Archive for July, 2013 for the Stock Trading Virgin

07/31/2013 Leave a comment

I am a money nincompoop.  My understanding of the dollar is limited to whether or not it will help me get into some new stilettos this weekend.  I am older than I should be for having this simplistic of a concept of money and so I am ashamed to say I am a stock trading virgin.

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The Pope Says Gays are Okay and Lobbies are for Hotels

07/30/2013 5 comments

Yesterday the Pope came out.  Wait wait wait.  That’s not the story.  Yesterday the Pope came out and said that gays are okay.

He explains the Bible says they should NOT be marginalized, should be fully integrated into society, and should be welcome.  He goes on to ask, “Who am I to judge them?” And additionally says lobbies, of all sorts, are a problem.  (taken from a translation of today’s speech)

Well, thank god!  Or is it God?   Read more…

Reza Aslan Hubbub and Should Women Have Opinions?

07/29/2013 1 comment

I am getting with the times and sharing this played out 3 millionth Fox blunder.  It is rather amazing FOX still continues to “shock and awe” all the Democrats out there who continue to give FOX plenty of attention and publicity.  Fortunately, the guest, Reza Aslan, was interesting enough to bear another liberal feeding frenzy.  As a less than educated average Jill, I am just bored of these stories that go viral, but I figured I would chime in for a minute from a perspective that is hardly being looked at: the feminist perspective.

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Farmer’s Market Anticipation

07/27/2013 Leave a comment

Twas the night before farmer’s market,

and all through the house,

not a student was studying,

not even an ounce.

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Make More Time!

07/26/2013 Leave a comment


This is the famous flower clock in Geneva, Switzerland.

Nobody has enough time. Yadda Yadda Yadda.

Enough time, nobody has. Yoda Yoda Yoda.

Unfortunately, important things are falling by the wayside even as we promote ourselves towards success–especially our children, when they need it most.  Children, neighbors, friends, and family are getting the condensed version of everything these days. With so many 200 character quips flying in and over their heads, it’s no wonder the people you love struggle.  They need you to be more present, more thorough, more significant.

Here’s how to make up a batch of time:

1) Use a smaller scale and revel in those modest choices.  Do you really need to spend an entire day at CostCo loading up? Do you really need that birthday party invite list to be so long it includes your neighbor’s mother’s dog?  When you decide you want something, ask yourself if there are ways to simplify those desires and plans.  Start scaling back and appreciating smaller things by being more intimate with them.

2) Have less stuff.  Do you really need a cabinet full of figurines? Do you really need that many rooms in your house? Do you really need to keep stuff you don’t use?  If you have less clothes, less furniture, less decor, etc, you’ll have less stuff to clean and less stuff that requires maintenance.

3) Commit small chunks with no interruption.  You can get more done in half an hour of complete focus than you would believe.  You can get more done in half an hour of complete focus than you can get done in an hour with only a few interruptions.  Committing to small chunks decreases the chance for interruption, but it also is an extremely effective filter.  If you limit yourself to small chunks, you take care of the critical stuff, rather than generously misappropriating time to extraneous stuff.

Remember, a little bit at a time consistently, will do more for you than spurting and backtracking, spurting and backtracking. And perhaps, in the long run, your relationships will be deeper and your impact on the people you care about most will be more significant because there is no gift better than time itself, except YOUR time.

Creative Exercise: The Color Blue

07/25/2013 2 comments

Blue is the heart of the cool family, sandwiched between the glory of green and the visceral viscus of violet.  Its soul is filled with deep and dark purple, old and mysterious, but its face is lit with fresh green energy.  Blue’s core is powerful and i’s plumage is beautiful.  It is a bird, subdued and resting, yet ready to take flight.

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Creative Writing Exercise: Playing It Safe

07/24/2013 1 comment

So as party of my daily writing challenge, I’m open to anything.  Though I’m not short for ideas quite yet, I decided to push my creative juices a bit and hit the WordPress “Inspire Me” link.  I committed myself to three paragraphs and this is what happened next:

A picture is worth 1000 words. This safe has been through a lot. Tell its story. Image credit: “safe” – © 2007 Paul Keller – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

I managed to snag a single shot of the rusted devastation of a safe that housed the few items she thought deserved protection.  She was a beauty.  Tall, tirelessly strong, and emblazoned with enough scars to create the kind of character only Leonardo DiCaprio could play.  My great great great aunt twice-removed, that is–not the safe.  The safe, well, it was just a ratchet piece of carbon-emission contributing steel that even without the right combination was entirely too easy to open.  In middle school, I put my ear to better machinery on the lockers of girls I kissed and, by the way, had less success with them–the lockers (and the girls)–than I had with this artifact of 19th century aristocracy.

Inside, there was was nothing of any particular value, nothing more than the safe itself–just a few images of my great aunt with some people that didn’t look related to us, the requisite bag of marbles, some long dried out ink in a permanently fogged jar, and a letter or two that went on and on and on about the snarls of daily life at the turn of whatever century she was living in.  But boy, she was a beauty.  Perhaps her cheekbones were passed on thru the bloodline and I, by some cosmic crap, ended up with them—-too bad there wasn’t a mirror in that box.  I’d have taken that and always been reminded of her while looking at myself in it.

I pocketed the letters and the photographs, abandoned the rest of it, and spent years looking into the face of this distant relative whenever I felt lost, worthless, or alone.  She could hardly have been called relevant to me at first, but over time, she became something familiar, a character I knew, even loved. Her cheekbones, familiar, her stoic expression, familiar, her pinned bun forever atop her head, familiar, she seemed to step out of the photographs, or perhaps I into them.  And we would talk.  She gave the kind of feedback that made me feel like I was fulfilling my all too predetermined destiny.  I have 5 kids now and barely recall the feelings of angst I once had, but though they have no purpose, I cannot let go of the photographs.  I’ve locked them into my spouse’s safety deposit box and bequeathed them to my great great great great nephew twice-removed.  Perhaps he’ll have some use for them.