But is it Art?

I recently attended a production of "The King & I," mounted by one of our local theater companies.  While seeing the play, I found myself thinking, "This makes me want to go home and watch the movie."  Not that the play was bad - on the contrary - I thought the theater company had done an outstanding job.  I think it lies more in the storytelling approach - same story, different format.  Not necessarily better, just different.

It is kind of like books vs. movies.  Reading a particular book for the first time is wonderful.  You soak up the story, internalize it and envision it for yourself.  If you want Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise to be the hero in your personal mental version, so be it.  When Hollywood decides to make a movie out of your beloved story, and you find out that Jim Carrey is playing the lead, it puts a damper on your mental version.  And then there are the omissions.  There has never been a movie made from a book that includes every single aspect of the book, unless you include some of the recent movies made from children's literature.  It is hard to leave anything out of an hour-and-a-half long movie that is based upon a 32-page children's story.  No, I am talking about the Gone With the Winds, the Hunt For Red Octobers or any of the Harry Potters or the Twilights.  Any time you read a book, and then later go see the movie, you walk out of the movie with a list of things excluded from the story, whether it is additional characters, side- or sub-plots, or any other such details that the filmmakers omitted for time purposes.  It is impossible to take any book that falls into the 400 - 800 page category and winnow it down to 90 minutes and include everything.  Something has got to give, and when details are left out, we take it to heart.

The same is true when you make the film vs. live theater comparison.  Live theater is wonderful.  It has evolved from the ancient times when, rather than being a form of entertainment, it was a way to communicate the latest news or stories to the masses.  It became a form of storytelling in the oral tradition, recounting heroic or tragic battles, and continued to evolve to the creative storytelling format it is today - a combination of new and old stories, along with pieces that explore the human condition and, without making judgments, leave it to us to decide what is good or bad, right or wrong.  I love live theater, and will continue to do so until my dying day, but movies do have some advantages.  Movies can tell the same story that plays do, but they can do it with close-ups and vastly more orchestrated scores.  It is one thing to watch Anna and the King waltzing around the stage in my local theater.  They seem to be having a lot of fun.  It is quite another to see Yul Brenner and Deborah Kerr dancing away, only to be followed by those close-ups, where the sexual tension is palpable.  You feel it dripping in the air, and you want to shout out from your couch, "Go ahead and kiss her, already!"  Of course, they never will, but there it is.  Movies also have the advantage when it comes to location.  During a theater production, it is easy to imagine the Maine woods and the old road where the berries  grow, but On Golden Pond, the movie, showed us the lake, the woods, and the frightening confusion felt by Norman when he went looking for those berries.  In a movie, you can bounce from the south of France to Rio de Janero to the North Pole, if you choose.  In theater, you can only suggest those locations.  The rest must be left to the audience's imaginations.  And when you come right down to it, imagination is the key point.

In books and live theater, your own imagination is part of the storytelling.  You might have a few illustrations or references to point you in a direction, but the rest of the pictures are all in your head.  The set designer can place a screen door upstage, and the dialog will tell you the lake is just outside the door and down the hill, but your imagination tells you what the lake looks like, how big it is, and what the shoreline looks like on the other side.  It is precisely that inclusiveness that draws us to books and live theater.  Watching a movie is passive. We sit, we watch, maybe eat a snack.  Books and theater are active.  The pleasure that comes from reading is not scanning and interpreting the words on the page.  It is the mental image conjured by those words.  It is the texture and smell of the paper.  Sometimes it is even the margin notes left from the last time we read the book.  Seeing a play is interactive.  The actors perform and the audience laughs, or cries, or applauds, or gasps, and the actors feed upon that collective energy and use it to give us even more in the next moment.  It is a symbiotic relationship.  We actively participate when we read or attend live theater.  Art can be defined as "The conscious production or arrangement of sounds, colors, forms, movements or other elements in a manner that affects the sense of beauty, specifically the production of the beautiful."  And it is this arrangements in our own heads that make books and theater Art.

What If It Is Only a Mid-Life "Situation"?

Some people buy cars.  Others have affairs, get tattoos, or color their hair.  Whatever it is, at some point everyone goes through their own "mid-life crisis".  The good news is all in the word "through".  Just like a tunnel, sooner or later you will come out on the other side.  The issue is whether it will fundamentally change you, and if so, how.

My own mid-life crisis was not so much of a crisis as it was a circumstance.  I didn't do anything crazy, like a tattoo, or destructive, like an affair.  I did color my hair, but that had more to do with strangers calling me "Grandma" when I was at the store with the toddler than with wanting to "spice up my life".  No, I made a leap of faith that I am hoping will pay off in the long run.  I started my own business.  Now I know what you are thinking.  This is not the economy to be starting a new business in.  I had taken that into consideration when I made my decision, but I went ahead and took the plunge.  I had my initial start-up costs covered and I have an investor who has a vested interest in helping my business succeed.  And now that I am up and running, I am being fairly conservative in my approach to my business so that I don't get all wacky.

Ironically, while all of this was going on, my husband and I had some long talks and came to an understanding regarding our relationship.  While I know that he is unable to participate in some of the activities that I enjoy, I had been holding myself back for a while, not participating myself, out of deference to him.  When we talked about it, he agreed that I should not stop what I wanted to do just because of him, and whenever possible he would join me in what I was doing.  Feeling more secure than ever in my home life helped spur my decision regarding the business, but meanwhile, back at the ranch . . . my mother-in-law called, out of the blue, to ask my husband if our marriage was on the rocks!  She had been seeing me go and do without my hubby, and to her mind that spells DOOM. It took me some time to stop laughing when my husband told me about the phone call.  Even now I am smiling thinking about the whole thing.  So, in a way, my mother-in-law is having my mid-life crisis for me.  After all, if she didn't have anything to worry about, she would worry, so this is perfect for her.  Now all I have to do is put a little effort into my business, sit back, and soon I will buy that new car . . . .

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jog

I am home from my mini-vacation.  I didn't think it was possible, but I now understand how some of these "Reality TV" shows do what they do.  I am talking about the ones where the celebrity/host shows up at the target's home and gives them a week to change their life.  Whether it is how much stuff they have, their diet and exercise program, the spending/hoarding issues, or the horrible decorating, these professionals can create change in one week.  In my naiveté, I assumed that the unseen production crew and army of assistants did most of the heavy lifting in these situations, and the hapless family just stood by and watched their lives being completely rearranged to the extent that, when they are finally returned to their homes, they have no option but to accept the changes that have been wrought on their behalf.  I know now that the changes are not that drastic - it just takes the proper approach and presentation.

Specifically, I am talking about my own personal diet, and the eating habits of my family.  For too long, we have been in a rut of greasy burgers and fries and pizza and fat and calories.  While I know I may not be able to change my family overnight, or even in a week, I am slowly going to shift their consciousness toward eating a healthier diet.  I came to this place after spending only a few days away from home, but the important part was where I spent it.  I was in  a place where no less that three organic grocery stores were competing with no less than three traditional grocery stores for the healthy food dollar of the local consumer.  And all of this was in a town of only 55,000 people.  Whole Foods and Trader Joe's were literally one block apart, and yet both stores were doing brisk business while I was there.  Fruits and vegetables were plentiful and tasty.  My diet for the weekend included almost no beef or pork, just a little chicken, and the rest was a composite of grains and produce, with some pasta for variety.  Lots of water (love the water!) and juice and tea.  When I had dessert, it seemed almost too much, rather than the satisfaction of the chocolate cravings I have been so familiar with in the past.  In short, spending just a few days in a "healthy-eating" environment changed how I think about my own eating habits.

Now that I am home, I am determined to keep up with these changes.  I have been paying more attention to what I am putting into my mouth and what I am serving my family.  The boys were resistant, but my husband willingly tried the rice-quinoa pilaf I served with dinner the other night.  Big salads are becoming common, whether they are fruit or vegetable.  Yogurt is a must.  And I am finding that the better I am eating, the less I am craving those desserts.  The other night, I had a slice of triple chocolate cheesecake after dinner, and just felt terrible afterward.  Talk about a sign of the times!  One co-worker told me she was giving me a week before I revert to my old habits.  My husband said two.  But I am going to prove them wrong.  And if I happen to loose a few pounds along the way, I will accept that as one of those happy fringe benefits.  Look out summer, here I come!

Welcome to "My Place"

Find a place that makes you happy and go there.

Years ago, I bought a poster with this quote on it and hung it in my bedroom.  I thought the quote was pithy.  It had a picture of a quiet lane in a forest heading toward nowhere in particular.  As I got a little older, I began to feel that the quote was trite, overrated and cliché. I left the poster up because I liked the picture, but the quote no longer had any meaning for me.  I would look at it and think, "Yeah, whatever."  I wasn't old enough to appreciate what real happiness was or what it meant when you found it.  I certainly had never had the experience of "finding" a happy place, either within or without.  I was a stupid teenager and didn't think about much other than the fun I would be having in the coming weekend.  When I left for college, I packed up my room.  I took the poster down, probably intending to hang it in my dorm room, but somewhere along the line, the poster disappeared.  I have looked for that poster since, and have found a few that have the same quote, but not THE poster.  But I also discovered I didn't need to have the poster hanging on my wall to be happy.


This quote came to mind last night as I was driving home.  Not my house where I live with my family, but my "home".  I am "on vacation" in North Carolina and I could feel it as I crossed the state line.  The tension began to drain from my body as came down through the mountains onto the piedmont.  My senses came alive as I drove through Winston-Salem and drank in the sweet, sticky aroma of the cut tobacco.  I was cruising along at 70 mph, crooning to Trace Adkins and felt that wave of joy wash over me.  I thought about the quote, and actually had tears come to my eyes.  Apparently, as I get older, I am becoming a sentimental old fool, but so be it.  Seeing the Carolina pines swaying in the morning breeze cements it.  I am here.


As I write this, I am sitting in my friend's guest house, watching a deer graze outside the living room window.  He bends down, nibbles at the grass, looks up and sees me watching him.  I reach for my camera, and he freezes.  Our eyes lock, and I focus.  He stares straight at me, daring me to take his picture, and I do.  I get ready to take another and he breaks our gaze, looks around, looks back at me as if to say, "I don't think so, you've had your chance for today," and gracefully turns and lopes back into the wood.  In a little while, the rest of the world will be waking up and my activities for the day will begin, but for the next two minute and fifteen seconds, I am going to sit and listen to Dean Martin singing "Carolina In The Morning".  Welcome Home.

Where Does the Time Go?

This whole change of seasons thing is really screwing me up.  I keep forgetting that, the closer we get to the end of June, the longer the days are getting, and as a result, I keep thinking it is earlier in the day than it really is.  Case in point, I did not even begin to think about fixing dinner last night until it started getting dark outside.  6:30, right?  Yeah, maybe four months ago . . .

I keep going back to Ironman.  It is times like these that I really do believe that life would be so much easier if I had a Jarvis.  I would have "someone" who could look things up on the internet for me while I am driving down the road and then report back.  I would never have to worry about texing while driving or any of that because I could do it all through voice commands.  Jarvis could read my texts to me and I could dictate to him.  He could also make my calls for me and remind me of appointments - like the haircut I missed this afternoon.

My point is, while I am expected to keep everyone else on track, I need an assistant to keep me on track.  A housekeeper to do the laundry and a cook would be nice, as well, but I don't want to push it.  And if I am going to round out my list of household dream staff, it would have to include a gardener, a chauffeur, and a personal trainer and fitness coach to get me working out on a regular basis.  If I just didn't have to worry about going to work, I would have loads more free time to get everything done.  I would finally get all the stuff that needs to go to charity out of the house.  Of course, my house would be empty then, and I would need to go shopping to get more stuff to fill it back up, but the point is I WOULD HAVE THE TIME.

At some point, my husband will be reading this, and I will know from the thunderous, echoing laughter coming from the vicinity of his workstation.  He looks at me, when I make these complaints in person, and just rolls his eyes and shakes his head.  The idea of me having an assistant (let alone a sentient computer designed to be able to anticipate all my needs and fulfill them) will be enough to make him fall off his chair laughing.  Of course, then I will be blamed for his sore ribs (from laughing) and his sore bottom (from falling).

But back to me and my (non-existent) free time.  It seems like there are more and more things in the world creating distractions for me.  And unfortunately, when it comes to distractions, I am weak.  I have no spine.  After all, it is way more fun to sit and watch TV or play a video game than it is to do housework, like the aforementioned laundry.  I am getting ready for a trip next week, and I am still trying to get all the laundry done and put away so that I can pack.  I also know that, no matter how much laundry I get done, someone is going to want something out of the one load I didn't get done.  It just sort of works that way around here!

Someday, I know I will get caught up.  The laundry will all be done.  The dishes will all be washed and put away.  The living room will be dusted and vacuumed.  There will not be toys strewn all over the floor.  The boxes in the garage that haven't been unpacked since our last move will be emptied and gone.  And all of these things will happen after the last child leaves home, and I have nothing else to do.  And that will be a sad day, indeed.  And it is coming way too soon.

Who is "TED" and Why Should I Care?

A while back, my husband decided it was worth $10 a month for us to have Netflix.  Not because we could have DVDs sent to us in the mail, but because we could watch streaming video through our XBox.  Once we got up and running, my husband took to spending hours at a time (usually after everyone else had gone to sleep) combing through the online catalog of titles available to stream instantly.  Quite soon we had an instant queue with over 200 titles.  That didn't include the "Suggested Titles" in the various genre categories that we could also choose from.

In looking at the various titles my husband had chosen to add to our queue, I began to notice a penchant for documentaries.  And not just your run of the mill documentaries.  Weird documentaries.  He had one all about how people surgically alter their bodies to extreme extents.  The plot to assassinate Hitler.  The history of stupidity.  The development and use of the Helvetica typeface.  The tiny division of hip-hop known as "nerdcore".  (For the record, I am NOT making any of these up.  As of this writing, all of these - with the exception of the body mod one - are still currently on our list.)  Anyway, in and amongst these odd documentaries was something called "The Future We Will Create: Inside the world of TED".  You may be thinking, Who is TED?  TED is not a who, but a what.  It stands for Technology Entertainment Design, and it is an annual invitation-only conference held in California.  Over the course of four days, guest speakers get 18 minutes to present what they are doing or what they would like to do, and why it should interest us.  Speakers include leading scientists, philosophers, entertainment industry leaders, and performers.  At the end of the conference, the TED Prizes are announced.  Each prize winner is allowed to present to the the assembly a wish - what they would like to see happen that will make the world a better place.

On the surface, it all sounds very high-brow, until you take a closer look.  These people are very serious about what they are doing and are presenting simple ideas in a user-friendly format that can make life better for us all.  When the prize winners announce their wishes, the entire group of attendees leave TED with only one goal in mind - make it happen.  Entrepreneurs, scientists, entertainers, designers, with all their contacts and all their venture capital, spend the next year doing what they can to help make the prizewinner's wish a reality.  Past winners include Bono, Bill Clinton, and Jamie Oliver, among others.  And ideas and innovations presented at TED have changed the world.  In the documentary, you can see the design originator presenting what has since become the CNN Magic Board - the giant touch-screen interactive computer interface that they used quite effectively during our last presidential election.

TED is not only about learning and expanding a person's mind to be able to "think outside the box."  TED is a lot of fun, as well.  The further I got into the documentary, the more I found myself thinking, "It would be SO COOL to be able to attend one of these conferences."  Luckily for all of us, TED thinks the same thing, and they have created a website that you could spend all day in, searching for different talks on any one of a thousand topics.  TED has also expanded since its inception as a small gathering in 1984 to an international organization, hosting conferences here and abroad, and simulcasting conferences to "satellite" conference locations and online.

If you would like to be inspired, educated, amazed, informed, entertained, empowered, or otherwise enlightened, drop by ted.com.

P.S. Vilayanur Ramachandran is a genius.  Look him up.

I Am Losing It

I decided last week I was going to take the weekend off for Mother's Day.  I was not going to worry about writing, just going to enjoy the weekend.  That was all well and good until Friday morning.  I was in the shower, getting ready for work, and I started thinking (always a dangerous prospect with me) and I began composing in my head.  And I remember thinking it was a really good idea for a writing topic.  It then segued into two topics that were somewhat related, with the closing of the first to be sort of an introduction for the second.  So, I decided, right there in the shower, that instead of taking the weekend off, as I had planned, I would write both topics after I got home from work.

So far, so good, except that on Saturday afternoon, we were hosting a family party for Mother's Day.  Both sides of the family were coming to our house.  By the time I got home from work, the remainder of Friday afternoon went to straightening up the house and doing what I could to get ready for Saturday.  Still OK.  Put the toddler down for a nap, and I was ready to write.  I came in to my desk, sat down, and fired up my browser.  My home page links to my Gmail, and I saw that I had several new messages.  I went to Gmail, and found a couple of other online things I needed to take care of before I could write.  Still OK.  Should only take a few minutes.  Half-way through my short list of tasks, I started having trouble.  I called to my husband (who was at his own workstation, doing HIS thing) and asked him if he had done something to our WiFi that would interfere with my ability to access the internet.  It was about then that we realized that we had no outside phone, either (no internet, no internet phone).  Grabbed my cell phone and called our ISP.  We were part of a "known outage" that should be resolved in an hour or two.  Still OK.  I started going through my coupons, making my shopping list for the store.  By the time I got done food shopping, everything would be resolved and I could sit down and write.

The toddler woke from his nap and we headed out to the store.  When we finished our shopping, I called my husband to have the older boys ready to come out and unload the car.  He answered our house phone.  Great!  The outage had been resolved and I would hop on the web and write to my heart's content as soon as the groceries were put away.  Still OK.  My topics were still floating around in my brain.  Maybe not as fully formed as they were in the shower that morning, but enough that I was going to have no trouble reconstructing them.  By the time I got home (five minutes later), our internet was out again.  I put the groceries away, fixed dinner, and fed the heathens.  Finished up the last of the dishes, got everything squared away for Saturday.  Still no internet.  On the phone again with the ISP.

This time I was not as nice as I had been.  I told "Cedric" (like that's his real name) that we had been told six hours prior that we were part of a "known outage" and that the problem was supposed to be resolved five hours ago, but we still didn't have internet.  "Cedric" said that the outage was resolved and we needed to reset our modem.  Done, but still no internet.  "Cedric" offered to have someone come out on Saturday.  I told him that was fine, as long as they could come and go before noon, as we were having our party at 1:00.  "Cedric" told me he could do this, but he had to have a phone number for the tech to call before his arrival.  I assured him someone would be home, although I would be at work.  I told "Cedric" the only phone number for the people who would be home on Saturday is our home phone, which wasn't working BECAUSE WE HAD NO INTERNET.  The service tech could call my cell phone, but I would not answer because I would be at work.  "Cedric" said if the tech called and didn't  get an answer, he would assume that no one is home and would cancel the service call.  Clearly, we were not getting anywhere.  My husband told me to hang up, and I told "Cedric" I would have to call him back.  The toddler and I went in and started getting ready for bed.  Still OK.  I had been reminding myself of my wonderful topics and I would be fully ready to get up in the morning and, at the very least, jot down some notes before I go to work.  I set my alarm for extra early, so that I had time to write.

Saturday morning and my alarm clock is going crazy.  I hit the snooze and went back to sleep.  Crazy buzzing again.  Time to haul my butt out of bed.  Jumped in the shower, reviewed what I was going to write about.  Got all ready for work, and, surprise, surprise, NO INTERNET.  Sigh.  Still OK.  I made a couple of notes on some scratch paper in the kitchen, and headed to work.  Once there, my boss and I had a short conversation about me leaving early to go home and get ready for the party.  That should be fine, she said, and that was the plan right up until the part where we did 1/3 of our expected business for a "normal" Saturday in an hour.  So much for leaving early.  I finally got home and set to the food preparations for lunch.  Everyone came, we ate too much, and then sat around and visited.  Still OK.  I figured I could write once everyone left.

The party was over, everything was cleaned up and I was too tired to think.  I sat down and watched some TV and veg for bit.  When I finally was ready to sit down to write, I began looking for the paper with my notes on it.  Still OK.  As long as I could find the paper, I would be able to write about whatever it was I had been thinking about in the shower on Friday morning . . . . except that I couldn't find the paper.  I searched through all the piles on my desk.  No notes.  I kept looking, all the while racking my brains trying to figure out what it was that I had thought of in the shower.  I finally concluded that the scratch paper must have found its way into the garbage in the last-minute clean up for the party.  The most I was able to resurrect was the closing line of the first topic - the one that is the introduction to the second topic.  At this point, I will still be able to write the second one, but somehow, I feel that it will be diminished because of the missing lead in.  I had it at one point, but now it's gone.  I am losing it.  Check that.  I have lost it.  And I will probably never get it back.

The Ideal Life

What are the magic beans you need in order to grow your ideal life?

I am finding that rather than driving my own life, it seems like I have more recently been a passenger along for the ride.  Yesterday my husband was ruminating on the recent past and marveling that the school year will be over in less than 3 weeks.  "Where did this year go?", he asked.  I keep talking about things I would like to do, places I would like to go, things I would like to see, but what have I actually done to make those things happen?  Where does all the time go?  What beans should I be planting?

I have no clue about the answers to those questions.  I mean, I'm sure I have some sort of vague, generalized idea, but I haven't really sat down and thought about it for quite some time.  Ironically, we are encouraging our oldest child to do exactly that.  He has a trip he would like to take, but at the place he is in life right now, taking this trip is going to be sort of a rite of passage.  He is just starting to figure out what beans he is going to need to make his trip happen, and seeing him realize the obstacles he must overcome in order to get what he wants is making me take a closer look at my own obstacles.  I very much want him to be able to take his trip, but at the same time, I know that, in order for him to be able to grow as a result of this experience, I cannot help him.  I can encourage and support his decisions, but I cannot make them for him and I cannot facilitate his preparation or travel.  This is one of those things he is just going to have to do by himself and figure out how to make it work.

I also have a trip I want to take, but in order to make it work, I am going to have to do some fancy footwork.  I would be gone from my family for longer than I ever have.  I would be with a group of other people, and because of that, I will not be fully in control of my expenses, which is worrisome in this economy.  I have to find the money for the trip.  I have to arrange for time off from work.  I have to make sure that I have enough vacation hours stockpiled so that my family will not suffer a loss of income because of the trip.  And despite all of the obstacles I have named here (and others I have not mentioned), I feel a calling to make this trip.  Don't get me wrong.  It may sound selfish to want to go off for a week without anyone else, but I guarantee this trip would be anything but a vacation.  The purpose of the trip is to assist in housing construction for Hurricane Katrina victims in southern Louisiana.  Nothing like working in the sun, doing construction, for free, for a week, to put a damper on the concept of "Holiday".

But that is just a drop in the bucket.  When I was in my 20's, I had all kinds of grand dreams about the kind of life I was going to live and how that was going to happen.  Of course, I did not grow up to be stunningly beautiful, married to an independently wealthy man who dabbles in investment banking, not because he has to, but because he just wants to have something to do when we are not traveling.  I don't have the excessive house on the estate.  I don't get a new car every year because last year's color is "out".  My children are not extremely polite all the time, and they most certainly have never shown up for dinner wearing a suit just because they thought it would be appropriate.  OK, so I am not living the dream.  I don't even know that dream anymore.  Nowadays, I dream of having a day without, "Mommy, come in here, I need to poop!"  But I still believe it is not too late.

I might not be able to have the estate, but by taking baby steps, I know that I can make changes to my home to improve it.  I also might not have the car, but by being prudent and patient, I know that I can be in a "new-to-me" vehicle before Christmas.  And I know that I will never be married to anyone other than my husband (and he will never be an investment banker or independently wealthy), but that doesn't mean we can't figure out a way to travel.  Maybe not a huge vacation every year, but a little jaunt here and there, and then maybe bigger trips every few years.  And, after all, he does have a steady income, which is more than a lot of others can say right now.

So, the bottom line is this: I need to go seed shopping.  I will be spending some time looking at all the seed catalogs, browsing the farm supply stores, and checking out the farmer's markets, but I am going to plant some beans!

No News is Good News

I was recently going through "memorabilia" I had set aside to scrapbook, and found several newspapers my husband brought home from a business trip to Ottawa, Canada.  Looking at it, I was struck by the differences between American media and Canadian media.  Now, assuming it was not just a slow news day, the cover stories on the paper I picked up included coverage of a memorial for the 20th anniversary of the bombing of Air-India flight 182, a gathering of dragon boat crews in Vancouver (all of whom were breast cancer survivors), and a controversial museum display to be exhibited in Toronto.  No murders.  No robberies.  No "bad" news.  The closest they got to bad news was coverage of a US Supreme Court decision that ruled against the "little guy" in favor of the government and that the Canadian government had issued a travel visa to relatives of a hard-line Syrian general so that the general's grandchildren could be born in Canada, and thus being able to claim joint citizenship.  Amazing.


I thought maybe it was a fluke.  A slow news day.  So I looked at the other papers my husband had brought home.  A new artistic director for the National Ballet of Canada.  Breast cancer survivors fighting for a new drug.  The Conservative party in the government fighting a bill in Parliament.  A former immigration minister accused of "misdeeds" by handing out travel visas to friends and relatives of staff members.  This was, by Canadian standards, shocking.  But, by far, the most intriguing story - on the front page, no less - "Don't ostracize convicted killer, criminologist warns":

Convicted killer [name excluded] risks falling into the wrong hands at the "margins" of society unless Canadians help her rebuild her life when she leaves prison, says a group helping ease her re-entry to society.  Attempts to ostracize [her] when she completes her jail sentence in less than 12 days could backfire.  "Someone who's banished is more vulnerable to all sorts of influences and all sorts of people.  She is not sheltered from that.  She would be at risk."  It is not in the public's interest to marginalize [her] no matter how distasteful people find her, or how much revulsion they feel about her crimes.

 The article did not mention anything about the crimes for which the woman was imprisoned, so I had to look her up.  That, in and of itself, I found to be interesting.  Read any story in your local paper about a trial or sentencing of a criminal, and the story will include a "recap" of the crimes in question.  It turns out that this woman had served 12 years for manslaughter for her part in the most heinous sex-crimes murders, with multiple victims, in recent Canadian history.  But no mention of the crimes in the article at all.  Nothing to remind the public who this person was.  I could only assume that the public needed no reminder.  And yet, here were professional criminologists, on the front page of the Canadian national newspaper, urging their fellow citizens to accept that she had served her time and was rehabilitated.


Based upon what I read out on the internet, the woman is very lucky she is a Canadian.  The crimes she was accused of were so vicious that any prosecutor here in the "States" would have sought the death penalty, and there would have been no problem with securing that sentence.  But what amazed me the most about the story was that, even though this horrendous monster was about to be released, the professionals involved with the case were not warning the public, but chastising them.  Several communities had already voiced their displeasure at the prospect of this woman relocating to their vicinity, and a home that had been under construction for her by her parents had been burned to the ground before the building was complete.


It made me think of the vast differences between our society and that of our neighbors to the north.  Statistically speaking, they have about 100 times the number of guns per capita than the US, and yet gun crimes are almost non-existent.  The vast majority of the population lives in very close proximity to each other within 200 miles of the US-Canadian border, but still familiarity does not seem to breed contempt as it does here.  Everyone is just so nice.  No greater example could be made than the display of Canadian hospitality and warmth during this year's Olympic Games in Vancouver.  Maybe courtesy and gentility are not dead, just a little further north.


As Americans, we pride ourselves on being the "Melting Pot" of the world.  "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door."  I wonder, did the "wretched refuse" of Canada end up here?  Maybe that is why the only headlines we see in our American papers are sensational ones.  Corruption!  Murder!  Bombings!  Conspiracy!  Scandal!  Have all the good folks left?  Are the only ones still here the "homeless, tempest-tossed"?  The optimist in me says, "NO!  WE ARE STILL HERE!" 


I have to believe it is true.

The Strength to Withstand the Storm

I bought a new CD recently of music of India.  As a rule, I am always open to new music, but generally I will not seek out anything beyond my realm of experience without some sort of push.  I happened to hear part of the CD one day when I was out and about, and liked what I heard enough to go ahead and buy it when I found it.  I have been listening to it in the car, and the more I listen, the more I realize I really like this CD.  Don't worry, I am going to stop here on the gushing about the CD.  This is not a commercial and I am not endorsing that you need to go buy a copy for yourself.  Just wanted to give you the context.

The first track on the CD is a song about the strength of women and how, historically, women of the eastern countries have been repressed and oppressed:  

Behind every great man, there is a great woman
But as Jasmine never blossoms in the shade,
So woman's potential can be left to wither away,
Unfulfilled, when standing in the shadow of man
Still, women of the east have stood strong
and fought hard throughout time.
The determined intelligent strength of a woman,
emanating from the inside out.

This got me thinking about how I have downplayed my own potential in the past, and how my choices have affected my life.  Sort of the "Knowing what I know now, if I had it to do all over again, what would I do differently" dilemma.  I think everyone has, at one time or another, asked this question of themselves.  It is very easy to ask the question.  It is far more difficult to answer it honestly, no holds barred.  That requires that we take a long, hard look at ourselves and the mistakes we have made in the past.  Were the lessons that we learned from those mistakes valuable enough to justify the pain we caused ourselves?  Were they valuable enough to justify the pain we caused others?  Could we have learned those lessons in any other way?  One that would have been less excruciating?  And if we did, would the lessons have meant as much to us?  Would they have made as much of an impression?

I know that, if it weren't for the experience I had during my first marriage, I probably would not be married to the man I am married to now.  The "bad" experiences we each had in our first marriages prepared us and taught us what we should look for in a potential mate.  It also taught us what to avoid.  I think I am ultimately happier now, even when "bad" things happen at home, because of the difficulties I had in my first marriage.  Would I have preferred to be able to learn those lessons without the "benefit" of my first marriage?  Of course I would have.  Would the lesson have meant as much to me?  Probably not.

On the flip side of all of this, I am watching my older children, on the threshold of adulthood, preparing themselves to make some of the same mistakes I made when I was about their age.  On the one hand, I can see the mistakes looming ahead of them, and I know the potential horror awaiting if the wrong choice is made, and I want to spare them any pain I possibly can.  I want to tell them they are about to make terrible mistakes, and I want them to actually listen to what I have to say about it and hear the dangers ahead.  On the other hand, I know that the chances of them listening are slim and none, and Slim has moved to Marrakesh.  I know that, without falling down, they will never learn how to get back up on their own, and I know that without severe pain, they will never be able to truly appreciate the great joys that life can offer them.  So, I am going to do the only thing the situation will allow me to do.  I am going to talk to them until I am blue in the face.  Even when they are frustrated and disgusted and tired of listening, I am going to keep talking.  I am going to tell them all the mistakes I made and the consequences of those choices.  I am going to pray that even a small fraction of what I say will actually sink in and have some effect.  I am going to buy stock in tissues and wait for the day they come home, awakened, disillusioned, and defeated, and I am going to tell them that "This, too, shall pass."  And knowing all this, I just wish, in a very selfish way, that I didn't love them as much as I do, because seeing their hearts breaking will kill mine, and no matter how much they hurt, I will hurt 1,000% more, because I knew it was coming.  And, until then, I am going to pray with every ounce of my being that, this time, I will be wrong.

I'll Take That As a "Yes"

Every afternoon, there is a moment when I have to broach the subject of "nap" with the 3-year-old.  The target time is 2:00, but sometimes it can be as late as 3:00 before he finally goes in to lay down.  This afternoon was typical - The Negotiations started around 1:40 and concluded at 2:30 when we finally went in to prep for nap.  Included in the daily Negotiations is the toddler's choice of "nap buddy".  This has evolved from a time when he was ill and the only way to console him and get him to rest was to have someone cuddle with him.  Now, in order to take a nap, he must have someone to snuggle with.  Sometimes it is Mommy and sometimes it is Daddy.  Today, Daddy had already gone in to lay down.  He contracted the mother of all head colds and has been feeling terrible for two days.  The toddler was finishing up his lunch, and chose that time to make his opening move in The Negotiations.

Toddler: Are we going to take our nap?
Mommy: I don't know about "we."  You are going to take your nap.
Toddler: Are you going to come in and lay down with me?
(Mommy is distracted and doesn't answer within the first four seconds.)
Toddler: I'll take that as a "Yes".

When a somewhat common phrase in adult communications issues forth from you child's mouth, it causes you to stop and reflect on what you say during the course of the day and how much of it your child is really absorbing.  Needless to say, that process is terrifying.  You think of all the things that roll oh, so easily, off of your own tongue, and discover that, the same verbiage expressed by your offspring would be entirely mortifying.  You vow, then and there, that you will police yourself much better in the future.  You will be the parent that other parents aspire to be.  You will be the best role model you child could ever have.

I was in the middle of this reverie when my child tried to hop down off his chair after finishing his lunch.  In doing so, he caught his foot, and ended up falling.  It wasn't a big fall, and he wasn't hurt.  It was, however, enough for him to turn his head, glare at the chair and say, "dammit!"

Still going to try and police myself?  I'll take that as a "Yes."

The Road to Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions

When I started this blog, I was determined to follow the advice of countless writers before me: Write something every day.  I was on board.  I had willingly drunk the Kool-Aid and was writing daily.  Then life happened.  One of my favorite sayings is "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans."  After the day I had yesterday, he must be ROFLHAO.

It all started very benignly.  I got up and went to work.  Now, some people might view this as a chore, but I work in a place where, at least once a day, I am laughing so hard I have to put effort into not peeing my pants.  Anyway, a situation came up at work and my boss needed someone to cover some additional hours, and I willingly volunteered.  Had a great day, but then, when I got home, I had two hours to try and get done all the things that I had planned to do in the five hours I originally had scheduled.  One downfall to being a perfectionist is that, if one is not sure that EVERYTHING is going to work perfectly, there is a tendency to procrastinate until the stars align and perfection is attainable.  This explains why my house is in a constant, fluctuating state of chaos.    So, rather than trying to achieve what I had originally intended, I put out a few fires and got things ready to go for the next event on the schedule - the spring concert at the school.

I love all my kids, but each has their own particular quirks that can sometimes drive me completely mental.  In order to make sure he arrived in time to prepare for the concert, the performing son wanted to arrive an hour early.  The brooding son wanted nothing to do with the whole affair but was attending under duress, and the toddler cared only that he was getting to ride in the car.  Sitting quietly and waiting for the concert to start was an absolute impossibility for a 3-year-old. He only wanted to RUN!  He could not even be dissuaded by the DS, so I ended up watching him circle the cafeteria at breakneck speed, hoping he wouldn't splat face first into the tile.  (I was lucky, this time.)  The brooder wandered aimlessly waiting for the concert to start, constantly texting with his friends.  During the concert was another story.  Three trips to the potty, two suckers from Grandma, and fruit snack and dry Cookie Crisp cereal kept the toddler mildly amused.  The rest of the time was devoted to seat dancing!  The brooder, in the meantime, kept excusing himself to also "go to the restroom."  On our third trip back from the potty, the toddler and I saw him in the lobby of the auditorium, phone in hand and thumbs flying.  Oh, well.

Anyway, by the time we left school, picked up dinner, came home, and ate, it was time to prep the toddler for bed.  As he and I were putting on pajamas and brushing teeth, my husband came into the room.  Now, my husband has also been working on a little writing project of his own, and has been very devout about spending time each day writing.  He mentioned that he had not yet written, but that he was expecting to be able to do so once the boy and I had both gone to bed and the house would be quiet.  I replied that I, also, had not written yet, but that, along with the to-do list still waiting to be completed from the afternoon, my little blog was going to go a day without an entry.  And once again, the perfectionist in me popped up and said, "Self, you could just run out to the laptop and put in ANYTHING, and then you could sleep soundly, knowing that your streak has not ended."  I told the perfectionist in me to STFU - I was going to bed!  I hope the warmth I am feeling is just summer coming on!

Write What You Know, Part 2

Today I was asked to proofread someone's recollections about an English 110 professor's introductory lecture for an evening class.  It was the first night of class, and the professor was trying to put everyone at ease and give them a little window into what the next 16 weeks held for them.  The paper, as given to me, was technically fine.  The mechanics of the paper were good. The only time a "fragment" came into play was when the author was writing in a style approximating the professor's speech patterns.  As a paper, it was excellent.  But I found myself drifting away from reading it as a proofreader would and reading it as a Reader would.  I found myself recalling my own college English courses and the variety of professors I encountered during my years of writing under direction.  I say that because, when I was in college, I never wrote for pleasure.  I only wrote what I was told to write - research paper, paper to persuade, you get the drift.  No creative writing (despite the fact that I took several "creative writing" courses.  Don't be fooled - creativity has nothing to do with it).

Anyway, what this particular professor had to say to his students on their first night of this English course that was required for graduation was fascinating. While he was telling his students what to expect in the course, in reality he was telling his students what to expect in life.  How learning how to write properly could make the difference in whether or not they got that next promotion.  The ways we express ourselves in print leave a lasting impression.  I cringe when I am reading something written by someone who really should know better that has glaring grammatical errors or spelling mistakes.  At the very least, it shows technological ignorance, as almost every word processor available has some sort of built-in spelling and grammar checker.  If you send an email to your boss and he or she reads it and the first thing that comes to their mind is a "Hee Haw" sketch, maybe you need to consider revising your writing style.

Recently, I came across a box of papers from college - returned assignments that I had held on to for some reason that seemed important 20 years ago.  In those papers were some of my English writing assignments.  They certainly weren't stupendous, but they were good, solid writing. Clear, concise, to the point. I was able to convey my message in just a few pages.  Looking at them, I remembered how much of a pain it seemed at the time to have to do this pointless exercise, but my college professors were preparing me for the world.  They were teaching the structure that is considered acceptable for meaningful communication.  I don't think any of them envisioned a future that included the blog as a form of communication, but they certainly wanted what we students were writing to be welcomed by the larger world.  I only wish that all teachers had the compassion, care and foresight that the teacher I read about today seemed to have for his students.  He really knew how to teach - not teach his subject, but teach his students.

Write What You Know

In movies or stories, whenever a struggling writer is looking for guidance, an older, wiser, been-there-done-that mentor says, "Write what you know."  Writing a blog is sort of taking that advice and putting it under a microscope.  I mean, it is certainly not like I am going to be doing research and writing any big, explosive, world-changing stuff.  I am only going to be writing what I know and my opinions on things.

On my mind today is Spring and the changes that the season brings.  Spring is a time of new beginnings, and this spring a friend of mine announced that she is leaving us to go to the other side of the planet to pursue her dream.  While I am really happy for her, I know I will miss her.  There is also a part of me that is terribly jealous.  Don't get me wrong, I love my life and would not change it, but to be able to drop everything and embark on a new adventure sure sounds enticing!  I know that when I was in a position to be able to do stuff like that, I was definitely not mature enough, and would not have lasted even a week.  Now that I am older and wiser, I am no longer in a position to be able to just drop everything and go.

Anyway, back to my friend.  About a year ago, she traveled to Japan on vacation.  Over the course of 10 days, she fell in love with the country, the people and the lifestyle there.  Upon her return, she told everyone that she could envision herself living there one day.  And then real life crept back in, and we didn't really hear about it again.  Until earlier this month.  One day she posted on Facebook that she was moving to Japan.  And all of a sudden, we found out that she had quietly been pursuing her dream WAY under the radar.  She had taken "vacation" to go to an out-of-town interview for a company that runs English-speaking schools in Japan so that Japanese adults and children can learn English.  And, of course, after seeing how wonderful she is, they just had to hire her!

So, now July seems like it is looming, getting closer by the moment.  And all too soon, we will be waving goodbye until she comes back for a visit, or I win the lottery and can afford to take time off to go see her!  And as I write this, I am listening to "Taking Chances" from the Glee soundtrack.  How appropriate.  Good Luck, K!  I'm pulling for you!

Shalom

I just got home from attending this year's Yom HaShoah service at the temple.  I must say that this year's service seemed a little less heavy than last year's.  Magda Brown usually speaks to school groups and therefore her presentation was more tempered than others I have heard in the past.  Also, by virtue of living in Hungary during the war, her Holocaust experience was not like those of others who came from Germany or Poland.  Hungary was a German ally for the duration of the war, and as such the Hungarian Jews were not subject to a lot of the tribulations that others were forced to deal with.  She was not evacuated from her home town to a concentration camp until 1944, after the Normandy invasion.

A friend of mine came with me, and brought her son with her.  He is a real WWII buff, but had never had the opportunity to hear the story of a survivor first-hand.  He really seemed to enjoy himself and has already said that he would be interested in attending services next year.  He is the perfect example of why Yom HaShoah is so important.  This year marks the 65th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, and the ones who survived that horror are starting to pass away.  It is our responsibility to make sure that the stories of what happened in Europe in the 30's and 40's (along with what is happening in Darfur today) are never forgotten.  When there are no survivors left to tell the stories, then the children of the survivors will tell the stories.  And when they, too, are gone, their grandchildren and their children's grandchildren will tell the stories.

We will not forget.

Linking my cell phone to my blog. How sad is that?

I'm Being Sucked In . . .

Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away I had a Yahoo email address. And that was all. I would search the web for information and I would check my email. Most of it was spam, but I felt "connected" to those people that actually took the time to email me. A lot of it was informational - when a meeting was, events coming up, etc. Sometimes, it was just to catch up - what have you been doing, this is what I have been doing. And then someone created Google. And imdb. And Facebook. And Twitter. And Shutterfly. And Blogspot. The internet has become a personal black hole, and I am being sucked in. I have a cell phone that I can use to check my email addresses (yes, that is now plural) and I can tweet, post, or blog just by texting. I knew when I got married that I was acquiring a certain amount of geek-by-marriage in my life. I just didn't know how contagious it was. The geek makes fun of me now. Apparently, I spend too much time checking my email, playing my Facebook games, uploading photos, and tweeting, so of course I have decided to create a blog for the whole world to see!

I really have no idea where this is going to go, but my other blog is just for stuff related to family events and photos, so this will probably be my place to ramble, muse, ponder and vent. And if no one ever reads it, that's fine, too. I have learned in my life that the process of writing it down helps to clarify thought. And in a world of so much "connectedness", a little clarity of thought may not be such a bad thing.