I just noticed the little counter thingy on the right hand side says this particular blog has been visited 2994 times.
Maybe in the world of big time blogging, that is miniscule, but to me the idea that someone has looked in on what I'm doing nearly 3 thousand times is astounding!
Especially, when I consider that it wasn't always me.
Thanks to all blogstreamers who have checked in, and especially to those of you kind enough to have left a comment.
T-Con

A phobia is a condition that is more than just a fear.
It is a very big fear, the kind of fear that affects your life.
Recent news out of Minneapolis has made me think of one such fear of my own.
My long-held fear of crossing over bridges probably doesn't fall under full blown Gephyrophobia, because it hasn't exactly kept me from driving wherever I wanted to drive, over hundreds of bridges all over the country.
But I still don't like to do it.
The funny thing is, I know exactly where it started. It was long before I could even drive at all.
If the song is to be believed, most kids visit their Grandmothers by going "over the river and through the woods." Ever since I could remember, we made the trip by going over the Delaware River. I don't remember going through any woods in Metro-Philadelphia. To go over the river, to Grandmother's house, we always had to take the Burlington Bristol Bridge.
This was a two lane toll bridge, just twenty feet wide, that rose steeply and turned into a noisy,metal surface at it's hight in the middle. Pedestrians were not permitted, but there was a sort of curb on the side and a wooden, fence like guard rail. Beyond, and down, lay the murky waters of the Delaware. At the time, the toll was 25 cents, getting back into Pennsylvania (free admission to Jersey, apparently) and I always felt my Dad was being overcharged.
I guess we must have started making the trip when I was about 4, and the same feeling has really been with me ever since.
Today when I approach a bridge, any bridge, I immediately get in the right lane.
I know I'm gonna take it as slow as possible.
I know my breathing will become shallower, and my grip on the wheel tighter. I will feel every gust of wind or sound of the road surface, and my palms will begin to sweat.
I usually do not enjoy the view.
This has happened on famous and not so famous bridges in Florida, New York, New England and the Gulf Coast. On a road trip to Los Angeles a few years back, a friend and I held our breath in unison as we drove across a long series of bridges over the Louisiana bayous on I-10. Come to find out, she wanted me to drive, as she had a fear of bridges possibly worse than my own.
At some point, my rational mind steps in and reminds me that this fear is completely irrational, and that it isn't really a fear of heights at all. I actually enjoy flying, and have no fear of heights when I'm in a plane or on my own two feet. I have crossed bridges in trains and on foot and really admired the view.
It's just being in a car that seems to encourage the flop sweats.

On Monday I am going to celebrate my birthday in what has become my own traditional way; I'm driving over to the East Coast of Florida and jump in the ocean as the sun comes up (thank God I was born in August).
I know I will have to cross some causeways and a fairly high bridge if I decide to go to Cocoa Beach or Daytona.
I won't like it...but I'll do it, because it's a fear and not a phobia. It doesn't control my life.
Yet, for some reason, I've never been to the Florida Keys.
Perhaps, it's that Seven Mild Bridge thing.
********
NOTE--in researching this, I found that the world's longest bridge is less than 90 miles away, in Tampa. Perhaps, one day, when the self hypnosis therapy seems to be working, I will make this my personal ultimate challenge.
I mean, it's really high and wide, and I can even use my Sun Pass!
Whoa! Wouldn't driving over that be just so-o-o-o cool?
Right...
I'll let you know.

I found this over at Gina's blog, and was not really all that surprised...FRENCH, now that would have been surprising!

Your Inner European is Irish!

Sprited and boisterous! You drink everyone under the table.

Who woulduv thought it?

My that WAS fun, wasn't it?
In case you're trying to figure out what the last few posts have been about (aside from the deranged ramblings they appear to be), please remember that you have to read Mokie Joe's post for things to begin to make sense...sort of.

For now, there's a whole world of worry on the evening news that may eventually be worth commenting on.

--I don't live in Minneapolis, but I still travel over a bridge two or three times a week. If IT collapses, I fall just 20 feet...into alligator infested Lake Jessup.
--If Barry Bonds manages to get around to breaking Hank Aaron's home run record, I won't boo...or cheer...or care. (and I'm a baseball fan).
--The Fisher Price Company is having to recall something like a million toys. I suspect among them will be the "Threaten-Me-Elmo" torture play set, and Big Bird's Bag O'Glass.
--Some bloggers have begun to call actor, lobbyist, former Senator and possible presidential candidate Fred Thompson "Frederick of Hollywood." Tell your friends...it always gets a laugh.
--Did you get a sense that, when they met the other day, new British PM Gordon Brown really despised George Bush? Bush made some lame joke about Brown being a Scotsman. Brown was not amused.
--Does it sort of rub you the wrong way that the Iraqi "government" is on vacation the entire month of August? Our men and women in Iraq never get a day off, let alone an entire month.

Finally, a personal note to all those tourists who have been visiting the Orlando area for the past few weeks; "Yes, we do get thunder, lightning and monsoon like rain every afternoon in the summer...sorry, I guess I should have told you."
My Bad...

"Petey Weety"
Yep, that's what he said.
I had never heard the term before, but I could easily discern the meaning from the context...the hospital room, Mokie Joe's anguished ranting and the front page article in the Orlando Sentinel all pretty much told me what he was talking about.
Then there were the jokes on late night television and morning radio.
I was sitting in the only comfy chair in the room, with my crutches leaning up against the wall, wishing he had used a better expression to mark his "condition".
"Where's the rest of me?" was my suggestion, although I knew that Ronald Reagan would be the last person MJ would quote.
My attempt at "small talk" got a snippy "Screw you, T-Con!" in response, so I mentioned the latest news about Erin.
"They finally picked her up on a very serious charge in Seattle", I told him. "Seems she fired 37 shots into a Prius."
"She does have issues", he admitted quietly.
"Well, cheer up, old friend!", I said, pointing out how medical science was making tremendous advances every day.
"Why, right here in this very hospital," I enthused, "people are getting replacement knees...replacement hips...replacement petey weeties."
I could see him reaching for the bedpan.
"In your case, the physical therapy might actually be tremendous fun!"
The porcelain missile flew past my head and shattered against the wall that was holding up my crutches.
"Missed me by THAT MUCH", I said...holding up my hand with my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
To this very day, he hates when I do that.