Someone once asked me how I learn and that question has been a never ending source of interest for me ever since. I finally said I learn by repetition, by doing something, or saying it, over and over, which is technically correct.
It is how I learn facts, or doing concrete things like completing tasks at the museum, or any of the other volunteer jobs I occasionally do. It is how I learn to navigate airports, or use a library.
It is not how I learn to do creative things, which makes my performance at these things, or in them, very problematic. I play the piano by reading the notes and practicing, (which is repetitive,) but I memorize in some way I do not understand. My fingers learn the song, or they don't, which is the scary thing about it. It is not a systematic, or sure thing by a long shot.
It is not how I write either. I know the mechanics of good writing. I am pretty good at sprinkling those punctuation marks in all the right places and I can spell, or use a spell checker with the best of them. I am also pretty adept at writing factual pieces, but creative ones are much harder to explain. Some part of me, whose access I can't tick off in a one, two, three method comes up with the ideas and forms and I am left to judge whether it is good, very good, or even bad. I have several methods for this judging and they would terrify any rational person.
If it makes me feel the way I want my readers to feel, then I think it is pretty good. If it seems to paint a picture of what I want the reader to see, I also feel pretty good, but sometimes I just read it out loud and pull a Nordic rune from a bag of runes. If it is right side up, I go ahead. If it is upside down, I rewrite. Really scientific, huh?
I have been known to get so upset with the way the runes fall that I huff and puff like an angry child, but I do not ignore them and believe it, or not, it has served me well. ( I just drew the rune for Harvest, or Jera, which has no up, or down, that's always a good sign.) Of course, how I rewrite is part of it too. If I feel I am close, I may only change a word, or two, so it is really more in my control than it may sound. And yet.....
I am the first one to admit this is a crazy way to write, but it is how I do it. Sometimes I will spend seven or eight hours on a two and a half page story. Other times, I will write something like My Thots in under an hour. It's all the same for me. I love the doing, so it doesn't really matter how long it takes, only that I am satisfied at the end.
I think this is the ideal. If everyone could live this way, life would always be a joy. Doing what I love makes even the biggest, or hardest job so much easier for me than it would be for someone else who didn't love it.
I suspect that I learn the things I love quickly, but perhaps I love the things I learn quickly.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Generosity Of Living
Good things happen to me as the weather turns cooler and this year is no exception.
The aviation museum is planning a tour for a group of junior high students who are visually impaired. It is going to be a huge event and I am part of it and very excited.
My writing is more satisfying than ever and I have been asked to collaborate with a dear friend, which sounds like a fascinating opportunity.
My son and grandson will be here in about two weeks and my other son and granddaughter will probably be here for Thanksgiving.
It has been harder for me to concentrate on My Thots lately just because I am doing so much other writing, but what a nice change this is. I love it.
I have even had to turn down some volunteering opportunities due to lack of time!
Life is so good!
The aviation museum is planning a tour for a group of junior high students who are visually impaired. It is going to be a huge event and I am part of it and very excited.
My writing is more satisfying than ever and I have been asked to collaborate with a dear friend, which sounds like a fascinating opportunity.
My son and grandson will be here in about two weeks and my other son and granddaughter will probably be here for Thanksgiving.
It has been harder for me to concentrate on My Thots lately just because I am doing so much other writing, but what a nice change this is. I love it.
I have even had to turn down some volunteering opportunities due to lack of time!
Life is so good!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Unlearning Old Ways
I have always assumed that I will get better at dealing with things as I grow older. And, in general, I have. I am one of those fortunate people who has basically found her bliss. I am almost always content, if not down right happy. Kind of strange when I look back on the rest of my life, but why wouldn't I be happy? I have enough of everything, including the time to do those things that are really important to me.
Then there was last night.
It proves that I can still imagine the worst before I know what it is. It speaks to my insecurity in many respects and vulnerability in others. Yet, when all is said and done, I did deal with this particular crisis in my life much better than I would have in past years.
In the midst of thinking that I had maybe blown one of the best friendships I have ever had, I had the sense to try and respond to the situation instead of simply reacting to it. That's something I actually learned from this friend. So in between my bouts of total misery and thoughts of not being able to survive this crisis, were also thoughts that maybe I was over reacting. What a revelation that is! Long ago I learned to overreact to bad things, now I seem to be learning to respond to them with a modicum of common sense.
It was still a long night. I told myself that things would be alright, well, they could be alright, well they might be alright and then I would panic again. Instead of just allowing that destructive way of thinking to continue, I was able to think that perhaps I was just over reacting and things might be perfectly okay. It was a good way to go, but it just seemed too easy, so I discarded it again and again and began girding myself for a great loss. It's that old idea that it is better to be prepared for disappointment and have it be true than expect things to be good and be wrong.
I did do another good thing last night. I walked. There is something about moving that releases tension to some degree and it got me through that long dark night. In fact I even dozed off a bit this morning and when I woke up discovered it was all for naught. My friend had not turned and walked away at all. In fact, he felt badly about my thinking he would.
I seem to have entered the world of rational adults and it seems too good to be true.
I am the person who always says that worrying is just tricking your body into thinking it is working, when it is not doing anything constructive at all. I'll sleep good tonight, but I wish I could have been more responsive to all this last night.
Then there was last night.
It proves that I can still imagine the worst before I know what it is. It speaks to my insecurity in many respects and vulnerability in others. Yet, when all is said and done, I did deal with this particular crisis in my life much better than I would have in past years.
In the midst of thinking that I had maybe blown one of the best friendships I have ever had, I had the sense to try and respond to the situation instead of simply reacting to it. That's something I actually learned from this friend. So in between my bouts of total misery and thoughts of not being able to survive this crisis, were also thoughts that maybe I was over reacting. What a revelation that is! Long ago I learned to overreact to bad things, now I seem to be learning to respond to them with a modicum of common sense.
It was still a long night. I told myself that things would be alright, well, they could be alright, well they might be alright and then I would panic again. Instead of just allowing that destructive way of thinking to continue, I was able to think that perhaps I was just over reacting and things might be perfectly okay. It was a good way to go, but it just seemed too easy, so I discarded it again and again and began girding myself for a great loss. It's that old idea that it is better to be prepared for disappointment and have it be true than expect things to be good and be wrong.
I did do another good thing last night. I walked. There is something about moving that releases tension to some degree and it got me through that long dark night. In fact I even dozed off a bit this morning and when I woke up discovered it was all for naught. My friend had not turned and walked away at all. In fact, he felt badly about my thinking he would.
I seem to have entered the world of rational adults and it seems too good to be true.
I am the person who always says that worrying is just tricking your body into thinking it is working, when it is not doing anything constructive at all. I'll sleep good tonight, but I wish I could have been more responsive to all this last night.
Monday, September 27, 2010
When In Doubt, Do Nothing
Tonight the words come out all wrong, so instead of writing, I walk.
I walk and walk and walk and the moon rises high into the sky just like any other night, but tonight isn't like any other night.
Tonight my thoughts hover over me, torturing, questioning, trying to discover what is apparently unknowable to me.
When in doubt, do nothing.
Doing nothing is too painful, so I walk. I wish I could say I only have miles to go before I sleep, but that is not true. Sleep stands behind me, pulling my thoughts from the inside out and his face is familiar. It's just that I can't quite picture it. If I could do that, if I could see that clever grin winking at me, saying it is okay, then my bed would welcome me as the refuge it is.
So tonight I walk and the grass is damp from the dew and the stars hang in the sky and everything looks the same, but it isn't.
Tonight my words haunt me, asking questions I can't answer, aching to know what I cannot seem to figure out.
When in doubt, do nothing.
Nothing is the curse that gobbles up the seconds and minutes that grab hold of me and keep me awake.
So tonight I walk.
Tonight I feast on regrets that grow huge inside of me and I don't know what to do.
When in doubt, do nothing.
I walk and walk and walk and the moon rises high into the sky just like any other night, but tonight isn't like any other night.
Tonight my thoughts hover over me, torturing, questioning, trying to discover what is apparently unknowable to me.
When in doubt, do nothing.
Doing nothing is too painful, so I walk. I wish I could say I only have miles to go before I sleep, but that is not true. Sleep stands behind me, pulling my thoughts from the inside out and his face is familiar. It's just that I can't quite picture it. If I could do that, if I could see that clever grin winking at me, saying it is okay, then my bed would welcome me as the refuge it is.
So tonight I walk and the grass is damp from the dew and the stars hang in the sky and everything looks the same, but it isn't.
Tonight my words haunt me, asking questions I can't answer, aching to know what I cannot seem to figure out.
When in doubt, do nothing.
Nothing is the curse that gobbles up the seconds and minutes that grab hold of me and keep me awake.
So tonight I walk.
Tonight I feast on regrets that grow huge inside of me and I don't know what to do.
When in doubt, do nothing.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Precious People
The Internet has brought relationships into a new light. People meet "online" and over the years develop a closeness that was once reserved for best friends, or possibly close siblings. Trust grows over that time and stories are shared until it is possible to feel you know each other inside and out, yet you've never walked on the same beach at the same time, or shared a meal at the same table and you probably never will.
It is almost like having an imaginary friend even though we are grown up. Here is someone who will listen to dreams, or share fantasies, even be told of indiscretions that may have happened without recriminations. In fact, here is someone it is possible to fantasize about and who always does what they are expected to do, because there are no physical complications. And yet, there is a richness and satisfaction that goes beyond real imaginary friends, because, in fact, this person, actually both people, are real.
It is not a replacement for real people in real life. They both have their own places in this world. It is just an additional relationship, a kindred spirit, who becomes that perfect personality whose ideas and values and desires seem so similar that the word soul-mates comes to mind.
If you happen to be one of those fortunate people who discover something like this, you realize that it is precious beyond understanding.
It is almost like having an imaginary friend even though we are grown up. Here is someone who will listen to dreams, or share fantasies, even be told of indiscretions that may have happened without recriminations. In fact, here is someone it is possible to fantasize about and who always does what they are expected to do, because there are no physical complications. And yet, there is a richness and satisfaction that goes beyond real imaginary friends, because, in fact, this person, actually both people, are real.
It is not a replacement for real people in real life. They both have their own places in this world. It is just an additional relationship, a kindred spirit, who becomes that perfect personality whose ideas and values and desires seem so similar that the word soul-mates comes to mind.
If you happen to be one of those fortunate people who discover something like this, you realize that it is precious beyond understanding.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Pseudonym
Sometimes I drive myself crazy second guessing what I do.
I write a story. It is fiction, but all fiction comes from somewhere and some of it comes awfully close to the truth. I wonder if the truth is too thinly veiled, if I crossed a line I shouldn't have. Of course I didn't think so when I submitted it, but now I begin to worry.
Worrying is really not my forte. By the time I let something be read by others I am generally very sure that is what I want, but there are always exceptions.
I feel very responsible about my writing. It's purpose is to entertain, but never, ever to hurt anyone in any way. Yet, in order to feel free to write fiction the way I think and feel it, and include the pathos and drama without allowing any self imposed censorship due to embarrassment, I write under a pseudonym. It would be impossible for me to write any other way and be myself.
Sometimes this feels wrong, but it's not really something I can change unless I stop writing some of my best stories altogether.
I have read a few things where I knew the author and have seen myself in his, or her, work. I have always been a little tickled when that happens, because only that author and I really know it's me. I hope other people would feel the same way if they saw themselves in my work.
But I don't know and that is what worries me.
I write a story. It is fiction, but all fiction comes from somewhere and some of it comes awfully close to the truth. I wonder if the truth is too thinly veiled, if I crossed a line I shouldn't have. Of course I didn't think so when I submitted it, but now I begin to worry.
Worrying is really not my forte. By the time I let something be read by others I am generally very sure that is what I want, but there are always exceptions.
I feel very responsible about my writing. It's purpose is to entertain, but never, ever to hurt anyone in any way. Yet, in order to feel free to write fiction the way I think and feel it, and include the pathos and drama without allowing any self imposed censorship due to embarrassment, I write under a pseudonym. It would be impossible for me to write any other way and be myself.
Sometimes this feels wrong, but it's not really something I can change unless I stop writing some of my best stories altogether.
I have read a few things where I knew the author and have seen myself in his, or her, work. I have always been a little tickled when that happens, because only that author and I really know it's me. I hope other people would feel the same way if they saw themselves in my work.
But I don't know and that is what worries me.
Friday, September 24, 2010
My Dreams
I love dreams, well good ones, but the old dreams don't fit me anymore. I still have night terrors that I could live without, but my waking dreams have changed.
I no longer dream of Prince Charming riding up on a white horse, to wake me with his enchanted kiss and carry me away. Now I know that no matter how charming he is, eventually we will both discover things about each other that are not quite so enchanting and being carried away might put me someplace where I could get lost and not be able to find myself.
Now I dream of writing my own story where I discover people who want to walk side by side with me, enjoying the world and all of the amazing beauty that surrounds us. Perhaps it will be hand in hand, or perhaps it will not, but our conversations will be from the depths of our hearts with no need to hide, or fear for this person who is really me.
I may still enjoy riding around in my automobile ("with no particular place to go,") but I prefer live music, no matter how it sounds.
I want intimacy. I want to get to know the person I am with. I want to share our stories, both big and small and I want us both to enjoy what really is, not what could be, or should be, or anything else that might limit, or define our relationship.
I'm not good with boundaries, I know that now, so the people around me have to be as safe and free as I am.
If we can find a way to play together, so much the better. Life is short and at my age I want to enjoy it.
These are my dreams. What are yours?
I no longer dream of Prince Charming riding up on a white horse, to wake me with his enchanted kiss and carry me away. Now I know that no matter how charming he is, eventually we will both discover things about each other that are not quite so enchanting and being carried away might put me someplace where I could get lost and not be able to find myself.
Now I dream of writing my own story where I discover people who want to walk side by side with me, enjoying the world and all of the amazing beauty that surrounds us. Perhaps it will be hand in hand, or perhaps it will not, but our conversations will be from the depths of our hearts with no need to hide, or fear for this person who is really me.
I may still enjoy riding around in my automobile ("with no particular place to go,") but I prefer live music, no matter how it sounds.
I want intimacy. I want to get to know the person I am with. I want to share our stories, both big and small and I want us both to enjoy what really is, not what could be, or should be, or anything else that might limit, or define our relationship.
I'm not good with boundaries, I know that now, so the people around me have to be as safe and free as I am.
If we can find a way to play together, so much the better. Life is short and at my age I want to enjoy it.
These are my dreams. What are yours?
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Because Of, And In Spite Of
Bad things happen and if we are lucky, we pull together to ease each other's way.
Sharing our stories is one way of saying, I understand, or am trying to understand, what you're going through. Although I cannot take this pain away from you, I can listen with loving ears and share my own pain, or shame, or anger if it will help.
It is in this sharing that we become closer to each other. It indicates an openness and trust that we don't extend to everyone.
It takes a long time to forge a human being and sometimes we are held to the fire more times than we think it is possible to endure, but endure we do. The bonds that occur during all of this are some of the strongest and best it is possible to have.
Knowing someone will stand beside me in spite of and because of who I am, makes me an extraordinarily fortunate human being.
Sharing our stories is one way of saying, I understand, or am trying to understand, what you're going through. Although I cannot take this pain away from you, I can listen with loving ears and share my own pain, or shame, or anger if it will help.
It is in this sharing that we become closer to each other. It indicates an openness and trust that we don't extend to everyone.
It takes a long time to forge a human being and sometimes we are held to the fire more times than we think it is possible to endure, but endure we do. The bonds that occur during all of this are some of the strongest and best it is possible to have.
Knowing someone will stand beside me in spite of and because of who I am, makes me an extraordinarily fortunate human being.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Phoenix Is Extinct
I love the old romantic tales of conquering heroes and how they emerged from their trials and tribulations more heroic than ever. There is just something about the shining youth who vanquishes all foes and stands in the sunset, a better and stronger man that is appealing. It's all wrapped up in the notion that purity wins out over evil every time.
Unfortunately that is when real things become complicated. Everyone's notion of purity is not the same and there are some pretty judgmental people out there. Today's hero better be straight out of the pages of Little Men or there are legions of people ready to rip him to shreds and throw him to the lions, to the glee of far too many. Our super fast Internet and instant texting, along with the ability to look up almost anything with enough perseverance doesn't leave much room for any youthful silliness, or exploring. And woe to anyone who doesn't fit the norm, whatever that may be in any given moment.
When the first Phoenix burst into flames and rose from the ashes, renewed and reborn, he never realized that a day would come when that would no longer be possible. Today we are bowed down with all our history on our backs forever more. If a Phoenix actually did rise from the ashes, someone might check his DNA and discover he was the same one who once landed in Hogwart's back garden and inadvertently maimed a mandrake. There is no quarter given and very little room for forgiveness.
While I believe we should be held accountable for our actions, there must be privacy and reason in the world. Not everything is everybody's business and not everything is an earth shattering event that should be atoned for.
If all the skeletons in all the closets in all the world started rattling, a lot of people would have to back track.
Unfortunately that is when real things become complicated. Everyone's notion of purity is not the same and there are some pretty judgmental people out there. Today's hero better be straight out of the pages of Little Men or there are legions of people ready to rip him to shreds and throw him to the lions, to the glee of far too many. Our super fast Internet and instant texting, along with the ability to look up almost anything with enough perseverance doesn't leave much room for any youthful silliness, or exploring. And woe to anyone who doesn't fit the norm, whatever that may be in any given moment.
When the first Phoenix burst into flames and rose from the ashes, renewed and reborn, he never realized that a day would come when that would no longer be possible. Today we are bowed down with all our history on our backs forever more. If a Phoenix actually did rise from the ashes, someone might check his DNA and discover he was the same one who once landed in Hogwart's back garden and inadvertently maimed a mandrake. There is no quarter given and very little room for forgiveness.
While I believe we should be held accountable for our actions, there must be privacy and reason in the world. Not everything is everybody's business and not everything is an earth shattering event that should be atoned for.
If all the skeletons in all the closets in all the world started rattling, a lot of people would have to back track.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Back In The Swing
Everything was easier today. I have no idea why, maybe because the weather was not outrageously hot, maybe just because I wasn't rushed by anything. It could just be, in fact it probably is, simply my perspective.
When I first started having to go to a laundromat away from the apartment I must admit I felt a certain amount of outrage. I can live without the dishwasher and garbage disposal. Having only two rooms to deal with is easy on the housekeeping chores. Fewer clothes also mean less to deal with, but hauling the dirty laundry out in public? That one was not so easy for me.
However, today it seemed relatively simple. Of course now I know what to expect. I know the laundromat that is most compatible with my "style". Yes, there does seem to be a style. I have discovered that I do not like carrying a big plastic basket down the steps and out to the parking lot, then into the laundromat. It is heavy and it hurts my back, so I bought a white mesh hamper type bag that weighs almost nothing on its own and can be carried in one hand as long as I keep it from dragging on the ground. I also like to sit and read a book and drink a can of soda while the washer and dryer run, then I pull out the clothes, smooth out the ones that I care if they wrinkle and haul it home in the same mesh bag. The good book and cold pop are key in all this.
I also had to do a little shopping and finally remembered to take along my own shopping bags, which simplifies getting it home and up the steps with less fuss, not to mention it's greener too.
Then I fell asleep approximately two minutes before the season premiere of "House," which is one of the few shows I look forward to. My fault, of course. I sat down too soon and my chair is too comfortable!
Chauncey is getting back into the swing of walking my way again. That means we go along at a leisurely pace, but we keep moving except when he does his business. Since we have to do this at least three times a day, it is important that he and I agree on how it's done!
Life should always be this way!
When I first started having to go to a laundromat away from the apartment I must admit I felt a certain amount of outrage. I can live without the dishwasher and garbage disposal. Having only two rooms to deal with is easy on the housekeeping chores. Fewer clothes also mean less to deal with, but hauling the dirty laundry out in public? That one was not so easy for me.
However, today it seemed relatively simple. Of course now I know what to expect. I know the laundromat that is most compatible with my "style". Yes, there does seem to be a style. I have discovered that I do not like carrying a big plastic basket down the steps and out to the parking lot, then into the laundromat. It is heavy and it hurts my back, so I bought a white mesh hamper type bag that weighs almost nothing on its own and can be carried in one hand as long as I keep it from dragging on the ground. I also like to sit and read a book and drink a can of soda while the washer and dryer run, then I pull out the clothes, smooth out the ones that I care if they wrinkle and haul it home in the same mesh bag. The good book and cold pop are key in all this.
I also had to do a little shopping and finally remembered to take along my own shopping bags, which simplifies getting it home and up the steps with less fuss, not to mention it's greener too.
Then I fell asleep approximately two minutes before the season premiere of "House," which is one of the few shows I look forward to. My fault, of course. I sat down too soon and my chair is too comfortable!
Chauncey is getting back into the swing of walking my way again. That means we go along at a leisurely pace, but we keep moving except when he does his business. Since we have to do this at least three times a day, it is important that he and I agree on how it's done!
Life should always be this way!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Happiness Is
I talk to so many unhappy people who seem to be waiting for someone, or something to come into their lives so they can be happy at last. I wish I could tell them the secret to being happy without all this wanting and waiting, but I can't. It's not that I don't know it. I do. It's just that they can't take it from me, no matter how many times I offer it to them.
I know that is difficult to understand. There was a time when it sounded crazy to me too. I had people offer me the key to this information. I had people try to explain what a simple gift it was to open. I even had people try to cram it down my throat, but nothing made it possible for me to even see what it was, let alone accept it.
I can only surmise that this is a secret that comes to us when we are ready for it. That is how I finally got it.
One day I simply realized that happiness never comes from some place else. It's either here, or it's not. If I am unhappy, which I can be, I need to find out what is not right. When the answer comes up with the name of another person, or something I can beg, buy, borrow, or steal, that is the Trickster speaking. He pops up to distract me and keep me running around like a crazy woman looking for placebos. Placebos are those things that take up space (or places) without really filling the hole at all. They are kind of like ghosts, just insubstantial things that can't give me what I really need.
I have to work my way around the placebo and go deeper inside myself to find the real thing. I think it must be different for everyone, but for me it is usually that I am feeling lonely, or alone. I want more love in my life, or I want to be noticed, or appreciated more in some way. Once I discover what the hole is, I need to find a way that I can fill it myself.
One way for me to do that is to love. When I feel my love flooding me, pouring out of me, washing through me, I am always amazed at how wonderful it feels . Another way for me to assuage these feelings is to do something for someone else by volunteering somewhere or being useful. When I am helping someone do something that seems important to me, I never feel lonely or alone.
Sometimes I only need to write in order to feel full and happy, but like I said, I think everyone is different. So...the only advice I can give unhappy people is to stop looking outside yourself and look inward. You are the best thing that has ever happened to you, you just need to find out how.
I know that is difficult to understand. There was a time when it sounded crazy to me too. I had people offer me the key to this information. I had people try to explain what a simple gift it was to open. I even had people try to cram it down my throat, but nothing made it possible for me to even see what it was, let alone accept it.
I can only surmise that this is a secret that comes to us when we are ready for it. That is how I finally got it.
One day I simply realized that happiness never comes from some place else. It's either here, or it's not. If I am unhappy, which I can be, I need to find out what is not right. When the answer comes up with the name of another person, or something I can beg, buy, borrow, or steal, that is the Trickster speaking. He pops up to distract me and keep me running around like a crazy woman looking for placebos. Placebos are those things that take up space (or places) without really filling the hole at all. They are kind of like ghosts, just insubstantial things that can't give me what I really need.
I have to work my way around the placebo and go deeper inside myself to find the real thing. I think it must be different for everyone, but for me it is usually that I am feeling lonely, or alone. I want more love in my life, or I want to be noticed, or appreciated more in some way. Once I discover what the hole is, I need to find a way that I can fill it myself.
One way for me to do that is to love. When I feel my love flooding me, pouring out of me, washing through me, I am always amazed at how wonderful it feels . Another way for me to assuage these feelings is to do something for someone else by volunteering somewhere or being useful. When I am helping someone do something that seems important to me, I never feel lonely or alone.
Sometimes I only need to write in order to feel full and happy, but like I said, I think everyone is different. So...the only advice I can give unhappy people is to stop looking outside yourself and look inward. You are the best thing that has ever happened to you, you just need to find out how.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Let He Who Is Without...
What is it about the human race that produces perverts who seem to thrive on other people's misery? I'm not talking about fetishes, or people whose games might be a bit on the rough side. I am speaking of those who take something that is beautiful, sweet and good, then find a way to drag it through the mud.
I know that truly good people cannot be ruined permanently from outsiders, at least not ruined from the inside out, but their lives can be made so hard that any less perfect person might yield to the temptation to turn to that proverbial dark side.
What is the point in making life hard? What kind of person reaps joy from someone else's misfortune? Today, anyone in the public eye seems to be fair game. It is always hunting season for those who serve others in any way at all. The rule appears to be, "If I know who you are, it is my right to air all your dirty laundry in public, even holding it up to a magnifying glass so that it appears to be more than it is under the guise of informing people about the true character that lies beneath this shining figure."
Again, I am not talking about corruption, or illegal acts, or personal preferences like racial and ethnic hate crimes. These things really would be detrimental to others. I am speaking of personal problems, sexual preferences, what people say to their family, or children, things that should not be anyone else's business and we all know what they are. Even if I don't write them down, most semi-intelligent adults know the difference between what is right and wrong.
This game, which I started to call new, but which may be as old as evil, where the point is to denigrate anyone who has the good fortune to become popular in some way should be as illegal as any other hate crime. It hurts everyone.
Why should good people place themselves in a position where they are subject to being embarrassed and flayed open for public amusement?
Good people, intelligent people, beautiful people, rich and poor people, have many sides to them, especially if they are well rounded, healthy, happy folks and it would be a shame to lose these people and their services from the public eye because a few mean spirited glory mongers want to destroy their personal lives by opening it to the scrutiny of those who have no business being there.
What is the old biblical statement? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?
I think that could be stretched to include, let he who has a private life respect that of others.
I know that truly good people cannot be ruined permanently from outsiders, at least not ruined from the inside out, but their lives can be made so hard that any less perfect person might yield to the temptation to turn to that proverbial dark side.
What is the point in making life hard? What kind of person reaps joy from someone else's misfortune? Today, anyone in the public eye seems to be fair game. It is always hunting season for those who serve others in any way at all. The rule appears to be, "If I know who you are, it is my right to air all your dirty laundry in public, even holding it up to a magnifying glass so that it appears to be more than it is under the guise of informing people about the true character that lies beneath this shining figure."
Again, I am not talking about corruption, or illegal acts, or personal preferences like racial and ethnic hate crimes. These things really would be detrimental to others. I am speaking of personal problems, sexual preferences, what people say to their family, or children, things that should not be anyone else's business and we all know what they are. Even if I don't write them down, most semi-intelligent adults know the difference between what is right and wrong.
This game, which I started to call new, but which may be as old as evil, where the point is to denigrate anyone who has the good fortune to become popular in some way should be as illegal as any other hate crime. It hurts everyone.
Why should good people place themselves in a position where they are subject to being embarrassed and flayed open for public amusement?
Good people, intelligent people, beautiful people, rich and poor people, have many sides to them, especially if they are well rounded, healthy, happy folks and it would be a shame to lose these people and their services from the public eye because a few mean spirited glory mongers want to destroy their personal lives by opening it to the scrutiny of those who have no business being there.
What is the old biblical statement? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?
I think that could be stretched to include, let he who has a private life respect that of others.
Uncommon People
What is it that draws me to people?
I try to treat everyone fairly and kindly, but some people seem to deserve more than that. I'm not quite sure why, but I notice certain common denominators in these people.
They are often childlike in their openness, not to be confused with childish, these people are often very together and dignified. They share themselves more freely than others and do it in a cheerful, often cute, upbeat way. They like to play and often play as hard as any competitive athlete when they do. They are generous beyond the norm, but not foolish in this generosity.
On the flip side, many of them are very vocal about what they think is wrong with this world. Gentle people with strong opinions, strong work ethics, conscientious attitudes and a willingness to stand behind their point of view, to me they are the most admirable of human beings.
I guess you might say they are my heroes. If this were ancient Greece, these would be the gods that populated my mythology, bigger than life characters who walk among us disguised as simple people. Not one is quite who they appear to be. They are common people doing uncommon things.
I try to treat everyone fairly and kindly, but some people seem to deserve more than that. I'm not quite sure why, but I notice certain common denominators in these people.
They are often childlike in their openness, not to be confused with childish, these people are often very together and dignified. They share themselves more freely than others and do it in a cheerful, often cute, upbeat way. They like to play and often play as hard as any competitive athlete when they do. They are generous beyond the norm, but not foolish in this generosity.
On the flip side, many of them are very vocal about what they think is wrong with this world. Gentle people with strong opinions, strong work ethics, conscientious attitudes and a willingness to stand behind their point of view, to me they are the most admirable of human beings.
I guess you might say they are my heroes. If this were ancient Greece, these would be the gods that populated my mythology, bigger than life characters who walk among us disguised as simple people. Not one is quite who they appear to be. They are common people doing uncommon things.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Back To Normal
One busy day. Two busy days. I am counting down until the busy days fade into the sunset and I can get back to my lazy schedule of writing and a little volunteering.
In the meantime I just came from a meeting where we tried to second guess all the security issues of having a day at the airport with a famous speaker flying in and an unknown number of small planes expected to follow tomorrow so they can hear him. At the same time the Air National Guard is sending planes to our celebration for people to look at and the Young Eagles are providing free helicopter and airplane rides for children 8-18. The Kiwanis are cooking their pancake and sausage breakfast before we begin and there are face painters, balloon artists and games to set up before we open our planes and station people who can answer questions from curious visitors.
I will actually be inside selling souvenirs at the exit since I am the newest member and that is fine with me. Today I worked with our board member in charge of buying these things, shamelessly playing with them and deciding how to display them to entice the youngsters and their parents into buying them. Instead of arranging flowers, I put my skills to work arranging little windmills. I probably won't go back until 8 AM, but there are people who will be there by 4:30 AM and I don't envy them.
The day will pass quickly and I am sure I will enjoy the people, but a big part of me would rather avoid the crowds at all costs and stay home. I'm just not a big event person, but it takes the big events to support the museum the rest of the year.
In the meantime I just came from a meeting where we tried to second guess all the security issues of having a day at the airport with a famous speaker flying in and an unknown number of small planes expected to follow tomorrow so they can hear him. At the same time the Air National Guard is sending planes to our celebration for people to look at and the Young Eagles are providing free helicopter and airplane rides for children 8-18. The Kiwanis are cooking their pancake and sausage breakfast before we begin and there are face painters, balloon artists and games to set up before we open our planes and station people who can answer questions from curious visitors.
I will actually be inside selling souvenirs at the exit since I am the newest member and that is fine with me. Today I worked with our board member in charge of buying these things, shamelessly playing with them and deciding how to display them to entice the youngsters and their parents into buying them. Instead of arranging flowers, I put my skills to work arranging little windmills. I probably won't go back until 8 AM, but there are people who will be there by 4:30 AM and I don't envy them.
The day will pass quickly and I am sure I will enjoy the people, but a big part of me would rather avoid the crowds at all costs and stay home. I'm just not a big event person, but it takes the big events to support the museum the rest of the year.
A Life Of Its Own
Life has a way of writing its own story. I left here thinking everything was taken care of and before I had really set foot in Colorado, had to find someone else to watch Chauncey, so today I had to drive down and pick him up. A little more hair, but otherwise the same happy go lucky little dog I left over two weeks ago. Thank goodness for family and their big hearts.
I went grocery shopping on the way home since all that was left in my cupboards and fridge was some cheese, orange juice and applesauce. Loving the fact that I lost five pounds painlessly, I tried to choose foods that I have eaten the last two weeks. The idea is that if I can continue to eat similarly, I might continue to lose weight like that!
Then we were home and I began the walk the dog routine once more, but with high hopes that I can extend it a bit to add to the exercise routine.
Tomorrow is the start of a long weekend at the airport as our museum puts on its annual fund raiser, but as soon as that ends I have two chairs to assemble for the kitchen table and my couch arrives Monday sometime. Home is taking on depth and weight and I am glad to be here for more reasons than I can count.
Right now these simple things are the story of my life. Things could change, in fact, they most certainly will change to some degree, but that is okay. I am learning that rolling with the punches is a pretty good way to live.
I went grocery shopping on the way home since all that was left in my cupboards and fridge was some cheese, orange juice and applesauce. Loving the fact that I lost five pounds painlessly, I tried to choose foods that I have eaten the last two weeks. The idea is that if I can continue to eat similarly, I might continue to lose weight like that!
Then we were home and I began the walk the dog routine once more, but with high hopes that I can extend it a bit to add to the exercise routine.
Tomorrow is the start of a long weekend at the airport as our museum puts on its annual fund raiser, but as soon as that ends I have two chairs to assemble for the kitchen table and my couch arrives Monday sometime. Home is taking on depth and weight and I am glad to be here for more reasons than I can count.
Right now these simple things are the story of my life. Things could change, in fact, they most certainly will change to some degree, but that is okay. I am learning that rolling with the punches is a pretty good way to live.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Seat Mates
I flew home from Denver today and it was another one of those unique adventures I can only get at airports. No long lay overs, so all my visiting was done on the plane as we flew to O'Hare Airport in Chicago.
My seat mates were two guys. One who turned out to be on his way to wine and dine prospective football players for Colorado State University and the other a young man on his way to Jordan where he will study Arabic.
I was sitting in the middle of three seats hoping the person who was supposed to be by the window didn't show up, because that would mean a lot more room for the two of us already there. It seemed like a hopeful proposition until just before they closed the doors, a dark skinned young man with a very stylized beard came rushing down the aisle and announced that he was in seat A. He sat down and pulled out a small book whose type was in symbols I did not recognize, nor understand. Then he began mumbling something as he faced the window.
I was fairly certain he was praying and thought perhaps he was afraid of flying, but I have to admit the thought did cross my mind that I hoped he was not a radical who had found some way to smuggle on anything that would make this trip a fiasco. I should really be ashamed for even having those thoughts, but with all the hullabaloo in the news today, it happened anyway.
A few moments after we were in the air he turned and asked if I was from Denver and we began a fascinating conversation. He was born and reared in Denver by an American Mom who grew up in Iowa and a Muslim Dad who grew up in Northern Africa. His mother is a social worker in Denver now and his father owns a landscaping business in Tripoli. He is the oldest of four children, all of whom have their Master's degrees except for the youngest who just began working on his.
This young man was an accountant for Sprint until this summer when he applied to the university in Jordan and was accepted to study Arabic there. He hopes to get settled and bring his wife over in about six months where they will immerse themselves in the language, hoping to become truly fluent. Then when he graduates, they want to come back to the states where he will work with young people at the mosques and in the city as a sort of social worker, liason with a religious background. He was fascinating to talk to and very excited about what he was doing, which is sort of the grand version of what so many of us talk about, but never do.
He simply gave up everything he thought was so important when it began to feel superfluous and simplified his life to follow his dream. We chatted off and on throughout the trip, then when the plane was landing he explained to me that he had to pray five times a day. In the early morning, around noon, in the afternoon, in the evening, and at night. If he is traveling he can combine two of them, but he was going to pray while we were waiting to finish landing and disembark.
I didn't want to be rude, or intrusive, but I would have liked to know more about what his actions meant as he leaned forward touching his head to the tray and lifting his hands in sort of supplication. But we were there by then and the other seat mate introduced himself and they began talking about football, because it seems my young Arabic Student was also a referee at the college football games and they knew several people in common.
So now I am home and tomorrow I drive down to pick up Chauncey and bring him home.
My seat mates were two guys. One who turned out to be on his way to wine and dine prospective football players for Colorado State University and the other a young man on his way to Jordan where he will study Arabic.
I was sitting in the middle of three seats hoping the person who was supposed to be by the window didn't show up, because that would mean a lot more room for the two of us already there. It seemed like a hopeful proposition until just before they closed the doors, a dark skinned young man with a very stylized beard came rushing down the aisle and announced that he was in seat A. He sat down and pulled out a small book whose type was in symbols I did not recognize, nor understand. Then he began mumbling something as he faced the window.
I was fairly certain he was praying and thought perhaps he was afraid of flying, but I have to admit the thought did cross my mind that I hoped he was not a radical who had found some way to smuggle on anything that would make this trip a fiasco. I should really be ashamed for even having those thoughts, but with all the hullabaloo in the news today, it happened anyway.
A few moments after we were in the air he turned and asked if I was from Denver and we began a fascinating conversation. He was born and reared in Denver by an American Mom who grew up in Iowa and a Muslim Dad who grew up in Northern Africa. His mother is a social worker in Denver now and his father owns a landscaping business in Tripoli. He is the oldest of four children, all of whom have their Master's degrees except for the youngest who just began working on his.
This young man was an accountant for Sprint until this summer when he applied to the university in Jordan and was accepted to study Arabic there. He hopes to get settled and bring his wife over in about six months where they will immerse themselves in the language, hoping to become truly fluent. Then when he graduates, they want to come back to the states where he will work with young people at the mosques and in the city as a sort of social worker, liason with a religious background. He was fascinating to talk to and very excited about what he was doing, which is sort of the grand version of what so many of us talk about, but never do.
He simply gave up everything he thought was so important when it began to feel superfluous and simplified his life to follow his dream. We chatted off and on throughout the trip, then when the plane was landing he explained to me that he had to pray five times a day. In the early morning, around noon, in the afternoon, in the evening, and at night. If he is traveling he can combine two of them, but he was going to pray while we were waiting to finish landing and disembark.
I didn't want to be rude, or intrusive, but I would have liked to know more about what his actions meant as he leaned forward touching his head to the tray and lifting his hands in sort of supplication. But we were there by then and the other seat mate introduced himself and they began talking about football, because it seems my young Arabic Student was also a referee at the college football games and they knew several people in common.
So now I am home and tomorrow I drive down to pick up Chauncey and bring him home.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Fringe
Right now I am so frustrated with the way Americans are choosing to populate their next ballots that it almost seems like a waste of time to vote, but I am sure that is what the people who are thinking, are hoping. If they can get the intelligent, logical, reasonable people to give up, then it takes very little to get rid of the radicals that are now running for Delaware's senator, or New York's governor. Surely no one with a whit of sense really intends for them to win.
And yet they could. That is the nature of our country's system. Anything is possible and anything can be very scary when people vote without thinking about the true implications that can follow their choices.
Voting against the system out of anger is a risky business if all you base that vote on is a lot of camaraderie and like minded angry people. Beware of angry people. You, or I, may be their next target. You ask me, "Who would vote against little old ladies who simply mind their own business and live off their retirement and social security?" And I tell you they are the same people who would vote for a man who talks of putting poor people in prison dormitories because they are poor and need to be taught how not to be. We people eating up social security benefits could be considered a real problem.
Voting in an election is not just a right. It is an obligation that begins with educating ourselves about the person we cast our vote for. If I just want to feel good, it might be better for me to join a church, or a club of like minded individuals doing less dangerous things than running the country.
Almost any parent is familiar with the child who, when denied his favorite treat right before dinner, stamps his foot and says, "You're mean!" So, if this child goes outside and gathers a group of like minded children around him and they all bolster each other up, shouting, "Candy now!" Is it rational to give them what they ask for? I'm sure all of the children would vote for the kid who says, "yes." He would not tell them about the trips to the dentist that might follow, or the malnutrition that can come of eating more sweets than good food. He would only be interested in getting elected top kid and getting what he wanted. There is so much ego involved.
We are supposed to be smarter than that.
And yet they could. That is the nature of our country's system. Anything is possible and anything can be very scary when people vote without thinking about the true implications that can follow their choices.
Voting against the system out of anger is a risky business if all you base that vote on is a lot of camaraderie and like minded angry people. Beware of angry people. You, or I, may be their next target. You ask me, "Who would vote against little old ladies who simply mind their own business and live off their retirement and social security?" And I tell you they are the same people who would vote for a man who talks of putting poor people in prison dormitories because they are poor and need to be taught how not to be. We people eating up social security benefits could be considered a real problem.
Voting in an election is not just a right. It is an obligation that begins with educating ourselves about the person we cast our vote for. If I just want to feel good, it might be better for me to join a church, or a club of like minded individuals doing less dangerous things than running the country.
Almost any parent is familiar with the child who, when denied his favorite treat right before dinner, stamps his foot and says, "You're mean!" So, if this child goes outside and gathers a group of like minded children around him and they all bolster each other up, shouting, "Candy now!" Is it rational to give them what they ask for? I'm sure all of the children would vote for the kid who says, "yes." He would not tell them about the trips to the dentist that might follow, or the malnutrition that can come of eating more sweets than good food. He would only be interested in getting elected top kid and getting what he wanted. There is so much ego involved.
We are supposed to be smarter than that.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Thoughts For My Granddaughter
I look at you and think how beautiful you are. Not that your face is pretty, or your eye lashes long, which they are, but that you smile from the inside out and it is so real and so infectious that everyone who sees it must smile too. I wish you could hang on to that.
I see the strength you have as you try to life your head and I feel the power in those tiny legs as they push themselves up off my lap, standing in bow legged glory on my knees while your tiny pink toes curl up trying to find a place to hang on. I hope you keep this need to be strong and persistent all your life.
I watch as you suck furiously, greedily drinking in all the sustenance you can and I love the way you grab your toys and stuff your tiny fingers in your mouth. You live with gusto right now and that is a wonderful habit to develop.
Both of your parents love you so much. They are there, together, for you in every way from picking out the clothes you wear, the toys you play with and even the songs you hear with those tiny perfect ears. I hope you always understand that they will stand behind you no matter who you decide to become, because they love you, not what you make of them.
I've only known you for a short time, but it has been a time for marveling at the beauty of you. You are everything I ever dreamed of and more.
I see the strength you have as you try to life your head and I feel the power in those tiny legs as they push themselves up off my lap, standing in bow legged glory on my knees while your tiny pink toes curl up trying to find a place to hang on. I hope you keep this need to be strong and persistent all your life.
I watch as you suck furiously, greedily drinking in all the sustenance you can and I love the way you grab your toys and stuff your tiny fingers in your mouth. You live with gusto right now and that is a wonderful habit to develop.
Both of your parents love you so much. They are there, together, for you in every way from picking out the clothes you wear, the toys you play with and even the songs you hear with those tiny perfect ears. I hope you always understand that they will stand behind you no matter who you decide to become, because they love you, not what you make of them.
I've only known you for a short time, but it has been a time for marveling at the beauty of you. You are everything I ever dreamed of and more.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Buy An Island?
I recently read an article advertising buying your own island. I have to say it is not one of those things I ever really want to do.
As a child I sometimes pretended that I ran the world, via Dr. Seuss's suggestive little story, but it was a simple world where I punched invisible buttons on the bathroom wall to talk to my subjects and give them instructions.
As an adult I ran a household for many years and believe me, it did not provide the kind of high I suspect most despots are looking for. Sure, I was right at the top of the list when we decided where to go on vacation, but I was also right at the top of the list when it came to who forgot to buy toilet paper, or who needed to deal with the newly laid sod when it developed grub worms.
A few years ago I thought I wanted my own little place out in the country. Just an acre or so, that I could call my own. It turned out that ruling a kingdom whose coffers are sadly lacking in gold is a lot of work. Sure, there was a sunflower labyrinth and idyllic little bird feeders and houses here and there that reminded me of Camelot, but the leaves did not blow themselves away at sunset and the grass grew at such a frantic rate that most of my duties involved mowing it. The little Disney deer that came around at sunset and ate the peony bushes did not salve my aching muscles, or sun burnt nose and the snake people who inhabited assorted dark corners and ditches were a constant source of shock to my system.
Buying an island does not mean freedom from worldly distractions and peace to me. I remember what it was like to just have a large swimming pool. People I had forgotten were seventh cousins by marriage remembered me. Forget long lazy afternoons floating under the shade of a little leaf linden. There were towels to wash and dry, refrigerators to stock and insurance to buy in case someone drinking my beer slipped into the deep end and did not return soon enough. An island would be like putting an afternoon in the pool under a magnifying glass. Guests would need to be picked up and ferried back and they would be unlikely to leave in the evenings, so there would be dinners to serve, beds to make and, unless I could afford a bevy of servants, I would be the hostess with the mostest -- chores.
It kind of amazes me when I read about how I, too, could own an island and realize I don't want one. For all the romantic notions that go along with it, I am past the point where that is a dream. Instead, I prefer the coziness of my apartment and the ability to have enough freedom to go enjoy other people's islands, or woods, or even parks. I don't mind sharing anymore. Owning comes with way too many responsibilities.
As a child I sometimes pretended that I ran the world, via Dr. Seuss's suggestive little story, but it was a simple world where I punched invisible buttons on the bathroom wall to talk to my subjects and give them instructions.
As an adult I ran a household for many years and believe me, it did not provide the kind of high I suspect most despots are looking for. Sure, I was right at the top of the list when we decided where to go on vacation, but I was also right at the top of the list when it came to who forgot to buy toilet paper, or who needed to deal with the newly laid sod when it developed grub worms.
A few years ago I thought I wanted my own little place out in the country. Just an acre or so, that I could call my own. It turned out that ruling a kingdom whose coffers are sadly lacking in gold is a lot of work. Sure, there was a sunflower labyrinth and idyllic little bird feeders and houses here and there that reminded me of Camelot, but the leaves did not blow themselves away at sunset and the grass grew at such a frantic rate that most of my duties involved mowing it. The little Disney deer that came around at sunset and ate the peony bushes did not salve my aching muscles, or sun burnt nose and the snake people who inhabited assorted dark corners and ditches were a constant source of shock to my system.
Buying an island does not mean freedom from worldly distractions and peace to me. I remember what it was like to just have a large swimming pool. People I had forgotten were seventh cousins by marriage remembered me. Forget long lazy afternoons floating under the shade of a little leaf linden. There were towels to wash and dry, refrigerators to stock and insurance to buy in case someone drinking my beer slipped into the deep end and did not return soon enough. An island would be like putting an afternoon in the pool under a magnifying glass. Guests would need to be picked up and ferried back and they would be unlikely to leave in the evenings, so there would be dinners to serve, beds to make and, unless I could afford a bevy of servants, I would be the hostess with the mostest -- chores.
It kind of amazes me when I read about how I, too, could own an island and realize I don't want one. For all the romantic notions that go along with it, I am past the point where that is a dream. Instead, I prefer the coziness of my apartment and the ability to have enough freedom to go enjoy other people's islands, or woods, or even parks. I don't mind sharing anymore. Owning comes with way too many responsibilities.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Duke
Duke died.
Those words may not mean much to you, but that is because you never met Duke.
He was an old, arthritic English Spaniel type dog who lived with my son and his wife up in the mountains of North Carolina, along with two other big dogs and a boy.
Duke got his name from the hot dog stand he hung around when my son went up there to run it for a friend one year. As they sold hot dogs, hand made milk shakes and kitschy bottles of pop out the window, Duke limped around begging pats on the head and scraps from customers. He had been badly mistreated by his former owner and once my son adopted him required some care for his battered body and matted fur.
After that he became the consummate dog. His happy spaniel attitude and gentleness made everyone fall in love with him and when they found themselves overrun as the owners of three large dogs, there were several offers to take Duke off their hands. But who could give up a dog like that?
He used to run, in a stiff-legged, loping way, down the hill to the back of the yard and when he thought no one was watching, madly dig in the hole he had chosen as his life's work. And, if left out long enough, would manage to wriggle under the fence and go exploring across the fields and back yards of anyone close by. I can remember standing up on the deck one summer, looking out and seeing him leaping through the tall grass down the mountain. He was a lover, big, oofie and cuddly. I felt honored that year whenever he deigned to lie by my bed at night.
Of course he was old then and his former life had left him scarred and damaged so we all knew he would not live forever, but his life was good these last years. Today, my son's wife found him asleep, or so it seemed, on the bedroom rug and called my son who came home, wrapped him up in a blanket and buried him in that hole he'd been digging all these years. He will be missed.
Still, I like to imagine him, pain free, eyes bright and stubby little tail wagging as he runs through some flower filled meadow where dogs go to dream for all eternity.
Those words may not mean much to you, but that is because you never met Duke.
He was an old, arthritic English Spaniel type dog who lived with my son and his wife up in the mountains of North Carolina, along with two other big dogs and a boy.
Duke got his name from the hot dog stand he hung around when my son went up there to run it for a friend one year. As they sold hot dogs, hand made milk shakes and kitschy bottles of pop out the window, Duke limped around begging pats on the head and scraps from customers. He had been badly mistreated by his former owner and once my son adopted him required some care for his battered body and matted fur.
After that he became the consummate dog. His happy spaniel attitude and gentleness made everyone fall in love with him and when they found themselves overrun as the owners of three large dogs, there were several offers to take Duke off their hands. But who could give up a dog like that?
He used to run, in a stiff-legged, loping way, down the hill to the back of the yard and when he thought no one was watching, madly dig in the hole he had chosen as his life's work. And, if left out long enough, would manage to wriggle under the fence and go exploring across the fields and back yards of anyone close by. I can remember standing up on the deck one summer, looking out and seeing him leaping through the tall grass down the mountain. He was a lover, big, oofie and cuddly. I felt honored that year whenever he deigned to lie by my bed at night.
Of course he was old then and his former life had left him scarred and damaged so we all knew he would not live forever, but his life was good these last years. Today, my son's wife found him asleep, or so it seemed, on the bedroom rug and called my son who came home, wrapped him up in a blanket and buried him in that hole he'd been digging all these years. He will be missed.
Still, I like to imagine him, pain free, eyes bright and stubby little tail wagging as he runs through some flower filled meadow where dogs go to dream for all eternity.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
It Is Never Enough.
All my life I have struggled for just one more thing. Just let me do this, or that, go to college, get married, have children, teach preschool, publish my poem. Once I reach that place where I think I'll be content, I find myself wanting a little bit more.
I suppose that is what some people call setting goals, but it isn't quite that for me. I never seem to have a particular plan in mind to achieve this newest heart's desire. I just bumble along hoping for things to work out while I go on doing whatever it was that I was doing before.
The amazing thing to me, when I look back at this, is that I reach any of these milestones at all and I actually do seem to get there one way, or another. I have to admit that I used to be a little less picky than I am now, but that is because I have honed these desires as I have grown older.
The world is so quick to tell me what I should want and how I should get there, which is fine if I am an average woman confining myself to mediocre achievements that are moderately satisfying. I want more!
My achievements may, or may not, be mediocre by world standards, that really isn't important to me. What is important is that they be more than moderately satisfying to me. I want real satisfaction. I want to be excited when I check up on where I am at the moment, so it is never enough.
If I write a story, I want it to be one that I want to read. If ten people read it today, I want twenty to read it tomorrow and maybe 3000 to read it in ten days. Now that may sound like an exaggeration, but why not shoot for it?
Knowing me, if 3000 do read it, then I will be disappointed if more don't follow that. I'm not sure if this is a goal, or greediness, or possibly just positive thinking, but I do know that if I don't want these things, they don't seem to happen. I have to be willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen and sometimes that means knowing myself.
I know that I am shy about sharing myself with the public, so I write under a pseudonym. It is a necessary part of who I am. I also know what I need in order to be happy with the results and that has nothing to do with what the world thinks, or says.
Making myself happy is enough and if that, "enough" requires more and more and more? Well, then I am never bored.
I suppose that is what some people call setting goals, but it isn't quite that for me. I never seem to have a particular plan in mind to achieve this newest heart's desire. I just bumble along hoping for things to work out while I go on doing whatever it was that I was doing before.
The amazing thing to me, when I look back at this, is that I reach any of these milestones at all and I actually do seem to get there one way, or another. I have to admit that I used to be a little less picky than I am now, but that is because I have honed these desires as I have grown older.
The world is so quick to tell me what I should want and how I should get there, which is fine if I am an average woman confining myself to mediocre achievements that are moderately satisfying. I want more!
My achievements may, or may not, be mediocre by world standards, that really isn't important to me. What is important is that they be more than moderately satisfying to me. I want real satisfaction. I want to be excited when I check up on where I am at the moment, so it is never enough.
If I write a story, I want it to be one that I want to read. If ten people read it today, I want twenty to read it tomorrow and maybe 3000 to read it in ten days. Now that may sound like an exaggeration, but why not shoot for it?
Knowing me, if 3000 do read it, then I will be disappointed if more don't follow that. I'm not sure if this is a goal, or greediness, or possibly just positive thinking, but I do know that if I don't want these things, they don't seem to happen. I have to be willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen and sometimes that means knowing myself.
I know that I am shy about sharing myself with the public, so I write under a pseudonym. It is a necessary part of who I am. I also know what I need in order to be happy with the results and that has nothing to do with what the world thinks, or says.
Making myself happy is enough and if that, "enough" requires more and more and more? Well, then I am never bored.
Friday, September 10, 2010
My Thots
Sometimes I just don't have anything to say and sometimes I think what I have to say is not important enough to send out, but when it really comes down to it, My Thots are not any profound philosophical spewing, nor are they necessarily entertaining.
They are exactly what they sound like, the thoughts that are pouring through me in the moment they are written.
Yesterday my son built the framework for a big twenty foot living fence while I took care of the baby and added my company and the somewhat dubious help of pouring the water into the cement mix as he stirred it up. His job was huge, digging a post hole for a twelve foot four by four and doing all the other manual labor. Mine was sweet, but in some ways still taxing for an out of shape, or at least out of practice grandma. Lainey's job was done perfectly. She smiled and cooed, verbalized and kicked those little legs as she honed all the skills necessary for growing into a strong, vibrant young woman.
These are the things of life. Not particularly dramatic. There is no great John William's score to set the mood, but the tension and the pace are still here.
This morning everyone woke up still a little tired from yesterday, but Mommy went to work, Daddy is staining the deck and Gramma is enjoying her last few days of being with Lainey.
They are exactly what they sound like, the thoughts that are pouring through me in the moment they are written.
Yesterday my son built the framework for a big twenty foot living fence while I took care of the baby and added my company and the somewhat dubious help of pouring the water into the cement mix as he stirred it up. His job was huge, digging a post hole for a twelve foot four by four and doing all the other manual labor. Mine was sweet, but in some ways still taxing for an out of shape, or at least out of practice grandma. Lainey's job was done perfectly. She smiled and cooed, verbalized and kicked those little legs as she honed all the skills necessary for growing into a strong, vibrant young woman.
These are the things of life. Not particularly dramatic. There is no great John William's score to set the mood, but the tension and the pace are still here.
This morning everyone woke up still a little tired from yesterday, but Mommy went to work, Daddy is staining the deck and Gramma is enjoying her last few days of being with Lainey.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Pescetarian
I have been eating so healthy here and I am surprised at how much I have enjoyed it. Last night I had wild salmon, rice and asparagus spears cooked on the grill. It was delicious. This morning my son made poached eggs with salmon and I have to admit the fish was a little too fishy for me at breakfast. I took it off and ate the egg.
I also learned a new word, pescetarian. A pescetarian is someone who only eats fish and vegetables. Actually I learned three new words, because when I looked this one up, it was defined with the words, neologism and portmanteau. I will never be a pescetarian, but I do understand the health benefits of it. I could, however, learn to eat more vegetables and fish occasionally.
I am trying to give my son the same courtesy I asked of him as a child and try the things he prepares. I have eaten things this week that I never even knew existed and, after forcing myself to try them, have been surprised how much I liked some of them. For example, quinoa is something the ancient Mayans ate. If I had known that when I wrote my little novel, I would have included it in the book. It is kind of a cross between bread crumbs and little crunchy cereal nuts and has health benefits you cannot imagine!
I would never force anyone to eat something they did not want to eat. In fact, I tried to get my children to try new things, but I never forced them after my daughter, who is the oldest, ate gazpacho under duress and immediately threw it up back up into her bowl. There are textures and tastes that I will never like and I believe everyone has the right to eat peacefully and without being harassed. I can remember sitting at the dinner table for what seemed like hours until I was forced to eat lima beans. I still don't like them!
But it turns out I do like a lot of things I never would have believed possible and I am kind of excited and proud about that now! My health would probably be greatly improved if I could both lose some weight and eat healthier, so I'm hoping to take some of my new discoveries home with me next week.
I also learned a new word, pescetarian. A pescetarian is someone who only eats fish and vegetables. Actually I learned three new words, because when I looked this one up, it was defined with the words, neologism and portmanteau. I will never be a pescetarian, but I do understand the health benefits of it. I could, however, learn to eat more vegetables and fish occasionally.
I am trying to give my son the same courtesy I asked of him as a child and try the things he prepares. I have eaten things this week that I never even knew existed and, after forcing myself to try them, have been surprised how much I liked some of them. For example, quinoa is something the ancient Mayans ate. If I had known that when I wrote my little novel, I would have included it in the book. It is kind of a cross between bread crumbs and little crunchy cereal nuts and has health benefits you cannot imagine!
I would never force anyone to eat something they did not want to eat. In fact, I tried to get my children to try new things, but I never forced them after my daughter, who is the oldest, ate gazpacho under duress and immediately threw it up back up into her bowl. There are textures and tastes that I will never like and I believe everyone has the right to eat peacefully and without being harassed. I can remember sitting at the dinner table for what seemed like hours until I was forced to eat lima beans. I still don't like them!
But it turns out I do like a lot of things I never would have believed possible and I am kind of excited and proud about that now! My health would probably be greatly improved if I could both lose some weight and eat healthier, so I'm hoping to take some of my new discoveries home with me next week.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Read Me
I've been thinking about writing. My writing to be exact.
I learned I could write in second grade and the idea that I could create something the way I wanted it to be was tantalizing even back then. While I was in school, it was enough to write for the classes I took and get a good grade. Of course it also pleased me when I wrote something my friends liked.
Once I wrote a satire of my seventh grade teacher's class and someone gave it to him. I was so terrified when he called me in after school that I thought I would die. He liked it!
I have written volumes in my lifetime. Some published, most not, but I realized a long time ago that I would continue writing even if no one ever read one word of it. I write because I love to do it and, honestly, I also love to read what I write.
For a long time people convinced me that I shouldn't give things away. That if I considered myself a "real writer," holding out for money was the only way to go. I don't believe that anymore.
If it were the only way to be read, then maybe that would be true, but I have discovered that being read is far more important to me than being paid. I have enough money to get by, so why deny myself the joy of being read?
I no longer do that. Knowing how many people are reading, or have read something I wrote can turn a so so day into a pretty spectacular one. That something so simple makes me this happy, is important to remember.
I learned I could write in second grade and the idea that I could create something the way I wanted it to be was tantalizing even back then. While I was in school, it was enough to write for the classes I took and get a good grade. Of course it also pleased me when I wrote something my friends liked.
Once I wrote a satire of my seventh grade teacher's class and someone gave it to him. I was so terrified when he called me in after school that I thought I would die. He liked it!
I have written volumes in my lifetime. Some published, most not, but I realized a long time ago that I would continue writing even if no one ever read one word of it. I write because I love to do it and, honestly, I also love to read what I write.
For a long time people convinced me that I shouldn't give things away. That if I considered myself a "real writer," holding out for money was the only way to go. I don't believe that anymore.
If it were the only way to be read, then maybe that would be true, but I have discovered that being read is far more important to me than being paid. I have enough money to get by, so why deny myself the joy of being read?
I no longer do that. Knowing how many people are reading, or have read something I wrote can turn a so so day into a pretty spectacular one. That something so simple makes me this happy, is important to remember.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Behind The Times
It amazes me when I realize all the differences between my life style and this new generation's.
I don't really consider myself behind the times in most ways, but I am out of the loop here. Whereas most people I know talk about healthy life styles, here it is practiced.
Snacks come in the form of fresh fruit, or juice from the juicer on the counter top. Tiny Colorado peaches, fresh figs, and tomatoes in sizes and colors I never knew existed appear on plates arranged with crackers, or cheeses that not only look good, but taste great. Meals are often vegetarian, or include some sort of fish.
I have walked with the dogs and surprised myself with a marathon walk in the park, pushing the stroller, which I admit helped me keep my balance and keep up. Life is so healthy here that I hope to go home as if I had been at the spa instead of visiting family.
My one bad habit is that I have had a Diet Coke three times. I could have had a Guiness, which I really like, or a new beer with extra hops that did not set well in my stomach, but I decided not to ruin a good thing.
My laptop appears to have died, so I am only going on line at night just before writing My Thots. In between I have hung diapers on the clothesline and played with my granddaughter, or read. I brought a book, but even the books here are better. I read a funny little story about negative conditioning by Chekov, some great short stories and am in the process of reading a newer book about women's views on their lives that is funny, true and to the point.
My daughter-in-law and I went shopping and let the baby pick out her own toys! It is funny how much of a preference a three month old can make patently obvious. Even baby care is different. The diapers are cloth, but they are not attached with diaper pins. Instead, there is a funny little gadget that attaches to both sides with tiny rubber gripper like teeth and then snugged up with a third one in the middle afterwards! It doesn't matter what else has changed. My grandchild is an amazingly happy little girl, who laughs and smiles with her whole body in ways that keep us all enchanted.
Needless to say, I am having a magnificent time.
I don't really consider myself behind the times in most ways, but I am out of the loop here. Whereas most people I know talk about healthy life styles, here it is practiced.
Snacks come in the form of fresh fruit, or juice from the juicer on the counter top. Tiny Colorado peaches, fresh figs, and tomatoes in sizes and colors I never knew existed appear on plates arranged with crackers, or cheeses that not only look good, but taste great. Meals are often vegetarian, or include some sort of fish.
I have walked with the dogs and surprised myself with a marathon walk in the park, pushing the stroller, which I admit helped me keep my balance and keep up. Life is so healthy here that I hope to go home as if I had been at the spa instead of visiting family.
My one bad habit is that I have had a Diet Coke three times. I could have had a Guiness, which I really like, or a new beer with extra hops that did not set well in my stomach, but I decided not to ruin a good thing.
My laptop appears to have died, so I am only going on line at night just before writing My Thots. In between I have hung diapers on the clothesline and played with my granddaughter, or read. I brought a book, but even the books here are better. I read a funny little story about negative conditioning by Chekov, some great short stories and am in the process of reading a newer book about women's views on their lives that is funny, true and to the point.
My daughter-in-law and I went shopping and let the baby pick out her own toys! It is funny how much of a preference a three month old can make patently obvious. Even baby care is different. The diapers are cloth, but they are not attached with diaper pins. Instead, there is a funny little gadget that attaches to both sides with tiny rubber gripper like teeth and then snugged up with a third one in the middle afterwards! It doesn't matter what else has changed. My grandchild is an amazingly happy little girl, who laughs and smiles with her whole body in ways that keep us all enchanted.
Needless to say, I am having a magnificent time.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Barb
Time and life have a pace all their own.
Waiting for something wonderful can seem to take an eternity, while enduring something awful sometimes stretches time to its limits. It doesn't seem fair, but fairness is not a concept that occurs to nature.
Although it does seem that life has a certain amount of compensation if I am willing to step back and look at it from a distance. Compensation, not tit for tat, nor even in any kind of order that I can figure out and count on in any certain way, but a general way of winding around here and there, touching on the good and the bad, the exultant and the devastating over and over again throughout a span of time I call a life.
A young couple are married, raise a family and then, one night, she receives a phone call. He is gone. Relatively young and with no warning, he dies. The only man she has ever known has left her with grown children and grandchildren.
Life goes on. Her children are there for her and she has the joy of being a part of her grandchildren's lives in rich and rewarding ways. And then one night she meets someone new and they discover they can talk for hours.
A budding romance begins with all the joy and fun that she could dream of and life is so good for a while. They play and eat and pursue hobbies with every bit of the zest that usually attends those in their prime. Only because they are older and wiser, they know to grab every second and enjoy it to the fullest.
This winter of her life is everything she could dream of and more until nature turns a corner and taking her hand leads her closer to the next bend, a much more permanent one than she has experienced until now.
And I will miss her more than words can ever say, but her life has been rich and full and I would not hold her back to suffer in these last moments more than she must already.
Time and life have a pace of their own and I make no bones about the fact that I do not understand it, but I want so much to simply accept it.
Waiting for something wonderful can seem to take an eternity, while enduring something awful sometimes stretches time to its limits. It doesn't seem fair, but fairness is not a concept that occurs to nature.
Although it does seem that life has a certain amount of compensation if I am willing to step back and look at it from a distance. Compensation, not tit for tat, nor even in any kind of order that I can figure out and count on in any certain way, but a general way of winding around here and there, touching on the good and the bad, the exultant and the devastating over and over again throughout a span of time I call a life.
A young couple are married, raise a family and then, one night, she receives a phone call. He is gone. Relatively young and with no warning, he dies. The only man she has ever known has left her with grown children and grandchildren.
Life goes on. Her children are there for her and she has the joy of being a part of her grandchildren's lives in rich and rewarding ways. And then one night she meets someone new and they discover they can talk for hours.
A budding romance begins with all the joy and fun that she could dream of and life is so good for a while. They play and eat and pursue hobbies with every bit of the zest that usually attends those in their prime. Only because they are older and wiser, they know to grab every second and enjoy it to the fullest.
This winter of her life is everything she could dream of and more until nature turns a corner and taking her hand leads her closer to the next bend, a much more permanent one than she has experienced until now.
And I will miss her more than words can ever say, but her life has been rich and full and I would not hold her back to suffer in these last moments more than she must already.
Time and life have a pace of their own and I make no bones about the fact that I do not understand it, but I want so much to simply accept it.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Music Is The Magical Communication
We are certainly hard wired to enjoy music!
This morning we sat around trying to remember those songs that were our favorites as children. Then my son looked them up on the computer to try and find words and chords to start us out on the right foot as he made a list of them for my granddaughter.
Of course there was much singing by everyone as we sang the version we remembered and compared it to that of everyone else. Followed by singing it with the guitar to get all the words and chords aligned. And Lainey sat in her swing, big eyed and entranced during the entire process. She giggled and cooed, kicked and waved her tiny arms whenever a particular sound caught her attention.
Later, as her mother played the piano, accompanied by her father on his guitar, I held her and watched as, once more, she bounced and laughed with joy, sometimes wrinkling her tiny brow at an odd note here or there.
This baby will be surrounded by music. A fantastic little thing called an Ipod has access to just about every piece known to me and even more. We often begin our days with Debussy and move through the Beatles, Pink Floyd, maybe a little Beethoven and who knows what as the hours progress. Still it is the live music that I love the most and evidently so does my granddaughter!
We may like particular kinds of music, but most of us are drawn by the beat of drums in a parade, calmed down, or speed-ed up by the tempo of a compelling piece, and even feel our moods change as the music does. It reaches parts of our brains that simple words, or silence may not. I found that I could teach almost anything to children by turning it into a song and stuttering often stops when the words are put in tune mode.
Music seems to be the magical part of communication that is often able to surmount all barriers.
This morning we sat around trying to remember those songs that were our favorites as children. Then my son looked them up on the computer to try and find words and chords to start us out on the right foot as he made a list of them for my granddaughter.
Of course there was much singing by everyone as we sang the version we remembered and compared it to that of everyone else. Followed by singing it with the guitar to get all the words and chords aligned. And Lainey sat in her swing, big eyed and entranced during the entire process. She giggled and cooed, kicked and waved her tiny arms whenever a particular sound caught her attention.
Later, as her mother played the piano, accompanied by her father on his guitar, I held her and watched as, once more, she bounced and laughed with joy, sometimes wrinkling her tiny brow at an odd note here or there.
This baby will be surrounded by music. A fantastic little thing called an Ipod has access to just about every piece known to me and even more. We often begin our days with Debussy and move through the Beatles, Pink Floyd, maybe a little Beethoven and who knows what as the hours progress. Still it is the live music that I love the most and evidently so does my granddaughter!
We may like particular kinds of music, but most of us are drawn by the beat of drums in a parade, calmed down, or speed-ed up by the tempo of a compelling piece, and even feel our moods change as the music does. It reaches parts of our brains that simple words, or silence may not. I found that I could teach almost anything to children by turning it into a song and stuttering often stops when the words are put in tune mode.
Music seems to be the magical part of communication that is often able to surmount all barriers.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
"All You Need Is Love"
Hanging clothes on the line, using cloth diapers, breast milk pumped and ready in the fridge, no this is not a story from 1950. It is part of the life of a young couple making conscious decisions about a life style they have chosen for themselves and their child. It is about early starts and schedules that include walking the dogs to the park in the morning while getting the baby out for an early airing. It is about tummy time, when the baby rolled over for the very first time today and nap time in her crib in the morning and afternoon. It is about walks in central park and gramma and daddy duets on the guitar and piano just for her. It is about love.
Friday, September 3, 2010
The Mystery Of Her
It is not her youthful looks, nor the curvaceousness of her body, these are long gone if the truth be known. It is not even her glib tongue, nor the mind that lies behind it that draws people to her like moths to a flame. It is only the joy in her eyes, the easy going acceptance that lies upon her countenance like sunlight in a forest glade.
She is soft and sweet, earnest and truthful. There is no danger of being destroyed here. No traps to ensnare the unwary. She is simply here.
Yet there are shadows that lie behind the joy and the light. Not dark shadows, simply places that she keeps out of the public eye. Places others might consider sink holes, or blemishes upon an otherwise beautiful being. She once felt that way too, but no more. These are the places that add flavor to the stew of her being, the stuff that brings an added richness few might understand, but many notice.
A whole being must embrace her wholeness, accepting it all as the part of her it is. It is that extra little step over the edge into fulfillment that radiates from eyes no longer afraid to look at it all. It is the deep breath embracing the sides of life less traveled that puts a spring into her step.
There are things a woman does simply because she loves doing them and whether anyone else knows about them or not is not as important as the doing.
The joy of living fulfilled and finding the light of understanding where it is most important, at the very center of her being, draws others into the mystery they so desperately crave, but don't quite recognize.
As Joseph Campbell said, "Follow your bliss."
She is soft and sweet, earnest and truthful. There is no danger of being destroyed here. No traps to ensnare the unwary. She is simply here.
Yet there are shadows that lie behind the joy and the light. Not dark shadows, simply places that she keeps out of the public eye. Places others might consider sink holes, or blemishes upon an otherwise beautiful being. She once felt that way too, but no more. These are the places that add flavor to the stew of her being, the stuff that brings an added richness few might understand, but many notice.
A whole being must embrace her wholeness, accepting it all as the part of her it is. It is that extra little step over the edge into fulfillment that radiates from eyes no longer afraid to look at it all. It is the deep breath embracing the sides of life less traveled that puts a spring into her step.
There are things a woman does simply because she loves doing them and whether anyone else knows about them or not is not as important as the doing.
The joy of living fulfilled and finding the light of understanding where it is most important, at the very center of her being, draws others into the mystery they so desperately crave, but don't quite recognize.
As Joseph Campbell said, "Follow your bliss."
Thursday, September 2, 2010
People, People, Everywhere
An amazing travel day, although it did begin early after a night of not much sleeping because I was so excited. I pulled into the long term parking lot thinking I would have to walk in the rain and when I got out of my car, there was the shuttle waiting to drive me right up to the door! I met two ladies later on that didn't even know there was a shuttle, so I was just lucky I guess.
My first plane, the one to O'Hare was almost an hour late, but since I had a very long layover it didn't really matter and the little plane we flew on was actually a lot of fun bouncing around in the storm!
Once I was at O'Hare, I had to go find out where my gate was. The signs were down and the tickets didn't have that information. It turned out I was a long way from where I needed to be, but I met a really nice guy from the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs and we did a lot of visiting off and on during the afternoon and again on the plane when it turned out our seats were very close. In between talking with him and eating lunch, a Leonardo DiCaprio look alike came over and sat down and started talking. He looked about sixteen, but he was going home after spending the summer as an intern at one of the big Chicago firms. Very sweet and funny young man. Once I got on the plane I thought I had the dourest seat mate in the world. Tall, dark and handsome, he didn't even look up from his video game when I sat down. At first I thought I wouldn't say anything to him. I didn't want him to think he was stuck next to some chatty old lady, but eventually a thought popped into my head. "What if he is just shy?" So when he looked up I just said hi and asked if he lived in Denver.
He was very chatty and a wonderful seat mate too! He was here from Sidney, Australia and going to Monmouth College where one of my friends is a semi-retired chaplain. He knew of her, but didn't know her. He told me all about AFL a sort of football, basketball, soccer type sport I saw on television this spring and found fascinating, but confusing. Then we talked about where we'd like to go on vacation and he said I really needed to come to Sidney. (I have no problem with that!) The people in the seats beside us were a 98 year old woman who was lively and funny and two gorgeous young blondes from Brussels who were renting a car to explore Colorado when we landed. Both were so cute, but he reminded me of the Spencer I wrote about earlier this year.
The man from the Air Force Academy got down all our bags for us while we were waiting to disembark and I found my way through to the passenger pick up where my son and granddaughter were waiting to take me home. My son made dinner and I got to watch him being a dad. It is something else to watch your baby diaper and feed and play with his baby. This baby is so lucky (and so beautiful!)
Now I am going to crash and I think I will sleep like a rock. I am so exhausted!
My first plane, the one to O'Hare was almost an hour late, but since I had a very long layover it didn't really matter and the little plane we flew on was actually a lot of fun bouncing around in the storm!
Once I was at O'Hare, I had to go find out where my gate was. The signs were down and the tickets didn't have that information. It turned out I was a long way from where I needed to be, but I met a really nice guy from the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs and we did a lot of visiting off and on during the afternoon and again on the plane when it turned out our seats were very close. In between talking with him and eating lunch, a Leonardo DiCaprio look alike came over and sat down and started talking. He looked about sixteen, but he was going home after spending the summer as an intern at one of the big Chicago firms. Very sweet and funny young man. Once I got on the plane I thought I had the dourest seat mate in the world. Tall, dark and handsome, he didn't even look up from his video game when I sat down. At first I thought I wouldn't say anything to him. I didn't want him to think he was stuck next to some chatty old lady, but eventually a thought popped into my head. "What if he is just shy?" So when he looked up I just said hi and asked if he lived in Denver.
He was very chatty and a wonderful seat mate too! He was here from Sidney, Australia and going to Monmouth College where one of my friends is a semi-retired chaplain. He knew of her, but didn't know her. He told me all about AFL a sort of football, basketball, soccer type sport I saw on television this spring and found fascinating, but confusing. Then we talked about where we'd like to go on vacation and he said I really needed to come to Sidney. (I have no problem with that!) The people in the seats beside us were a 98 year old woman who was lively and funny and two gorgeous young blondes from Brussels who were renting a car to explore Colorado when we landed. Both were so cute, but he reminded me of the Spencer I wrote about earlier this year.
The man from the Air Force Academy got down all our bags for us while we were waiting to disembark and I found my way through to the passenger pick up where my son and granddaughter were waiting to take me home. My son made dinner and I got to watch him being a dad. It is something else to watch your baby diaper and feed and play with his baby. This baby is so lucky (and so beautiful!)
Now I am going to crash and I think I will sleep like a rock. I am so exhausted!
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