (my favorite). I wouldn't have such a short distance to go when performing pushups or toe-touches. I wouldn't think picturing a T-Rex trying to make a bed to be nearly as funny as I do, since, well, I can relate. (Have you seen the cartoon of two T-Rexes trying to hug? Priceless.) And really, what's not fun about being able to tell your office buddy what to do? So what if I can't reach what's on the top shelf? I get to tell her to do it for me. Score!

All in all, I really have a frightening body shape. I'm surprised I haven't broken any of my mirrors yet. But I have found some advantages to my short height and short arms, mostly which is humor. And maybe that's the whole point. Without a bit of humor, life would be dreadfully dull. If it takes short jokes or T-Rex quips to lighten the mood, I'm glad I can provide the right ingredients.

"T-Rex trying to hit the snooze button..."

Picture from: https://www.facebook.com/Trextryingart

 

Friday's Funny - Comic Strip Humor

I smiled as I thought of my cats and how I love them...even on days they're a pain...

Click picture to enlarge

Calvin and Hobbes Comic Strip, June 08, 2014 on GoComics.com  ©Universal Uclick - All Rights Reserved. 

Have a great weekend!

 

"Shout to the Lord, all the earth; break out in praise and sing for joy!" Psalm 98:4

Soggy Socks and Rainbows

It was worth it. The walk, I mean. I waited for the thunder to pass, and ventured outside while the rain was still pouring down. I knew I only had a few minutes left before the storm would turn into light sprinkles, and I didn’t want to miss it. While others might scurry for shelter or cover their heads as they aimed indoors, I was headed out, without jacket or umbrella.

My senses were overwhelmed with the simple beauty of the passing rainstorm. The sun was just starting to shine again, creating a surreal atmosphere of light and wetness. Coolness and warm humidity. Birds sang excitedly above my head. The sound of rain coming down through the trees sent a peace to my heart. The smell of damp air invigorated my soul.

As I sloshed through another puddle, I realized the water was beginning to penetrate my shoes, and my socks were getting a bit soggy. I wasn’t quite soaked from head to toe, but my t-shirt and jeans were starting to cling to my skin. And as I walked casually down the sidewalk, I had to wonder if anyone was watching, and if they might think me rather odd for deciding ten minutes before the end of the storm to go for my mail at the Post Office.

But it was worth it. As I neared my destination, I was rewarded yet again with the sight of a rainbow. Its colors beamed vividly against the gray rain clouds as it arched across the sky. And with it was its twin, though not as bright. The only thing better than a rainbow is a double rainbow.

Despite my damp shirt, soggy socks, and my cat trying to groom my wet hair after I got home, my brief adventure in the rain was one of sheer enjoyment. Next time I might even head out a few minutes earlier.

New Blooms, Old Memories

My African violet is blooming again. Actually, it's my grandma's violet.

Quite a few years ago, I gained an interest in starting new, baby violets by cutting off the leaf of one flower and planting it. I'd have multiple styrofoam cups with leaves sticking up out of potting soil as I waited and watched to see full plants form. I was amazed at the process.

Eventually, I wound up with too many African violets. And since my office area at work was starting to look like a greenhouse, it was time to give some of my plants away. I was quite proud of them, as I'd developed (by sheer accident) several really neat color combinations in the blooming flowers. One, in particular, turned out to be almost white with purple splotches. That's the one I decided to give to my grandma, whose own African violet had died. She cherished her new plant and cared for it daily. Every time I would visit, I'd see new blooms. My grandma loved it when it would bloom, and if the plant looked like it was in trouble, I'd come to the rescue and give it some new dirt, a little TLC, and nurse it back to health.

My grandma kept this violet up until she passed away at the nursing home. I couldn't let the flower go - not when it had been so special. So now it's back in my office at work, enjoying a window and florescent lighting. It stopped blooming for a while, but I was happy to see that it's well on its way to producing more flowers. It must be content.

Most people don't realize that I honestly don't know much about African violets. I've been told they're temperamental, so I must just have a streak of luck. (I tried growing new plants again recently and failed miserably, so I must not remember exactly what I did before.)

Regardless of whether or not I have the know-how, I'm glad that I can now look up and see my African violet...and smile as I think of my grandma.

Friday's Funny - It's the little things

It could be worse...

 

(Found at Christian Funny Pictures)

Have a great spider-free weekend!


"Be thankful in all circumstances..." 1 Thessalonians 5:18a

Fancy Footwork of a Prideful Ninja

Never before have I been taught a lesson so literally. I was learning something new at my job that involved strapping mail trays to ensure the mail would not fall out during transit. I was also quite proud of myself for picking it up so easily and quickly. I felt so smart. I’d only seen my coworker do it once, and I was able to pull it off all by myself. Indeed, I was made for the job.

My mistake was actually verbalizing my pride. I actually told my office buddy how proud of myself I was, and that I thought it was rather impressive I was able to apply what I’d seen without any help at all. She (graciously) agreed I was “awesome.”

At that same moment, I turned and stepped toward a shelving unit. And tripped. Over the very coil of strapping I’d been working with – you know, the one I was so proud of using.

Now, please know that I didn’t fall on my face. I very gracefully skipped forward (the kind of maneuver that’s evidence of trying to cover up the fact that I just suddenly realized I’d lost all ability to walk correctly) and I didn’t even drop the tray of mail I was carrying. (I’m sure it was my ninja skills that saved me.)

I refrained from being too proud that I’d at least landed with half my dignity still in tact (the rest was lying on the floor in pieces, each one laughing at me). And, I will say that my fancy footwork did provide plenty of giggles. But really…I couldn’t believe how not only did “pride cometh before a fall” apply, but I literally acted out that very warning.

Thankfully, that all happened near the end of the workday, so I didn’t have to anticipate anymore embarrassing antics before heading home. Tomorrow though…I’ll be sure to keep my pride in check.

Fishing Isn't About Fish

I was practically raised holding a fishing pole. Being brought up only a short drive from Lake Ontario, and having an avid fisherman for a father, fishing was quite a major part of my young life. Though never as enthusiastic as my older brother, I still developed my favorite spots to fish, I could tell one kind of fish from another better than some adults, and I had no problem baiting my own hooks or grabbing a wriggling, slimy fish with my bare hands.

As I became an adult, the hobby of fishing was pushed out of the way by other activities. Some years I would get my fishing license, and some years I wouldn’t. The sport was more of a memory than a current interest.

This year, I promised my brother I’d get my license and go fishing with him. So, this past Saturday I once again baited my hook with a live worm and cast into a lake. Granted, it’s a much smaller lake than Lake Ontario, but we make do now that we’re in Iowa.

When I was a kid, the best part of going fishing was climbing on the huge rocks of the pier, making my dad proud by landing a big fish, finding abandoned lures, or braving cold north winds to bring home a bucket full of future suppers. Today, I find myself enjoying the sunshine, just spending time with my brother, soaking up nature, and spotting good scenes to snap pictures. My goal for fishing now isn’t really to catch fish, but to relax and enjoy being outside.

On Saturday, I caught one very small bluegill. That was all. My brother was a bit luckier, catching a nice catfish, which he took home for a meal. But despite my ill luck in catching anything, it was a gorgeous morning, I got to be with my brother, I had a nice long walk to the river, I was able to sit and watch the clouds roll in, take some pictures and listen to rumbling thunder on the walk back through the woods. It was heaven to my senses.

Yes, I still fish. But it means something different to me now than it did when I was a kid.

Friday's Funny - Let Me In!

Yes, I'm a cat owner. One day I'll probably end up a crazy cat lady. But as a "cat person," and having put up with (and laughed at) my critters' antics for years, I thoroughly enjoy feline humor. These cartoons have always made me giggle. So for Funny Friday, I thought I'd share one of them. I can definitely see either of my cats doing this...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rb8aOzy9t4

Have a great Friday and enjoy your weekend!


"A cheerful heart does good like medicine..." Proverbs 17:22a

400 and Counting...

It seems everybody collects something. I'm not sure why we, as humans, are fascinated with certain things enough that we will fill cabinets, shoe boxes, shelves and drawers with items only a few others might actually appreciate. Even when the things collected might be of monetary value, how often are they never sold, simply to keep the collection intact and growing? That in itself is almost more fascinating than the actual items. 

While I have a variety of hobbies, when it comes to collecting, there’s really only one thing that I’ve gone all-out with, and that’s key chains. I love them. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been intrigued with all the different kinds of mini trinkets hanging from key rings. Something about them just absorbs my interest. When I go on vacation, my first souvenir is almost always a key chain. Some of my favorite gifts? Key chains. In my purse, on my desk, in a box and in my car? Yeah. Key chains. So since I'm this obsessed, I thought I'd share part of my collection with you.

As far as I know, this was my very first key chain.

Not only is it special because it was my first, but it has a lot of sentimental value. I was very young – probably just five or six years old. I can remember sitting on my grandpa’s knee as we played this game, trying to get those little balls into the colored dips. All in blue, or one each in blue, red and yellow. I remember agreeing with him that blue was the hardest (though I don’t know how that’s possible). I’m sure he was better at the game than I was, but it was so much fun. My grandpa died when I was seven, so that’s probably one of the last memories I have of him, and it’s still precious to me.

Since then, my collection has grown to over 400. I have key chains from twenty-five different countries (thanks to missionary friends).

…and from thirty-one different states in the US (even if I haven’t been to all of them myself).

I have key chains that can come in handy, such as mini screwdrivers, scissors and more.

There are some that are in my “favorites” category, even if I’m the only one who knows where they came from.

I’ve got fun key chains that provide entertainment.

Some are cute novelty key chains. (Yes, Mr. Potato Head actually comes apart, and yes, the Etch A Sketch, Magnadoodle and yo-yo work, too.)

Still others are quite old – some of which I’m not sure just how old they are or even where they originally came from, but they’re still cool to me.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever stop adding to my collection…I doubt it. The only problem I have is finding a way to display everything. At the moment, most of my key chains reside in a box…a very full box...which will more than likely soon become two boxes. Of course, on certain days, it’s rather fun to dump it all out on the floor and rediscover old treasures. And besides...if they were all hanging up, I'd have to dust them.

Are you obsessed with certain objects or themes? What do YOU collect?

Litter Boxes, Paper Cuts and Chicken Salad

I set my alarm for an earlier-than-normal time this morning. Fifteen minutes early was all. Just enough extra time to prep my lunch and not make me late for work. Good thing I did get up early.

I rolled my aching body out of bed, forcing my mind from a terrible fog. Oh yes. Lunch. That's why I was rising early. I needed to prep my chicken salad so I'd actually have something IN my wholewheat, low-carb tortilla. As I entered the bathroom though, I discovered my cat had "missed" her litter box. It was at least a ten-minute cleanup process, and I still hadn't even gotten out of my pajamas yet. Fantastic.

As a result, I ended up running late. Thankfully I did manage to prepare my lunch before walking out the door though. After getting to work, my day became a series of paper cuts, forgotten tasks, internet trouble, bruises, finicky equipment and news that one of my manuscripts did not place in a particular contest. Whoever said Mondays were bad had not yet been introduced to Tuesdays.

Thankfully I have an office buddy who surprised me with breakfast, I was able to take a break for my martial arts class, and my chicken salad wrap? Yeah, that turned out to be pretty tasty.

I guess the only moral of my story is if you decide to rise fifteen minutes early in the morning...you might want to make that twenty-five minutes, just in case. Especially if you have an ornery cat like mine.

A Furry Good Neighbor

I may not have imaginary friends, but I do tend to accept local wild animals as my good neighbors. One such neighbor is a brown squirrel. If I was quicker with a camera, I'd have a picture of him, but alas, you'll just have to use your imagination. Most would say he's just an average squirrel, but I tend to think he's on the cuter side of the scale. He's scared me half to death on multiple occasions by clinging to the large maple tree that's right beside my sidewalk. Only when I'm about three feet away do I realize something at my eye level is staring at me. I haven't figured out if he's extraordinarily brave or extraordinarily ornery.

A couple weeks ago one of my cats became quite excited at the window. I went to take a look, and saw Mr. Squirrel, nut in mouth, searching for a new hiding spot for his treasure. Instead of looking out in the yard, he had spotted my flower pots. One by one, he checked them out, testing the softness of the dirt. He finally came up on the porch and found one particular pot that he liked. He very carefully parted the flowers, dug a hole, buried the nut, then patted everything back in place (including the flowers) to make sure no one would be the wiser.

It was one of the cutest, funniest things I'd ever seen. I didn't have the heart to scare him away from my flowers, and still haven't dug up the nut. I've noticed a few other holes in the dirt in some of the other pots, but I've just let Mr. Squirrel be.

More recently, a dead squirrel appeared in the street. I didn't even realize it was there until a gentleman in a pickup came by and cleaned it up. I felt terrible. I didn't know if it was Mr. Squirrel or not, but I'd sort of grown attached to the furry little guy, and to think he'd been hit by a car was rather sad. I knew there were plenty of other squirrels around town but they just weren't the same.

I watched out my window for several days, hoping I'd see Mr. Squirrel and prove it was some other poor creature that had been run over. We had several rainstorms, which didn't help much, as no animals came around at all. I began to believe that it really was Mr. Squirrel that I'd seen taken away.

Until yesterday.

Once again, my cat alerted me. I know, I know, you'd probably tell me that I could never tell the difference from one squirrel to the next, but let me believe and be happy, okay? THIS squirrel dared to drink out of a flooded flower pot and even came up on the porch to sniff around. He was so confident about it being his territory, that I was convinced it was, indeed, my Mr. Squirrel.

I don't know which one of his family members met their fate on my street, but I can't tell you how glad I was to see Mr. Squirrel alive and well, still claiming my flower pots as his own. And...I think I'll just let him believe they're his. After all, I'm a good neighbor, too.

Doughnut, anyone?

Happy National Doughnut Day! I didn't even realize that's what day it was until my mother mentioned it this morning...as we ate our breakfast pizza. Oops.

Another thing I didn't realize is that National Doughnut Day takes place on the first Friday of every June. (I think it's rather appropriate that it's on a Friday, don't you?) And another thing I didn't realize is that this doughnut-eating tradition dates all the way back to 1938 during WWI. (Take a look: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Doughnut_Day) Fascinating!

What's even more fascinating is that International Jelly-Filled Doughnut Day is on June 8th, National Cream-Filled Doughnut Day is on September 14th, and Buy A Doughnut Day is on October 30th! I had no idea there were so many days to honor the soft, warm, sweet goodness of doughnuts!

So go have one. Even if it's after the first Friday in June. Because hey, they still taste good on ANY day.

Picture by Tracey Alvarez

A New Approach

It's the beginning of a new year. Well...it's not January 1st, but a new year can start on any day, as it leads into the next 365 days.

This day marks the beginning of a new year for me - a blogging year. After a lot of thought, research, reading and consideration, I have decided to revamp not just the way my blog looks, but how I post. I want to veer from all posts about all writing. Yes, I'm a writer, but I'm also a lot of other things, too. I'm a Christian, I'm a martial artist (or a "mardle arsist" depending on whether or not you get tongue-tied...inside joke, sorry), I'm a hobbyist/artist, I love to eat, I love rainstorms, I love watching clouds, I have 2 cats that are the loves of my life...the list goes on. So I've decided to quit boring you with posts that only talk about writing. I'm sure I'll throw one in here every once in a while, but I'd much rather just have some fun and let you get to know me a little better.

Bear with me as I continue to tweak my blog's layout and slide into a new groove - I'm still not 100% satisfied, but it's getting there.  The first big change was my blog's actual address, changed from writerburkum.blogspot.com to rachelburkum.blogspot.com. Using my name will be more effective and will be easier to remember for anyone who wants to follow my posts. I've got some new ideas lined up and am excited to share and also gain precious writing hours to hone my skills as I continue to work on my books.

Happy New Year!