Sedition and the State of Life

"What manner of life is this," I ask,
"That entreats Wisdom without
Experience?"

"Death It is.
Death:
to Honor; to Piety;
to Justness and Propriety; and
yet Vile
Not to Self."

What is Valorous ceases
to exist in the animation of the
Living Dead:
afraid of Accountability's burden.
lazy reasoning.
unkempt Existence.

Numb to Their own reality:
slumbering unto Their demise,
They are deaf to deliberation...
but not otherwise
Dumb.

Pat the Fly with Window and Bamboo

Well, it seems old Pat, here is a bottle fly.

Hexapoda > Diptera > Calliphoridae
Calliphora vicina Robineau-Desvoidy, 1830

Many (if not most) bottle flies are SHINY, with metallic hues (mostly blues and greens, though bronzes exist also).

Not so with Pat. Dull, dull, dull...

Nope...couldn't be tormented by a shiny, colorful bottle fly; had to be a dull one. /sigh

USS New York

Northrop Grumman photo
Motto: "Strength forged through sacrifice. Never forget."

I would love to see this. And it would give me an excuse to go to NYC (which is my favorite city [of those I've seen] in the world).

Maybe I'll start looking for a rideshare. I'm sure hotels would cost too much and YMCAs will be full, but maybe I could couchsurf.

It's too bad NicKara won't be here in time to tour it.

Off the Handle. On the Wall

Okay. Now, everyone stay calm...

There's a fly in my house.

And not just any fly. It's a rather pesky fly. And HUGE. And, believe it or not, it's NOT a horse fly. This appears to be a "common" housefly. (To be fair, however, I cannot catch the darn thing for proper identification.)

This fly swallowed the woman who swallowed the....etc. I swear by it.

Oh! Did I mention it's a rather large fly?

This fly is SO big it could scare an elephant. In fact, that infamous mouse that goes around scaring elephants (you know, Bunny Foofoo's cousin) could use this fly as a primary means of transport. THAT'S how sizable this fly is.

If it would be still long enough, I could get a photo as proof, but, well, it's busy doing what flies do (namely flying [and being a pest]).

After much rumination, I've concluded that this fly must be robotic, originating from MIT (or some other smart place). And, since it's hanging out at MY place, I figure it's also a flunky. A punky, flunky fly. Either it couldn't get a good job spying somewhere significant--where stuff actually happens, or it's a test fly. A testy, pesty fly.

Of course I can't dissect it to prove this to you, as I cannot catch it. Every time I try, it flies off (and I fly off the handle [I want this fly dead, but intact]).

I thought that, since it's apparently determined to stick around, I should give it a name. But I can't decide what to name him/her.

And, of course, as soon as I DO name it, s/he'll be gone.....

Ohhhh....I know!

It's name is Pat!

Maternal Tenets and Rebellion

Universally, moms are the dutiful agents responsible for the indoctrination of the prudence necessary to prepare us for the perilous combat of life. The precepts so generously granted us are called canons. The term canon(s) is actually an aberration of the word cannon(s), symbolic of their purpose in our lives as metaphorical battle shields designed to deflect life's fusillade.

Opposing this maternal custom of instilling wisdom are equally-zealous, ungrateful offspring whose allegiance is to the careless disdain of motherly tenets. Unfortunately, this disregard can yield catastrophic results.

To illustrate the potential detrimental impact of this heedless behavior, I have composed a hypothetical scenario. I have consciously selected a universal tenet in hopes of helping a more diverse audience. Please consider the following Maternal Tenet Rebellion scenario, keeping in mind that this could happen to you.

It's Monday morning. You were up late last night, and you have had less than five hours sleep. Because you did not hear the deafening blare of your alarm clock soon enough, you're late to work again--this time on evaluation day.

Hurriedly, you brush your teeth, put on deodorant, and relieve your bladder simultaneously. As your cat emphatically brushes against your last clean towel, you remember that you're out of clean work clothes. You quickly retrieve last week's wrinkled suit from the laundry basket and leat it to hang in the slower while you don your undergarments. Against your better judgment, you decide to sport your somewhat antiquated, ventilated pair of underwear. You chuckle as you dismiss your foolhardy choice by rationalizing, "Hey, they don't call 'em breaches for nothin', right?"

Sound familiar? Well, friend, you just unwittingly overstepped the undergarment etiquette boundary. Or, perhaps it wasn't inadvertent--perhaps you deliberately committed this rebellious act, scoffing not only at your mother, but at all moms and what they represent. If this is the case, you have quite possibly endangered yourself and others.

As you recklessly dash through the house, you relentlessly discard motherly precepts, all-too-aware that, someday, one of them is going to snare you; you're pushing your luck. Abandoning all nutritional tenets, you grab a doughnut, some coffee, and (for lunch) a Snickers Bar. You roughly pat the kitty on the head, yell at the dog, and run for the door. Your refined meter is hardly interrupted as you trip on last month's newspapers while dodging the bombardment of hot coffee from the cup you so precariously placed on the entertainment stand.

Eventually, you wisely observe Mom's maxim to "always put your best foot forward," by performing the most spectacular sprint of your lifetime on the way to the car. Your car tires brutally violate the pavement as you depart in a whirlwind of dust and flying pebbles. On the highway, you impatiently curse everyone around you; after all, it's their fault you're late, and you're the one who pays road taxes for the specific positions these people are occupying. You skillfully embroider the traffic, using your vehicle as a threaded needle.

Unfortunately, however, in your haste you neglected another of Mom's preparedness rules: always have a traveler's sewing kit handy. You, my friend, just ran out of thread. Blinded by your frenzy, you failed to allow sufficient space between your "threaded needle" and the car in front of you. Thus, your prompt brake application is futile. Your perforated undergarments now serve as more than cross-breeze gear; they are now also very functional sieves.

Minutes later, you are harshly awakened from your abysmal slumber by the annoying wail of your alarm clock. Adrenaline courses through your veins as you become cognizant of your situation: you must be late for work! You slept too late again! Darn! However, as the alarm clock volume steadily increases, you gradually recognize that what you're actually hearing is sirens.

the paramedics arrive to assist you, but you, upon realizing your horrible underwear dilemma, are captured by a sense of obligatory compassion on behalf of your family. You therefore attempt to adamantly refuse medical treatment, determined to bequeath to your family the only thing salvageable--their dignity. Fortunately, the well-trained paramedics are prepared for this common situation; they spare your life.

Although defying motherly precepts rarely yields anything of significant impact, progenies who utterly refuse this maternal wisdom are foolish. A mother's teaching is intended to help us endure life's battles. Recognizing the insight of a mom, and applying her precepts can prolong your life. Rebellion against maternal tenets can be deadly.

1997 essay

Celebration

Skyshine Sundrop
SPLASH!
Green Tickle-top
YellowCRASH!

Toes stained
happy-day green
Frolicking giggles on
twilight’s eve

Fragrant sounds of children’s eyes,
Sparkling voices as eve draws nigh

Calming whispers in breeze-caressed ears:
Cricket bells ring
Brook’s gentle singing
telling the tale of bedtime near

This Is the Beat It Generation: Palin's Bailin' and All aTwitter

The Bassics

Tal.....




.....and





......


'Nuff said.

Dawdle's Dormancy

If you've read my list Tastes of Things Like These (and Other Things Like Beer) (right sidebar), you might get the impression I like many things culinary, and you just might get the idea that I enjoy high-quality beer. Maybe. I mean, it's subtle, but it's there.

In the past I have brewed beer and it was mediocre, but passable as beer (read: it was better than Coors®). As a bionerd I loved the microbiology behind the brew, and the cook in me enjoyed making and consuming my own handiwork. As one tending toward perfectionism, I was never impressed with my creations, but as a creative person I certainly enjoyed the process and, often, when there's a long project and puzzles to solve, I thrive.

Anyway, along came Mancub (and later an auto accident) and my lifestyle was forever changed. I had to simplify my life, and in the process I lost a few of my beloved hobbies (and I was Hobby Queen, lemme tell ya). Well, sadly for me, brewing was one thing to go: no more large glass jugs or (200) brown bottles, boiling wort, testing specific gravity, etc. for me.

Well, thanks to this wonderful new(ish) product, that dynamic recently changed. I started home brewing this month. It's a simplified process in which the recipe is mostly set (so I miss out a bit on the creative part [though there's room to play there]), as the kit includes extract and dextrose (for wort). This seems a good compromise for me: less storage required, less shopping for ingredients, loads of time saved, less mess, etc.

Because the storage containers are PET (bottles and a "jug" [it's a keg]), and the extract is pre-made, I didn't get my hopes too high--I expected the results to be anywhere from sad (wimpy, beer-flavored water) to something reasonable that I could work with (e.g., a light honey lager). I was wrong.

I got impatient and opened a test 1/2-bottle on Saturday to see how it was progressing. Monday would have been the earliest I should have opened the beer, and about 2 weeks after Monday would have been the optimal timing for the conditioning phase. Opening the beer early as I did could/should have, in theory, yielded a light beer with low alcohol content: a wimpy lager (like those you find in the coolers at some picnics [the ones that include KFC® and Lays® as primary fare {no judgments: there's a time and place for most everything...}]).

Upon opening the tester, it was immediately apparent that this beer was going to hold its own in flavor complexity and body. It was shockingly tasty. I was...well, shocked! (And much relieved!) I had more that night with dinner and a movie, followed by some WoW socializing, and on Sunday I had some with lunch and dinner. I decided I better stop there, though, and put the remaining brew in the fridge to mature (and later savor).

Well....I opened another bottle last night, as I was eager to enjoy this first home brew (esp. after a 10+-year dry spell ["dry" being relative to home brewing, I mean]). I was just too excited about this.

I stayed up rather late, imbibing my new effervescent creation and doing Scarlet Monastery runs on my shadow priest (it's a WoW thing...). I got a couple levels and some "phat lootz" before falling into a leaden slumber full of travels to tropical island paradises with coconut water, snorkeling, and erm.....yeah...moving on...

As I drifted off I had a vague sense of concern that there was only 1 liter of beer left. The problem with that was that I had promised a friend he could try some upon his return home Friday and, well, this was very tasty stuff and it was only Monday! /GaspOf"Oh no!WhatamIgoingtodo?!" /sleep

After traveling the world and having a most amazing time, I stumbled my way into the kitchen to discover 1/2 a bottle of beer sitting on the counter...opened...with the lid off...and....a few minutes later...another 1/2 bottle (lid ON [thankfully!]) sitting by the desk, tucked into a basket....

I am Dawdle.



Kyle, dude, ya didn't make it back for the veggies and, I dunno what happened, but I apparently deemed the avocado as ripe...or getting mushy. I ate it. Sorry, man.

On An Unnamed Non-Profit Foundation, False Humility and Ego

Picasso's on my mind today as I look at his cute, framed face and reflect on how things went "down" his final year and my rushed trip to California to release him into the arms of a loving friend.

A friend who has a full home, but always manages to make more room for visitors or those in need. A friend who would let me visit my poochie-pie whenever I wanted (or could). A friend who, upon hearing of Picasso's age-related struggles with incontinence and walking offered to take him without hesitation. And a friend who, when asked if she should talk to her hubby first simply said, "Naww....he's even nicer than I am, so don't worry!"

I still struggle to believe what transpired.

Last August I was scheduled to drive out to Westminster and relinquish my dog to a rescue . The night before the scheduled "delivery" a friend checked in to see how I was doing; I said I was slowly coming to terms with things, but still very, very depressed. I had been with Picasso since his puppyhood--13.5 years. When asked where he was going, I named the .

A few minutes later, the friend IM'd me with a comments essentially stating that might want to look at a specified link containing Picasso's "biography."

I would list it here, but I'm not sure if I should (although it's public property, etc., so I could [You may find it somewhere within this posting, however.]). Suffice it to say my reaction was, "......!"

Within the contents of this supposed biography were comments regarding an abusive, neglectful environment and a dog that was starved and never exercised.

I was absolutely shocked and hurt, and wrote the organization a letter stating such and clarifying some things for them. I received a fairly quick (forwarded) response back requesting a particular person (who turns out to be the Director) address my comments on the biography. I then waited until morning, when I received, basically, a brush-off dismissal and excuse regarding a policy which encourages staff to create drama in order to evoke compassion on behalf of the pet. They consider it poetic license.

Now, except for the fact that I had already provided them with a reasonable history a couple days prior, AND the fact that, on its OWN, our story was tragic/dramatic ENOUGH (sans embellishment), the response would have been sufficient. That is had it been applicable and not in direct opposition to what they had actually done (lie), and in total agreement with what I had requested to begin with (provide the unmitigated, sad truth of our life in its current state). These were not embellishments--they were outright lies.

I wrote the again, providing an accurate account of my pup's history and our circumstances. Within the letter's content were comments addressing the fact that I honestly did not sense this was intentional on their part, but more a matter of information being passed around verbally and getting distorted upon reaching its final destination (similar to the "telephone" game many of us played as children).

I had no issue with them citing a specific incidence of my disabled child mistreating Picasso (Mancub kept smacking him in the snout and pulling on his tail [poor puppy--he was so patient and gentle regardless]) if they felt it absolutely necessary, but this is NOT an abusive, neglectful home environment, and, when I told them I could no longer buy the expensive brand of food for Picasso, I merely meant he was still on a rice-based diet, but that it wasn't organic, with special oils and supplements, etc. I simply could not afford to spoil him as much as I had for 13 years; we were in survival mode. And I had been VERY clear about ALL of that information.

Several times.

Anyway, I requested at the letter's end that they please write an accurate biography. Then I waited.

And waited.

I received nothing from them, but I did receive a multitude (about 7+) of phone calls from a "friend" (the one that set this all up to help) interceding on the 's behalf. Said person was convinced that I was wrong to be concerned about character defamation and libelous comments in light of the fact that my dog needed a home, and, so, said "friend" reminded me that this was not about me, but about the welfare of Picasso, so, "who cares what they think of you?!" Blah, blah, friggin' BLAH!

Wrong answer! As the parent of a disabled child I have enough awareness to realize that the environment of special needs children is carefully watched (and sometimes even monitored). These falsehoods could (however unlikely) actually be extremely detrimental to my family and our future. And, had I merely "accepted" them and handed over my dog, I would have effectively been in agreement with the comments if I did not at least attempt to address them.

In the end, I wound up with a threat that:

• based on the 's "evidence" they were adamant that Picasso was mistreated and they would report me to animal services if I did not relinquish him to them in the morning.

~and~

• the could not guarantee they could "save" Picasso in such an event, as they would not necessarily be informed regarding the pound in which he would be dwelling.

Is it just me, or is this WAY out of line? These people are such egomaniacs that they were willing to have my dog sent to the pound and be euthanized just to teach me a lesson?! I find that nothing less than appalling!

They present themselves as humanitarians.

Scary world.

The Gift

This is my belief: we humans have been bestowed a wondrous present--life. To complement this gift, we receive an inherent capacity to experience emotions and the ability to exercise free will. Moreover, awaiting discovery beneath the ingeniously-wrapped package is an assortment of treasures, each specially-designed for its recipient. These treasures, our life-happenings, can serve as invaluable sources of wisdom.

Following is an account of such an event in one person's life. That person, though temporarily traumatized, actually survived this little humiliation episode with all but some pride fully intact. Indeed, not only did the experience instill humility, but it also served as a mirror--a reminder of how truly ridiculous we humans can be when pursuing our ambitions.

I was fifteen years old and I had the most important date in my life. This rendezvous was so momentous that any and all other matters paled in significance. My date awaited me and I did not wish to disappoint him; he was known for his leadership qualities of decisiveness and punctuality. We had very important plans for the evening. Together, we were going to walk hand-in-hand right into my future. Yes, tonight I had a date with Fate.

Of course, I was selfish and a little arrogant, but what fifteen-year-old isn't? Like any kid, I readily took advantage of any opportunity to be accepted. Fortunately, in my case, I possessed a certain "gift." This talent was my vehicle to a "successful" future. Without it, I would have been destined to a life of failure. How did i know this? The world taught me. People absolutely adored me when basking in the aura of my gift.

Why does Mom always have to make such a big production? I just want to be comfortable so I can do well. Damn these stupid shoes. Dress shoes are always so awkward!.... Okay, now, is my hair okay?

"No, Mom I will not wear makeup! It makes me feel fake and, besides, I need to be comfy."

Okay, now, where was I? Gaaaawww!! Who invented slips anyway! I abhor them! Calm down! Breathe easy--inhale.....don't forget to exhale! Oh my gosh! I forgot the... No, wait! here it is! Whew! Okay, h2, calm down!

"Okaa-aaeeeyy, Mommm! Geeze, would you quit it?! you're making me nervous!"

"Oh, yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, Sis."

As I fixed my hair in front of the hotel mirror, my sister kindly assisted me in my preparations by neatly tying my dress sash, putting my shoes on me, and adjusting my necklace clasp at the back of my neck.

Finally, we were off to the grand event. We arrived, well, noisily--the whole silly lot of us: Mom, my stepfather, four of my siblings, and, most importantly, me--the family star. After everyone finally settled, I took my seat of honor, thrilled with my worthy position as the evening's guest performer.

There now. That wastn' too bad. Well, at least I didn't pass out. I can do this! This is great! Heck, this is definitely where I belong.

Now, Mom was sitting in a place befitting any well-intentioned, proud mother--the front row. Unfortunately (as usual), she was attempting to get my attention, but I would have none of that nonsense. I was on a life mission and, besides, how was I to mesmerize Larry with my maturity and sophistication with my mommy gawking and carrying on like that? So, I determined to take the most favorable route. I ignored her with all my might.

Typical of these scenarios however, I was unsuccessful in attaining my objective, because another characteristic common to good moms is tenacity. To my estimation, Mom had (like all good moms) once again determined to ruin my big night. Her strategy: assume an exaggerated countenance of puzzlement.

As is customary of a good mom, she executed her plan flawlessly. The accomplishment of her goal was manifested in my instantaneous, involuntary reponse of curiousity. For, like all kids with good moms, I simply couldn't resist The Power of The Mom no matter how hard I tried! In fact, I think there is scientific documentation suggesting the futility of any such attempt.

Before I new it, I was trapped: I wondered, "What exactly is it that's so perplexing?" Effectively admitting defeat, I briskly scanned the room for evidence. Suddenly, I was attacked with anxiety and fear as I realized that Mom's gaze was intently set on me.

What?! Oh no--do I have a booger on my face? My zipper! No.... What, damn it, what?! She's laughing at me! What?! Gaaaw, she drives me nuts sometimes! Now she's whispering to Ken. Oh, great! They're both laughing. Damn! Almost missed that entrance! Focus! Stand up. Inhale.

As I played my debut trumpet solo, the awesome presence of The Laughing Mom insidiously took up residence in my brain's grey matter. She left me no choice. Being as astute teenager, I resolved to evict her during the next rest interval. Thus, when the opportunity presented itself, I directed stern, darting, don't-embarrass-me looks her way. The Powerful One, having established eye contact, started pointing again. I successfully conveyed to her my confusion. In response, and about as subtly as is possible for this type of behavior, Mom stuck her left leg in the air. She very emphatically pointed to her foot, put the leg down, then pointed to my feet.

Oh my!! How did that happen?! Hope Larry doesn't notice this! Geeze, I'm almost of driving age and making a big debut with a professional jazz band. You'd think I could manage... Stand. Inhale. Concentrate! Solo....Don't laugh! Darn! Just this one tune. You can fix it at break. Whew! Finally! Made it through that session!

At ten-thirty we took a break. As was to be expected, all the "regulars" got drinks, socialized, and relieved themselves. I, on the other hand, remained seated, busying myself with "necessary" task such as oiling valves and adjusting music. I strove to appear calm and "at home" as audience members came to anoint me with compliments. I radiated a sense of humble confidence--of professional demeanor. I was in my element!

Within minutes, Larry approached me. I endeavored to overwhelm him with my sensibility and intellect as we casually chatted about college, my splendid solo, careers, and "the scene." I didn't know what to do--I really needed to pee! Eventually, he asked if I would like to accompany him on a brief walk. It was, after all, beautiful outside. I, of course, sophisticatedly responded, "Certainly!" or, "Sounds lovely!" (or something comparable), and informed him that I would be delighted to join him after I finished organizing my sheet music for the next set. I certainly didn't wish to shun my professional duties.

At the first chance, I deftly slipped out of the bar and headed for the restroom. To my frustration, people started in my direction with more comments. I slyly evaded them and desperately ran to the nearest lobby phone booth.

Whew--made it! A long sigh of relief escaped as I replaced each shoe--this time on the proper feet.

1997 essay

"Scanner" Babble

News flash! I'm an artist at heart--an idea person. And, yes, to those readers that know me, that's a huge "duh!" News flash?!....pffft! /no

Very often I have more ideas flooding my mind than my brain can keep up with (even if I start writing/recording/typing immediately). I have a creative mind...and ADHD (among other "things"). Sometimes this combination is quite challenging to manage.

I was watching a Barbara Sher video on YouTube and got a brain flash: I LOVE planning and designing! Executing a plan/idea/work is fine and often enjoyable, as well. I just don't enjoy implementing (at least many components of such) or maintaining.

For example, I love designing buildings and floor layouts (even architectural components), gardens, curriculum plans, family time, vacation schedules, game rules, holiday menus, etc. (the list does go on...). BUT, well, ya know that part of the product plan where someone needs to jump in and DO something (say, go grocery shopping, market to another, balance the books, dig/prep dirt)? Yeah, that part...guess where you'll find me? I'm gone....it's like I fade into....I don't know where. (So, if you do happen to find me, kindly inform me of my whereabouts! ;-) )

I knew this all sounded familiar. In fact I even learned from Barbara to work on accepting this about myself--to give myself permission to just be who I was designed by nature to be: me. We don't expect a fish to thrive on running around in a pasture grazing (let alone to enjoy such), yet we do this to ourselves and others all the time. Anyway, for whatever reason, I had lost touch with this epiphany and was pleased to rediscover it today!

So, today I realized I have spent most of my life attempting to force myself to like/enjoy (even merely tolerate) things that are unnatural for me or that I just do NOT like/enjoy!

Why? Because I bought into the idea that those things were necessary (and some are, but others enjoy doing them and are thus better [even great] at them). Now, had I spent that time and energy doing things I enjoy and/or are passionate about, perhaps I would have produced/accomplished more.

Here's the deal: we tend to avoid what we dislike or struggle with. Many of us procrastinate these tasks/projects. For example, someone who is not natural with arithmetic or computers, might find they put off balancing their budget, doing bills, etc. more often than other things. If writing is hard and you need to send in a written account, written cancellation notice, or even send a card, it's possible that you may procrastinate to the point of....well, you get my point. Meanwhile, many of us feel guilty and these chores weigh us down.

And, meanwhile, we're beating ourselves up and not allowing ourselves to do other things we love until this prescribed job is accomplished. So, we're spending time not accomplishing the chores OR things we're more designed for. And we're not even ENJOYING that time. What a ripoff!

This is where networking and bartering can be very beneficial (esp. for those of us [like me] that are financially limited). Do my lawn, and I'll cook you a decent meal. Start and maintain my garden and I'll proofread your reports or cook you a meal every time you come over; clean my house and change my oil, and I'll organize your vacation time (and cook you a meal). I'll organize a menu, prep, and cook you a meal if you bring the ingredients. I'll design your garage organization if you help do the labor for mine (and I'll likely cook you dinner). Give me a massage and....I'll cook you a meal. Okay, yeah, I know, I'm a bit limited in repertoire here, but only because I worry that I'll choke in the implementation portion of a bigger project (e.g., compose a song for your upcoming anniversary), so lighten up!

Back to my personal dynamic here. I need to find a way to do what I love (e.g., art, classes, cooking, traveling, writing, etc.) and see if I can find others to take care of marketing what needs to be marketed, fixing what needs fixing, etc. Furthermore, said others need to enjoy doing those things! There are people who actually enjoy hard physical labor, and, hey, if there's home-brewed beer and a meal as a reward, they're genuinely excited (hard to imagine for some, I know)!

This is important. My very life and health depend on it, in fact. Well, you know, in as much as happiness and stress affect health and longevity. And that's why I'm doing all this processing. I'm hoping to discover a brilliant solution! If not, well, at least I processed and wrote, so that's productive! :-)

Now, I'm no mathematician (as you will see below), and I'm still working this out, but I think the equation for this dynamic in my life goes something like this:

Given the following representations:
C: compose (create), O: organize (plan, sort), R: orchestrate (implement: manage) H: rehearsal (implement: practice, prepare), N: conduct (implement: administrate, edit), E: concert (final product)

for the following values:
G: great fun, F: fun, S: sorta fun, and T: not fun, and where G > F , and F > S, and S > T, and T = ∅, the following is true:

C = G
O = G
R = S
H = T
N = S
E = F

Therefore,
C = O = G = my calling.
E = F = acceptable levels of brain juice still flow from interest in the activity, so I should go for it.
R = N = S = do if I must, but best avoided!
H = T = ∅ = don't even go there!

(Erhmm...okay...now, as is amply demonstrated here, this is where I start to flake out because this is taking energy in implementing....so I gave myself permission to stop, and will continue if my brain lights up with another thought on the matter.)

Thanks, Barbara Sher! You are a gem!

I need a new list!

Busy Day

Yesterday was an eventful day. I did so much and learned plenty.

I started my day with a mini-tour of Bradley University, in Peoria, IL, followed by a peaceful time in a beautiful Zen garden on campus, where I attempted to touch a peacock, and a butterfly flirted with me. Of course, I prayed and did some bows.

That evening I strolled around Bourbon St., then made my way to an art exhibit.

Oh! And, all the while, I was sipping my cold licorice water, chatting on IMs, emailing people, and taking (and making) "business" calls regarding Mancub.


It's an amazing world we "live" in.

SL, ftw.

When All Else Fails, Get a (Second) Life!

I've been pondering this whole Second Life® (SL) thing for awhile now, and I think it sounds really cool! Nerdy, I know, but I'm at peace with and choose to celebrate my nerd self (/DorkOut)!

I'm fascinated that there is a virtual world in which people interact and live. They take college courses, hold real life(RL)/first life (FL) business meetings and parties. There are museums (some from RL), art studios, concerts, seminars, etc. Some RL (FL) companies have SL presence. People shop, even; they buy (with SL's currency) things designed by others in the...erm...non-game platform. One can even purchase "land" or build an island (and said can have it's own rules, or charge leasing or property fees, etc.).

I appreciate that, although I have limits dictated by certain factors in my (first) life, there is a platform for my artistic expressions and possible educational opportunities (taking courses/teaching), and the chance to advocate (in my case, I'm thinking autism and eco-friendly stuffs).

For my purposes (at least to start with), those features alone make the free account worth a try. I can learn, express, even hold "live" performances of my music, comedic repertoire, poetry, writings, dance (well, I suppose I could pretend, as that would be part of the point of SL for some [I meant that as no intentional "dis" toward anyone reading this that is physically {or artistically} challenged--just laughing at my own dancing!]), etc.

Not that as an ADHDer I will actually stick to this or accomplish all that, but...well, I'm going to sign onto the free account and see what happens! I'll let ya know!

UPDATE:

I got a second life, and my name is "h2 Blogger." That was actually tricky to accomplish. After downloading and logging on, I was essentially dropped off somewhere in Japan (well, there was Japanese being spoken and so many Japanese characters on...well, it looked like advertising [billboards and other signs].../shrug). I spent a bit of time attempting to change out of the....uhmm....mauve-with-white-polka-dots top, pants and short skirt, then altered my look to something more like the RL/FL me. Well, I tried, at least (for a long time, actually--but, in the end, I also cheated myself of some of this extra weight...:-) ).

I gradually found my way to some Aussie island (naturally, right?), and even "touched" a very large, yellow dragonfly! I was bestowed an Appeltini from the tiki bar and, later, a beer from a barrel cooler on a raft. The beer was weak, and the 'tini....was not looking quite right, so I put both in my bags and carried on with my vacation: relaxing on a comfy couch on a raft floating in a paradise of sorts.




Oh! Also, I DANCED!

(Here's a call-out to my Oz mates!)

I don't think I'll be entering any dance contests in the near future....

The Day Trip

Well, so much for that "friendship." Not that I'm bitter (that comes later [/enthalpy happens]), but...WOW!

Mancub and I just got back from P's place. We were supposed to leave about 11ish and were very delayed, as Mancub's dad didn't bring the cub by soon enough. The dad unit figured I might need a couple days to deal with grieving the loss of Bob and meanwhile forgot all about my day trip plans.

I called P and let her know we were late and, while she didn't sound "happy" (but, then she rarely ever does), she just said that we can do whatever when I can get there.

So, we arrive at 12:50, she answers the phone and informs me I may as well turn right around and go home, that she's fed up and tired and let's write this off--in fact, write off the whole thing--and the friendship.

Wow.

Now, I understand how she would be frustrated with me: my life is not as "tidy" as others. I have a kid that gets hospitalized, I have a back injury with a chronic, trauma-induced fibromyalgia(-like [depending on which specialist you ask]) condition that flares up at times (and even caused me to cancel the previous day trip), etc.

I called back to reiterate that I am grieving the loss of a family member, that I totally understand if she wants to write me off, and I'm sorry we were late, but that, meanwhile, there's a little boy here who's very upset and doesn't understand.

Her response (not verbatim): I don't wanna talk to you and ya know what (re: Mancub's hurt feelings and bewilderment)? I don't really CARE! ...and perhaps more stuff....then, /HangUp

Wow.

My son is autistic and honestly doesn't understand why he can't go in P's car for a ride to the mountains. He's done nothing wrong and has been talking about this for weeks. He actually likes her in his own way (regardless of her gruff, bossy, know-it-all [even when misinformed] manner) and adores her car (he's a bit obsessed with vehicles). And he was so excited when we arrived at her place. That, of course, was replaced with sobbing for over an hour, as he repeated, "I wuhnn YES P____'s car, goin' mountains drive wid P___. YES, Mommy, pweeze okay."

I may have fewer friends as a result of the difficulties of having a disabled kiddo and some medical issues, but perhaps she has fewer friends for very different reasons. So, although I'm hurt (esp. on behalf of my child), I suppose I should just feel sorry for her; here she is beyond "middle aged" and lacks the maturity, compassion and character to deal with any type of relationship maintenance. Not even a casual friendship.

But I keep asking myself what kind of person doesn't give a "crap" about a child's emotional pain? Yeah, write me off: I'm totally okay with that, but hurt a child who you KNOW is not able to reconcile or justify things...? Well, in my thinking that just makes you an evil-hearted person.

Good riddance.

In the long run, I suppose I should be mature about this and exercise sympathy toward her, for perhaps she never had the opportunity to love or learn to love. Seemingly, she has instead spent the majority of her life energy pushing people away.

Wow, what a trip!

R.I.P. Bob

Yesterday I received news that it was believed a close family member died in a plane crash at an air show.

I spent most of my day and evening searching for information on the net regarding any such event, figuring someone would have something about it on their personal site or there would be a news article.

I found the sad news this morning.

Bob, you were loved, adored, admired, and possibly the most humble and loving person I have ever known.

You accomplished so much in your life--more in one week than most of us can in a year, it always seemed. And not selfishly, but putting others' needs before your own.

Yes, by worldly standards you were one to look up to. You were a USAF colonel (yet you never flaunted your title), you set world records, you helped engineer a way out of bankruptcy for a very major company (even taking a cut in pay), and always provided well for your family.

You always bestowed practical assistance to others. You took in Mom when she needed a place to live; you did my taxes (about 6 years' worth.../apologize) when I got divorced and was overwhelmed; you moved furniture, helped people with their finances, fixed cars, etc. You went on missionary trips; you took care of those in your church; you took care of your neighborhood, even grating the road or clearing the snow on your own time....voluntarily.

And you didn't complain. You did all with an open, joyous heart, often offering to help even more.

To the world you were a gentle, patient teacher, a mentor, a giver and a very smart, sensible man.

But first and foremost, I know your legacy was that you were a man devoted to God, an amazing husband to Huntley, a great father, a precious grandfather and friend to many.

It seems fitting that July 4 was your final day here. You were a patriot--one who exemplified the term All American. You were a shining star and a hero to so many.

We'll miss you greatly.

Holeness Where the Heart Is: Home Is Where Your Start Is

J.H. Payne said that there's no place like home. T.S. Eliot stated that home is where one starts. Peoples of many nations risk their lives and abandon their native land and family for precisely that--a new start--a place called home.

They come by the thousands; they come hoping to attain stability for their children's children; they come earnestly searching freedom. Humbly, they come to America--sweet land of liberty.

What do those seeking to partake of this country's great privileges find upon their arrival? Rather than wholeness, they discover a fragmented, lost nation. Ironically, they find that we too are searching for a place to call home.

What happened? I believe we have forgotten out humble beginnings, and we have lost perspective.

We have neglected to hold true to the values upon which this country was founded: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Naturally, we remembered the happiness portion, but we were so busy with this pursuit that we forgot the true source of contentment and why/for whom we pursue this happiness. We determined that stability would bring contentment, and we somehow became convinced that money was the key to stability. Our initially virtuous mission, intended to provide solid foundations for future generations was surreptitiously replaced by an incessant pursuance of money. Whereas the "American way" formerly referred to purity and simplicity, it now represents greed.

Unfortunately, while everyone was busy chasing this evasive euphoria, the country's family structure crumbled, and our dear children were carelessly left behind. Our nation's youth, in their fervent quest for a place called home, have taken upon their shoulders a momentous burden: they too have decided to start over; they have begun to start families of their own.

Now what? Restoration work must begin. It's time to rebuild America. Our great country was pioneered by separatists--people devoted to the concept of freedom. Since our humble genesis, our country has maintained a firm resolution to preserve an identity separate from that of the "rest" of the world--a heritage bequeathed us by our founding fathers.

We must spend more time instilling values in our children and less time pursuing monetary security. We must give our youth something besides a baby to hold; tell them of their wonderful familial heritage; restore to them their identity; and give to them their birthright of patriotism. We must spend less time memorizing state capitals and talking of cherry trees. It's time to teach our youth the price our ancestors paid for our freedom.

It is said that nothing in life is free--everything has a price. Our country was founded at an enormous price, but its cost was not intended to include our families.

So, where should we start? How about with our name: The United States of America.

America, America,
God Shed His grace on thee
And crowned thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea.

Let's set down our weapons and implement the "unite" part. We must remember the mold from which we are cast. Perhaps we could teach our children by example: less "attitude" and more gratitude.

1997 essay
copyright 2009

Independence

Well, it's the 4th of July, and I just woke up to the sound of a military jet flying overhead.

I'm not sure if that should be considered festive, reassuring, or.....ominous (esp. considering our little "friends" in North Korea), but, well, for now, I suppose I should focus on enjoying my independence for the day, and put "worry about North Korea and bombs another day" on my Master Task List.

Imagine a world in which we all spent time alone for Independence Day. We could go to a park or a body of water, set-up "camp" and drink our beverage of choice. All together, independently! We could fire up the grill and uhmm....I don't know, shoot off missiles!....OH, wait...right. (So nice of them to care about our holiday and express it with such verve, though, isn't it? [nationalism versus patriotism {Chauvinistic much? (I forewarned of the nested parenthetical phrases, and now you get the self-talk as well [bonus!]}]....and, yes, Jingoistic!)

Anyway, back to my simple rambling about my today.

I'm single. Today. So, today I'll read my email. Alone. I'll check on the latest news on the web....alone....and discuss it...alone. Who knows--this may be my last independent Independence Day, after all, so I should be certain to enjoy it.

On Monday I'll be with my wild partner again. We'll be a duo. I'll be UNalone and sort of UNindependent (although he'll be in dependence, as he is who he is). We have grand plans to go on a day drive to Rocky Mountain National Park. Others will be leaving from their holiday weekend festivities (that were UNindependent, mostly, would be my guess), so we'll be going against the grain of traffic (does traffic have a grain?....hmm...), like salmon swimming upstream. Mmmmm.....salmon......

By Wednesday I'll be exhausted and ready to be independent again...which will happen the following Monday.

I digress. This is about today. Today I am independently writing and reading and drinking water and basking in the sounds of silence (minus, of course, the aforementioned military jet sounds). And I'm considering important things like java (the drink, not the script or language...or hut...wait that's Jabba and hutt....).

Maybe I'll grill some wild salmon and put a firecracker in it! Oh! Wait! I have no fish!

Essays

In answer to popular, worldwide demand (not)....for your consideration, I present to you, my beloved public:

My Essays!

(/BowToCheeringCrowdAndAppearAsHumbleAsPossible [for those of you unfamiliar with this style of expression, that was an emote])

I have decided to include essays in my blog. This is a way to electronically store my writings (the ones I haven't misplaced, at least), so it seems practical enough, and it gives you something to criticize critique comment on view.

On MJ's Children. Since When is "Family" Soley Based on Genetics?

This is a rather complex situation.

I was reading the comments associated with on-line article on this topic, when it occurred to me that I also had thoughts on this subject. So, totally unlike me, I proceeded to write in the comments field. However, NOT unlike me, I wrote a lengthy comment, which was truncated about 1/3 of the way through. After several attempts to create a concise version, I decided that, well, these are my thoughts, and I'll not allow them to be censored truncated!

What startled me was that I saw no remarks regarding MJ's children potentially being raised in a home with abusive elements. And, while the grandmother is very likely a loving, good person, she DID have many children to a man who is/was purportedly abusive, and yet the abuse was (seemingly) passively allowed to continue. Not to mention (although I am), MJ's purported strong feelings toward/against his father would seem to suggest he (MJ) would not want his children raised by their grandfather.

That said, it may still be that this is the best choice for the children. Who am I to say? I did read that the grandparents do not live together, but that the grandfather is a part of the children's lives; a "loving relationship" is, I believe, the phrase used. Perhaps Grandmother has since matured greatly and does and will her foot down and protect these kids with her very life. I don't prefer to judge either way; I merely wish to process and share some thoughts.

STOP!

That was before I was aware of the fact that MJ's parents are estranged. But NOW, it seems Joe's trying to establish his own right to raise them in conjunction with his wife (but separately...I guess?....possibly in a different state even?...). So, Joe is seemingly seeking a joint-custody situation.

Well, even if there was significant progress in repairing the father-son relationship (MJ and Joe), that does not equate to MJ's willingness or desire to risk having his children raised by their grandfather. They can have a relationship with Joe and not be under his control. He can (like most grandfathers) be an influence (hopefully, a positive one) in their lives without the pressure of parenting; he can still help them decide on career paths without effectively driving them into a depressive state in which they constantly seek approval, affection and love (appropriately or not).

(Oh...did I write that? Yes, I went there. Forgive my opinionated way in what is intended to be at least a somewhat objective discussion, but I do think MJ understood this as a very deep, personal level and thus wisely chose his mother--not his father--as the guardian.)

GO.

I think there are a few more things to be mindful of when obsessing over examining the components of this tragedy.

Firstly, as for Debbie's not being considered the mother based on her being a surrogate alone (which, mind you, is very likely to create a serious bond), I have the following: Do we say to a person, "You're sterile and thus are not really a parent." or, "You chose to adopt and are therefore not a parent."? No, we do not. We recognize that, for whatever (private) reason the couple went a different route to have kids. Some adopt, but are nonetheless considered parents.

I realize in this case it's not yet clear (to the public) whether Debbie would like to take the children in. There are conflicting statements regarding whether (or not) she is part of their lives. Whatever.

We don't know all the facts or what's going on (and has gone on) behind the scenes, nor is it truly for the public to know. None of that is to say the public's not fascinated or curious, or that they won't learn or speculate or have opinions, but this is my reality check (they don't come that often, as this is my world). There are children involved here, so I feel "we" should consider the impact all the speculation/rumors can have on them before we go spouting off.

I believe perspective is important. Without it things are askew. Profound, I know. :-P

Now, as regards any inconsistency of comments pertaining to paternity/maternity, etc., there IS the possibility that Debbie had a promise or contract with Michael and is attempting to honor such. We don't know why there are inconsistencies, and, frankly, it's not our business, as this is their private matter. Most of us have at least some privacy boundaries; I imagine being in the public eye to be quite the challenge!

Let's remember that our news sources at present are suspect, at best. There is mass chaos and jockeying going on right now, and this is the information age, so it's best to be careful before judging anyone or taking anything as "gospel." Furthermore, if Debbie fights for custody, she is fighting a virtual empire and has to be very cautious and efficient in her approach.

Continuing on, it is entirely possible that Debbie is genuinely concerned about putting these children through more trauma, in terms of "fighting" in court, not having as much money and/or being able to provide the lifestyle to which they're accustomed, etc.

Another possibility to consider is that, as a parent (or as one who cares about them--however you see it), she may actually have valid concerns about splitting up the siblings. They've lost their dad, and it would be tragic if, in all this frenzy, they can't all 3 stay together, because of their DNA not being shared. Let's not forget (as it seems some have), Debbie did go back to court and request her maternal rights be reinstated.

None of us can truly accurately judge another's heart motive. That goes for both Debbie and the grandmother. To BALANCE that, however, is using discernment: While we have no reason to have full reservations regarding either of these women, we DO have reason to be wary of the grandfather as a parent to the children; not just ANY children, but MJ's, specifically, considering the fact that MJ went on record with comments regarding Joe's parenting style and his (MJ's) disagreement with said. (Of course, others did as well...)

Finally, on a more personal level (i.e., something I have a little experience with), I have something to say to those that think age 7-12 years is old enough to decide a future/fate: I disagree. Strongly.

I was an introspective 12-year old when I was faced with a much simpler choice: choosing to let my stepfather adopt me.....or not. Sounds simple, right? Something a mature 12-year-old can handle. Well,.....

I'll preface this by stating that all (four) parents involved were doing their best to not pressure me. Rather, they were encouraging me to take an active role in deciding my future fate.

I, meanwhile, was so concerned about making everyone happy, that I became very stressed out. On one hand, it meant giving up my father's family name, and on the other, well, it was my stepdad I would have to live with daily, so I certainly didn't want to disappoint him. My dad told me he was still my daddy no matter what and that whatever I decided was totally okay with him. I just remember being torn and, in fact, it is to this day a painful memory.

But, aside from all that, here's the real kicker: I have a chronically ill mother who has had several brushes with death (the docs were amazed when she lived beyond 32 years). That "simple" choice would have, of course, meant I would have stayed with my stepfather had my mother died. And I KNEW that. And that was part of my struggle. How could I look at this guy who was trying to help and love us and say, "I don't want to be with you if Mom dies. I want to be with Dad and my brother (who had, not-so-incidentally, been split from me as part of the divorce)!"

Realize, I was all-too aware that I was to be living with this man. I didn't want there to be any hurt feelings or tension between us. That's not only smart survival skills, but it just makes for a more peaceful life, and, to that point, he had been very good to us. And, well, Mom is co-dependent and taught me well...

Anyway, had Mom died and I not been allowed to go back to Dad, I would have been truly devastated. So, what I'm saying is that, although I understood the terms cognitively, that was WAY too much to put on the shoulders of a 12-year-old--no matter HOW introspective, intelligent or mature s/he is.

There is more to family than just genetics, and there is WAY more to this situation than any of us know. Let's not condemn, judge or assume the information we're fed is fully accurate, but, instead, employ our brains and withhold judgment on any of the parties.