I’m Good Enough, I’m Smart Enough and Doggone It, People Like Me!

Can You Buy Real Tramadol Online

here If you’ve never heard of Stuart Smalley, you were either living under a rock in the early 90’s or are too young to be using the Internet without adult supervision.  As a teenager, nothing could trigger hysterical laughter like the hapless yet hopeful SNL character.  Every skit ended with emotionally vulnerable Stuart speaking affirmations into a mirror in efforts to make it through another day breakdown-free.

https://www.elevators.com/37w7j5h8x  

Stuart Smalley - SNL hit character for many years. Photo retrieved from: http://randomroger.blogspot.com/2010/09/man-versus-machine.html

go site  

https://getdarker.com/editorial/articles/fz9jfxi Stuart struggled with poor self-esteem, an issue I’ve been thinking about quite a bit lately.  With the ongoing debate over too-skinny models in the fashion industry and movies and television depicting unattainable images as the standard of womanhood, it’s no wonder many women feel they can’t quite measure up.  What I learned recently, however, is how early these messages start chiseling away at us.  My daughter is six and, like many children, has always possessed the kind of confidence that seems to burst forth from her in every word and action.  Take a look at this video that’s been making the rounds and you’ll see just what I’m talking about!   (click photo to activate video)

https://lpgventures.com/jafi77r Like little Jessica, my daughter has never hesitated to claim being the smartest in her grade and insists on tackling tasks far outside her skill set.  Recently, though, I’ve noticed some changes in the way she views herself.  When she can’t read a word, she reacts as though she might as well kiss her higher education hopes goodbye.  She has even started comparing her body with others, often telling me that she’s “fatter” than the other girls.  While this is uncharted parent territory, I do remember my own struggles with self-esteem as a child and teenager and I know how hard it was.  Just ask my mom about the year I ate only Ramen noodles and my hair started falling out as a result of my quest to be skinny (and no, I never got skinny ENOUGH, whatever that means).  Simply put, we tend to make unwise decisions when we start to devalue ourselves and this can have potentially devastating consequences, particularly for young girls.

https://guelph-real-estate.ca/1hbsgiqld5 Many of you probably remember being as bold as Jessica as a child, declaring your many talents to anyone who would listen.  But as you got older, “bragging” became less acceptable and was replaced with the daunting task of being humble.  Don’t get me wrong, humility is important and I certainly want to instill that value in my children.  I also feel that there’s a fine line between being confident and being self absorbed.  However, in the journey down the well-intentioned path of humility, I think some of us missed a turn and ended up on a detour of self loathing.  And we’ve stayed there under the false pretense of modesty.

source My wish is for my daughter to feel MORE THAN good enough and to know that it’s okay to cheer for herself at the same time she’s cheering for others.  I want her to celebrate all the traits that make her unique and special.  Otherwise, the opinions or unkind words of others may become her measure of success, beauty and worth.  While I don’t have all the parenting answers, I have chosen to spend more time lately dialoguing about what she likes about herself and what makes her feel special.

https://paradiseperformingartscenter.com/b4ftjl5vq More than anything through pondering this issue, I’ve realized that the way I feel about myself today will have a profound impact on how she feels about herself in the future.  As much as I say and do all the right things where she is concerned, many days I don’t speak to or about myself very well.  How can my daughter learn to believe in and love herself if her mother doesn’t practice what she preaches?

go here Knowing that she’s watching and listening is the strongest motivator for change. Just don’t expect a reenactment of Jessica’s video to be up on You Tube any time soon, as the bathroom cabinet probably can’t hold my weight.

go site Dangit.

watch Change is hard.  There’s always tomorrow, right?!

Comments

enter comments

…And That’s the News in Red Dirt Country

https://onlineconferenceformusictherapy.com/2025/02/22/f5mm7qvzdm

get link Last year during one of my “Human Sexuality and the Family” lectures, the students  happened upon some information in our textbook they found especially intriguing.  Evidently, there was a study cited examining why those our society deems as “attractive” women might choose to marry (again, what our society deems as) “unattractive” men.  The debate heated up when pop culture examples were named by various class members.  I think Woody Allen and former wife Mia Farrow were one illustration used as evidence to make their point.  Okay, I could sort of see their reasoning on that one:

Woody Allen and former wife Mia Farrow. Photo from the National Portrait Gallery. Click to visit their website.

http://www.mscnantes.org/9lxn1rk5lz1 But then, they hit me where it hurt.  They actually brought up the name of Garrison Keillor and his wife.

Garrison Keillor and wife Ulla Skärved. You are welcome to click this photo to go to the source, but will be met with pop-up ads galore.

I’m sorry, but at that point they had trodden upon my sacred ground.  Seriously, Keillor is one of my literary gods.  Only a genius could write statements like:

“Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a purpose.”

And even though I like cats, I wailed away about the beauty of his voice, his humor and his written word.  They didn’t care…and I probably lost the argument.  My students are excellent debaters.  But as I began reviewing my Facebook page this morning (this was very early, pre-earthquake time), I began thinking about Keillor again because one particular comment caught my eye.  I thought, “Okahoma is like Lake Wobegon, only – – it’s not fiction.”  I then decided that perhaps I should occasionally write up a “news report” of sorts in the Red Dirt Chronicles.  True stories.  So, I’m starting now.  And although I can only deign to approach the outskirts of Garrison Keillor’s shadow when it comes to wielding my proverbial pen, I believe I can count on our fair community to make up for what my writing loses.

https://mocicc.org/agricultura/f0v8srr5w0 Volume 1;  Taxidermy and Interior Design: Domestic and Industrial

The Cherokee Hills “middle-aged plus a few years” Sunday school group drove to Meers, Oklahoma this past weekend to enjoy a scenic journey and eat a meal together at the famous Meers Store and Restaurant.  Jim and Cina Gailey decided to drive separately because their shiny red T-Bird was well suited for this sort of thing.

Jim and Cina, preparing to load out for their Meers trip.

But then Jim decided he was tired of driving, having already done that quite a bit earlier in the week.  So they unloaded the car, and jumped in with the rest of the crew.  90 minutes later the entire entourage was standing in line, admiring the landscape and general beauty of the hamburger establishment.

I have no credit for this photo. I stole it off the internet blatently. Okay, yes I do. Click the photo to visit the blogger who took a better picture than me.

Once inside, everyone had an enjoyable time ordering – laughing, joking and generally enjoying every minute of their outing thus far.

Their laughter died down, if only temporarily however, when they looked up and saw what hovered above them menacingly, as if to say, “Mess with me and I’ll drop the whole load on your plate.”  Yes, the covered-in-dust ceiling fan became quite the target of concern at that point.  Is dust bacteria-ridden?  How much has to fall into your food before you should actually begin worrying?  These questions and more haunted at least one or two of the more cleanliness-occupied Sunday-schoolers.

The "menace" of Meers.

It wasn’t long, however, before the attention-limited group found another focus.  Mr. Deer was hanging on the wall above the party to their left, and he also needed a good dusting.

“Dusty,” the ten-point wonder buck. Oh, and for those of you outside of Red Dirt Country, those hooves below are a gun rack.

Ah, poor Dusty.  He looked much older than his years because layers of dust had been accumulating for ages on his whiskers, nose and face.  Just about the time everyone’s stomach was churning over the sight, however, the food arrived.  And just for the record, there is a reason why people keep going back to that joint in droves, in spite of any fossilizing dust accumulation.

Smoked chicken dredged in BBQ sauce with a side of fried green tomatoes.
The Meers Burger, already half eaten by the time the camera focused.
Beverages served in Kerr jars.

While the group was eating, they were entertained with the fine art selection hanging on the walls.  Notice the dusty frame and even the dusty slatted wood?  The interior design theme of “Dust O’ Plenty” was consistent throughout the entire venue!

But the fun had to end at some point.  Here is evidence of the fact that the food really is quite amazing…

“Burp.”

On the way home, Red Dirt Kelly graciously kept her husband’s full attention by taking no less than thirty or forty shots of the wind turbine farm just west of the restaurant.

They all look like this, folks. Every single one of them.

Later that week, a local Realtor posted a Facebook message asking her friends whether or not she should “…leave the mounted deer heads on the wall when staging her new listing to be sold, or take them down?”  Several chimed in about the virtues of taxidermic interior design.  Others wondered if perhaps the prospective buyers might be put off by the sight, just in case the deer in the home was bigger than that shot by them looking at the house.  It might not be appropriate to demean their hunting skills right off the bat.  Red Dirt Kelly, of course, chimed in about the virtues of dusting the deer heads, whether or not they were left up or taken down.  The Realtor assured her they were well dusted and looked great.  Appeased, Kelly sighed with relief and signed off until the next day.

When she signed back on this morning, however, she was met with another quandary posted by the same Realtor.  Here’s the text of the actual post:

so I am about to do a preforeclosure inspection and house is stil occupied and he is a cop so if I carry I have to disclose it. figure that sets a bad tone. I guess if I am not on fb in an hour…it didn’t go well.

For those of you outside Red Dirt Country, “carry” means “gun.”  I’m not sure how our gun-packin’ Realtor came out on that deal, but if I find out I’ll let you know.

In other news, a 4.5 earthquake shook the Red Dirt in our heartland today.  Hordes of citizens immediately took to the Twitter air waves and began sharing their, “I was doing THIS when the 7.5 quake hit!” banter.  Jokes were made about Gary England watching the quake on Doppler radar, and about the fact that Hefner Lake condos were evacuated as a preventative measure against a catastrophic Tsunami.

Then the Tweets died down, the people resumed their daily goings on, and that’s about all the news in Red Dirt Country this week.

Stay safe, dust your deer, and we’ll see you next time.  Y’all come back now, ya hear?

(“Tweet verbiage” from TheLostOgle.Com)

 

Meers Store & Restaurant on Urbanspoon

Comments

comments

We’re All Human Beans; Let’s Find Common Grounds

Sometimes I think a blogger has to be vulnerable with their community in order for important messages to resonate.  That’s why today’s “Relationships” post includes a personal story.  Two of them.

https://geolatinas.org/uouog0evh When I was bullied

I grew up in a fairly rural community surrounded by independent and small farms.  I can always recall the year of any grade level during my youth because I was in kindergarten (grade “zero”) in 1970.  Life was fairly stable and slow-paced during my early childhood.  The definitions of the community I knew as a youngster were changed, however, when the social breezes turned into troubled storms.

Desegregation busing was in full swing by 1974 and my hometown was close enough to Oklahoma’s largest metropolitan school districts to become a haven for what has become known over the years as white flight. I can’t blame any family or individual for how they reacted to change.  People are scared of what they don’t know.  I can say, however, that I was affected by the change in our own community.  There was an influx of “city kids” into our country town, and with that change in our landscape came some challenges for both populations.

I experienced new emotions, unfamiliar to me until that time period in my life.  I was met with students who were socialized differently, whose wardrobes were by and large purchased from department stores, and whose houses were larger with more amenities than the previous norm.  I’m sure the incoming students were met with challenges as well.  They had moved into a new town with new rules; it must have been difficult for them.  I know it was for me.

I frequently became the recipient of comments about my hand-me-downs, about my hair cut, and about the way I talked.  New “street smart” lingo was wielded like weaponry in the halls and my wounds got deeper as the weeks passed.  In hind sight, I can now see that much of the behavior I encountered was a form of bullying.  Unfortunately, my response to this was to become a bully.  I’ll never forget one day on our playground in either the sixth or seventh grade.  I had worked hard to gain the acceptance of some of the newer kids and seemed to finally be making some headway.

follow url When I became a bully

Standing with the group, their attention turned toward a weaker individual in our class.  She was socially less skilled and struggled with grades.  The group began taunting her and I joined in.  I was now the bully, not the one being bullied.  At some point she began shouting back, and in an attempt to protect my new status as a cooler kid, I stepped toward her and pushed her backwards.  I must have pushed pretty hard because she fell to the ground.  What’s worse, she tried to get up once and I pushed her backwards again.  She stayed put the second time.  Those who I stood with began to laugh at her and call her names.  My face flushed…this girl was a “country kid” and I had just hurt one of my own.

Over twenty years later I tracked her down and apologized for that day.  The guilt from my physical aggression weighed heavily on me and I needed to make amends.  Interestingly, she didn’t even remember that day or what happened.  So, the act of reconciliation was basically for my own healing I suppose.  I’m sharing this illustration with you because “bullying” seems to be in the air on the national news, we continue to have bullying problems and Safe Schools programming challenges here in Oklahoma, and bullying is a social problem that happens across races, cultures, social classes…and even within our family trees.

As I watched a few of the “It Gets Bettervideos this past week, I was reminded that human beings respond to their own pain many times by taking it out on others.  The thing is, though, those they take it out on are human beings too.  They were born, they have some form of a family most of the time, and…they have feelings and hopes and dreams.  Just like you.  Just like me.

So today my message for you is this:  Whether you are being bullied or are the bully, try to step back, take a fresh look, and find common ground if possible.  If you can’t stop hurting people, there is help.  We’ll help you find some at the RDC if you don’t know where to look.  If you are scared and hurting because people can’t stop hurting you – same thing.  Everyone is valuable and you’re no exception.

We’re “human beans”…so let’s find some “common grounds.”

I’m going to get a cup of coffee now…Ciao.

Comments

comments

Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch: Playin’ With Fire

Do you remember being intrigued by ants as a kid?  They were usually associated with summer, picnics, ant farms, and that red and white checkered tablecloth.  For me…not anymore. The intrigue is gone.

I love Saturdays.  I took advantage of my husband’s solo trip to the lumber yard to give my dusty horses a much needed bath. Completing the task and holding the lead rope of the last horse in one hand, I stepped over the to the water faucet to roll up the water hose with the other hand.  Within seconds I felt something…like tall blades of grass at my ankles.  Weird.  I’m not even standing in tall grass. A quick glance at my shoes revealed the unexpected….hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny little red fire ants had swarmed onto my tennis shoes.

 

The Enemy

 

Fire ants. They have been in the U.S. since the 1930’s, coming to us via ships from Brazil.  They build nests near water and have been known to take down small animals.  This ain’t no picnic ant, people.  These guys are tiny and if you see one, you may think it to be harmless.  Don’t look away.  Within seconds the rest of the army will join the attack.  And the sting?  That’s where the ant gets its name.  You feel like you’re on fire. You’re safer holding a lighted match near a pile of dry wood drenched in gasoline than standing on a fire ant bed.

Jumping up and down didn’t shake them.  I was still holding onto a horse, so I had to use my only free hand to wrangle the end of the water hose back into reach.  I sprayed my feet which removed most of them.  I swatted the tenacious ones crawling on up my legs and got the horse safely back to the pasture.  Then I ran like I had never run before to the pool and jumped in up to my knees.  I could not believe the pain.

Fire ants had tried to ruin my Saturday.  Instead, they ruined my Sunday.  I woke up with what looked like Poison Ivy on my hands and ankles.  Oh yeah.  It itched like Poison Ivy too.

***Sign on for more “Back at the Ranch” soon.  Julie mentions she’s got quite a few entries on the back burner.  Oops…I wrote “burner!” – Red Dirt Kelly

Comments

comments

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch: OKtober

We have a little gem of a bakery out here in the country.  Backerman’s Bakery and Cheese Shoppe is a small Mennonite Bakery owned and run by a local Mennonite family.  The bakery is a fairly popular stop on Highway 64 and is one of the ways I get my friends to come visit me…I promise to take them to the bakery for a fried pie.

A brief amount of research on Mennonites in Oklahoma revealed that this group played a role in the Land Run of 1889.  They were key to helping Oklahoma become a major wheat-producing state.  Currently there are three Mennonite churches in the tiny town of Corn (formerly Korn) which only has about 591 residents.  Corn is located on the western prairie range, about twenty miles or so south of Weatherford.

Our local Mennonite community raises funds the first weekend in October in order to support their Mennonite school.   The Mennonite Oktoberfest celebrates German heritage treats (without the beer) and the goodness of community.  Of course, anytime I see an “O” and a “K” together, I think of Oklahoma; nothing screams “goodness of community” like my home state.Mennonite Girl

See more pictures from the most recent Oktoberfest, 2010.

Comments

comments

Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.