It's Never Too Far Away

I love to hear stories about people rescuing stray dogs and it seems the worse off the creature and the more difficult it is to catch and tame him, the more interested I am.

Of course it speaks to man’s higher nature when he cares for a less fortunate creature so it is an uplifting tale, but I think there is a lot more to it.

I think these stories fascinate me not so much because of the human who is saving the dog, but because of the dog himself.

How many times have I felt lost myself? 

How often have I felt mistreated, or misunderstood?

How many times have I growled or snapped at someone when they weren't the problem at all?

If someone took the time to figure out what that dog needed, surely that means there is hope for me too.

Blue Daze

“I can sing a rainbow” I love this song.  I was forever going around singing parts of it when I taught preschool.

I’ve always been particular about colors and shades of colors, but it wasn’t until I took some art classes that I realized how much I love certain colors. 

Cerulean blue, sky blue, that crisp clear vibrant shade of blue that speaks to me of bright spring mornings unblemished by winter’s smog or summer’s fog.  The kind of sky that inhabits fairy tales and tales of Peter Rabbit.

I like it paired up with white, as in clouds, or puffs of fairy smoke, or the tips of waves in a tropical sea.

I see it reflected against the snow on alpine ski slopes and in the lovely shades of blue in Easter dresses.

I see it in the plaids of a sunny first day of school shirt and in the wool of a southern winter scarf.

Today was a blue day and I love those!

Too Perfect

Uncertainty.  If there is one word in the English language that describes my feelings right now, this is it.

I am going through one of those times when nothing seems secure.

I feel like my world is perfectly balanced on an invisible fulcrum, but only a shift in my breathing might send it crashing to one side or the other.

I keep waiting for that proverbial other shoe to fall and tear me away from this perfect dream; afraid that I will awaken when the sun comes up tomorrow morning and find that's all it was.  A dream.

Every word is suspect, even the kindest most gentle and sweetest.  This is August you know, the month when unimaginable things happen, when the rug can be quickly and deftly pulled out from under my feet and white rabbits turn into raging lunatics.

Nothing is quite what it seems and if I don’t believe that is true, I have only to remember the past.

And yet….

Perhaps this time things are different.  Maybe this time I will lift the cup to drink and see only my reflection in the tea.  Possibly when the brownies say, eat me, that is all they really want.

How I yearn for the world to be just what it seems.

It’s all I’ve ever really wanted.

Breathe Easier

I cannot remember a time when I wasn’t appalled by the number of “nos” in the world. 

A “no” really only gives me half of the story and a not particularly useful half at that.

It seems to me that it would be much more useful to hear what I can do.  When I taught I used positive redirection, which was what I had done most of my life without knowing the name for it.  It simply means saying, “Stay here.”  Instead of saying, “Do not cross the street.”

For one thing people are not very good listeners, especially young children, so many only hear the last three words if they hear anything at all.  Then the words seem to be, “Cross the street.”

Also, “Stay here” leaves me a few options.  I can stay here and read, or paint, or daydream. 

Tonight I watched Goodnight Mister Tom and cried my way through most of it.  It is such a sweetly sad movie.  When it was over I got up and took my trash out then went to the post office to mail a letter.  Pretty normal, except that it was nearly one o’clock in the morning!

This is not all that unusual for me, or it didn’t use to be.  I like the idea of doing things in a timely manner and for me that sometimes means watching a movie late at night and running errands afterwards.  Why not?  We are no longer bound by darkness.  Light is at my fingertips everywhere.

Somehow I breathe easier knowing that I am not tied down by too many rules or unnecessary conventions, because in today’s world there are just too many things that make no sense, or go against logic and the older I get, the harder they are for me to deal with.

Trustworthiness

How can I look trustworthy to someone who doesn’t even know me?

That’s an interesting question, because even if someone does know me, trust is a tricky thing.

I know people I would trust with my life who I wouldn’t even consider trusting with my thoughts!

I know people I would trust with my thoughts who I wouldn’t want to trust with my life.

Every single person in this world has their own code of ethics, their own set of beliefs and their own way of incorporating these things into the way they live. 

Trustworthiness seems to grow out of the boundaries I set from my interpretation of these things.

I don’t know if you are trustworthy because of who you are, or how I perceive you, so in the end it is a combination of experience and my own abilities to discern what another’s real thoughts are that defines those I think are trustworthy.

I suppose that is true for everyone else too.

Not Doing

“I’d do anything for you,” famous words that have probably been on the lips of lovers since time began.

Not just Romeo and Juliet lovers, but people like mothers and fathers, friends, anyone who really loves someone.

I remember a movie where Ally McGraw said, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”  There are so many cut and dried sayings about love and honestly I think love is like everything else.  There are no absolutes, no truths that are across the board flat out always right.  Circumstances define even love.

Sometimes it is not what is said, or done, or thought that is the most important where love is concerned.  Sometimes it is what is NOT said, or done, or thought that really matters.

Where Did All The Grown-Ups Go

My world was built upon the bedrock of beings who knew, really knew, the things that were important.

They held me up and kept me from falling into the despair of the unknown. 

They held me down and kept me from floating away in the indecision of numerous moments.

I called them grown-ups and they held a line of sway over me that might chafe today.

I miss them and I’m sure not ready to step up and try to fill their space -- to be them.

But nobody asked me and here I am shuffling around in shoes that feel much too big

And wearing hats that still slide down over my eyes,

Because that’s all there is

And somebody’s got to do it.

Presents

I receive gifts almost daily.

Written words, video taped words, sung words, smiled words!

I hear them, see them, enjoy them, so how can I be so blind to them?

Touched to the core I still somehow manage to put them away as irrelevant.

Just because they come to me

and not to you…

A Life

Imagine a place like Brigadoon, only this place is alive in itself.  It has soul and life, feelings and although it moves and changes, it never leaves the earth because to do that would mean its end.

In the beginning the world is its womb.  The ocean cradles it as the winds sing lullabies.  It moves, but its world moves with it and though there are storms and upheavals and growing pains galore, it develops into what it is.

And then it steps out of the realm of that womb and into the world, thinking it is finished and strong, invincible and perhaps even immortal.  Now it stands tall and proud on the edge of the earth and the oceans rage against it and the winds carve it into new and unfamiliar shapes.

It is strong and proud and will not be whittled away.  But years of constant erosion, nagging disappointments, intense dramas that spawn the life around it takes its toll.  Huge chunks of it fall off and move on to become places of their own and weariness sets in.

Until one day it moves again.  Still of the world, but away from the edge and into a place more secluded where the rains still fall and the winds still blow, but they are no longer the constant wearing and tearing of that other place, a gentler, quieter place.  A place quiet enough that it hears a familiar song and leans in to listen closely.

And for now this is where it stays.

Quality of Life

 

A friend writes that her father, who is in his nineties, has been moved to a nursing home.  She then begins to tell me of the things he is now forced to deal with.

They wake him up in the middle of the night for things.  They weigh him every day.  The nurse must approve all food brought in by family.

We have become a nation of people who like to measure things.  It is easier to teach people how to measure pounds and blood pressure and food and count pills and hours and anything else that will fit neatly on a chart in five numbers, or less than anything else.

It is proof that we did our best, that we care, that everything possible was done.

Except that it isn’t!

I won’t even go into the realms of possibilities for these things to be done wrong, because they aren’t what is really important at all.

Long ago they discovered that orphan infants who were fed, changed, and kept clean still died when no one held them and really cared for them. 

The elderly are much more complex creatures than infants.  They each have needs that define quality of life much more directly than anyone can measure in pounds, hours, or beats of a heart.

I don’t understand why we cannot allow people to die peacefully, comfortably and without all this cold sterile intervention that takes away their humanity.  If we are very rich that is possible, but most of us will end up at the mercy of less perfect situations.

Perhaps what we need is something like the living will where a person can write down what they personally want during their last years, or months on earth.

I want comfort, the comfort of family and friends and food that I am accustomed to.  I would like to be read to and I am willing to provide a list of books I might like so no one has to second-guess what gramma likes!  If some them are a bit surprising, well so be it. 

Part of the joy of living is having a sense of humor and I wouldn’t mind allowing the next generations to know the truth.

Multi Dimensional

I love music.  It is such a fact of life that I could leave it at that, but there is more to it.

Although I do love most kinds of music there is some I like better than others.

My favorite is always live and anything done by someone I know and care for.

Over the years that has been different people, but right now it comes from two people who send me their songs attached to emails so I can listen to them any time I want, right here on my own computer, with my own headphones.

Not only do I love the instrumentals and the lyrics, I also love the stories behind them.

These songs are personal pieces that connect me with the musician in ways that no distant musician can ever hope to approach in the limited dimensions of a CD, or tv, or radio.

They touch not only my ears and my heart, but they also reach into my mind, pulling up memories too complex to be contained in one simple medium.

I wish I could share this experience with others, but much of it is incapable of being reproduced in any way that would be meaningful to you.

I could, though, share the music!

We Need To Do More Than Talk

I don’t think things have changed as much as people tend to believe.

We just talk about things more now, bring them out into the open, are less likely to think they cannot be changed.

That doesn’t mean we know how to change them, or are even willing to do what is actually necessary to change them.  It only means there is this vague sense that it is possible.

I don’t know if this is good, or bad.  It’s bad if I think someone else is going to do the changing and all I need to do is wait, or moan, or force the issue.  It’s good if it leads me to actively find and institute a real solution.

I think the possibility for positive change is much more available now than it used to be, but maybe that also makes people think it is less valuable.

I was given an old antique chest of drawers when I was very young.  To me it was simply old.  I didn’t really care for it and eventually just gave it away.  Today I would love to have it back.  It would be one of my prized possessions.  I would polish it and put in a place of honor.

Education seems to be the key.  Not just going to school, but learning something.  The better informed I am, the better I am able to make good decisions.

The idea that if I keep doing the same old things I will keep getting the same old results is actually not true.  If I keep doing the same old things and they aren’t working, things might get even worse.

Talking is only the first step.

It's All About Space

I have to admit it.  I love moving.

Not the actual hauling of boxes and furniture up hill and down, I don’t love that. 

What I love are the possibilities!

It is the reason I like to rearrange the furniture and, in my younger day, I use to rearrange the cabinets too.  I mean I took them off the walls and screwed them up on other walls.

My idea of the perfect apartment would be a loft with modular units that rolled around providing cabinets and closets and walls that could redefine the space as my mood dictated.  Of course I realize some things would have to be permanent.

Plumbing and electrical outlets pretty much need to stay in one place, but if the outlets were in the floors, then only the plumbing would limit the possibilities. 

It also seems to me that in places where the scenery is not just poor, but downright ugly, there should be a way to incorporate computerized widows that could be anywhere in the world.

And the more I think about it, even the plumbing might be a little bit flexible if the pipes and drains could be concealed in the outer walls where they were accessible.  Then it would only require a little bit of re-hooking to move almost everything!

Only In America

The trouble with getting into the medical system is deciding where to draw the line.

Even the healthiest individual could have a constant array of procedures done, in the name of preventative medicine if nothing else.

Every specialist has his list of must haves.  Each one, if for no other reason, is willing to run an unending list of tests to avoid being sued in the future.

If you have the money and the insurance, have I got a doctor for you!

There is a time and a place for modern medicine and the things it can do.

There is also a need for moderation and common sense.

In an age when medicine is big business all things are suspect because business is designed first and foremost to make money.

The old adage, “First do no harm” now often translates into something much more dubious today. 

I know this sounds cynical, and it isn't true across the board, but when you hear the horror stories I frequently hear, you realize how primitive modern medicine really is.  It’s only as good as it’s worst technician and aide.  The more doctors delegate, the more likely mistakes are to occur.

 And then there are those people who make a living out of suing people.  They have ruined it for the rest of us, because whatever pharmaceutical companies, insurance companies, and medical personnel haven’t already charged us for, these people finish off.

We pay insurance companies in case we get sick, doctors to tell us if we are sick, technicians to prove we are sick, nurses and aides to take care of us while they decide these things and when it is decided, whether they are right or wrong, we pay hospitals for providing less than our local cruise lines and hotels do at three times the cost.

And we think this is normal?

Only in America.

Really Good Friends

I realized something rather shocking today.

It came about because someone I know is ready to jump back in and actively search for a new partner.  They don’t want to be alone anymore.

I don’t think anyone really wants to be alone.  But honestly I almost never feel alone.  Sure, there are moments when I feel lonely, but I think everyone has those, even people in relationships.  Sometimes, especially people in some relationships.

I realize I wouldn’t mind being with someone again, but for the first time in my life there are significant parts of me that I am not willing to give up in order to do that. 

I am at that place where being lonely for an hour or two is barely worth mentioning due to the richness in the rest of my life most of the rest of the time.  I cannot remember a time when I had so many things going for me that made me happy.

For me to mingle my life with someone else’s on a permanent basis would mean that the other person was in a similar place and we both just wanted to share some of this fullness with one another without either one of us morphing into the other one.

And I would have to feel free to be exactly who I am with this other person, no apologies, no trying to measure up, no trying to impress.  I have to be enough just as I am right now and all that I am right now.  They need to have the same freedom.

I’m no longer willing to just settle for a life partner.  When that feeling is there, something is missing and then it’s better to just be really good friends. 

What Then

One year.

One perfect year when I did everything I ever dreamed of that I hadn’t done before.

One year so magical it felt real.

But was it? Maybe it was only borrowed time, like the stories, like Faust, like all the Sci-Fi stuff where someone sells their soul to the devil.

I wonder, what’s the devil look like?  Would I even know him if he shook my hand? 

Is he simply all those things we sell out to, the company store, the ennui, the greed, the anger, the passive acceptance of all that is bad?

When the magic stops, what then?

Is it gonna be like Dorian Gray, or just a slow slide into the grayness of what is?

"Much Ado About Nothing"

Why do I play the piano?

Most of all I like to listen to the music.

I also like the way my hands look when I play.  Yes, I look at my own hands sometimes.  (When I know the music!)

I have incredible performance anxiety, so playing for other people often causes me to make many mistakes I would not otherwise make.

Now I have the ability to play silently.  Headphones and a keyboard would seem to be the answer to my prayers, but I have discovered that is not as much fun!

Evidently I do want to be heard. 

The secret seems to be to play my own songs.

Now the mistakes are all in my head. 

So maybe there even aren’t any mistakes!

Growing Pains

Lately I am amazed at the way the way the world works. 

What appear to be major disappointments really do turn out to be simple diversions in life’s journeys; forcing not just different results, but better ones.

Seeing is believing, or so I’ve heard and I have to admit it is much easier to believe that the words, “this, or something better will come my way” when I see proof of it occurring time after time.

Growing pains, I remember my mother talking about them.  Mostly when referring to actual physical pain, but then isn’t all pain physical?

It hurts to change a lifestyle.  Whether that change is in how I spend my time, or how I eat, or even who I do these things with, it is uncomfortable to make changes and really believe that things will not only be different, but they will also be better.

The transitions might not feel better.  In fact the transitions can sometimes kill you, but if I stick with it, I have found that once I’m over the hump my perspective changes.  Things become clearer.

What seemed okay before really wasn’t.  It was just hidden inside my fear of change.  Once the new way begins to take shape and I can see even the tiniest bit of hope my courage grows.

And once I begin to walk steadfastly, imagining the best and expecting success, it’s amazing how often that manifests itself in actuality.

Or as my ex used to say and sometimes it pains me to admit he might be right, “It’s a dull man who only knows one way to do something.”

Love Personified

I remember when I was small and sick and just having my mother there made things so much better.  Nothing was quite as scary if she was there. 

That pretty much ended when I went away to college.  I’m grown up now and know that I can pretty much handle things on my own most of the time.

The other day when I had to have tests done at the hospital and it seemed like they had forgotten I was even there; I looked up and saw a familiar form in the distance.  For a minute I thought I was imagining things.

A feeling of warmth and love like I haven’t felt in years washed over me and I was almost afraid to breathe, or look away because I thought it would disappear.

Honestly, it was like one of those movies where the sound track just builds as the person draws closer and closer.

It was my long time friend of nearly forty years, a person who has managed to stay in touch with me over many miles and through all sorts of transitions on both our parts.  She was there to visit her father, but it was a gift to me that I desperately needed at the time.

She has a knack for being in the right place at the right time.  She has taught me more about mothering and loving than anyone I know.

In that moment, nothing in the universe could have given me more comfort.

 

Play Me

I am an instrument of my time. 

Each key tuned to a memory, a day, a year.

Press the right key and certain sets of feelings begin playing. 

Vibrations reach out tweaking my thoughts, my heart, my laughter, even my tears.

How do you press these keys?

Music can do it.

Stories can do it.

But most of all it is people who do it.

The tone of your voice, the look in your eyes, the way you walk, the way your mouth lifts up or twists down. 

What kind of music do you want to play on me?  What kind of feelings do you want to invoke?  What kind of musician are you?

It matters what you do.

The Party

According to my online dictionary a party is: 

1.  social gathering for fun: a social gathering to which people are invited in order to enjoy themselves and often celebrate something 

Encarta ® World English Dictionary © & (P) 1998-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

Last week, I along with several other people was invited to such an occasion.

Our host was out shopping for the food when we arrived tonight.

The food was great and there were two cakes along with ice cream and candles and families who had not all been together like this for many years.

It was a wonderful evening.  I think every one had a great time.  We all sat around visiting, laughing and talking –

Except for the host who went to the show!

Bestest

I am not a creature of habit.  In fact, I have very few habits that are not disposable depending upon the whim of the moment.

That makes the ones I do have extraordinarily important to me.

Giving up one of these, no matter how inconsequential it may seem to you, is like denying a starving man food.

At first I experience a vague unease that grows into a sense of foreboding and curmudgeonly behavior.  In other words, I am not a happy camper.

Everything feels like it is taking too long, not working out right and is just generally frustrating and annoying.

I usually don’t even realize what is causing this stuff until my habit returns and I am able to pour my heart out and relax.

Of course then I do know what caused it and while I know I should feel apologetic and embarrassed, I am just too relieved to really care.

It’s kind of like the child who screams until her pacifier is returned, or the teddy bear is back on the bed, or bestest is back from vacation!

Possessed

I am possessed! 

I am totally convinced that Al Capp’s, Joe Btfsplk has taken over my body and life!

There surely is no other way I could possibly explain today which began when I was awakened unable to breathe only to discover my air conditioner was also not properly working.  All the rigmarole to get that fixed is not yet over, but it turned out to be the least of my worries.

 My doctor insisted I come in, which meant canceling the six hours I had scheduled at a volunteer job this afternoon.  While taking my “Pin the tail on the airplane” game over to friends who would run it in my place, I discovered my poster had warped in the heat!

I arrived at the clinic early and discovered I had a totally flat tire.  I tried to call my daughter, but she didn’t get the message until my doctor walked into the room so I didn’t get to speak with her until I left.

She and my son-in-law-to-be came over to change my flat and there were problems.  Finally, when he was gritty and dirty and bleeding and the car had nearly fallen on him, we called a tire service.  It turns out they had the number, because that is who THEY call when they have a flat tire .

The tow truck came out, but the man didn’t properly insert the bolt in his car jack and it suddenly split apart, flying up and gashing his face right next to his eye!  Bleeding profusely, he left for the emergency room and soon another tow truck, this time accompanied by a man in a large pick up, came.  They did succeed in changing the tire and I left to buy a new one.

Only the door wasn’t working and the cash register was acting up when I got there.

I finally got home six hours later, having never volunteered at all and having spent a fortune on tire stuff that I hadn’t planned on and with new medicine that I haven’t had the energy to read and figure out how to use quite yet. 

Tomorrow is a new day.

The Legacy

Imagine driving down a street, all alone, thinking only of the plans for something you are working on.

The phone rings and you answer it.  An angry voice demands something while at the same time implying that whatever is wrong is your fault.

You let that go and do your best to help solve this person’s problem and then excitedly start to share what you’ve been doing thinking a positive conversation will do away with the pall this call has cast on an otherwise perfect day.

But the person on the other end of the phone, while pretending to be interested in what you say, manages to turn this around too and make another mean spirited comment.

I have spent thirty years getting away from this sort of situation, but how quickly it can rear its ugly head up and envelope me again.  I know I don’t have to give it that much power over me, but it is like smog.  No matter how much I try to blow it away, it lies darkly over what might have been just another beautiful day.

Ghosts slip in and out of places, making their presence known by the cold hole they leave behind them.  The legacy of a being does not need to walk down the halls of haunted houses or wail over graveyard fences.  It simply speaks through the mouths of its offspring. 

Beliefs

I look at you and see a human being who lives, loves, takes up space and has power.

It doesn’t matter to me what you call any of this, or how you examine it. 

I don’t care if you are grateful for having it, or simply glad to be manifesting it.

It doesn’t even matter to me if you believe any of this.

I only care that you are.

Give It Time

We people are not as different from everything else as we like to think.

Bring two plants home from a nursery and pot them in the same flower box and I never know what will happen.

If they are just seedlings I might not even be sure what kind of plants they are.  One could be a marigold and the other an onion!  Or one could be a newborn oak and the other baby’s breath.  In the end they may not be compatible at all.

Knowing what they are makes it much easier to plant similar ones in places where they have a chance of succeeding together.

Still, it takes time.  In the beginning they both have a root system that feeds them and anchors them in this new world I have provided, but one may overshadow the other, or the sunlight that falls on them may cause one to lean away.  Sometimes one even attracts bugs that are harmful to the other.  They still may not be compatible at all.

Eventually, if all goes well they will thrive and when I go to re-pot them, I sometimes discover that they have sent tiny feelers out, little roots that have intertwined and grown together so that separating them would be almost impossible.

Things happen in their own time.

At Last!

Sometimes I wax ecstatic and then, when I go back to read it, I wonder what I was thinking!

I remember the Wonder Woman.  I worked with her one year.  She was so full of wonder, I often wondered if she was on something!

And then she fell out of wonder and into such a deep depression that she moved away.  It seems extremes tend to go hand in hand like that.

I do feel extraordinarily joyful sometimes, actually more often now as the years go by.

Most of the time, though, I am just content and that is a pretty good thing to be.

Believe it or not, contentment seems to be a learned state, more than an acquired one.  It is a personal thing.  I don’t think you can really teach it to anyone.  It comes from setting boundaries and being honest with myself. 

However I got here, it is a great place to be at last.

Cable, Infomercial, Commercial, The Descending Pyramid

A still picture is worth a thousand words, or maybe three thousand, or even more!

Sometimes I see a picture in my mind, or better yet, one on my screen, and it floods me with ideas.

The truth of it is one story.  The other truths of it may be ten others.  Then come the little tendrils that reach out and link with my imagination!

But put that moving picture in a box with a bunch of other moving pictures and after a while it stifles my imagination.

I have no tv except for the movies I choose to watch on it with my dvd player or Roku box.  The difference that makes, is pretty amazing, considering the fact that I never was one for just leaving the set running.

Just knowing that Jeopardy was on at 4:30, or that one of the few dramas I enjoyed came on at a certain time, placed restrictions on my life.  I found myself trying to be sure I was available to watch them.

At first I really missed my favorite shows and I even missed those rare times when I wanted to kick back and stare mindlessly at the boob tube.  Now I find that instead of missing it, I expect what I watch to be something uninterrupted by commercials and something that is particularly interesting to me.

I had become so addicted to the tv that when cable charged me for just having it, I paid.  Then I realized that a huge percentage of the shows I paid for were there to sell me something!  And finally I understood that even if a show was not an infomercial, almost half of it was taken up by commercials!  With cable television I paid and paid and paid and honestly only got a couple hours of real decent viewing pleasure a week.

I’ll admit that is because I don’t care for reality shows where people pretend to be living real lives in front of the camera while they act as bizarrely as possible to keep people watching.  I also don’t care for fake sports shows, or variety shows where the audience votes on who might be good enough to hear or see again.  I don’t need to be watching food shows where people cook and I would be better off dancing myself than watching them dance.  So I was never a prime candidate for today’s television.

I do love movies and I do love concerts, but I love them more when the commercials are not so many and so long that I forget what I’m watching and move on during them, forgetting the other show was even on until later when I remember I didn’t see the end.

So now, even a still picture that I enjoy, floods my imagination with thoughts.  I’ll admit when I am somewhere there is a cable television I can get caught up with mindless watching way too easily, but for now that temptation is out of my immediate world.

My Children

 
It does no good to cry, or feel bad.  No one benefits from that and yet how can I help it?

I opened my Internet today to read that a Somali woman lost four of her five children in less than 24 hours and only has one daughter left.

She did not lose them to an accident, or a disease.  She did not lose them to bullets, or ax murderers.

She watched them starve to death slowly right before her eyes and then she and her husband buried them as they struggled to reach a place where they might get help.  They took them to a closer place, but they could not afford the treatment there.

I think of my own children when they were tiny.  I think of my grandchildren, of whom two are five and one and I think how unbearable this is.  How does one stay sane watching your children die this way?

Our country is headed this way.  Some day we too will be able to turn dying children away because they lack the price of medicine and food.  Some are already in this position, but there is no reason for it to exist anywhere in the world.

For one child to die from starvation is a mark against all mankind.  We are such a primitive species.

It is natural to protect my own children first, but it is civilized to understand that all children belong to me.

Right Down The Line

I sat in a hospital waiting room today, watching the volunteer who ran it.

If even ten percent of the people I dealt with on a daily basis were half as competent and warm and energetic as he was, the world would be a much better place.

Somewhere along the line we have miscalculated how to pick people to do different jobs.  It is possible to be educated, experienced, and even well paid and not be a real asset.  We have tried to legislate fairness and failed abysmally.  We seem to think that being paid a lot of money means we are good at what we do.

All of these things make sense, but they don't seem to really work.  More people than I care to even remember have left me with a bad taste in my mouth after dealing with them.  Blood technicians without a natural aptitude for drawing blood.  Administrators who have no concept of what the people under them do.  Sales people who couldn't give away prize merchandise with the attitude they take to work with them.

Something is wrong.  Most of the best people I see working are volunteers.  That means these people who work for nothing except the satisfaction of the job are worth more, in my humble opinion, than most people who work for salaries and benefits.

It seems the one thing that is missing across the board is respect.

From the top right on down, or perhaps from the bottom right on up, our nation seems to have lost track of the fact that we are all in this together and every single job is dependent upon other jobs in order to be truly successful.  Without people to maintain the buildings and grounds and people to provide power and people to feed all these people and people to organize it all, everything starts to fall apart.  Take any one of these out of the mix and there is a problem. 

If everyone really understood how important each link was in this chain I can't imagine how they could justify half of what goes on at any level.

If we could shift the emphasis to quality -- quality treatment of all employees, quality care for all people, quality products from all sources, there might be less frustration and more satisfaction all around.

I think most people rise to the occasion when they feel what they do really matters.

The Good Life

I come from a family that believes as long as you are working, you can do no wrong.

I disagree.

Work can be a cover up, an excuse, even a weapon.

An occasional day of overtime is to be expected, but when the world is built around overtimes there is a lack of balance that will eventually destroy any good that comes from whatever it is you hope to gain from the work.

Moderation is the key to living a balanced and quality life.  It's worth whatever effort it takes to find that moderation, if not for yourself, then for your family and loved ones.

Do those things that are most important to you.  Let others do those things important to them.  None of us have to be perfect, but we do have to live and it might as well be a good experience.

I have yet to hear anyone say, "I want to be just like John Doe.  I want to work myself to death."  In fact, most of us admire those who we consider are living the good life, so why not create our own!

Social Security?

There is nothing secure about social security, least of all the funding for it, but there is nothing very social about it either.

I tried to apply online like they suggest, in fact what they almost demand, only to discover they didn't think I existed.  I was told to call my local agency, which turned out not to be listed.  So, I called the national line to request help.

The recording told me to go to my local office because they did not have a phone number listed.

I went.  I checked in.  I waited under the scrutiny of a steely eyed young security agent who took his job very seriously and never once quit scowling at me.  I must be the most dangerous looking grandma he's ever had to guard!  While I waited I watched a woman with an oxygen tank and tubes running up her nose stand patiently at the window talking with the clerk.  The woman looked like she might pass out at any moment, but evidently no one is allowed to sit down there.  She was still standing there, pale and wan when I finished my business at the other window and left.

Before I left I discovered that someone, unbeknownst to me, had tried to change my name back to my maiden name after my divorce, but the man at the window told me he would take care of that.  He also made an appointment for me to come back and file for my retirement.

I returned home and received a letter verifying my appointment and telling me to apply online before I came in and to report fifteen minutes early the day of my appointment.  It also said I needed to bring only a picture ID.

I tried to apply on line but it refused to let me.  It said it was too early even though the calculations proved otherwise.  I received another letter encouraging me to apply on line and reminding me that I had to be there fifteen minutes early with my picture ID. 

This morning I got up early and tried to apply online.  It did let me in for the first time!  Unfortunately it also took so long that I had to leave before I completed the entire thing in order to be at the office fifteen minutes early, but the form said not to worry, what I had finished would help to cut down on the time it took in the office.

I drove to the local social security office and stood in line in the hot sun with all the other people who were told to arrive fifteen minutes early.  They did not open the office until the time for my appointment. 

The same steely eyed security guard was there to be sure I didn't violate any rules.  I carefully pushed the right button on the computer, added the last four of my social security number and got my receipt .  As I went to sit down, he called out, "Turn off your cell phone!"  I don't know why he reserved this for me, but mine was already turned off.

I have to say the man who came to get me for my appointment was the same one who had made it weeks before.  He couldn't use anything I had typed online.  My maiden name was back on the records in spite of the fact that I hadn't used it for forty two years!  We still don't know who tried to change it back after my divorce!

We filled out all the forms and it turned out I needed more than a picture ID.  I needed a certified copy of my divorce decree, which I could have had sent from my files in NC had I known they needed it, but I went downtown and got one that I took back on my way home.

Now I am supposed to wait and I will receive a letter saying my benefits will start in January and then in 120 days I will receive another letter saying my share of my husband's will start in January.  The man tells me not to worry, there won't be any problems.

Why do I have a hard time believing this?

It was a six legged, pink polka dotted, scaly creature

We are a fickle species.  Some of the most unthinkable things set us apart from other species and perhaps the keyword here is the base word, think.

Believing that the way something looks is such an integral part of what it is, must surely come from some biological basis.

I suppose that the need to reproduce our own species started out by looking for healthy individuals and if that was only based on looks, it meant balanced features, clear skin, bright eyes, perhaps cleanliness.  And taking this a step farther, is the desire to be with someone familiar to me, so therefore, I prefer another human being who looks as much like me and what I am familiar with as it is possible to be.

After that, other things begin to loom into the picture: fear of the unknown, fear of the outsider, and even a need to prove I am better than you, therefore I am more deserving than you are.

All of these things require some form of thinking, some kind of judgment and there is no law that says all thinking, or all judging is going to rational, reasonable and logical.  In fact, my experience is just the opposite.  Most judgmental decisions seem to be made on the fly and come straight from the emotions.

A strange take on, I think you are this therefore you are it.

The sad and terrible truth is that this kind of system is self-perpetuating.  Very young children are almost perfect mimics.  They learn to see and do and even eventually feel what the people around them do.

Knowing this, world peace, perhaps even the eventual existence of a world as we know it, depends on us learning to make better calls.

A six-legged pink polka dotted gap toothed scaly creature with feathers on its head who is open minded and desiring of truly connecting with another for the good of all, is better company than the best dressed, bipedal human being interested in only making money or being at the top of his game.

The game is about the quality of life, not surface details and when one of us loses, we all lose something.