So, I missed the premiere of "True Blood" last night, but was able to watch it this morning. And I know that the opening to the episode was supposed to hit you in the face and be a metaphor, but in spite of how annoying the obviousness of the metaphor is, it's a powerful one.
When we left Sookie at the end of season three, once again, her whole world seemed to be crumbling around her and she had this overwhelming sense that she was alone and had been completely betrayed by everyone she trusted. When we find her at the beginning of this season, she has been spirited away to a parallel universe with fairies and what appears to be complete bliss. She's surrounded by beautiful fairies that are the very essence of light, and they are serving all of their human "guests" a fruit that is the essence of happiness. The fruit erases all of the pain, all of the struggle--all of the humanity of life and even time.
She stumbles upon her grandfather who had gone missing twenty years earlier and he is unchanged and unaware that any time has passed. Sookie, who was, of course, too sharp to jump on the fruit-eating bandwagon, starts to suspect that something fishy is going on in this alternative world. The longer she is there without eating the fruit, the more the world around her starts to reveal itself as something else.
It turns out that the world isn't really beautiful, the fairies are somewhat hideous, and the only thing holding the illusion together is the intoxication of the fruit. The "guests" are captives and they can't return to the real world if they have eaten the fruit.
The idea of being invited to a world of "milk and honey" only to discover it is nothing more than a trick and a sham isn't new. That's why the metaphor is so obvious and it nearly hits you over the head like a mallet. At the same time, it seems like we all slip into this trap in our lives and often find it difficult to get out. There's a reason why there's a phrase "if something seems too good to be true, it probably is." It's because if something seems too good to be true, it almost always is.
So what happens?
Of course, there's one rebel in the fairy group who decides to do the right thing, and he shows Sookie and her grandfather how to leave. The problem? Sookie's grandfather had been eating the fruit. As they stand, literally, upon a precipice between the fairy world and the human world, Sookie has to make a choice. The other fairies have lied to her and seduced her into the fairy world--why should she trust this rogue fairy? She could be jumping to an uncertain fate.
She does what most of us won't do, of course, she takes the leap.
The idea of Sookie Stackhouse leaping into the crumbling precipice, not knowing what she was jumping into, is almost a cliche in and of itself. "Taking the leap" is the equivalent of finding the "Holy Grail." Flip through channels all day long and you'll find a hundred television shows all about taking chances and walking away from things we know are harming us in one way or another.
Why are there so many of these shows, and why is this such a popular theme? It's easy. It's because so many of us aren't able to take that leap and the only way we can is vicariously through characters like Sookie Stackhouse.
So, Sookie and her grandfather jump off the cliff and land near the cemetery where the Stackhouse family has buried its dead for generations. It looks pretty good. They made it, right? Well, Sookie did. Her grandfather, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. After wasting twenty years eating the false-happiness--the false comfort and stability that was being offered to him, there was nothing left.
It's another metaphor, of course. Sometimes the devil we know is easier to face than the devil we haven't met, but in the end, if we waste our time in false comfort, we will reach a point where nothing more can be made of our lives.
Is comfort and stability worth losing everything?
http://youtu.be/xJh47LybCkU
Monday, June 27, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
June 20, 2011--How do we decide what to save, and how do the things we save define us?
So, I'm not a good housekeeper. True, I'm also not what you would call a "housewife." I work outside of the home full time, and aside from my days off, I keep hours that aren't that conducive to cleaning and maintaining a household. I want to believe that if I didn't work full time I might do a better job, but if I'm honest with myself, I know that the improvement could be marginal. Clearly, I still have my job, so, for now, we don't have to test the theory.
Occasionally, I do get the urge to go through all the "stuff" that accumulates. I am a classic pack rat. I can't think of too many things I don't save. When I was in therapy and talked about this issue, I justified it by saying that I didn't know if I might need or want it sometime and I hated to let it go. I am not a hoarder, but I think I understand a thing or two about people who are.
I was going through the piles in the coffee table (I probably do this every three to four months) and rummaging through all of the magazines. Magazines and catalogs took up perhaps 90% of the space under the table. I have always loved magazines and catalogs, but I think my education in graphic arts took that love to a completely insane level. I love paper, fonts, photography and design. In light of that, what's not to love about magazines and catalogs? Until this morning, I was beginning to feel better about my piles. In the last year or two, I have whittled down the number of magazines I must receive via subscription to three. At one time, I know I used to subscribe to about six. I know--it's only a reduction of half, but that's at least thirty-six fewer magazines each year. We can't talk about the number I pick up at the newsstand--I just can't go there with you.
In the process of sorting through all of the stuff, I ran across the airmail envelope that my copy of A Silent Film's "The Projectionist" came in. I almost put it in the recycling pile, but I flipped it over and handwritten on the envelope is the address it was shipped from--Robert Stevenson's address--he's the lead singer. I'm sure it's the address of a post box, but that's not the point. As a tiny band, just starting out, it occurred to me that there is a very real and likely possibility that the handwritten address is in his own hand. How could I part with that?
Among the items are the four-hundred or so page manuscript of my first unpublished book and the stack of books about how to get a literary agent and get published alongside. My manuscript, in a three-ringed binder, sits on top of a box Jeph lovingly labeled "Stuff Sammi Wrote." That box contains copies of our college newspaper, "The Outlook." I brought it up from the basement last fall when I wanted to share a column I had written about earthworms crossing the sidewalks in torrential rains.
Mixed in among various pieces of paper--magazine pages I saved when I was sorting things the last time (and I had determined not to save the whole magazine), old contact lists of coworkers and classmates, and coupons that expired months ago--I found a poem typed on onion skin paper. My mom always loved onion skin paper to write on, and at one point in time, I found the substrate equally romantic. I couldn't tell you what year I wrote the following poem:
I had a dream...
While deep in my childish slumber,
I happened on a world of wonder.
A land of giving, sharing and
above all, caring.
In this beautiful world there was a
total commitment of peace and good.
And those who lived there lived as people should.
No hunger, no pain, just a land of plenty.
There were no feelings of fear and despair,
because we knew how to care.
In this place all who dwelled were given a voice
and even the tiniest was heard.
Children were able to express themselves
and their words were heard.
There were no rich, no poor, just people in this land,
who willingly could stand hand in hand.
Talk of wars and death could not be heard,
never a word.
As I awoke, in me a small voice spoke,
"Let this dream begin with me
and let's make our world what it should be."
Truly, a gem, right? I'm guessing it was circa 1988, prior to my typing class in high school, because it was riddled with typos and other errors that I have chosen to correct here.
I think about all of the precious things I own, and I know that I wouldn't be able to save all of them if something happened and I had to get out fast. When I think about that, it makes me sad. Of course, the only things that I must take with me are myself and my family--and I know that.
It reminds me of a scene out of the movie "Leap Year." Amy Adams' character turns the sprinklers on in the fabulous apartment she shares with her fiance, and reality sinks in as he runs to save "anything of value," but he never reaches for her.
Jeph and I are planning a massive road trip to Salem, Massachusetts this fall. I am so excited. I visited Salem last year to research an unfinished book that I wish I would write. On the way there, I took a side trip to Baltimore, Maryland and visited Edgar Allan Poe's home and several other related sites. The number of items that exist belonging to him is very small. The house is meager and functions on about $80,000 a year. Those operational funds are in jeopardy due to Baltimore's financial crisis.
As we make our way to Salem this time around, we plan to stop in Cleveland, Ohio and visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Coming back, I have an opportunity to visit one of two Edgar Allan Poe sites--but realistically, only one. The Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site is a house in Philadelphia that Poe lived in for a short time. When you take the virtual tour, it's not hard to see that the house has very few "things" in it. On the other hand, it is reported that Poe may have begun writing "The Raven" at this house, and he certainly did write several other works there. The Edgar Allan Poe Museum of Richmond is in a building Poe never visited, but it has numerous artifacts that belonged to Poe's family and a handful of items that belonged to him personally, including his walking stick and a vest that he wore. The site in Richmond also houses a collection of first editions and manuscripts that I long to drool over.
How do I choose between these two places? I keep thinking about the tiny home, in the horrible neighborhood in Baltimore. I keep thinking about how meaningful it was to be in the space of Poe. The only item in the house that I remember belonging specifically to him was a chair in the first room of the house--I'm sure it's not the only piece, but it's the one that really sticks with me. I was fortunate enough that the lady manning the facility that day broke with policy and took a photo of me standing beside it, just in front of a bust of Poe that sits on the mantle piece in the room. In spite of the fact that there were few items that related directly to him in the house, my heart knew he had been there as much as my mind did.
I am grateful to the people who sold or donated items belonging to Poe, and or his family, to the museum in Richmond. I want to see those things someday. I really do. I know that he grew up in Richmond and spent a lot of time in the city, but when I think of the way his foster father John Allan treated him throughout his adolescence and adulthood, I think just like the building, the city was never truly a "home" to Poe. Several of the items of greatest interest were salvaged by folks who knew they would be worth something someday. That makes me sad to think about. It puts an exclamation point on the idea that so many people thought he was worthless while he was alive.
So, as I rummage through all of my stuff and I ask myself what to save, I think of Edgar Allan Poe. I think about the fact that so few physical items that belonged to him are still in existence. He was a man who owned very few "things." And yet, he exists as sure as those handful of items exist. You can't see him or touch him, but in places like the house in Baltimore, he is there.
It makes me wonder how we as a society decide what is worthy of saving, and what we can afford to lose. The Edgar Allan Poe House in Baltimore is a tiny building, in a horrible neighborhood, with a handful of people keeping it alive for people like me to visit it like Mecca. The hour or so that I spent there means so much to me that it breaks my heart to think that others who love Poe may never get to have that experience for lack of $80,000 a year.
That house is proof to me that we don't have to have anything in our possession to leave something of ourselves behind. We are in the pores of the bricks, the grain of the wood, the fiber of the curtains, and the space we inhabit.
http://youtu.be/o3lBF2h-Pl0
Occasionally, I do get the urge to go through all the "stuff" that accumulates. I am a classic pack rat. I can't think of too many things I don't save. When I was in therapy and talked about this issue, I justified it by saying that I didn't know if I might need or want it sometime and I hated to let it go. I am not a hoarder, but I think I understand a thing or two about people who are.
I was going through the piles in the coffee table (I probably do this every three to four months) and rummaging through all of the magazines. Magazines and catalogs took up perhaps 90% of the space under the table. I have always loved magazines and catalogs, but I think my education in graphic arts took that love to a completely insane level. I love paper, fonts, photography and design. In light of that, what's not to love about magazines and catalogs? Until this morning, I was beginning to feel better about my piles. In the last year or two, I have whittled down the number of magazines I must receive via subscription to three. At one time, I know I used to subscribe to about six. I know--it's only a reduction of half, but that's at least thirty-six fewer magazines each year. We can't talk about the number I pick up at the newsstand--I just can't go there with you.
In the process of sorting through all of the stuff, I ran across the airmail envelope that my copy of A Silent Film's "The Projectionist" came in. I almost put it in the recycling pile, but I flipped it over and handwritten on the envelope is the address it was shipped from--Robert Stevenson's address--he's the lead singer. I'm sure it's the address of a post box, but that's not the point. As a tiny band, just starting out, it occurred to me that there is a very real and likely possibility that the handwritten address is in his own hand. How could I part with that?
Among the items are the four-hundred or so page manuscript of my first unpublished book and the stack of books about how to get a literary agent and get published alongside. My manuscript, in a three-ringed binder, sits on top of a box Jeph lovingly labeled "Stuff Sammi Wrote." That box contains copies of our college newspaper, "The Outlook." I brought it up from the basement last fall when I wanted to share a column I had written about earthworms crossing the sidewalks in torrential rains.
Mixed in among various pieces of paper--magazine pages I saved when I was sorting things the last time (and I had determined not to save the whole magazine), old contact lists of coworkers and classmates, and coupons that expired months ago--I found a poem typed on onion skin paper. My mom always loved onion skin paper to write on, and at one point in time, I found the substrate equally romantic. I couldn't tell you what year I wrote the following poem:
I had a dream...
While deep in my childish slumber,
I happened on a world of wonder.
A land of giving, sharing and
above all, caring.
In this beautiful world there was a
total commitment of peace and good.
And those who lived there lived as people should.
No hunger, no pain, just a land of plenty.
There were no feelings of fear and despair,
because we knew how to care.
In this place all who dwelled were given a voice
and even the tiniest was heard.
Children were able to express themselves
and their words were heard.
There were no rich, no poor, just people in this land,
who willingly could stand hand in hand.
Talk of wars and death could not be heard,
never a word.
As I awoke, in me a small voice spoke,
"Let this dream begin with me
and let's make our world what it should be."
Truly, a gem, right? I'm guessing it was circa 1988, prior to my typing class in high school, because it was riddled with typos and other errors that I have chosen to correct here.
I think about all of the precious things I own, and I know that I wouldn't be able to save all of them if something happened and I had to get out fast. When I think about that, it makes me sad. Of course, the only things that I must take with me are myself and my family--and I know that.
It reminds me of a scene out of the movie "Leap Year." Amy Adams' character turns the sprinklers on in the fabulous apartment she shares with her fiance, and reality sinks in as he runs to save "anything of value," but he never reaches for her.
Jeph and I are planning a massive road trip to Salem, Massachusetts this fall. I am so excited. I visited Salem last year to research an unfinished book that I wish I would write. On the way there, I took a side trip to Baltimore, Maryland and visited Edgar Allan Poe's home and several other related sites. The number of items that exist belonging to him is very small. The house is meager and functions on about $80,000 a year. Those operational funds are in jeopardy due to Baltimore's financial crisis.
As we make our way to Salem this time around, we plan to stop in Cleveland, Ohio and visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Coming back, I have an opportunity to visit one of two Edgar Allan Poe sites--but realistically, only one. The Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site is a house in Philadelphia that Poe lived in for a short time. When you take the virtual tour, it's not hard to see that the house has very few "things" in it. On the other hand, it is reported that Poe may have begun writing "The Raven" at this house, and he certainly did write several other works there. The Edgar Allan Poe Museum of Richmond is in a building Poe never visited, but it has numerous artifacts that belonged to Poe's family and a handful of items that belonged to him personally, including his walking stick and a vest that he wore. The site in Richmond also houses a collection of first editions and manuscripts that I long to drool over.
How do I choose between these two places? I keep thinking about the tiny home, in the horrible neighborhood in Baltimore. I keep thinking about how meaningful it was to be in the space of Poe. The only item in the house that I remember belonging specifically to him was a chair in the first room of the house--I'm sure it's not the only piece, but it's the one that really sticks with me. I was fortunate enough that the lady manning the facility that day broke with policy and took a photo of me standing beside it, just in front of a bust of Poe that sits on the mantle piece in the room. In spite of the fact that there were few items that related directly to him in the house, my heart knew he had been there as much as my mind did.
I am grateful to the people who sold or donated items belonging to Poe, and or his family, to the museum in Richmond. I want to see those things someday. I really do. I know that he grew up in Richmond and spent a lot of time in the city, but when I think of the way his foster father John Allan treated him throughout his adolescence and adulthood, I think just like the building, the city was never truly a "home" to Poe. Several of the items of greatest interest were salvaged by folks who knew they would be worth something someday. That makes me sad to think about. It puts an exclamation point on the idea that so many people thought he was worthless while he was alive.
So, as I rummage through all of my stuff and I ask myself what to save, I think of Edgar Allan Poe. I think about the fact that so few physical items that belonged to him are still in existence. He was a man who owned very few "things." And yet, he exists as sure as those handful of items exist. You can't see him or touch him, but in places like the house in Baltimore, he is there.
It makes me wonder how we as a society decide what is worthy of saving, and what we can afford to lose. The Edgar Allan Poe House in Baltimore is a tiny building, in a horrible neighborhood, with a handful of people keeping it alive for people like me to visit it like Mecca. The hour or so that I spent there means so much to me that it breaks my heart to think that others who love Poe may never get to have that experience for lack of $80,000 a year.
That house is proof to me that we don't have to have anything in our possession to leave something of ourselves behind. We are in the pores of the bricks, the grain of the wood, the fiber of the curtains, and the space we inhabit.
http://youtu.be/o3lBF2h-Pl0
Saturday, June 18, 2011
June 18, 2011--"If everyone is thinking alike, someone's not thinking."
So, I was catching up on DVRd television for the week and because Maroon 5 and Adam Levine are guilty pleasures of mine, I was watching this week's episode of "The Voice."
For those of you who haven't been sucked in, the premise is four stars choose singers for their individual teams. Those singers compete within their own team and eventually the teams compete against each other, and there is one ultimate winner at the end.
This week, Cee Lo Green was giving his team a pep talk and he paraphrased a quote by George Patton: "If we're all thinking the same way, someone's not thinking."
I had never heard the quote, and the simplicity of it took me aback.
Without conflicting thoughts and ideas, how would anything ever change? Conversely, if all you have are conflicting thoughts and ideas, you still can't change anything.
So what's the solution? I'm going to vote for thinking every time, even though it could cause a problem.
For a very long time, the fact that the Earth and other planets revolve around the sun was up for debate--that didn't make the reality any less true or pliable. Sometimes, you have to stick your neck out for what's right--literally, even if it conflicts with what everyone else is saying. Thinking differently doesn't make you wrong.
There is no scientific innovation, advancement of civilization, or even improvement to a recipe that can occur without a difference in opinion or a shift in thinking. Can you imagine where we would be if everyone thought alike? A frightening possibility. We'd still be using blood-letting to correct any number of medical ills and exorcising the demonic vapors to cure small pox. We'd all still be eating Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Dinner out of the blue box, instead of the home-style version in the blue bag that is heavenly.
Why does this matter to me? Why should it matter to anyone?
One of the other "coaches" on "The Voice" did something this week that, to me, was completely unexpected. Blake Shelton, a country music star, chose to eliminate a solid rocker that brought the house down and a clear country hottie women swooned over in favor of keeping a sixteen-year-old girl with a truly unique "voice." When he was asked why he made the choice, the answer he gave absolutely floored me. To paraphrase, he said he had understood that America had saved the other singer, also a young woman, because of her unique sound and that he chose the sixteen-year-old because it occurred to him that with these two women, he had a greater opportunity to "affect change" in music. What an idea!
I don't want to make this post about music, because that's not the point I'm driving at. Ghandi is famous for saying that we should be the change we want to see in the world. Change and difference are the enemies of homogenization and the friends of development, innovation and advancement.
When I listen to the radio, when I see how many large companies struggle, and I flip through the channels on television, I think we are trapped in a pattern of gross homogenization.
It's hard to tell who truly has talent anymore, because so much contemporary music is layered with effects and autotone--what's the real voice in all of that? Our auto industry nearly collapsed in America because the focus was on what was making money and not what was around the corner. With gasoline prices over three dollars a gallon, the Escalade in the driveway didn't seem like such a great idea compared to the Prius. I wonder if there were any people timidly raising their hands in meetings offering up ideas that supported the big picture of these companies, but not the egos and bank accounts of their leaders. We will probably never know, but clearly being shaken to its core made our auto industry take more than stock. There are so many reality shows about housewives, pregnant teens, angry party scenes and voyeuristic train wrecks, it's hard to tell the difference between all of them. With one show called "Teen Mom," and another one called "Sixteen and Pregnant," wouldn't you think we're all full up with shows about this topic?
Just because something is on a different channel, doesn't make it different. It's all the same useless noise. And I know it might seem like a stretch, but maybe if we all really looked at the global economy and saw what things are actually working, we would be surprised to see that the things that are working are the things that people are thinking differently about. If we approach our world, the economy, and each other the same way we always have and the results we are getting suck, maybe it's time to try something or think something different. Maybe it's time for those of us who don't want to think to listen to people who do.
Albert Einstein is credited with saying that "insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." The quote is a cliche now, but it's no less true.
If we aren't willing to take the risk of thinking differently than everyone else when everyone else is wrong, we might as well learn to accept our own fate--because we have left our fate to others. And if you're too scared to think, and they're to scared to think, you can bet, nobody else is thinking about you.
http://youtu.be/U3jzvVPWy2I
For those of you who haven't been sucked in, the premise is four stars choose singers for their individual teams. Those singers compete within their own team and eventually the teams compete against each other, and there is one ultimate winner at the end.
This week, Cee Lo Green was giving his team a pep talk and he paraphrased a quote by George Patton: "If we're all thinking the same way, someone's not thinking."
I had never heard the quote, and the simplicity of it took me aback.
Without conflicting thoughts and ideas, how would anything ever change? Conversely, if all you have are conflicting thoughts and ideas, you still can't change anything.
So what's the solution? I'm going to vote for thinking every time, even though it could cause a problem.
For a very long time, the fact that the Earth and other planets revolve around the sun was up for debate--that didn't make the reality any less true or pliable. Sometimes, you have to stick your neck out for what's right--literally, even if it conflicts with what everyone else is saying. Thinking differently doesn't make you wrong.
There is no scientific innovation, advancement of civilization, or even improvement to a recipe that can occur without a difference in opinion or a shift in thinking. Can you imagine where we would be if everyone thought alike? A frightening possibility. We'd still be using blood-letting to correct any number of medical ills and exorcising the demonic vapors to cure small pox. We'd all still be eating Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Dinner out of the blue box, instead of the home-style version in the blue bag that is heavenly.
Why does this matter to me? Why should it matter to anyone?
One of the other "coaches" on "The Voice" did something this week that, to me, was completely unexpected. Blake Shelton, a country music star, chose to eliminate a solid rocker that brought the house down and a clear country hottie women swooned over in favor of keeping a sixteen-year-old girl with a truly unique "voice." When he was asked why he made the choice, the answer he gave absolutely floored me. To paraphrase, he said he had understood that America had saved the other singer, also a young woman, because of her unique sound and that he chose the sixteen-year-old because it occurred to him that with these two women, he had a greater opportunity to "affect change" in music. What an idea!
I don't want to make this post about music, because that's not the point I'm driving at. Ghandi is famous for saying that we should be the change we want to see in the world. Change and difference are the enemies of homogenization and the friends of development, innovation and advancement.
When I listen to the radio, when I see how many large companies struggle, and I flip through the channels on television, I think we are trapped in a pattern of gross homogenization.
It's hard to tell who truly has talent anymore, because so much contemporary music is layered with effects and autotone--what's the real voice in all of that? Our auto industry nearly collapsed in America because the focus was on what was making money and not what was around the corner. With gasoline prices over three dollars a gallon, the Escalade in the driveway didn't seem like such a great idea compared to the Prius. I wonder if there were any people timidly raising their hands in meetings offering up ideas that supported the big picture of these companies, but not the egos and bank accounts of their leaders. We will probably never know, but clearly being shaken to its core made our auto industry take more than stock. There are so many reality shows about housewives, pregnant teens, angry party scenes and voyeuristic train wrecks, it's hard to tell the difference between all of them. With one show called "Teen Mom," and another one called "Sixteen and Pregnant," wouldn't you think we're all full up with shows about this topic?
Just because something is on a different channel, doesn't make it different. It's all the same useless noise. And I know it might seem like a stretch, but maybe if we all really looked at the global economy and saw what things are actually working, we would be surprised to see that the things that are working are the things that people are thinking differently about. If we approach our world, the economy, and each other the same way we always have and the results we are getting suck, maybe it's time to try something or think something different. Maybe it's time for those of us who don't want to think to listen to people who do.
Albert Einstein is credited with saying that "insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." The quote is a cliche now, but it's no less true.
If we aren't willing to take the risk of thinking differently than everyone else when everyone else is wrong, we might as well learn to accept our own fate--because we have left our fate to others. And if you're too scared to think, and they're to scared to think, you can bet, nobody else is thinking about you.
http://youtu.be/U3jzvVPWy2I
Thursday, June 16, 2011
June 16, 2011--Someone looked at you cross-eyed? Who cares? I do.
So, I know there are about one million things that happen to all of us everyday that we should just accept and let go of. I think it would be tough to find very many people who would honestly say that they are completely happy with every aspect of their lives, and if we all got bogged down by disappointment, the world would stop.
Happiness is a relative term, I think, and one's level of happiness correlates directly with who we are. Sometimes that means that the way we have developed and grown into our lives shapes how we define happiness and our ability to achieve it.
And no, I don't mean that those of us who aren't as happy as we'd like to be should give up. I want to believe that's why those of us who haven't achieved that level complain--because we want to get there and we aren't satisfied with accepting our lot. When we accept and fall mute, hope dies.
The hard part is we get stuck, and our vision of happiness has developed beyond our skill level to achieve it. What skills am I referring to? It depends on what obstacles are between you and your happiness. It could be something as simple as not having the education needed to pursue a career we dream of, or as complex as not having the faith in ourselves to take risks when we really should.
The hard part about not being in that place we wish to be is that the people around us have little choice but to accept our foundering in the process, and they suffer along with us. Lack of satisfaction, meaning and happiness in our lives leaves us having to carry life on our backs in cumbersome sacks instead of being able to wheel them around in a cart or in smart luggage. And sometimes when people offer to help, we find it impossible to hand any of the weight off.
The frustrating thing is that just like I know there are children starving in China while a plate of steamed broccoli is in front of me, I know that horrible things happen to people everywhere, everyday that are worse than any of the things that I am dealing with, and that I have no right to be anything but blissful. The problem with that is what I feel about my situation is not different than how a starving child in China feels, we're just starving for different things.
I've spent a lot of my life telling myself that I don't have any right to feel certain things for various reasons. Yeah, I had a difficult childhood, but my parents didn't starve me, they didn't burn me with cigarettes, I was never raped, and none of my bones were ever broken. Given that none of those things happened to me, even with the things that did, I am quite lucky. Isn't it sad that we as people are conditioned to expect so little? If I'm not starved, burned, raped or horribly battered, I don't deserve to feel bad about anything. I'm pretty sure that if you look in the dictionary, the definition of "happiness" does not read: state of not being starved, burned, raped or battered, see also "not having large items fall upon you."
It's true. I want more. And I don't want to have to feel ashamed of wanting more or have to apologize for it either.
I don't know what the answer is. I know that wallowing in self-pity is not a solution. I think, sometimes, there is a fine line between expressing personal frustration and disappointment, and wallowing. On the surface, I think they often resemble each other without the intent of doing so. I also think practicing a policy of "don't ask, don't tell" when it comes to frustration and disappointment creates its own problems and multiplies resentments.
It's amazing to me how sometimes the simplest, tiniest things tear at us like piranhas. Our lives are slowly chewed up, first by the big things, and then by the small things. When I think of all the little bites out of my own life, I realize, there are no small things. Anything that eats away at you is something that is stealing life from you and everyone who cares about you.
So, the next time someone looks at you cross-eyed and it bothers you, you are welcome to talk to me. I know it's just an eye-crossing and there are children in China without glasses, but I understand.
http://youtu.be/H2lbiS1fris
Happiness is a relative term, I think, and one's level of happiness correlates directly with who we are. Sometimes that means that the way we have developed and grown into our lives shapes how we define happiness and our ability to achieve it.
And no, I don't mean that those of us who aren't as happy as we'd like to be should give up. I want to believe that's why those of us who haven't achieved that level complain--because we want to get there and we aren't satisfied with accepting our lot. When we accept and fall mute, hope dies.
The hard part is we get stuck, and our vision of happiness has developed beyond our skill level to achieve it. What skills am I referring to? It depends on what obstacles are between you and your happiness. It could be something as simple as not having the education needed to pursue a career we dream of, or as complex as not having the faith in ourselves to take risks when we really should.
The hard part about not being in that place we wish to be is that the people around us have little choice but to accept our foundering in the process, and they suffer along with us. Lack of satisfaction, meaning and happiness in our lives leaves us having to carry life on our backs in cumbersome sacks instead of being able to wheel them around in a cart or in smart luggage. And sometimes when people offer to help, we find it impossible to hand any of the weight off.
The frustrating thing is that just like I know there are children starving in China while a plate of steamed broccoli is in front of me, I know that horrible things happen to people everywhere, everyday that are worse than any of the things that I am dealing with, and that I have no right to be anything but blissful. The problem with that is what I feel about my situation is not different than how a starving child in China feels, we're just starving for different things.
I've spent a lot of my life telling myself that I don't have any right to feel certain things for various reasons. Yeah, I had a difficult childhood, but my parents didn't starve me, they didn't burn me with cigarettes, I was never raped, and none of my bones were ever broken. Given that none of those things happened to me, even with the things that did, I am quite lucky. Isn't it sad that we as people are conditioned to expect so little? If I'm not starved, burned, raped or horribly battered, I don't deserve to feel bad about anything. I'm pretty sure that if you look in the dictionary, the definition of "happiness" does not read: state of not being starved, burned, raped or battered, see also "not having large items fall upon you."
It's true. I want more. And I don't want to have to feel ashamed of wanting more or have to apologize for it either.
I don't know what the answer is. I know that wallowing in self-pity is not a solution. I think, sometimes, there is a fine line between expressing personal frustration and disappointment, and wallowing. On the surface, I think they often resemble each other without the intent of doing so. I also think practicing a policy of "don't ask, don't tell" when it comes to frustration and disappointment creates its own problems and multiplies resentments.
It's amazing to me how sometimes the simplest, tiniest things tear at us like piranhas. Our lives are slowly chewed up, first by the big things, and then by the small things. When I think of all the little bites out of my own life, I realize, there are no small things. Anything that eats away at you is something that is stealing life from you and everyone who cares about you.
So, the next time someone looks at you cross-eyed and it bothers you, you are welcome to talk to me. I know it's just an eye-crossing and there are children in China without glasses, but I understand.
http://youtu.be/H2lbiS1fris
Monday, June 13, 2011
June 13, 2011--You're good enough, smart enough and dog gone it, you're really not.
So, I wasn't surprised to find something meaningful in the movie "X Men: First Class."
I don't want to pretend to be a really cool chick. I don't read comic books, and I only watched the animated series while Jeph and I were in college because it was another half hour that I got to spend with him every Saturday morning. I will, however, admit that I really liked the show. Xavier was always my favorite character, and because I wasn't cool enough to have read the comic books or to have seen every episode of the series, I didn't know the back-story behind Xavier and Magneto until I saw the movie yesterday (I'm so uncool, I'm assuming that every other X Men fan did know the back-story).
I still love Xavier, but in having the chance to look inside Erik Lensherr before he became Magneto, I have to say, I love him too. Understanding what drove him to the dark side actually almost brought me to tears in a moment when the rest of the audience was just sitting there.
It's human nature to selectively hate. I wish it wasn't. As a race, I think we try to justify hating through the guise of improving each other, and making the world better. Better for whom?
Obviously, there are many examples of selective hate and discrimination. The early Christians were discriminated against and fed to lions and other predators. Africans were relocated to the West in order to be enslaved and treated as nothing more than animals. The Jewish people were selected for annihilation by the Germans, resulting in the deaths of about six million. And there certainly have been a number of other ethnically based genocides along the way. It seems there's always a group of people somewhere being persecuted, shunned, neglected, and/or killed.
With the capacity to hate being such a dominant trait, it's not hard to understand why the concept of self-esteem is a difficult one to instill in our children and ourselves. To much lesser degrees, we engage in hate all the time without even thinking about it as hate. We find people selectively within our environments to shun and to pick on for one reason or another--or even no reason.
Our methodology doesn't have to come at the end of a gun barrel to produce similar effects. We may not be taking people's lives away, but we are assassinating a part of them all the time.
Raven, who would become Mystique, had obvious issues with self-image and her personal identity--and not just because she could morph into any appearance she chose. It had been made clear to her that her real body was undesirable and that she should hide who she was. Even Xavier reinforced the idea that she should try to appear like everyone else. Erik Lensherr was the only one who encouraged Raven to be her true self--blue skin and all. He encouraged her to believe that she was good enough.
Magneto had seen the hatred of the German people first hand, and their complete willingness to discard people without thought or care, simply because they were different. He knew that no matter how good Xavier's intentions were, humanity would turn on the mutants because it simply would not be able to look passed its own fear of the different. He was right.
Another science fiction based series that examined the natural desire for homogenized thought and action was "Star Trek: The Next Generation." Now, I am also not cool enough to be a Trekkie, but I was a faithful "Generation" watcher. The depiction of the Borg Collective is a fantastic representation of what humanity does, sometimes consciously, sometimes not. We really are more comfortable when we aren't being challenged with the thoughts and ideas of others, especially when those thoughts and ideas conflict with our own.
I find it all very disappointing, and it made me think of some literature I have been reviewing to start a professional development process. There are a set of competencies involved in the process, and in beginning the process you have to identify which ones you are skilled in and which ones you are not (you can also overuse certain competencies, but that's a whole other can of worms). The information presented to help you decide where you fall in your assessment explains why you might not be skilled in certain areas. Phrases like "Being true to yourself is an overriding concern," "May have a view that being true to oneself is all that matters" are listed as factors in skill level and possible causes.
Now, I get that being cooperative with others is important, but I question a process that assumes there's something wrong with who we are and that being true to oneself is automatically a flaw. If we were appropriately selected for a position, then wasn't it our "self" that was selected. Weren't we deemed the right person for the job, in part, because we would ensure that the job was done as well as it can be?
The assumption that someone is wrong in who they are can create self-doubt and make it difficult to make important decisions and observations in the workplace. What if the doubt we instill in someone because they don't always play well with others makes them question whether they should tell someone that a bolt is in the wrong position on a commercial airplane?
The need we all have for acceptance is incredibly strong. The need to be accepted in our workplace sometimes translates to worry about maintaining our financial stability. You'd hope that playing well with others and being well-liked and accepted by your co-workers wouldn't override the part of your self that knows it's right to tell someone to fix the bolt. Wouldn't you?
Another character in "X Men: First Class" demonstrated what I think is a valuable lesson. Hank, who would later become Beast, also saw his physical differences as flaws instead of embracing them. In his attempt to "fix" himself, he became more of what he did not wish to be.
http://youtu.be/HtNS1afUOnE
I don't want to pretend to be a really cool chick. I don't read comic books, and I only watched the animated series while Jeph and I were in college because it was another half hour that I got to spend with him every Saturday morning. I will, however, admit that I really liked the show. Xavier was always my favorite character, and because I wasn't cool enough to have read the comic books or to have seen every episode of the series, I didn't know the back-story behind Xavier and Magneto until I saw the movie yesterday (I'm so uncool, I'm assuming that every other X Men fan did know the back-story).
I still love Xavier, but in having the chance to look inside Erik Lensherr before he became Magneto, I have to say, I love him too. Understanding what drove him to the dark side actually almost brought me to tears in a moment when the rest of the audience was just sitting there.
It's human nature to selectively hate. I wish it wasn't. As a race, I think we try to justify hating through the guise of improving each other, and making the world better. Better for whom?
Obviously, there are many examples of selective hate and discrimination. The early Christians were discriminated against and fed to lions and other predators. Africans were relocated to the West in order to be enslaved and treated as nothing more than animals. The Jewish people were selected for annihilation by the Germans, resulting in the deaths of about six million. And there certainly have been a number of other ethnically based genocides along the way. It seems there's always a group of people somewhere being persecuted, shunned, neglected, and/or killed.
With the capacity to hate being such a dominant trait, it's not hard to understand why the concept of self-esteem is a difficult one to instill in our children and ourselves. To much lesser degrees, we engage in hate all the time without even thinking about it as hate. We find people selectively within our environments to shun and to pick on for one reason or another--or even no reason.
Our methodology doesn't have to come at the end of a gun barrel to produce similar effects. We may not be taking people's lives away, but we are assassinating a part of them all the time.
Raven, who would become Mystique, had obvious issues with self-image and her personal identity--and not just because she could morph into any appearance she chose. It had been made clear to her that her real body was undesirable and that she should hide who she was. Even Xavier reinforced the idea that she should try to appear like everyone else. Erik Lensherr was the only one who encouraged Raven to be her true self--blue skin and all. He encouraged her to believe that she was good enough.
Magneto had seen the hatred of the German people first hand, and their complete willingness to discard people without thought or care, simply because they were different. He knew that no matter how good Xavier's intentions were, humanity would turn on the mutants because it simply would not be able to look passed its own fear of the different. He was right.
Another science fiction based series that examined the natural desire for homogenized thought and action was "Star Trek: The Next Generation." Now, I am also not cool enough to be a Trekkie, but I was a faithful "Generation" watcher. The depiction of the Borg Collective is a fantastic representation of what humanity does, sometimes consciously, sometimes not. We really are more comfortable when we aren't being challenged with the thoughts and ideas of others, especially when those thoughts and ideas conflict with our own.
I find it all very disappointing, and it made me think of some literature I have been reviewing to start a professional development process. There are a set of competencies involved in the process, and in beginning the process you have to identify which ones you are skilled in and which ones you are not (you can also overuse certain competencies, but that's a whole other can of worms). The information presented to help you decide where you fall in your assessment explains why you might not be skilled in certain areas. Phrases like "Being true to yourself is an overriding concern," "May have a view that being true to oneself is all that matters" are listed as factors in skill level and possible causes.
Now, I get that being cooperative with others is important, but I question a process that assumes there's something wrong with who we are and that being true to oneself is automatically a flaw. If we were appropriately selected for a position, then wasn't it our "self" that was selected. Weren't we deemed the right person for the job, in part, because we would ensure that the job was done as well as it can be?
The assumption that someone is wrong in who they are can create self-doubt and make it difficult to make important decisions and observations in the workplace. What if the doubt we instill in someone because they don't always play well with others makes them question whether they should tell someone that a bolt is in the wrong position on a commercial airplane?
The need we all have for acceptance is incredibly strong. The need to be accepted in our workplace sometimes translates to worry about maintaining our financial stability. You'd hope that playing well with others and being well-liked and accepted by your co-workers wouldn't override the part of your self that knows it's right to tell someone to fix the bolt. Wouldn't you?
Another character in "X Men: First Class" demonstrated what I think is a valuable lesson. Hank, who would later become Beast, also saw his physical differences as flaws instead of embracing them. In his attempt to "fix" himself, he became more of what he did not wish to be.
http://youtu.be/HtNS1afUOnE
Sunday, June 12, 2011
June 12, 2011--In the blink of an eye, and a burst of horrible wind, we change.
So, this time three weeks ago, I didn't know something was going to change the landscape of Jeph's home town, and the landscape of his heart and mind. It also changed the landscape of the hearts and minds of many of his friends.
I saw a couple of posts on Facebook yesterday talking about a new found pride in talking about Joplin as your place of birth and the place you grew up. There was at least one person who pointed out the fact that many people who grew up and away from Joplin cared very little about the town and would have been the least likely to call it home again. I know in a recent blog, I alluded to that fact a little more gently.
Everyone talks about things that change us in our lives, but I don't think many of us talk about events more major than marriage, having children or losing our parents. Those are all big events, too, but I'm going to be honest, in our household, and many households of Joplin residents and ex-pats of Joplin, those kinds of events just almost register now.
I am always happy and envious of people who can reflect on their childhoods and think of very few remarkable events. I always think that it would be awesome to think about the years you spent growing up and not be able to say very much about them. To me, that must be what it means to have a normal childhood--nothing too fantastic, and nothing tragically horrible.
I think living that kind of childhood is good and bad. The good of it is having the safety and security in your life to try things, and become what you choose to be with only the fears you create for yourself. The bad of it is that you never have to face fear inflicted upon you by other people and events--things you don't create and can't control. In that safe place, the adversities you face are tiny blips on the road map of life--a lost job, a bad break up, a car wreck you walk away from. You get a false sense that you are a grown up and you can cope with most things--because the things you have to cope with are things that don't grab your heart like a snow globe and shake.
Most of the people I know who grew up in Joplin had that kind of benign, simple, uneventful childhood. I think that's why it was so easy to grow up and away from the place they called home. There was no source of magical bliss that pulled them back, and no horrible tragedy that drove them away.
I think the reason this happens is because life happens. People aspire to greater, bigger things, and hopefully achieve some of them. They create new homes and families for themselves that are different from the ones they grew up with. I think we'd all be hard pressed to think of anyone they know who has said 'I want to live the exact life my parents did, and raise my family exactly the same way.' I can't think of anyone myself. That desire for "difference" can easily translate to 'I would never live in insert hometown here.'
I don't think that's always a true "bashing" of whatever that hometown is, I think it's a rejection of an idea. I don't even necessarily think that rejection of an idea is a rejection of the love our parents were able to give us. Even if your mom and dad never beat you, maybe you wanted something more from them than you got and that's what you want to give in your own life. There's nothing inherently wrong in wanting different or better--our parents often said that they wanted better for us than what they were raised with.
So, sorry guys, you know what that means? In our quest to become something other, we essentially declare ourselves to be the same thing.
What does it say about people that the most powerful and destructive tornado has changed hearts and minds? I think it says we are all human.
I think it says that sometimes we don't know how much something means to us until it isn't there anymore. I don't think it says that people who have been away for ten or more years and have no desire to move back are now "Johnny come latelys." I think it says that we never actually achieve that status of "grown up." Being "grown up" is a myth. Being "grown up" must mean we have learned everything we were supposed to in our lives. It's an end of a journey, not a destination along the way. So, if being "grown up" means the end of something, then it must equate to a death. Maybe that's why so many people say they never want to achieve the status.
The impact of 200 mile per hour winds means that events take place throughout our lives that continue to shape who we are. They change us. They change what matters to us. Many of us don't even expect it. Still fewer know how to cope with it.
Joplin may not be your home. You may never have lived there, and you may never want to live there. But the thing many ex-pats and people who care understand is that Joplin is someone's home. It continues to be home for many who haven't lived there in years. It continues to be home even as you stand in the middle of the disaster zone and see nothing physical in which a person can inhabit.
There are pieces of rubble as big as cars everywhere. And there are pieces of rubble small enough to live in hearts that never had open doors before. In the corners of those newly opened hearts, Joplin finds itself home.
http://youtu.be/VIZXeP5Wzew
I saw a couple of posts on Facebook yesterday talking about a new found pride in talking about Joplin as your place of birth and the place you grew up. There was at least one person who pointed out the fact that many people who grew up and away from Joplin cared very little about the town and would have been the least likely to call it home again. I know in a recent blog, I alluded to that fact a little more gently.
Everyone talks about things that change us in our lives, but I don't think many of us talk about events more major than marriage, having children or losing our parents. Those are all big events, too, but I'm going to be honest, in our household, and many households of Joplin residents and ex-pats of Joplin, those kinds of events just almost register now.
I am always happy and envious of people who can reflect on their childhoods and think of very few remarkable events. I always think that it would be awesome to think about the years you spent growing up and not be able to say very much about them. To me, that must be what it means to have a normal childhood--nothing too fantastic, and nothing tragically horrible.
I think living that kind of childhood is good and bad. The good of it is having the safety and security in your life to try things, and become what you choose to be with only the fears you create for yourself. The bad of it is that you never have to face fear inflicted upon you by other people and events--things you don't create and can't control. In that safe place, the adversities you face are tiny blips on the road map of life--a lost job, a bad break up, a car wreck you walk away from. You get a false sense that you are a grown up and you can cope with most things--because the things you have to cope with are things that don't grab your heart like a snow globe and shake.
Most of the people I know who grew up in Joplin had that kind of benign, simple, uneventful childhood. I think that's why it was so easy to grow up and away from the place they called home. There was no source of magical bliss that pulled them back, and no horrible tragedy that drove them away.
I think the reason this happens is because life happens. People aspire to greater, bigger things, and hopefully achieve some of them. They create new homes and families for themselves that are different from the ones they grew up with. I think we'd all be hard pressed to think of anyone they know who has said 'I want to live the exact life my parents did, and raise my family exactly the same way.' I can't think of anyone myself. That desire for "difference" can easily translate to 'I would never live in insert hometown here.'
I don't think that's always a true "bashing" of whatever that hometown is, I think it's a rejection of an idea. I don't even necessarily think that rejection of an idea is a rejection of the love our parents were able to give us. Even if your mom and dad never beat you, maybe you wanted something more from them than you got and that's what you want to give in your own life. There's nothing inherently wrong in wanting different or better--our parents often said that they wanted better for us than what they were raised with.
So, sorry guys, you know what that means? In our quest to become something other, we essentially declare ourselves to be the same thing.
What does it say about people that the most powerful and destructive tornado has changed hearts and minds? I think it says we are all human.
I think it says that sometimes we don't know how much something means to us until it isn't there anymore. I don't think it says that people who have been away for ten or more years and have no desire to move back are now "Johnny come latelys." I think it says that we never actually achieve that status of "grown up." Being "grown up" is a myth. Being "grown up" must mean we have learned everything we were supposed to in our lives. It's an end of a journey, not a destination along the way. So, if being "grown up" means the end of something, then it must equate to a death. Maybe that's why so many people say they never want to achieve the status.
The impact of 200 mile per hour winds means that events take place throughout our lives that continue to shape who we are. They change us. They change what matters to us. Many of us don't even expect it. Still fewer know how to cope with it.
Joplin may not be your home. You may never have lived there, and you may never want to live there. But the thing many ex-pats and people who care understand is that Joplin is someone's home. It continues to be home for many who haven't lived there in years. It continues to be home even as you stand in the middle of the disaster zone and see nothing physical in which a person can inhabit.
There are pieces of rubble as big as cars everywhere. And there are pieces of rubble small enough to live in hearts that never had open doors before. In the corners of those newly opened hearts, Joplin finds itself home.
http://youtu.be/VIZXeP5Wzew
Saturday, June 11, 2011
June 10 1/2--I still miss him.
So, I knew the day that we just finished up would eventually come around. I knew it would be a sad day, and that I would find it hard to push the lump in my throat back down this morning.
A year ago, Jeph and I said goodbye to one of the best friends we ever had. Of course, he was so much more than a best friend to us. He was our Scrubby. To say he was a dog, in many ways, understates what he was, but in other ways, because dogs are, in my opinion, perfect souls, to say he was a dog almost does him justice.
I know I've talked about him before, but somehow, 365 days passing since we said goodbye hasn't made a difference in how much I wish he was still here. I think of the last few weeks, and I try to imagine what it would be like for Jeph to have his buddy. I can lend an ear and listen to how he is feeling since the destruction of so much of his hometown, but I know if Scrubby was here, somehow, things would just be better, and I know that at this time that has been so hard, the tap tap in the middle of the night asking to crawl under the covers would be more welcome than waking up with images of torn up houses and hurt people.
I think of the last year and a lot of the upheaval I have felt in my professional life, and the moments that I feel like I have to just cope and get along. Scrubby wouldn't care if my feelings about work and where I fit into it or don't are reasonable or not. I know that he would just pop up onto the couch beside me and let me cry it out if I needed to with nothing more than a comforting grunt in response.
When people ask how old he was when he left us, I always wonder why it matters. He could have been a hundred, and he still would have gone too soon for us. What amount of time is enough to spend with someone you love? When someone calculates that figure, please get back to me. Maybe then I will be able to accept that some of the brightest spots in our lives leave us way too soon.
Some people think that because we still have our two other dogs that somehow softened the blow of losing Scrubby--almost as if Blue and Puppy Mo are "spare dogs," like spare sets of keys. If anything, losing Scrubby has made it impossible to consider what more loss would feel like. Just a few short months ago, we faced the possibility that we would lose Mo in the same horrible way we lost Scrubbs.
Since we adopted Blue, I have known that we would never be without a dog again. I have known that our lives would never be complete if we tried to live without a pack in the house. But as I worried that, in spite of our best efforts, we might lose Puppy Mo this spring, I finally understood why people often say they will never have another dog after such a loss. The fear of losing her, and what I anticipated to be a horrible tearing away at our lives was too much to think about and something I didn't want to go through again.
Over the years when I've talked about how much I love my dogs, people have often said "Just wait til you have kids." As I worried over Mo and carried the things in my car to make a final paw print and cut a lock of hair to save, I decided I never wanted to have children. If the love you feel for human children is stronger than what you feel for dogs, then I can't even fathom what the pain of losing a child would be. Losing a dog is unbearable. Losing a child must be indefinable.
We thought we would look for another beagle this spring. After coming so close to losing Mo, it was almost as if Jeph and I silently agreed not to bring someone else into the family just yet. Without ever saying it, it seems that we both know the time we have with Blue and Mo is at a premium. It's precious, and we want every moment they have left with us to be as happy and comfortable as we can make them. Forcing them to adjust to a new pack member just doesn't seem fair, and we wouldn't be doing it for them.
I've wondered for years how I would know that I was ready, or close to ready, to have a child. I think knowing when loving someone else, and seeing to their comfort means more to you than your own comfort, you might be on the right track. I'm still not certain, but I do know that nobody we bring home will be Scrubby. Nobody will have those soft, velvety ears. Nobody will ever sing about arugula the way he did.
Just a little while before I woke up this morning, I had a dream about him. We were at Jeph's parents' house--only their house was somehow much more modern and posh. The bedroom I was unpacking my clothes in was a beautiful gold color scheme--warm like butterscotch. It was a soft, warm place with perfect lighting. The door to the room was ajar as I chatted with my mother-in-law. A gorgeous black, tan and white beagle trotted in as happy as you please, and leaped onto the bed. My mother-in-law informed him that dogs don't go on the bed. He looked at her doubtfully, and I defended his position.
He remained on the bed, right where he belonged.Where he will always belong.
http://youtu.be/iUiTQvT0W_0
A year ago, Jeph and I said goodbye to one of the best friends we ever had. Of course, he was so much more than a best friend to us. He was our Scrubby. To say he was a dog, in many ways, understates what he was, but in other ways, because dogs are, in my opinion, perfect souls, to say he was a dog almost does him justice.
I know I've talked about him before, but somehow, 365 days passing since we said goodbye hasn't made a difference in how much I wish he was still here. I think of the last few weeks, and I try to imagine what it would be like for Jeph to have his buddy. I can lend an ear and listen to how he is feeling since the destruction of so much of his hometown, but I know if Scrubby was here, somehow, things would just be better, and I know that at this time that has been so hard, the tap tap in the middle of the night asking to crawl under the covers would be more welcome than waking up with images of torn up houses and hurt people.
I think of the last year and a lot of the upheaval I have felt in my professional life, and the moments that I feel like I have to just cope and get along. Scrubby wouldn't care if my feelings about work and where I fit into it or don't are reasonable or not. I know that he would just pop up onto the couch beside me and let me cry it out if I needed to with nothing more than a comforting grunt in response.
When people ask how old he was when he left us, I always wonder why it matters. He could have been a hundred, and he still would have gone too soon for us. What amount of time is enough to spend with someone you love? When someone calculates that figure, please get back to me. Maybe then I will be able to accept that some of the brightest spots in our lives leave us way too soon.
Some people think that because we still have our two other dogs that somehow softened the blow of losing Scrubby--almost as if Blue and Puppy Mo are "spare dogs," like spare sets of keys. If anything, losing Scrubby has made it impossible to consider what more loss would feel like. Just a few short months ago, we faced the possibility that we would lose Mo in the same horrible way we lost Scrubbs.
Since we adopted Blue, I have known that we would never be without a dog again. I have known that our lives would never be complete if we tried to live without a pack in the house. But as I worried that, in spite of our best efforts, we might lose Puppy Mo this spring, I finally understood why people often say they will never have another dog after such a loss. The fear of losing her, and what I anticipated to be a horrible tearing away at our lives was too much to think about and something I didn't want to go through again.
Over the years when I've talked about how much I love my dogs, people have often said "Just wait til you have kids." As I worried over Mo and carried the things in my car to make a final paw print and cut a lock of hair to save, I decided I never wanted to have children. If the love you feel for human children is stronger than what you feel for dogs, then I can't even fathom what the pain of losing a child would be. Losing a dog is unbearable. Losing a child must be indefinable.
We thought we would look for another beagle this spring. After coming so close to losing Mo, it was almost as if Jeph and I silently agreed not to bring someone else into the family just yet. Without ever saying it, it seems that we both know the time we have with Blue and Mo is at a premium. It's precious, and we want every moment they have left with us to be as happy and comfortable as we can make them. Forcing them to adjust to a new pack member just doesn't seem fair, and we wouldn't be doing it for them.
I've wondered for years how I would know that I was ready, or close to ready, to have a child. I think knowing when loving someone else, and seeing to their comfort means more to you than your own comfort, you might be on the right track. I'm still not certain, but I do know that nobody we bring home will be Scrubby. Nobody will have those soft, velvety ears. Nobody will ever sing about arugula the way he did.
Just a little while before I woke up this morning, I had a dream about him. We were at Jeph's parents' house--only their house was somehow much more modern and posh. The bedroom I was unpacking my clothes in was a beautiful gold color scheme--warm like butterscotch. It was a soft, warm place with perfect lighting. The door to the room was ajar as I chatted with my mother-in-law. A gorgeous black, tan and white beagle trotted in as happy as you please, and leaped onto the bed. My mother-in-law informed him that dogs don't go on the bed. He looked at her doubtfully, and I defended his position.
He remained on the bed, right where he belonged.Where he will always belong.
http://youtu.be/iUiTQvT0W_0
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
June 7, 2011--We aren't always what we do, and what we do doesn't define our intelligence.
So, a few weeks ago, a friend posted something about Sarah Palin, which wasn't designed to portray her in the smartest light. Another friend commented on the post, pointing out that he himself, and the original poster are not heads of state, so they had no right to say that Sarah Palin isn't smart.
I found myself feeling defensive about what they each do for a living, because I don't think what either one of them does is a reflection on how smart or dumb they are.
I have a bachelor's degree in mass communications, an associate degree in graphic arts, and one in veterinary technology. I spend about seventy-five percent of my day cleaning up after, or handling feces for a living. I don't think my close relationship with feces has any bearing on how smart I am. I would go even further, and say that my co-workers who do not have the level of education I have, who also handle feces for a living, are not any less intelligent than I am.
While handling feces for a living doesn't make me dumb, I also don't think being governor of Alaska made Sarah Palin smart. Being a senator certainly hasn't made Anthony Weiner smart.
One of Albert Einstein's early jobs was as a temporary math teacher. Abraham Lincoln's first job was bringing cargo up and down the Mississippi River. Bono pumped gas. Madeline Albright sold bras. Madonna worked at Dunkin Donuts. Regardless of your personal opinion about any of these people, their ultimate successes go far in establishing that a job doesn't determine someone's intelligence or potential.
A person's intelligence is reflected in their actions and words. It isn't necessary to discuss whether or not I think Sarah Palin is intelligent or not, because her actions and words speak for themselves. It isn't necessary for me to discuss whether or not I believe Albert Einstein was or was not a genius, his legacy speaks for itself.
When it comes to examining the intelligence of our leaders, my guess is our opinions about their intelligence are colored red or blue, depending on the party we support, and not so much by the voracity of their intelligence quotient.
I personally think it's smart to tackle global warming, find new sustainable sources of energy and to provide better nutrition and health care options for our entire world population. I think it's dumb to subsidize companies that show profits in the billions, to depend on coal and oil, and to cut education spending.
Notice a pattern?
I'm pretty sure there are some very bright and smart conservatives in senate seats and capitol buildings, even though I probably disagree with all of them. Their positions on issues do not make them smart or dumb. Their ability to get elected doesn't make them smart or dumb.
So far, I haven't seen any requirement for a degree in rocket science to serve in a public office. So, we all stand a chance.
http://youtu.be/lMgU5B2TZIA
I found myself feeling defensive about what they each do for a living, because I don't think what either one of them does is a reflection on how smart or dumb they are.
I have a bachelor's degree in mass communications, an associate degree in graphic arts, and one in veterinary technology. I spend about seventy-five percent of my day cleaning up after, or handling feces for a living. I don't think my close relationship with feces has any bearing on how smart I am. I would go even further, and say that my co-workers who do not have the level of education I have, who also handle feces for a living, are not any less intelligent than I am.
While handling feces for a living doesn't make me dumb, I also don't think being governor of Alaska made Sarah Palin smart. Being a senator certainly hasn't made Anthony Weiner smart.
One of Albert Einstein's early jobs was as a temporary math teacher. Abraham Lincoln's first job was bringing cargo up and down the Mississippi River. Bono pumped gas. Madeline Albright sold bras. Madonna worked at Dunkin Donuts. Regardless of your personal opinion about any of these people, their ultimate successes go far in establishing that a job doesn't determine someone's intelligence or potential.
A person's intelligence is reflected in their actions and words. It isn't necessary to discuss whether or not I think Sarah Palin is intelligent or not, because her actions and words speak for themselves. It isn't necessary for me to discuss whether or not I believe Albert Einstein was or was not a genius, his legacy speaks for itself.
When it comes to examining the intelligence of our leaders, my guess is our opinions about their intelligence are colored red or blue, depending on the party we support, and not so much by the voracity of their intelligence quotient.
I personally think it's smart to tackle global warming, find new sustainable sources of energy and to provide better nutrition and health care options for our entire world population. I think it's dumb to subsidize companies that show profits in the billions, to depend on coal and oil, and to cut education spending.
Notice a pattern?
I'm pretty sure there are some very bright and smart conservatives in senate seats and capitol buildings, even though I probably disagree with all of them. Their positions on issues do not make them smart or dumb. Their ability to get elected doesn't make them smart or dumb.
So far, I haven't seen any requirement for a degree in rocket science to serve in a public office. So, we all stand a chance.
http://youtu.be/lMgU5B2TZIA
Saturday, June 4, 2011
June 4, 2011--Where do you go when you're too cool to be cool?
So, I feel like I need to preface this by saying that I love artists, musicians and people who are doing everything they can to keep their creative side alive. I just feel like there are some people out in the big, wide world being artsy and being completely pretentious about it.
I had the opportunity to see Mumford and Sons last night, and while my view of them was pretty limited, I can tell you that they were amazing. They are so good, it hurts. I don't want anything I saw to take away from how fantastic they are and how much I can't wait to buy their next album, buy their next concert ticket and buy into their image.
I was lounging today, and catching up on a stack of magazines, one of which was Spin. I picked it up because I wanted to read more about Mumford and Sons, and I have to say that I'm actually kind of glad I didn't read the article about them before I saw them last night, because I don't think I would have been able to look at them in quite the same light. After I finished the article, I flipped through the rest of the magazine, and stumbled upon a short article about an up and coming band called Young the Giant, and after skimming the first few paragraphs, I felt equally irked.
Front men from both bands blathered on about how they just want to play music, it's all a bit of fun, they aren't looking to be famous, they aren't really all that cool, etc., etc.
My response: Okay, so why am I payin' ya?
As someone who wishes I could turn my love of writing into a paying career, I'm not cool enough to say that I just like to string words together for the sheer joy of how they look on a computer screen, and I totally don't care if nothing else ever happens. It's a little like having a first date with the guy you've been drooling over in a freshman English class for months, sleeping with him the first night, and then saying you aren't hoping it becomes a relationship. I'm going to call bullshit on such pretentious nonsense.
I remember the first time I saw my name in print when I got an article in my school newspaper in eighth grade. It was like someone gave me a million dollars. If someone actually gave me a million dollars, I'm pretty sure I would feel the same way. And then I would go shopping for shoes, concert tickets and CDs--an important distinction to make between the two situations.
So why is it that people who create for a living somehow feel like they have to project the image that they don't want anything for it, especially when those of us who buy their music, their books, their art or tickets to their shows, are sometimes smart enough to see through that image? It reminds me of Val Kilmer's character in the movie "The Saint." Simon Templar specifically tailored his persona at any given moment to what he knew the person he was acting to would most respond to.
People who read the dreamy words about how Marcus Mumford wants to become a farmer and raise pigs, and believe it are being sold something--it's called a fiction, and it's up to them to read between the lines, or not. Sure, when I look at them, I don't see The Backstreet Boys, N'Sync or The Spice Girls, but they are no less styled, packaged and distributed just because they cut the collars off their shirts and wear scuffed up boots. If you watch the movie that inspired the music they play, "O Brother Where Art Thou?" it's not hard to guess where their stylist found the band's fashion inspiration. And I'm sorry, friends, even these folksy chaps have a stylist. Their clothes go with their music, just as sure as the meat dress goes with Lady Gaga's. While Gaga punches you in the face with her packaging, Mumford and Sons quietly comes up from behind you and smacks you with a frying pan--it is made of cast iron, of course, because that's the style.
I know I probably sound angry about whole thing. I'm not. I'm just frustrated that good, solid artists seem to feel the only way they can be taken seriously is to try to pass their careers off as hobbies. If you are an artist earning a living from what you love to do, that's something to be proud of and thankful for, not something to be ashamed of.
I don't have any doubt that Mumford and Sons have worked their asses off to become as polished at writing, playing and producing their music as they are. Last night, I barely got to see them because the crowd was so big and the venue not very conducive to someone 5'3" being able to see. Luckily, I only paid $30 for my ticket. If they continue to work as hard as they say they are not, someday, I will get to see them in a venue with stadium seating and I will pay at least twice what I paid to hear them last night.
So, Mumford and Sons, Young the Giant, and anyone else who's in there--"Come out of your cave...."
http://youtu.be/3KkUeRPjc-Y
I had the opportunity to see Mumford and Sons last night, and while my view of them was pretty limited, I can tell you that they were amazing. They are so good, it hurts. I don't want anything I saw to take away from how fantastic they are and how much I can't wait to buy their next album, buy their next concert ticket and buy into their image.
I was lounging today, and catching up on a stack of magazines, one of which was Spin. I picked it up because I wanted to read more about Mumford and Sons, and I have to say that I'm actually kind of glad I didn't read the article about them before I saw them last night, because I don't think I would have been able to look at them in quite the same light. After I finished the article, I flipped through the rest of the magazine, and stumbled upon a short article about an up and coming band called Young the Giant, and after skimming the first few paragraphs, I felt equally irked.
Front men from both bands blathered on about how they just want to play music, it's all a bit of fun, they aren't looking to be famous, they aren't really all that cool, etc., etc.
My response: Okay, so why am I payin' ya?
As someone who wishes I could turn my love of writing into a paying career, I'm not cool enough to say that I just like to string words together for the sheer joy of how they look on a computer screen, and I totally don't care if nothing else ever happens. It's a little like having a first date with the guy you've been drooling over in a freshman English class for months, sleeping with him the first night, and then saying you aren't hoping it becomes a relationship. I'm going to call bullshit on such pretentious nonsense.
I remember the first time I saw my name in print when I got an article in my school newspaper in eighth grade. It was like someone gave me a million dollars. If someone actually gave me a million dollars, I'm pretty sure I would feel the same way. And then I would go shopping for shoes, concert tickets and CDs--an important distinction to make between the two situations.
So why is it that people who create for a living somehow feel like they have to project the image that they don't want anything for it, especially when those of us who buy their music, their books, their art or tickets to their shows, are sometimes smart enough to see through that image? It reminds me of Val Kilmer's character in the movie "The Saint." Simon Templar specifically tailored his persona at any given moment to what he knew the person he was acting to would most respond to.
People who read the dreamy words about how Marcus Mumford wants to become a farmer and raise pigs, and believe it are being sold something--it's called a fiction, and it's up to them to read between the lines, or not. Sure, when I look at them, I don't see The Backstreet Boys, N'Sync or The Spice Girls, but they are no less styled, packaged and distributed just because they cut the collars off their shirts and wear scuffed up boots. If you watch the movie that inspired the music they play, "O Brother Where Art Thou?" it's not hard to guess where their stylist found the band's fashion inspiration. And I'm sorry, friends, even these folksy chaps have a stylist. Their clothes go with their music, just as sure as the meat dress goes with Lady Gaga's. While Gaga punches you in the face with her packaging, Mumford and Sons quietly comes up from behind you and smacks you with a frying pan--it is made of cast iron, of course, because that's the style.
I know I probably sound angry about whole thing. I'm not. I'm just frustrated that good, solid artists seem to feel the only way they can be taken seriously is to try to pass their careers off as hobbies. If you are an artist earning a living from what you love to do, that's something to be proud of and thankful for, not something to be ashamed of.
I don't have any doubt that Mumford and Sons have worked their asses off to become as polished at writing, playing and producing their music as they are. Last night, I barely got to see them because the crowd was so big and the venue not very conducive to someone 5'3" being able to see. Luckily, I only paid $30 for my ticket. If they continue to work as hard as they say they are not, someday, I will get to see them in a venue with stadium seating and I will pay at least twice what I paid to hear them last night.
So, Mumford and Sons, Young the Giant, and anyone else who's in there--"Come out of your cave...."
http://youtu.be/3KkUeRPjc-Y
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
June 1, 2011--Disaster: first response, assistance, fatigue
So, I'm in Joplin this week. I think of it as another hometown in many respects.
In high school, I looked forward to the hour-long bus trip to and from what was then MSSC for Joplin English Field Day. I took first place in mythology crossword puzzle one year. I was totally stoked. I was totally a geek. I always thought of the inevitable stop at the McDonald's on Rangeline as an enormous treat--almost as if McDonald's in Joplin was somehow better than McDonald's in Springfield. Years later, my husband would hail from Joplin and I would find myself spending even more time there.
In the last couple of weeks, I have watched how other people are processing the destruction to their town.
This afternoon was the first day I really had the opportunity to drive around the areas that got hit the hardest nearly two weeks ago. It was jaw-dropping for my co-worker and I as we wove our way through the neighborhoods around 20th Street and then over where St. John's Hospital used to be functional. The reasons photos and descriptions can't capture it, is because you would have to put a million photos together, and maybe then you could see how vast the damage actually is. In certain places, it literally stretches as far as you can see.
What is difficult for me is the fact that Joplin isn't my hometown, and I can never truly grasp the loss in the same way that my family and friends feel it. Jeph says that it's because I haven't spent time "in it." "It" being the disaster zone. I don't know.
I know for many ex-pats, it has been difficult to stay away. There's an uncanny need to be here, in spite of the fact that I think many of the ex-pats I know would be unlikely to call Joplin home again. For some people here, I think the overwhelming idea of the loss is so great, that it's almost impossible to face. For the front line "soldiers" who live here, and have been lending hands in different ways since the beginning, I think the wall is just inches away. The breaking point of compassion overkill is the next moment away.
As my friend Abby, and I drove around this afternoon, the most overwhelming thing was all of the piles of rubble. She asked "Where will all of it go?" I don't know the answer to that. Superficially, it's scrap metal, lumber, rubble and garbage. Several layers deeper, every scrap of metal, lumber, and debris represents someone's life--specifically someone's life that will never be the same. People will clear away their plots. People will rebuild. They will find new jobs, and they will start walking forward. But no matter what they do to move on, the life they move onto will look and feel very different. It may never "fit" in the same way the old life did.
Those of us who live outside of Joplin, and who are only serving short "tours of duty" here are fortunate. Yes, we, too, will be changed by our time here in the disaster zone, but we will return to our lives that are intact. The people who live here everyday will still be here when we go home. Those who were lucky enough to come out of the storm with families and homes unscathed will still be changed by what has happened here. Storm season will be taken more seriously. Precious family items might be stored in containers that are easier to pick up and run with. Understanding and patience will wane for those who are having trouble getting back to "normal." Some survivors might not survive.
As an outsider, I think it's easy to come into town and approach assisting others with a fresh energy and sense of compassion and hope. It's easy to make the snap judgment that the people I'm shoulder to shoulder with don't understand the full meaning of what they are giving back to the people in their town with everything they are doing. It's easy, because I haven't been walking or driving the streets of Joplin everyday for the last two weeks, and I won't be driving the streets of Joplin everyday six months from now either.
When disaster becomes your everyday, it's no wonder you find yourself wanting to look away.
http://youtu.be/wHa4y0uGKZw
In high school, I looked forward to the hour-long bus trip to and from what was then MSSC for Joplin English Field Day. I took first place in mythology crossword puzzle one year. I was totally stoked. I was totally a geek. I always thought of the inevitable stop at the McDonald's on Rangeline as an enormous treat--almost as if McDonald's in Joplin was somehow better than McDonald's in Springfield. Years later, my husband would hail from Joplin and I would find myself spending even more time there.
In the last couple of weeks, I have watched how other people are processing the destruction to their town.
This afternoon was the first day I really had the opportunity to drive around the areas that got hit the hardest nearly two weeks ago. It was jaw-dropping for my co-worker and I as we wove our way through the neighborhoods around 20th Street and then over where St. John's Hospital used to be functional. The reasons photos and descriptions can't capture it, is because you would have to put a million photos together, and maybe then you could see how vast the damage actually is. In certain places, it literally stretches as far as you can see.
What is difficult for me is the fact that Joplin isn't my hometown, and I can never truly grasp the loss in the same way that my family and friends feel it. Jeph says that it's because I haven't spent time "in it." "It" being the disaster zone. I don't know.
I know for many ex-pats, it has been difficult to stay away. There's an uncanny need to be here, in spite of the fact that I think many of the ex-pats I know would be unlikely to call Joplin home again. For some people here, I think the overwhelming idea of the loss is so great, that it's almost impossible to face. For the front line "soldiers" who live here, and have been lending hands in different ways since the beginning, I think the wall is just inches away. The breaking point of compassion overkill is the next moment away.
As my friend Abby, and I drove around this afternoon, the most overwhelming thing was all of the piles of rubble. She asked "Where will all of it go?" I don't know the answer to that. Superficially, it's scrap metal, lumber, rubble and garbage. Several layers deeper, every scrap of metal, lumber, and debris represents someone's life--specifically someone's life that will never be the same. People will clear away their plots. People will rebuild. They will find new jobs, and they will start walking forward. But no matter what they do to move on, the life they move onto will look and feel very different. It may never "fit" in the same way the old life did.
Those of us who live outside of Joplin, and who are only serving short "tours of duty" here are fortunate. Yes, we, too, will be changed by our time here in the disaster zone, but we will return to our lives that are intact. The people who live here everyday will still be here when we go home. Those who were lucky enough to come out of the storm with families and homes unscathed will still be changed by what has happened here. Storm season will be taken more seriously. Precious family items might be stored in containers that are easier to pick up and run with. Understanding and patience will wane for those who are having trouble getting back to "normal." Some survivors might not survive.
As an outsider, I think it's easy to come into town and approach assisting others with a fresh energy and sense of compassion and hope. It's easy to make the snap judgment that the people I'm shoulder to shoulder with don't understand the full meaning of what they are giving back to the people in their town with everything they are doing. It's easy, because I haven't been walking or driving the streets of Joplin everyday for the last two weeks, and I won't be driving the streets of Joplin everyday six months from now either.
When disaster becomes your everyday, it's no wonder you find yourself wanting to look away.
http://youtu.be/wHa4y0uGKZw
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