Reflections on Jury Duty

Several weeks ago I received the dreaded notice in the mail:  I had to appear in County Court at a given time on a given date to serve as a Petit Juror.  Ugh, I had a flashback to a similar summons several years ago when I spent a very long day at the County Courthouse.  I was in a group of about 80 or 90  prospective jurors being interviewed for a murder trial.  The selection process went on all day and finally they agreed on a jury and the rest of us were led out of the courthouse through a back entrance since it was so late that the courthouse was already locked. 

It was a long day, but interesting, too.  I had expected it to be a stern, unfriendly place.  But everyone that worked there was super nice.  From the lady at the door who smiled and said "Good Morning" to the judges and bailiffs, the entire courthouse staff went out of their way to make it a pleasant experience.  They were proud to tell us that because Bexar County has such a high turnout rate for jury duty that other counties had sent observers to understand their methods.

Still, when the notice came this time I wasn't excited.  The day arrived and I presented myself as instructed.  The welcoming judge was the same judge from the murder trial.  His opening remarks were lighthearted with a few jokes and some personal information about his judicial background and how he had also served as a juror.  One time was when he was first running for judge and he felt it helped him to relate to the process.  Another time he had to ask to be excused because he was actually presiding over a case for trial that day!  Several times during his speech he thanked us for our willingness to serve and spoke of the contribution of citizens to the judicial process.

I spent most of the morning sitting and waiting.  Around 11 a.m. I was called, number 9 in a group of about 30.  After the bailiff organized us he had us ride up the elevator in groups to meet on the fourth floor of the courthouse.  After we got up there he told us that we were going to have a lunch break until 1:30 and then began to describe the places around the courthouse for eating lunch.  I wasn't really feeling good, still feeling the effects the upper respiratory infection, and just wanted to go home.  But it was lunch time what could I do.  I didn't want to eat in the crowded courthouse cafeteria, so I headed out with the group. 

My first thought was that I did not have a camera, how can that be, and I didn't even want to waste time with the phone camera.  But here I was with history all around me.  My consolation was that it was already very hot, I was wearing a suit, and didn't feel good.  As I was looking around deciding where to eat a lady in front of me who had been chatting with two other ladies just randomly turned around and asked if I wanted to join them.  Why not!  I fell in step with them and we headed to a nearby Mexican restaurant.

I had worked downtown in this same area for many years, so I knew the restaurant.  How nice to visit a place that I had eaten in before.  But the nice treat was having a lunch with three strangers!  I had flashbacks to my two trips to New England and sharing meals with the people on the trip; I made sure that I sat with a different group for each meal, as much as possible.  I like to do this whenever I eat several meals with the same group of people; it is a nice way to have variety and to get to know people. 

The lady that invited me was about my age, maybe a little older.  She was outgoing and level headed, I found myself wishing that I worked with her since she was enjoyable company.  There was a young lady, probably about my daughter's age.  She had small children and worked in the accounting profession.  The other lady was probably in her early forties and had four children raging in age from 4 to 16; she worked in the main office of a local school district.  The three ladies were all Hispanic.  We lived in different areas, but found that we had common ties.  It was a pleasant lunch.  We discussed neighborhoods, children, jobs, and jury duty.  How strange, I thought, that we were total strangers brought together by a summons.

After lunch our group assembled as instructed.  So did the other groups of prospective jurors.  They were led into their respective courtrooms, but there was no sign of our bailiff.  I told my lunch companions that maybe the prospective case participants had decided to settle out of court and we all laughed and crossed our fingers.  We waited and waited, the hallway was hushed.  Almost an hour later our bailiff appeared from within one of the court rooms.  He called us together and apologized for the delay.  He then told us to wait, he would be back with our excuses. Ah yes, I am right I thought.  Several minutes later he reappeared with the excuses and a young, nice looking African American man.  The bailiff apologized again and introduced the young man as the presiding judge and that he wanted to speak to us before we were dismissed. 

The Judge then told us that the good news was that the trial was being postponed due to some new facts that had been revealed that morning.  Both parties had agreed that it was in their best interests to do so.  He then told us the bad news was that our jury service was over and we were being sent home.  A chorus of "Awwww" went up, as expected.  There was laughter, but the Judge had more to say.  In a short speech, he also thanked us for our participation and our patience.  Although I was glad to be going home (to crash on my sofa) I felt appreciated and that I had done my part to be a good citizen.

My lunch companions and I walked out of the courthouse and said goodbye as we approached each of our parking spots.  I drove home, ready for that nap, but feeling oddly in touch with life.  I had been surrounded by total strangers in the jury room, eaten lunch with ladies that I had just met, and yet felt very connected to the process of the court system.  I honestly felt a renewed appreciation for our justice system.  The judges appreciation of our presence was sincere, so was their dedication to their jobs. I know that decisions are made within the court system that sometimes seem flawed, but have to think that the process of the law is efficient.  Our laws are complicated and complex, yet they all seem to fit together to protect our freedom and the rights guaranteed under the Constitution.

The Lottery

Last week there was a rather large lottery jack pot up for grabs.  There was a lot of media coverage both before and after the drawing.  I did not win because I did not take the time to buy a ticket.  I rarely play the lottery, but sometimes if I happen to be in a convenience store and the jack pot is large enough I spend a dollar or two.  After the drawing last week I found myself thinking, what if I had won the lottery?  So, I played the "What If" game.

First of all I would quit the job to nowhere.  I would buy a new conversion van type motor home and start traveling all around the United States, with the dogs and my small Featherweight sewing machine.  I would visit historical places, quilt shops and stop at the dog shows along the way.  I would take my time and visit with folks along the way, experiencing the people of America.  Of course, I would be blogging all the way!

I would come home from time, but how nice to be able to do what I wanted, when I wanted.  Ah, that would be the good life!  I probably wouldn't change my life style very much, except in the aspect of time.

After I savored that delightful thought I had a realization.  I would also be able to volunteer, something I dearly love to do.  I could select two or three worthy organizations and get involved.  I would also have the time to make meals to send to sick or bereaved people, something I can't even think about now.  I could even volunteer to take friends to doctor appointments when the call for help goes out.  On and on I thought of the things I could do.  Winning the lottery wouldn't be just about me, but about being able to give my time to others, too.  But wait, do I have to win the lottery to do these things?  Absolutely not, I just need the time; hopefully, someday I will be able to do all these things. 

Maybe I don't need to win the lottery.  Winning the lottery would be nice, so would that conversion van.  But, really life is just fine the way it is, too! 

Gravel Roads

One night last week I was half way listening to the local evening news and thought I heard something about building gravel roads in several counties in South Texas.  What?  I thought.  That can't be right.  Why on earth in this modern day would we return to gravel roads?  So I checked on the internet for the news article.  Yes, I did hear right; in several counties TXDOT wants to convert the asphalt roads into gravel roads.  Sounds backwards, but the reason is that they are the counties that are having heavy truck traffic traveling to and from rural oil and gas drilling sites and the asphalt roads can't support the traffic.  TXDOT plans to convert about 83 miles in the next few months, provided they get approval from county commissioners.

As I read the article I had a flash back in time, to the time when roads in the country were not paved, they were gravel.   Now, I've driven down a few gravel/caliche roads in Texas (and was admonished to stay in the ruts by the man in the passenger seat).  But when I think of gravel roads I see the ones of my childhood;  rural roads with tiny red gravel that are flanked by banks of that red Mississippi dirt that I love so much.

Visits to either set of grandparents were always accompanied by drives in the country.  Sometimes we went to see relatives, sometimes it was a visit to a cemetery (we do that kind of thing in the South) or to just drive by the "old home place".  But a lot of the time when we visited my paternal grandparents we were also going out to do some target shooting.  Yes, we used real guns and live ammo and the children were allowed to shoot the little .22 pistol with adult supervision.

There were usually too many of us to all fit in one car, so we would load into two cars for our drive.  For some reason neither set of grandparents ever had an air-conditioned car.  So that meant two cars with windows rolled down, or at least part of the way down, driving down a dusty gravel road.  The first car had to drive slowly or it would kick up too much dust.  The second car had to travel a good distance behind to avoid a car full of dust; however, it always seemed that the second car had to roll up the windows and still endure travelling through the dust cloud of the lead car.  I think that it was usually quietly worked out to put my mother in the first car to keep from having to listen to her fussing about the dust!

Those were good times, just out for a drive, a visit, or a little gun shooting.  I always enjoyed the sound of the tires on the gravel and the fresh, country wind blowing in my face as we travelled down the country roads.  The memories of those times are priceless to me now.  Although I honestly prefer driving on a paved road with the air-conditioning blowing I think the next time I'm in Mississippi I will roll down the windows while driving down a little country road and pretend that it is gravel.

July...is passing

Where does time go, we ask.  It is already pushing close to the end of July.  I realized this when a few nights ago the local sportscaster on the station I watch was reporting, live, from the Cowboys training camp.  Yikes,  just a few more weeks and it is time for pre-season!

The temperature on this thermometer doesn't look too bad.  It is showing 90 degrees, but it is in the shade on the back of my house.  The actual air temperature at that time was hovering between 99 and 100 with a heat index of 102.  It is July after all.  But there is good news:  there is already a tropical storm off the coast of Africa.  I'm checking the National Hurricane Center every 4 hours for updates, just in case it decides to hold together and enter the Gulf of Mexico.

I remember when my children were small that every summer when school was out I would count the weeks until school started, always thinking that we would have so much time to enjoy summer activities.  But the weeks would fly by so fast, June, July and then back to school.  The summers never seemed long enough.  I always hated having to work in the summer and send the kids to the YMCA camp at their school, but looking back I know that they probably had much more fun at the camp than they would have had if I had been able to stay home.  Still, the summers were too short then and they still are, so it seems to me.

My goal for July was to completely re-organize my sewing room, not to mention to clean it up.  My plan is to be able to actually go in there and sew.  I started off good, even before July started.  I sorted through fabric, patterns, quilt kits, finished and unfinished projects.  I bought plastic storage containers, took magazines to the library's exchange box, threw away plastic bags (why was I saving those?  I have no idea), stacked up things to read, and actually vacuumed the room.  I also pulled out boxes and boxes of paper pictures and albums that need to be worked on.  Got all the knitting yarns together and organized some Christmas projects.  Good progress I thought. 

But then just before the July 4th holiday I got a sore throat, then I started running fever and feeling lousy.  When I lost my voice completely I decided that it was in my best interest to see a doctor.  Diagnosis:  upper respiratory infection.  Armed with a small arsenal of pharmaceutical items I took on the infection.  I stayed home sick from work for two days, but kept dragging my self around in a medicated stupor.  The meds did kick in and I started to improve somewhat, but I was still in somewhat of a daze a week later and still no voice.  I also discovered what I had suspected, that I can not take any med that has the letter "D" after it.  That threw me for a loop.  No work on the sewing room project.

Then I passed several July days working as a ring steward at two dog shows.  The first was three days at a local show.  Then last week I headed to Houston to a very large show, working another three days there.  I had a great time and wouldn't have missed it for the world, voice or no voice.  Still, no work on the sewing room project.

And what else have I done this month to pass the time?  I finished one class and started another one all in the same week.  Check those classes off, I'm almost done.  But no more work on the sewing room project and still not much voice.  July is almost over.

Summer rain

After several days of 100 degree afternoons and watching my yard slowly burn up, the rain has come to town!  I can't think of any greater blessing than a summer rain, just when we need it.

Thinking creatively

After my last post on the creative play of the neighborhood children and the comment on the post (thanks S.!) I've found myself thinking about the concept of developing creativity.  In the early times of writing this blog I did a post on Creativity.  I re-read that post and I have to say that three years later I still agree with myself.  Creativity is within each of us, and we each need to have some way for creativity to flow through us.

I had never thought about the fact that most children's toys do not teach creativity.  Oh yes, many are labeled as educational because they teach ABCs or numbers or shapes.  But all the child does is push a button or some action.  They really don't coach a child to think outside the box.  Our schools don't emphasize thinking creatively, either.  They really can't as they are "teaching the test" and/ or faced with budget restraints that prevent extra activities. But what about at home?  Where's that pile of junk to build a playhouse and old clothes for dressing up?

Both of my grandson's love to play Legos; the four year old is just getting into them, but the nine year old is a serious aficionado.  He has boxes and boxes of sets as well as a huge bin of Legos given to him years ago as a hand-me-down.  While he does follow instructions included with the sets, he will occasionally strike out on his own and copy something from the Lego magazine he receives.  I remember spending hours building with Tinkertoys and other friends having Lincoln Logs. I also remember spending several hot summer afternoons with my great aunt on her side porch, cutting out pictures from the Sears Roebuck (or was it Montgomery Ward?) catalog to past inside a box that was my "playhouse".  Proof right there that children like being able to think creatively.

In taking college courses, I've heard instructors bemoaning their day students who are younger.  Some of the comments are: 

1) they have no common knowledge,
2) they can't think,
3) they don't want to make decisions when working on group projects because they've always had someone tell them what to do,
4) they argue about having to do assignments/they don't do assignments

What a sad comment on the more recent products of our school system.  The whole problem is that they can't think and don't want to think.  They have no creative thought process.  What will they be like when they get into the work force?  Or will they get there?  I think I need to go think about that for a while.

Here's proof

I submit this photo as proof, once again, that children do NOT need expensive toys to entertain themselves.  This was the view from my front door this afternoon.  This fort, made of beach towels, umbrellas, chairs and scrap wood, entertained the neighborhood kids for quite some time.

Ah, to be a child on a hot summer afternoon with creativity for your playmate!

Happy July 4th!

While the storm clouds gather far across the sea,

Let us swear allegiance to a land that's free,

Let us all be grateful for a land so fair,

As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer.

God bless America,

Land that I love.

Stand beside her, and guide her

Through the night with a light from above.

From the mountains, to the prairies,

To the oceans, white with foam

God bless America, My home sweet home

God bless America, My home sweet home

 

God Bless America was composed by Irving Berlin in 1918 and revised in 1938; Kate Smith is usually associated with this song as it was her signature song.  There are any number of her recordings, but I wanted to share this one.  Please enjoy and this 4th remember to be very thankful for our freedom and our great nation, under God!

 

Kate Smith sings God Bless America

 

 



Protein shake? No thanks, I'm fine.

I have to start this post with the comment that the views I'm expressing are my own and I don't want to offend anyone.  I respect your views, please respect mine.

Last week I noticed several flyers in the office offering a free lunch on Thursday.  The son of one of the ladies was going to make protein smoothie shakes for everyone.  That's nice, I thought, but I need more than a protein shake for lunch. 

In the past I've known people who eat no breakfast, drink a power shake for lunch, go to the gym and work out, and then go home and eat 2 carrot sticks and a tablespoon of brown rice for an evening meal.  Okay, I am exaggerating a little, but you get the point.  They can be content with very little food.

So, Thursday rolled around and I didn't make a lunch to take.  I really had plans to go out and run errands and thought that I would pick up a sandwich or something while out and about.  Close to noon the young man making the smoothies appeared and asked what flavor I would like.  He rattled off quite a few and I choose strawberry banana, still planning to quietly eat a sandwich for lunch.  A few minutes later the rather large cup with the smoothie and another cup with green tea was presented to me.  It was explained that I should drink the smoothie and then follow it up with the green tea.  Honestly, I can't remember the explanation of why I was to do that because I didn't really listen. 

I took a few sips of the smoothie.  It tasted okay, a little powdery though.  A few minutes later I went down to the kitchen to express my thanks to the young man.  I was greeted at the door by a strange lady and saw another unknown man sitting at one of the tables.  The lady had on a shirt with the name of a well-known supplement type company.   I will not name the name of the company, but this young man had just started working with these people.   Before I could get sucked into their "free physical evaluation" the lady was distracted.  I chatted briefly with the young man's mother, who was singing the praises of the protein smoothies and proclaiming that due to all their special ingredients I would not be hungry.  I managed to politely leave the kitchen after thanking the young man and his mother.

I drank about half of the smoothie, but the powdery taste was overwhelming me and leaving a nasty taste in my mouth.  The tea was okay, but not very flavorful.  I quietly donated the remainder of the drinks to the drain in a bathroom sink.  Unfortunately, by this time I realized that I would not be able to get out to get a sandwich.  I was hungry, and would have been even if I had finished off the smoothie.  I ate a handful of veggie chips I had in my food stash and had a long hungry afternoon.  (Just to note I do usually have at least a package of tuna stored away in an emergency stash, but had nothing in the stash on that day, so it really was my fault that I didn't plan ahead and have a back up lunch plan).

I can't understand how a powdery, fruit flavored mixture can really be healthy. I've posted before that I am a firm believer that what you eat has a direct effect on how you feel.  I love fresh fruit and smoothies are okay, but I prefer to just eat the fruit.  I think it is much more sensible to eat a light, well balanced lunch of healthy food.  Protein power smoothie shakes just aren't for me, and that's my opinion.

The Wind On My Face

I've always been fascinated by the wind.  As a child, like most children, I tried to catch the wind, but without any success.  I'm pretty sure that I asked the usual questions about why we can't see the wind and why does it blow around on the earth.  I had a second-hand kite that I loved to fly, with a little help of course.  Watching it dance in the wind, homemade tail flying behind it was such a thrill for a little girl. 

As an adult, I still love to feel a gentle breeze and hear the peal of the soft wind chimes that hang outside my back door.  I do not care for a gale-blowing freezing cold blast of the winter season!  Just a soft easy breeze for me.  Where I live during the summer months there is a breeze that comes up off the Gulf of Mexico every evening, so pleasant after a hot day.  I often take this breeze for granted, until my sister comes from the great city to the east where the humidity and mosquitos reign in the evening and she will remind me of the joy of the evening breeze we have to enjoy.

In addition to enjoying the feel of the breeze I enjoy watching the trees and shrubs blow in the wind.  The branches of my large oak trees are barely disturbed by a soft breeze, but the leaves will fall gently to the earth if the breeze is strong enough.  The nandina bushes around the deck almost dance as the breeze ruffles their feathery leaves. The branches of the mimosa tree seem to catch the wind and sway back and forth, almost as if they are playing in it.  What a delight!

I find the wind to be very comforting, too.  There have been several times in my life when I have been troubled or disturbed and felt the breeze on my face and realized it was the hand of God.  I felt the wind touch my face and then the inner voice saying, "Be still, child.  I'm with you. I'm taking care of you.  It will be okay."  God is in the wind, remember the wind that blew the Red Sea back and dried the land for the Israelites to cross?  Remember that Jesus' disciples marveled after He rebuked the wind on the Sea of Galilee? And, what about the sound of a mighty wind that brought the Holy Spirit at Pentecost? 

The next time you feel the wind on your face take a moment to enjoy it.  Look around and see the invisible wind moving the trees and shrubs.  Take a deep breath and be thankful for the wind and the air that we breath.  The wind - one of life's simple things.

Brown Eggs

I don't know why but I almost always buy brown eggs.  There really is no difference in taste between the white eggs and the brown eggs, but there is a difference in price.  I think it goes back into my childhood when I would walk across the highway on hot Mississippi afternoons to spend time with my great-aunt.  She had laying hens and would occasionally let me go into the hen house to gather eggs with her.  I remember that she was terrified of snakes, which are plentiful in that part of the country, and would always be afraid to let me stick my hand into the nests!  I'm not sure how she managed to ever gather eggs herself.  She had several fake eggs that she would put into the nests to fool the hens into thinking that their eggs were still there; I loved to play with the fake eggs, too.  And, yes, the eggs from her hens were brown.  She would keep some of the eggs and they would line up very neatly in the egg keeper in her refrigerator.

I don't keep the eggs in an egg keeper; they stay in the carton until I'm ready to use them.  But I still like to open the carton and see those beautiful brown eggs!

The Mimosa Tree

This is my mimosa tree, seen from the front of my house.  They are not overly common to this area, but not exactly rare either.  I know that mimosas are basically considered a weed tree, but I have always loved them. I remember driving to see my grandparents shortly after school was out and seeing them dot the southern landscape, heavy with salmon-pink blooms.  But what I really treasure are the memories of playing in the two that were on the edge of my grandparents' property.  My siblings and I (and sometimes visiting cousins) would get my grandfather to take a step ladder down there so we could get up into the branches.  We spent hours in those trees; I don't remember what we were doing and it doesn't matter.  We just had a good time there and I have priceless memories.

When I was in the process of buying my house I had the opportunity to visit with the older widow lady who was selling the house.  I felt a connection to her and to this house when she told me that she had grown up on the Mississippi/Tennessee border.  I'm sure that the mimosa tree planted in the backyard was a result of her upbringing. 

I need to cut the tree down; it is being crowded out by the larger oak tree and is also really too close to the house.  But I can't do it since it reminds me of childhood visits to a place I loved.  And did I mention how fragrant the blooms are?