Katdish.net

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The above photo depicts a brutal form of execution known as necklacing, carried out by forcing a rubber tire, filled with petrol, around a victim’s chest and arms, and setting it on fire. The victim may take up to 20 minutes to die, suffering severe burns in the process. The practice became a common method of lethal lynching during disturbances in South Africa in the 1980s and 1990s.

Photojournalist Kevin Carter was the first to photograph a public execution by necklacing in South Africa in the mid-1980s. He later spoke of the images:

“I was appalled at what they were doing. I was appalled at what I was doing. But then people started talking about those pictures… then I felt that maybe my actions hadn’t been at all bad. Being a witness to something this horrible wasn’t necessarily such a bad thing to do.”

He went on to say:

“After having seen so many necklacings on the news, it occurs to me that either many others were being performed (off camera as it were) and this was just the tip of the iceberg, or that the presence of the camera completed the last requirement, and acted as a catalyst in this terrible reaction. The strong message that was being sent, was only meaningful if it were carried by the media. It was not more about the warning (others) than about causing one person pain. The question that haunts me is ‘would those people have been necklaced, if there was no media coverage?”

(Source: Wikipedia: Necklacing)

In March 1993 Carter made a trip to Sudan. The sound of soft, high-pitched whimpering near the village of Ayod attracted Carter to an emaciated Sudanese toddler. The girl had stopped to rest while struggling to a feeding center, whereupon a vulture had landed nearby. He said that he waited about 20 minutes, hoping that the vulture would spread its wings. It didn’t. Carter snapped the haunting photograph and chased the vulture away. (Source: Wikipedia: Kevin Carter)

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It is unknown what happened to this young girl after this photo was taken. What is widely known is that Kevin Carter won a Pulitzer Prize for this photograph, presented to him on May 23, 1994 at Columbia University.

On July 27, 1994 Carter drove to the Braamfontein Spruit river, near the Field and Study Centre, an area where he used to play as a child, and took his own life by taping one end of a hose to his pickup truck’s exhaust pipe and running the other end to the passenger-side window. He died of carbon monoxide poisoning at the age of 33. Portions of Carter’s suicide note read:

“I am depressed … without phone … money for rent … money for child support … money for debts … money!!! … I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings and corpses and anger and pain … of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners…I have gone to join Ken [recently deceased colleague Ken Oosterbroek] if I am that lucky.”

This is certainly not a new story, but it’s something that’s been on my heart lately. Photographers, journalists and writers give voice to suffering and chaos. Hopefully in an attempt to draw the world’s attention to it, thereby calling others to action. But in that moment and the moments immediately following, what are they doing about it? Would Kevin Carter be alive today if he had set down that camera and come to the aid of that little girl? Would the darkness have consumed him had he chosen to be a light instead of a neutral observer? I just don’t know.

I’ve said before that one of the occupational hazards of being a writer is that you’re always writing. Every situation becomes a potential story. But I never want to come to a place where what I put on paper becomes more important than inserting myself into the bigger story of life. Especially if by abandoning my mental pen and notebook I might have a hand in changing a tragedy into a happily ever after, or at least an after.

“Some people confuse acceptance with apathy, but there’s all the difference in the world. Apathy fails to distinguish between what can and what cannot be helped; acceptance makes that distinction. Apathy paralyzes the will-to-action; acceptance frees it by relieving it of impossible burdens.” – Arthur Gordon

“By far the most dangerous foe we have to fight is apathy – indifference from whatever cause, not from a lack of knowledge, but from carelessness, from absorption in other pursuits, from a contempt bred of self satisfaction” – William Osler

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There are women who purchase handbags as accessories to match their shoes. They change out their purses as often as they change their outfits. I am not one of those women. For me, entering into a relationship with a handbag is a long term commitment not to be taken lightly.

For years, the search for the perfect bag was akin to searching for the Holy Grail. Many came close, but always lacked a certain necessary element. Then a few years ago (I’m not sure the exact year, but I know it was during the second Bush administration), I received a Fossil Sutter Crossbody flap bag as a Christmas gift. It was perfection wrapped in brown distressed leather and love at first use. We’ve been together ever since. It’s been such an integral part of my life that I’ve written not one, but two blog posts about it.

Last week, my Fossil bag finally succumb to the ravages of time and abuse. Actually, I lost one of the clips that hold the shoulder strap onto the purse.

Otherwise, I’d just do what I did with the other clip and wire it back on.

Okay, perhaps I’m just a wee too attached to that handbag, but we’ve got a lot of history together.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to wipe away my tears and try to find one exactly like it on e-Bay. In the meantime, I invite you to read again or for the first time ever…

The ABC’s of Crap in my Purse: (Originally posted 3-12-2009)

Disclaimer: Yes, that is a pricey Fossil purse with paint on it. But in my defense, it was a gift from my sister. She feels sorry for me because I have chosen to live a life devoid of overpriced accessories, so she buys me expensive purses, Pandora bracelets with coordinating overpriced beads to go with, and other fancy stuff for Christmas and birthdays. I had no idea how much that purse costs until I went to get one without paint on it. After pricing them, I decided my purse had character. I bet no one else in town has a chocolate brown Fossil Sutter Crossbody flap bag (don’t think I didn’t have to do a Google image search to figure out what kind of purse it is) with off-white trim paint strategically dabbed on the credit card zipper pouch. Katdish: trendsetter (CHECK!)

I’m really liking Twitter. There. I said it. Now, I’ll also say this: my friend Steph at the Red Clay Diaries was right. Yeah, Steph. You guilted me into it, but I’m glad I came around. It’s really opened up a whole new world of Internet peeps for me, and as you all know, I don’t spend nearly enough time on the computer. For example, this chick named Mandy Thompson started following me. So I go check out her twitter page and her blog. Turns out, she’s just like me, except that she’s an incredibly gifted musician and is cool. She thinks I’m cool, too. But let’s not let that cat out of the bag just yet. She’ll figure out what a dork I am sooner or later.

Anyway, Mandy recently wrote a post dedicated to stuff in her purse. It looked really professional with corresponding letters to the stuff all nicely laid out. There was a purpose for everything she had in there. Contrast that to Steph’s post awhile back about stuff in her purse. Which is waaayyyy closer to what is in my purse.

I really liked the way Mandy lettered the items. So, in attempt to copy her, I attempted to do the same with the items in my purse. You would think that someone who actually paints murals and custom artwork as a trade would be able to use the paintbrush function on her computer. And you would be wrong. Painting with a mouse is nothing like painting with a paintbrush. I pretty much suck at it. But still, it took me a long time to designate letters to items from my purse in no particular order, so I’m going with it. Ladies and gentlemen, the ABC’s of crap in my purse:

A) Rudy the cat. He is not now, nor has he ever been in my purse.
B) My second Blackberry. I upgraded from my first Blackberry when my dh decided he needed an iPhone. Some people never get a brand new car. I never get a brand new PDA. (Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I dig it.)
C) My business cards, “Ragamuffin Child Interiors” I realize the “child” part is redundant, as the definition of a ragamuffin is “a shabbily dressed child”. But would you hire a painter whose company name is “A shabbily dressed child Interiors”? Me thinks not.
D) Large stack of random receipts. I think it’s important to keep receipts. Why? Because my husband says so.
E) Pens that I can never find, but have obviously always been in there.
F) Giveaway mirror from my old church.
G) Oil blotting sheets. People, I am very shiny! Those paper toilet seat liners are also great for blotting the excess oil from your face, but by using the little blue sheets you will draw way less attention to yourself in the ladies room. (You’re just gonna have to trust me on this one.)
H) Orbit gum – I tease Pete Wilson about chewing gum during interviews, but I’m a fairly prolific gum chewer myself. (Don’t tell him I said that.)
I) Eye wetting drops from when I had lasik surgery a year ago. Hey, you never know.
J) Broken pieces from a cheap tic tac toe game that my daughter asked me to hold for her last month.
K) No-slip ponytail holder. I swear by those, especially if you have thick hair.
L) Leftover nail glue and orange stick that I used to apply Lee press-on nails to my ugly man-hands whist attending Catalyst One Day in Alpharetta, GA.
M) Several tubes of lipstick that I almost never wear. Also, one of them is a highlighter.
N) A Speert purse hook. You set the square part down on the edge of a table, and then you can hook your purse on it. Another fancy gift from my sympathetic sister. I’ve used it once: the day she gave it to me at lunch.
O) Bed, Bath & Beyond and Linens n’ Things 20% coupons. You never know when you’ll need to buy someone a Snuggie. (I know LNT is out of business – I threw it away.)
P) A bulletin from a church where we guest-led worship a couple of Sundays ago. (Okay, it was mid-January. Are you beginning to see a trend here?)
Q) Business account checkbook.
R) A bag of gourmet coffee that they were giving out at Catalyst One Day.
S) A bag of airline pretzels.
T) A foil pack of Gas-X. (I know, I know — TMI.)
U) A copy of “Making your Mark: How to leave long, annoying comments on other People’s Blogs” by Wordy McTypesalot. You never know when someone’s going to ask you for your autograph. It hasn’t actually happened yet, but I’m ready!
V) Wallet by “The Sack”. I love that wallet, but I don’t keep any credit cards or ID in there. It’s basically a fancy junk drawer for my purse. I’m pretty sure Waldo’s in there.
W) Credit card zipper pouch where I actually keep my credit cards and ID. Incidentally, I almost never use credit cards. I should take most of those out of there and put them in my wallet.
X) Huh….apparently, there is no “X”. But I’m not redoing that picture! (Man, I hope Angela doesn’t read this. That will drive her nuts! I swear, Angela; I did not do that on purpose this time.)
Y) Tres muchos denaro. (Dang. I’m practically bilingual!)
Z) Correct change for nothing in particular.

I suppose my purse (and the center console in my Jeep) are very much like this:

To my guy readers. Sorry. I hope you didn’t get any girl cooties while reading this post. I’ll try to write a post with some fart humor and/or gratuitous violence to make up for this one.

Wow. That was a really long post about the contents of my purse. I’m actually kind of embarrassed. But not embarrassed enough not to publish it. (Hit “publish post”.)

image courtesy of photobucket.com

On the morning of September 11, 2001 and the hours and days immediately following the terrorist attacks, life as usual for U. S. citizens came to an abrupt and collective halt. We eventually resumed our lives, forever changed but cognizant of the fact that life does indeed continue. Such will be the case for the people of Japan and other places around the world touched and forever changed by natural and man-made disasters and acts of violence.

As difficult as large scale disasters are, there is a degree of comfort in shared tragedy, knowing you are not alone in your suffering. But what of personal tragedy? How do you deal with life around you moving forward when the life you know is suddenly ripped out from under you?

I’ve been pondering this question quite a bit this past week. So much so that a friend suggested that I would hear something at church Sunday morning that God needed me to hear. My friend was right. Jeff’s sermon, which he had planned long before personal tragedies touched the lives of so many of our church family last week was “Hope in Suffering”.

One of the songs we sang was Matt Redmond’s “You never let go”. We’ve sang this song numerous times, but the lyrics meant much more this time:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back
I know You are near

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

Chorus:
Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth

Chorus:

Yes, I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
Still I will praise You, still I will praise You

If you are walking in the shadowlands right now, please know that God has you in his grip and he will never let go of you. He is close even when he feels a million miles away.

“He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.” -Psalm 147:3

It’s been a very busy week in the non-virtual world for me with no time for writing. Here’s a post Billy Coffey wrote for me back in 2009. It’s a good ‘un:

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There are better things to be called than “an inbred hick,” and I had been called worse by many, but I had to admire the originality. And I wasn’t mad. The phrase was uttered with a sense of good-natured mockery common among friends in general and mine specifically. Especially the one who was not only a liberal, but also a Red Sox fan. I never said my friends were perfect.

This friend’s name? Dan. A truly brilliant man despite the fact I would never admit it to his face. Chair of the Asian Studies department at the college. Prolific author and lecturer. World traveler. Highbrow. All of which paints a pretty stark contrast to me. My only chair is the one in the living room, I am prolific only at spitting and shooting a bow, most of my travels are on dirt roads, and I am the very definition of lowbrow.

We have our differences, to be sure. And whenever we happen to bump into each other, we spend most of our time arguing over whose differences are right.

Like yesterday, for instance.

Dan brought me a souvenir from his latest trip to Japan—a fan with “Hanshin Tigers” printed on the front, along with a pretty ferocious looking cat.

“You should go with me one time,” he said after recapping his adventures. “Japanese baseball is great, and the Tigers have a good team this year. You need to see the world. You’re stuck here in this valley missing everything.”

“You’re only stuck if you can’t move,” I said, “I just don’t want to. And I’m not missing much. The world’s a crazy place. At least around here the crazy’s familiar.”

“There’s nothing here,” he said. “It’s all out there. The world’s passing you by. Your family’s been here how long?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think we came with the Valley.”

“Exactly. Generations. As long as people can remember.”

“And that’s bad how?”

“You’re the product of centuries of people who refused to better themselves. Your life is no different than your great-grandfather’s and his great-grandfather’s.”

“So?” I asked.

“So you’re just an inbred hick. You could make yourself into a lot better person.”

The thought of making myself into a better person had never really crossed my mind, mostly because I’d always been pretty content with who I was. Then again, I’d never considered myself an inbred hick.

But my family has occupied this valley and the mountains surrounding it for centuries. Staying put in one place for so long tends to give you a sense of belonging. Of home. And though I would trade my mountains for the ocean any day, this place would always be home. There are a lot of my kin buried here in the Blue Ridge. I could wander away from those bones, but not for very long and not for very far.

So the inbred thing? True.

As for the “hick” part of that little insult, I’d have to say that was something Dan and his fellow urbanites just couldn’t understand. They’d never lived in the sticks, never spent much time with country folk, and so allowed their stereotypes to rule them.

Then again, all stereotypes are grounded in some semblance of truth.

It’s true, for instance, that one of my best Christmas presents last year was a bag of deer jerky and a jar of peach moonshine. And yes, some country folk live in trailers. By and large, “dressing up” means trading our faded jeans for dark ones. We are not generally well-educated. We do hunt and fish and ride four-wheelers. We live vicariously through Ric Flair and consider “Freebird” the real national anthem.

True. All true.

But there is more beneath the surface to life in the country. A lot.

Because to us, a trailer full of love is better than a castle full of discord.

And we’re not nearly as impressed with the clothes a person wears as we are with the person wearing the clothes.

We might not be able to split the atom, but we know what means much in life and what doesn’t.

We hunt and fish and grow our own groceries because food straight out of the dirt and the woods, sweetened with sweat and labor, tastes a lot better than what you can get at the store.

Our churches aren’t big, but they’re full. Our words are few, but they’re meaningful. We don’t want more of this world. We want less.

We are plain and simple people. People who will go hungry before letting our neighbors starve, drop whatever we’re doing to help a friend, and roam among the wild places to get a better glimpse of God.

The best people. My people.

Inbred hicks? Absolutely. Who could possibly want to be more?

To read more from inbred hick and writer extraordinaire Billy Coffey, visit him at BillyCoffey.com

I’m up to my eyeballs in rhinos. No, not real ones. Seems as though I’ve inadvertently volunteered to paint a canvas for my daughter’s class to be auctioned off to raise money for the PTA. (Wow–that sentence was chock full of prepositional phrases, huh?) It’s due Friday. (Actually, it was due Monday, but I’m a temperamental artist so they’re just gonna have to deal with it.) I’ve copied the kids’ artwork and still need to finish painting. No time to write something brilliant and life changing, so here’s some leftovers for y’all. Sorry/you’re welcome:

Oh, gentle reader! It’s been too long since my last Sky Mall post! Oh sure, I’m all for the occasional serious post and random ridiculousness…

But I have neglected you, dearest Sky Mall! How could I go so long without paying homage to you: Giant book of overpriced, unnecessary crap practically begging me to make fun of you? Here it is the middle of the summer, and there’s no doubt piles of disposal income just lying around waiting to be spent! Right? Right? Okay, maybe not…whatever…

Hair is an amazing thing. (Nice segue, huh?) As mammals, we all have varying degrees of it. But we never seem content. We have too much in some places and not enough in others. This has not escaped the attention of the fine folks at the Sky Mall.

R.E.M. Spring Hair Remover $19.95

Do I really need to explain what this thing is? It’s basically a really tightly coiled spring that rips your facial hair out in a completely “pain free” manner. Yeee–aaah. Sure it does. Does it work? Just ask this satisfied Sky Mall customer:

“Wonderful gadget/tool. I’ve told many friends about this and they each plan to purchase one. I’ll be giving them for holidays gifts this year!”

Merry Christmas Aunt Margaret! Thought you might enjoy this as you are beginning to look like Uncle Phil!

And speaking of Uncle Phil, perhaps he might enjoy:

The Hairmax Laser Comb $495.00

“In a clinical study, HairMax treated hair loss and regrew hair for 93% of those who used it. HairMax users also report improved quality, shine and manageability.”

Don’t believe me? Check out THESE results!:

M’kay…I suppose that’s worth 500 bucks plus shipping and handling. Dear menfolk losing your hair: Keep your hair short. If you have a nice looking head, trying shaving it. Just say no to the comb over. Please?

“But katdish! You don’t understand! You have thick, wonderful hair! How can you stand in judgement?” Because I’m katdish…that’s what I do. Okay, okay…check this out:

Toppik Hair Building Fibers $21.95

Toppik Makes Thin Hair Look Thick and Natural in 30 Seconds over 2 Million People Use It. Doctors Recommend it. Celebrities Won’t go on Without it. Now you can instantly eliminate the appearance of baldness and thinning hair. Toppik gives you greater coverage and a thick, full looking head of hair all in about 30 seconds!

I’m no scientist or chemist, but I’m pretty sure this is similar to the “sea monkey principle”. (Don’t ask…I just know these things.)

By now you have a great head of hair. So you are no longer self-conscious about getting that hair wet! Time to hit the pool and get some exercise!

Endless Pool $20,900.00

“Our signature product, the Original Endless Pool is designed to fit just about anywhere, indoors or outside…This flexibility has allowed more than 12,000 customers to realize the dream of swimming at home in an Original Endless Pool.”

Wow! Twelve thousand customers? If I had a dollar for every satisfied customer, I still wouldn’t have enough money to buy that pool! I’m guessing you don’t either. No worries, you can still enjoy the cardiovascular benefits of swimming with this next product:

The AquaVee Portable Swim System Kit $84.90


“An easy to install system that turns any pool into a lap pool. The AquaVee installation time takes about 60 seconds and can be used anytime anywhere! The AquaVee is extremely portable and will fit any pool no matter the size.”

Now, I realize to the untrained eye, this looks like some surgical tubing, suction cups and a tube of silicon, but trust me….That’s exactly what it is.

This next catalog item I chose for a couple of reasons. First, the picture is pretty freaky, and second, I’m wondering why that guy didn’t buy the Hairmax Laser Comb. Don’t you think he could afford it? Me thinks, yes…

Executive Health Evaluation: $3,495.00

Experience a day-long, 5-star treatment at one of our beautiful contemporary Centers…(blah, blah, blah….)

Benefits may include: (may include? Craptastic!)

Decreased risk of age-related disease
Improved muscle tone
Decreased body fat
Increased energy
Increased libido (wink, wink!)
Sharper thinking (so maybe you won’t spend 3500 bucks on a fancy doctor’s appointment!)

The final item up for review has nothing to do with anything really. It just made me giggle:

Giddyup! Core Exerciser – Dual Motor $469.00

“The Giddyup! Core Exerciser is the latest innovation in core strength training! This core exerciser benefits posture, improves balance, builds core strength and has up to 25 speed combinations.”

“The trotting and galloping action of a horse helps strengthen the rider’s spine and pelvic muscles, improves posture and stimulates seldom-used core muscles, in the dorsal and abdominal regions. This product also invigorates the body, promotes good blood flow, and an increased metabolism.”

I’m going to be honest. If they could get Debra Winger to reprise her role as Sissy in Urban Cowboy, mount that thing with a cowboy hat and a Lone Star Beer, I’d have my Visa card out right now…

Seriously…am I the only one giggling? Okay…whatever…

image courtesy of photobucket.com

I was having a discussion with a friend the other day about “collectibles”. It was his observation that anything marketed as collectible rarely ever increases substantially in value if at all. Commemorative coins, beanie babies, Cabbage Patch dolls, Swatch watches. Should I continue? I’ve said here before that I’m anti-crap. Which is not to say I don’t have way too much of it. I think most of us do. I suppose there’s an up side to people collecting things they don’t need and only think they want. Thanks to sites like E-bay and Craig’s List, we can sell all that crap in order to have money to buy someone else’s crap because theirs looks pretty good in the pictures. Which is awesome, especially if you can get something for less than it’s worth.

Ah, but that leads me to a question: Who or what determines something’s worth?

My mom has several Madame Alexander dolls from the early 70’s. She has a Scarlett O’Hara doll in mint condition which she said several years ago was valued at over $800. But that doll is only worth $800 if you find someone willing to pay $800 for it. Well, that’s not entirely true. I suppose she could commit insurance fraud and report the doll stolen, but that’s very unlikely to happen.

I used to collect a few things. I still have a case full of ceramic Disney characters from years ago. Some I bought and some were gifts. By the way, if you find yourself becoming too obsessed with collecting any sort of themed item, just tell your friends and family how much you like said theme. I had a friend that liked hippos. She received so much hippo paraphernalia that she had to plead with people to stop buying her anything hippo related. I used to like to remind her what incredibly vicious, violent animals hippos were, and that a real hippo would just as soon kill her as look at her, but I digress…

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Who or what determines something’s worth and what makes some things more valuable to us than other things? For me, certain things I consider treasures because they evoke special memories. Many of the objects I cherish are of very small monetary value.

I have a jar of shells sitting in a prominent place in the family room. The jar itself is special because it was given to me by a dear friend as a housewarming gift. I’ve kept different things in it over the years, but I think the plain, white shells will stay in there. Nothing fancy, but these are the shells my daughter and I collected on her first visit to the beach. It was just the two of us and we had a wonderful day.

I also have a Wedgewood covered dish given to me by my in-laws. They have given us many wonderful gifts over the years, but this dish is special because of the story behind it.

My husband is the youngest of four kids. His dad was a science teacher then later a school principal. His mother was also a teacher. They worked hard, raised 4 kids on modest salaries and still managed to save and invest money. I don’t think either would mind me saying that they are frugal. They buy things on sale when they can, rarely if ever spend extravagantly on themselves and they both love a great bargain.

After they retired, they traveled extensively in the United States and abroad. In 1996, one of their vacations brought them to Copenhagen, Denmark. They were shopping for mementos and souvenirs when they saw some items in the window of an antique shop. They picked out a few gifts and brought them to the sales clerk. My father-in-law had been converting Kroner to U.S. dollars in his head, figured they had approximately $90-$100 worth of items and felt like they had found some good deals. My mother-in-law sensed that the sales lady was very pleased by their purchases as she filled out their tax free shopping cheque.

They went to another shop where my father-in-law tried to purchase two items. When he handed the clerk a $10 bill expecting change, the man asked him if he wanted to put the rest of the balance on a credit card. At this point they discovered that the conversion rate was about 10 times higher than what they had been figuring. He declined to purchase the items and proceeded to the Tax Free Shopping Office, both with a sinking feeling.

The items they had figured to be between $90-$100 came to a grand total of $900.

That box is special to me because they probably could have explained their miscalculation to the antique shop and selected less expensive items. Instead, they choose to keep them. Which, knowing them, probably went against every fiber of their being.

So my covered Wedgewood dish is a treasure because the story behind it is a testimony to my wonderful in-laws, who are living proof that you can be both very frugal and very generous all at once. And if my husband is reading this, I’d just like to point out that I’ve got the generous part down, just not so much the frugal part…

***

This post is part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival: Treasure hosted by my friend Peter Pollock. To read more posts on the topic of Treasure, please visit him at PeterPollock.com

As suburban sprawl continues, the view from my back patio has changed from a wooded area full of wildlife and a 100 acres of grazing pasture for cattle to a view of subdivision fences and construction equipment installing the infrastructure for yet another new subdivision.

I don’t begrudge my new and soon to be new neighbors. Young families continue to flood into our little town seeking good, safe schools in which to send their children. That’s the very reason we moved here from Houston 9 years ago. We also knew when we bought this property that it was only a matter of time before the old gentlemen who owned the grazing land would concede to his grown children’s wishes and sell the property to a development company. I’m also grateful there is a neighborhood going up behind us instead of a shopping mall.

Still, I miss my view.

A few months ago, a representative came and talked to us about some drainage issues and installing fencing along the property line. Once our neighbor and we agreed, a sloped area was created to allow for proper drainage. When the lots are sold which back up to our property, a 6 foot fence will be built on the property line. With the grading and the slope, we’ll essentially have a view of a 9 foot fence along the back of our property. Oh, well…

Part of what the developer agreed to was to sod the slope. In this part of the country, the grass of choice is St. Augustine. It withstands the brutal heat we have in the summertime and only completely dies out for 2 or 3 months out of the year, depending on how cold it gets in the winter. Which is why I was surprised to see them spraying the slope with a rye grass mixture a couple of months ago. A week later, I figured there was a mix up about what type of grass to plant because I came home to find workers installing squares of St. Augustine over the rye grass seed.

Then I guess they had more important matters to attend to because no one watered the newly sodded grass and it died out. When they finally got around to watering the now dead St. Augustine, here’s what happened:

If the St. Augustine had been watered properly when it was first installed, it would have rooted and choked off the rye grass. I imagine once the spring rains come, along with the higher temps and humidity, the rye will wither and the St. Augustine will overtake the slope.

But for now, a view out my back door serves as a reminder that we can change our minds and our circumstances, but sometimes the things we plant then choose to replace or abandon may find their way back whether we want them or not. And sometimes we think winter is over, but it was only taking a few days off.

(I’m sorry if this post is vague. I’m processing some things that are weighing heavily on my heart and I just can’t discuss them publicly. They don’t involve anyone in my immediate family–we are all okay, and for that and so much more I am extremely grateful. So even though writing helps me sort through some things, sometimes I have to not write about some things. Clear as mud, huh? My hope is that if you can relate this to something in your own life it might serve as some measure of encouragement. If not, I’m really sorry you just read 600 words about what kind of grass I have in my back yard.)