Ever know one of those public personalities that people love to hate? There are several who promote themselves as political conservatives, then use their notoriety to spout whatever they want, be it correct or not, for the masses to ingest and/or choke upon. They are like viruses that thrive upon the ills of the country, and seek to increase ratings by increasing the divisiveness among the people. Any news organization with one of those cash cows on the payroll is certainly not going to quibble over the validity of what they spout. One of those annoying people is Glenn Beck. In fact, I’d say at this moment, today, he’s the leader of that vicious pack.
If you don’t already know who he is and what he stands for, let me fill you in. He works for the unabashedly right-wing Fox network, which in itself isn’t all that controversial or even annoying. Selecting our TV channel is still sort of a free choice and nobody makes me watch him. As a conservative, he of course disagrees with the sitting president. Again, not particularly annoying. That’s called political freedom. But he uses his platform to spout inaccuracies, slanted ‘news’ in the loosest of terms, and basic, downright slop that he won’t even admit are just his opinions for the masses of politically and socially dissatisfied viewers tuning in for their daily dose of hatred and superiority.
He loves it. Ratings shoot up and he keeps his lucrative job a while longer. But this is what people forget about him. He is nothing more – I repeat, nothing more – than an entertainer, by his own admission. When confronted about his incendiary words describing as ‘socialists and communists’ any Christians who aren’t as conservative as him, he replied that he was “only an entertainer”. He’d do well to remember that fact.
Rush Limbaugh didn’t. He got so excited and puffed up over the success of his popular hate-mongering radio show that he began to believe his own rhetoric. His arrogance took over and led his mouth to places his powerful backers couldn’t go. He insulted and dismissed pretty much anyone whose views didn’t fit with his ever-narrowing ones. But once you gain popularity like that, you have to ride the wave. Then it all blew up in his face and he had admit that he was a fraud. His career never fully recovered.
Along came Glen Beck, to fill that void, eager to get some of that fame for himself. In his own radio show, he has attacked blacks and other minorities, made jokes about police violence being an answer, then went on to television where he uses a daily ‘news’ forum to tell people that the president is a communist and anyone not sharing the Fox network’s narrowing view of politics is an extreme left-wing socialist. Beck has stepped so far to the right that even a moderate looks like a left-wing extremist comparatively.
Since when has looking out for our poor and disenfranchised in this country not been part of our country’s original charter? Our own Statue of Liberty calls out to immigrants, the ‘tired, poor, huddled masses.’ Yet, Beck would have you believe that to look out for anyone other than your own selfish interests is communism. And we all know if you pull that word out and start bandying it about anyone older than 40 gets a chill remembering the post-WWII cold war, the Cuban missile crisis, and how those evil communists were out to take over America. So what better words to ignite that deep spark of fear in his listeners than “communist” and “socialist”?
Now, he has chosen the exact date (today in fact) that Martin Luther King delivered his “I have a dream” speech on the steps of the Washington Mall as his date for a rally to ‘bring back old-fashioned values and integrity’ like our founding fathers. He would tell you that he didn’t plan that date, that it was an accident. Yet, last November when he began talking about it on his radio show, he talked about how difficult it was to get his permit for that specific date because of its historical significance. Of course, it was planned. Whether he thought he would ingratiate himself to blacks by looking as if he’s aligning himself with their greatest leader for freedom and equality, or whether he hoped to drop a little water on that flame and thus further inflame his own followers, many of whom fall into the “white, not quite over racism” category, is anybody’s guess. Maybe in some twisted way he thought he might fool both groups into thinking he was on their side.
Mostly, he just hopes to get people talking about him either way so his ratings will stay constant. First, you get the politically ultra-conservatives railing against the ultra-liberals. Then you narrow that divide by narrowing the concept of political conservatism. Then you attack Christians because they want to follow the directive of their leader, Jesus Christ, to care for the widows and orphans and feed the poor (direct quotes from the New Testament, just in case anyone believes that’s not what Christianity means). He said anyone who uses the words ‘social justice’ to describe their church is a communist. So that divides the religious front. Now he’s looking to resurrect a barrier in the just healing racial divide. Just who doesn’t he hate, I must ask? The group of people who can be members of his exclusive club just keeps getting smaller and smaller. And that does not bode well for Beck.
Like Limbaugh before him, I believe Beck has forgotten that he’s just an entertainer and he has begun to take himself far too seriously. I believe that he figured out just how much his listeners love to hate the sitting president and he believes getting in good with the Tea Party movement and having Sarah Palin show up will give him the stamp of approval as “official representative” of the conservative movement. He hopes it will somehow legitimize his nonsense and maybe even bring him into the political arena. For what purpose, one wonders? Still, it is a free country, despite what he would tell you. And he’s free to crash and burn his career however he wants.
Sadly, the media mogul, Fox, is probably already grooming his replacement. Another patsy for the major media corporations is used and discarded when the next big thing comes along. And it will. Money is being banked assure it. After all, the entire nation of news networks, except National Public Radio and the BBC, is owned by only three major communications companies and they are behemoths who spend a lot of money telling us how to think, how to act, what to wear, and what to watch. Do you think it’s coincidence that they align themselves with the political right? Less government equals less looking over the shoulders of their growing media empires. Beck is just one pawn in that game of ratings and dollars. Maybe he knows that he’s headed for the dustbin when the ratings fall. Maybe the real evil takeover has already occurred and none of us saw it coming.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Girls like fast cars too...
While I cannot say I’ve ever been an enthusiastic race fan, except for the annual Kentucky Derby, I was full of fight for our office’s Pinewood Derby race held this day. There are about 150 team members in my department. As a part of the activities for our annual Real Estate Department meeting, we were divided into teams of five, given a Pinewood Derby car kit and told to build a race-worthy car by race day.
Now, really, I hate Nascar with a passion I cannot begin to describe. I’m only marginally less repelled by funny car racing. The only racing I will watch usually involves people attempting insane feats, like the Krispy Kreme marathon one of my co-workers runs – a 3k race begun by the runner ingesting a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts and ended by said runner ingesting yet another dozen. Tossing the cookies, so to speak, along the way is generally an expected sideshow to the event. Not that I find that fun to watch. It’s just the novelty of watching anyone dumb enough to down a dozen doughnuts in the first place, much less running a marathon afterward.
But on to better thoughts. I counted myself pretty lucky when I ended up on a team with four guys. My mind immediately went to the stereotypical thought process that insisted that at least one or two of these guys was well versed in using power tools, had possibly even made a derby car in scouts as a kid, and would be able to lead us all to victory. So I waited for the first contact, knowing they’d all be so enthusiastic about the project that they’d probably be fighting over who got to do what. I figured I’d just sit back and be a girl, maybe do a little painting or something. Well, DUU-uuhh!
We ended up with one guy on the team who’d made derby cars before and he traveled the entire two weeks we had to prepare the car. Another guy had never done anything like this, had no tools at home to attempt it, and was on vacation one of the two weeks. Still another was willing, but was also traveling one of the two weeks and had no tools. The last guy does body work on cars as a hobby. But he had no carving tools and he also was traveling five days out of the fourteen we had in which to build our car. I had a feeling we were up the proverbial creek.
So I went to the internet. UTube had videos of how to properly prepare the wheels and axles. Amateur derby websites had templates for car designs and great advice for painting, priming, adding weight, etc. It was a wealth of information. We went to work. What came from the effort was a sleek, shiny little red racer stenciled with yellow flames and a skull. The wheels had major ‘spin’ and the weight was well-distributed. It was a beauty!
At the office other teams were also gearing up. Posters began popping up. People talked of cheers, matching shirts and hats, theme music…. It was getting intense. So even though we’d agreed we would just take what skills we had and make the best racer we could, dispensing with the frills and frivolity in which the other teams engaged, we ended up with a theme song, a logo, a car name and a poster. We even agreed to wear black the day of the race. I could tell the guys were feeling rather silly about it all.
Until we went downstairs and realized that we were probably some of the least hyped of all the teams! Our beautiful little car, Skullduggery, looked really fine among the wide variety of entries – everything from a racing wrench to a yellow submarine. We just smiled, realizing that our car may actually be competitive.
After the obligatory speeches and more smack-talk, the races began. We watched each round with bated breath, especially when our little #7 was on the track. We sped past the goat-mobile. We left the PT Cruiser in our dust. The Scooby-mobile didn’t have a chance! Gradually it came down to three cars, one of them being our Skullduggery, in the final heat of the day. It had been making excellent time and depending upon which track it ended up on, we were sure we had a chance to win.
Down the racers went. The sleek white car slid in front. The red Advance-designed car started out a little slow, but gained ground. Our little car ran neck and neck, until the last few feet. At the finish, it was one one-hundredth of a second behind and ended up placing third. Third!! In a track of fifteen entries! Time averages for the nine rounds of races were tallied. We ended up coming in second for time averages! Skullduggery, the experimental car built by five people who didn’t have a clue as to what they were doing, came away from the very competitive field placing second! And none of us tossed up one doughnut in the process.
Now, given that we are a bunch of office workers, not pros, you might be tempted to say, ‘yeah, but what kind of competition was it, really?’ Well, the fastest time our race monitor has ever seen in all of his years of Pinewood derby racing was 2.25. We came in at a reasonable 2.67. The first place winner won with 2.66. Not record-breaking, but not shabby. Besides, we had also won an award in the beauty contest: the “somebody’s got a tattoo and/or a Harley” award. I guess beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. We left feeling pretty cocky.
I am still no racing fan. But if anyone ever asks me to bring Skullduggery back to the track, you bet I’ll be there! Today we earned a few bragging rights and I’m taking them out for a spin. Just goes to show you that you can learn to anything by watching UTube and not all guys own power tools. Number 7 ROCKS!
Now, really, I hate Nascar with a passion I cannot begin to describe. I’m only marginally less repelled by funny car racing. The only racing I will watch usually involves people attempting insane feats, like the Krispy Kreme marathon one of my co-workers runs – a 3k race begun by the runner ingesting a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts and ended by said runner ingesting yet another dozen. Tossing the cookies, so to speak, along the way is generally an expected sideshow to the event. Not that I find that fun to watch. It’s just the novelty of watching anyone dumb enough to down a dozen doughnuts in the first place, much less running a marathon afterward.
But on to better thoughts. I counted myself pretty lucky when I ended up on a team with four guys. My mind immediately went to the stereotypical thought process that insisted that at least one or two of these guys was well versed in using power tools, had possibly even made a derby car in scouts as a kid, and would be able to lead us all to victory. So I waited for the first contact, knowing they’d all be so enthusiastic about the project that they’d probably be fighting over who got to do what. I figured I’d just sit back and be a girl, maybe do a little painting or something. Well, DUU-uuhh!
We ended up with one guy on the team who’d made derby cars before and he traveled the entire two weeks we had to prepare the car. Another guy had never done anything like this, had no tools at home to attempt it, and was on vacation one of the two weeks. Still another was willing, but was also traveling one of the two weeks and had no tools. The last guy does body work on cars as a hobby. But he had no carving tools and he also was traveling five days out of the fourteen we had in which to build our car. I had a feeling we were up the proverbial creek.
So I went to the internet. UTube had videos of how to properly prepare the wheels and axles. Amateur derby websites had templates for car designs and great advice for painting, priming, adding weight, etc. It was a wealth of information. We went to work. What came from the effort was a sleek, shiny little red racer stenciled with yellow flames and a skull. The wheels had major ‘spin’ and the weight was well-distributed. It was a beauty!
At the office other teams were also gearing up. Posters began popping up. People talked of cheers, matching shirts and hats, theme music…. It was getting intense. So even though we’d agreed we would just take what skills we had and make the best racer we could, dispensing with the frills and frivolity in which the other teams engaged, we ended up with a theme song, a logo, a car name and a poster. We even agreed to wear black the day of the race. I could tell the guys were feeling rather silly about it all.
Until we went downstairs and realized that we were probably some of the least hyped of all the teams! Our beautiful little car, Skullduggery, looked really fine among the wide variety of entries – everything from a racing wrench to a yellow submarine. We just smiled, realizing that our car may actually be competitive.
After the obligatory speeches and more smack-talk, the races began. We watched each round with bated breath, especially when our little #7 was on the track. We sped past the goat-mobile. We left the PT Cruiser in our dust. The Scooby-mobile didn’t have a chance! Gradually it came down to three cars, one of them being our Skullduggery, in the final heat of the day. It had been making excellent time and depending upon which track it ended up on, we were sure we had a chance to win.
Down the racers went. The sleek white car slid in front. The red Advance-designed car started out a little slow, but gained ground. Our little car ran neck and neck, until the last few feet. At the finish, it was one one-hundredth of a second behind and ended up placing third. Third!! In a track of fifteen entries! Time averages for the nine rounds of races were tallied. We ended up coming in second for time averages! Skullduggery, the experimental car built by five people who didn’t have a clue as to what they were doing, came away from the very competitive field placing second! And none of us tossed up one doughnut in the process.
Now, given that we are a bunch of office workers, not pros, you might be tempted to say, ‘yeah, but what kind of competition was it, really?’ Well, the fastest time our race monitor has ever seen in all of his years of Pinewood derby racing was 2.25. We came in at a reasonable 2.67. The first place winner won with 2.66. Not record-breaking, but not shabby. Besides, we had also won an award in the beauty contest: the “somebody’s got a tattoo and/or a Harley” award. I guess beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. We left feeling pretty cocky.
I am still no racing fan. But if anyone ever asks me to bring Skullduggery back to the track, you bet I’ll be there! Today we earned a few bragging rights and I’m taking them out for a spin. Just goes to show you that you can learn to anything by watching UTube and not all guys own power tools. Number 7 ROCKS!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
My Netflix Habit
Having a somewhat mundane life, except for the occasional cat crisis, I was at a loss as to what might be an interesting topic to write about for my blog when my daughter commented that she was surprised I’d have time to write at all, given my recently acquired Netflix habit. She suggested it might make an interesting, possibly even therapeutic topic. Well, let’s give it a go and see.
Obsession. It’s an emotion. It’s an act. It’s a perfume. It’s what I have apparently developed for my Netflix streaming video.
I’ve been a regular customer of my local video store for years. I’ve handed over my fortune in late fees there, since I am habitually late in returning movies. My business was quite lucrative for them until I discovered the joy of Netflix. No late fees. No “return-by” date. Endless selection. My video store has suffered the loss. They even sent me a ‘we’ve missed you lately’ card. Apparently, one of them was putting her child through Montessori school with my late fees. She misses me.
Did you know that Netflix has streaming video? Last time the techie daughter was in town, I enlisted her to install a wireless router and teach my Wii console to talk to it. (Requires free CD from Netflix.) Voila! I have at my fingertips, any time day or night, an entire host of movies, documentaries, and television series for my video pleasure.
Now, normally I am not really that much of a videophile. But as I browsed the selections I could feel my temperature rising, my pulse quickening, and my button finger itching to start something. This was video Nirvana! Everything from a PBS special on Thomas Jefferson to 1940’s Bogart movie! My pupils dilated. My breath caught in my throat. For a moment, I felt that delicious feeling one gets when realizing they are in love and the object of that love is right there in front of them.
I started with the short-lived series Firefly. I’d never seen it, but I love sci-fi. That was three weeks ago. I started at 4:00 p.m. and didn’t finish all fourteen episodes until about 4:00 a.m. I almost missed church because four hours of sleep is really not enough for anyone to go about their normal day. When I got home from church, I saw that they’d started a new series based on Firefly called Serenity. With soda and remote in hand, I settled in. Monday morning, I was late for work as I dragged in with a paltry four hours of sleep, sad that I’d just finished the very last episode of that wonderful sci-fi series.
The addiction had begun. Every evening, I rushed home to heat up leftovers, change into comfy clothes, and…oh, sweet bliss…settle down with my Wii controller and my darling Netflix. I watched a couple of movies. Saw the entire first two seasons of Lie to Me. My daughter called. I mumbled my way through the conversation, letting her do most of the talking. “Yeah, right. Glad you got that new job. That’s great..sure…no, not busy. Just listening to you…I AM paying attention.. yes, really...okay, bye then.” Aaah, push the button. Where were we then? The Doctor and Rose had just landed in a new world five billion years into the future……
My mother called. I decided I’d call her back after The Doctor escaped his predicament with the Daleks. Season 1 done. Is there a season 2 on Netflix? Indeed there is! Oh, boy, oh boy! I went shopping on the website and added 54 series and movies to my instant queue. Sweaty palms, red-rimmed eyes. Four seasons of Doctor Who! And now, oh sweet mystery of life! There’s 24 – three seasons of it!!
Sometime last week I think someone invited me out for something. But I can’t really remember now. The days are just little interludes at the office until I can get home and repeat that joyous routine that brings me back into the world of The Doctor, Jack, the folks at Torchwood, Spencer and Bogie….the characters are endless. I haven’t left the house in days.
Then it happened. I was involved in episode 4 of season 3 and Rose was just turned into a faceless, mindless being by the television on the day of Queen Elizabeth’s coronation when I realized that I too had become a mindless, faceless being because of my TV. When did I eat last? What was it – how old was it and did I even cook it first? Shower? Hmmm… I know it had one on Thursday before work. But since then? How many times has the phone rung at my house in the last two days and did I pick it up even once? I realized with shock and sadness that I’m obsessed. And I don’t mean the perfume!
So I put down the remote and walked away from the TV. I took a shower and made dinner. I returned phone calls and checked the weather outside, all the while, avoiding eye contact with that beast in the corner, refusing to listen to its beckoning voice. I read a book – an entire book – and never even turned on the TV for background noise. So far the 12 step recovery program was working. Step 1 – acknowledge the problem. Step 2 – acknowledge my powerlessness against it. Step 3 – choose to eliminate it from my life. Step 4….
And it is about there that I backslid. It was going pretty well. I thought I could handle it, so I turned it on just long enough to see the Today show. Then I heard the voice. “Yoooohhoooo”, it called. “I’m waiting. Pick up the remote. Just one show. Just 45 minutes before you go back to your life.” Soft, eager, willing…. How could I resist its call? Somewhere out there in videoland the Cybermen were attacking Great Britain and the president needed Jack for an urgent mission in New York. I had to be there!
I went to bed at 4:00 a.m. this morning and awoke just before 9 – in time for coffee with my Netflix. You may call my house today. But I will be unavailable. Leave a message and I’ll give you a quick between-show call if it’s an emergency that needs my immediate attention. You may see me walking and talking in front of you tomorrow or the next day. But that will only be the surrogate I send out in my stead, (you saw that movie, didn’t you?) who looks and talks like me, but is only a representative meant to obscure my real location and identity. Just smile and don’t comment on the dishevelment and glazed look. School starts in two weeks and I will of necessity relinquish my new obsession. Meanwhile, I have two more weeks of summer, two more weeks to find out why they keep switching the guy who plays Dr. Who and why the people on the island are Lost. Then it’s back to step 1. See you then.
Obsession. It’s an emotion. It’s an act. It’s a perfume. It’s what I have apparently developed for my Netflix streaming video.
I’ve been a regular customer of my local video store for years. I’ve handed over my fortune in late fees there, since I am habitually late in returning movies. My business was quite lucrative for them until I discovered the joy of Netflix. No late fees. No “return-by” date. Endless selection. My video store has suffered the loss. They even sent me a ‘we’ve missed you lately’ card. Apparently, one of them was putting her child through Montessori school with my late fees. She misses me.
Did you know that Netflix has streaming video? Last time the techie daughter was in town, I enlisted her to install a wireless router and teach my Wii console to talk to it. (Requires free CD from Netflix.) Voila! I have at my fingertips, any time day or night, an entire host of movies, documentaries, and television series for my video pleasure.
Now, normally I am not really that much of a videophile. But as I browsed the selections I could feel my temperature rising, my pulse quickening, and my button finger itching to start something. This was video Nirvana! Everything from a PBS special on Thomas Jefferson to 1940’s Bogart movie! My pupils dilated. My breath caught in my throat. For a moment, I felt that delicious feeling one gets when realizing they are in love and the object of that love is right there in front of them.
I started with the short-lived series Firefly. I’d never seen it, but I love sci-fi. That was three weeks ago. I started at 4:00 p.m. and didn’t finish all fourteen episodes until about 4:00 a.m. I almost missed church because four hours of sleep is really not enough for anyone to go about their normal day. When I got home from church, I saw that they’d started a new series based on Firefly called Serenity. With soda and remote in hand, I settled in. Monday morning, I was late for work as I dragged in with a paltry four hours of sleep, sad that I’d just finished the very last episode of that wonderful sci-fi series.
The addiction had begun. Every evening, I rushed home to heat up leftovers, change into comfy clothes, and…oh, sweet bliss…settle down with my Wii controller and my darling Netflix. I watched a couple of movies. Saw the entire first two seasons of Lie to Me. My daughter called. I mumbled my way through the conversation, letting her do most of the talking. “Yeah, right. Glad you got that new job. That’s great..sure…no, not busy. Just listening to you…I AM paying attention.. yes, really...okay, bye then.” Aaah, push the button. Where were we then? The Doctor and Rose had just landed in a new world five billion years into the future……
My mother called. I decided I’d call her back after The Doctor escaped his predicament with the Daleks. Season 1 done. Is there a season 2 on Netflix? Indeed there is! Oh, boy, oh boy! I went shopping on the website and added 54 series and movies to my instant queue. Sweaty palms, red-rimmed eyes. Four seasons of Doctor Who! And now, oh sweet mystery of life! There’s 24 – three seasons of it!!
Sometime last week I think someone invited me out for something. But I can’t really remember now. The days are just little interludes at the office until I can get home and repeat that joyous routine that brings me back into the world of The Doctor, Jack, the folks at Torchwood, Spencer and Bogie….the characters are endless. I haven’t left the house in days.
Then it happened. I was involved in episode 4 of season 3 and Rose was just turned into a faceless, mindless being by the television on the day of Queen Elizabeth’s coronation when I realized that I too had become a mindless, faceless being because of my TV. When did I eat last? What was it – how old was it and did I even cook it first? Shower? Hmmm… I know it had one on Thursday before work. But since then? How many times has the phone rung at my house in the last two days and did I pick it up even once? I realized with shock and sadness that I’m obsessed. And I don’t mean the perfume!
So I put down the remote and walked away from the TV. I took a shower and made dinner. I returned phone calls and checked the weather outside, all the while, avoiding eye contact with that beast in the corner, refusing to listen to its beckoning voice. I read a book – an entire book – and never even turned on the TV for background noise. So far the 12 step recovery program was working. Step 1 – acknowledge the problem. Step 2 – acknowledge my powerlessness against it. Step 3 – choose to eliminate it from my life. Step 4….
And it is about there that I backslid. It was going pretty well. I thought I could handle it, so I turned it on just long enough to see the Today show. Then I heard the voice. “Yoooohhoooo”, it called. “I’m waiting. Pick up the remote. Just one show. Just 45 minutes before you go back to your life.” Soft, eager, willing…. How could I resist its call? Somewhere out there in videoland the Cybermen were attacking Great Britain and the president needed Jack for an urgent mission in New York. I had to be there!
I went to bed at 4:00 a.m. this morning and awoke just before 9 – in time for coffee with my Netflix. You may call my house today. But I will be unavailable. Leave a message and I’ll give you a quick between-show call if it’s an emergency that needs my immediate attention. You may see me walking and talking in front of you tomorrow or the next day. But that will only be the surrogate I send out in my stead, (you saw that movie, didn’t you?) who looks and talks like me, but is only a representative meant to obscure my real location and identity. Just smile and don’t comment on the dishevelment and glazed look. School starts in two weeks and I will of necessity relinquish my new obsession. Meanwhile, I have two more weeks of summer, two more weeks to find out why they keep switching the guy who plays Dr. Who and why the people on the island are Lost. Then it’s back to step 1. See you then.
Monday, August 9, 2010
What living by yourself can do to your sanity...
Ever try to write a blog with a giant cat in front of the monitor? As it turns out, I do it most of the time. I bought a 23 inch monitor just so I’d have some peeking-around room. I even have a nice little cleared off space in front of my monitor where I can urge them to lie down where they can still be close to me without being in my face. I mean it – staring at me eye-to-eye, just shouting “look at me, look at me!” with their whiskered, insistent, spoiled little faces.
There’s a conversation that goes on in the kitchen as soon as I enter my office. It goes something like this.
Marvin: I’ll give her about five minutes to get good and settled in, then I’ll head on back and do the old head-butting routine. Works every time.
Sebastian: Hey, wait a minute. You were in there last time. It’s my turn.
Marvin, hissing: Ooooohhh no it’s not! I saw that little move you did last night, sneaking around on the back of the recliner and just sidling down, ever so slowly, onto her shoulder. First one paw, then the other. All while I was having my lap time right in front of you. You ended up right on her chest with your butt in her face making her so mad she kicked us both off her lap.
Lilah: How rude!
Sebastian: Well….well….you took Lilah’s turn anyway. You weren’t even supposed to be up there.
Lilah: Huh? I get a turn? Nobody told me…ohh, look, a crumb on the floor. I’ll bet that’s left over from dinner……(wanders off sniffing the ground.)
Marvin, shaking his head: If she’s too stupid to take her turn, don’t think I’m going to waste a minute of lap time. That woman rarely ever makes a lap during the summer.
Sebastian: Let’s draw whiskers for it. Lilah come here!
Lilah: Yeeeoowwww!! That hurt! Those are MY whiskers, bucko! Oh look, is that a breadcrumb? I’m hungry. (wanders off talking to herself)
Marvin: I’m not drawing whiskers. You’re just going to cheat again. Why don’t you let me go in? I’ve got a really good head of mucous worked up now and I’m ready to snot all over her. She loves that. I can tell. Besides, I’m bigger than you. She has to lean farther out to look around me. It’s fun to watch. She so cute – you gotta love her, ya know?
Sebastian: Okay, fine. But only for ten minutes then you gotta leave and I’m going in. I left a really good hairball gift behind the monitor and I want to see her face when she finds it. Hooo-hooo-hoooo! Is she going to be thrilled!
Lilah: Hairball? Where? Did I lose one again?! Anybody want to lick right here between my ears? I haven’t gotten to that spot in a few days. Feels tickly.
And so, here I am at my giant monitor which is reduced to two four-inch monitors with a huge orange Marvin butting my face with his head and purring like a 1965 Corvair with a scoop, leaving behind slobber, something green I will not mention, and lots of orange hairs sticking to it all. Do the words ‘no, stop’ mean anything any more?
So if you notice a hair or two as you read my site, just brush it away.
There’s a conversation that goes on in the kitchen as soon as I enter my office. It goes something like this.
Marvin: I’ll give her about five minutes to get good and settled in, then I’ll head on back and do the old head-butting routine. Works every time.
Sebastian: Hey, wait a minute. You were in there last time. It’s my turn.
Marvin, hissing: Ooooohhh no it’s not! I saw that little move you did last night, sneaking around on the back of the recliner and just sidling down, ever so slowly, onto her shoulder. First one paw, then the other. All while I was having my lap time right in front of you. You ended up right on her chest with your butt in her face making her so mad she kicked us both off her lap.
Lilah: How rude!
Sebastian: Well….well….you took Lilah’s turn anyway. You weren’t even supposed to be up there.
Lilah: Huh? I get a turn? Nobody told me…ohh, look, a crumb on the floor. I’ll bet that’s left over from dinner……(wanders off sniffing the ground.)
Marvin, shaking his head: If she’s too stupid to take her turn, don’t think I’m going to waste a minute of lap time. That woman rarely ever makes a lap during the summer.
Sebastian: Let’s draw whiskers for it. Lilah come here!
Lilah: Yeeeoowwww!! That hurt! Those are MY whiskers, bucko! Oh look, is that a breadcrumb? I’m hungry. (wanders off talking to herself)
Marvin: I’m not drawing whiskers. You’re just going to cheat again. Why don’t you let me go in? I’ve got a really good head of mucous worked up now and I’m ready to snot all over her. She loves that. I can tell. Besides, I’m bigger than you. She has to lean farther out to look around me. It’s fun to watch. She so cute – you gotta love her, ya know?
Sebastian: Okay, fine. But only for ten minutes then you gotta leave and I’m going in. I left a really good hairball gift behind the monitor and I want to see her face when she finds it. Hooo-hooo-hoooo! Is she going to be thrilled!
Lilah: Hairball? Where? Did I lose one again?! Anybody want to lick right here between my ears? I haven’t gotten to that spot in a few days. Feels tickly.
And so, here I am at my giant monitor which is reduced to two four-inch monitors with a huge orange Marvin butting my face with his head and purring like a 1965 Corvair with a scoop, leaving behind slobber, something green I will not mention, and lots of orange hairs sticking to it all. Do the words ‘no, stop’ mean anything any more?
So if you notice a hair or two as you read my site, just brush it away.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Re-Creation
Today my baby turns 27. Yep, the last one out of the shoot is now 27 years old. How on earth did that happen? What was I doing while it did? This occurs about a month prior to the expected birth of granddaughter number two. So as I reflect on that new life just coming into the world, I also look back and remember how I felt on this day so many years ago.
I remember that this was a child I wanted and planned for. I remember wondering from month to month whether she would be a boy or a girl, changing my mind with each new ‘sign’ that seemed to point toward one or the other. I was so young – just 23 – and my life was firmly wrapped around the first child. Would I be able to make a space for this one? Would I love her as much, be able to give her as much of myself?
The answer is yes to both questions, as it turns out. Somehow our hearts expand miraculously to encompass as many people as we need to love. I believe God designed it that way, knowing that our lives would expand and contract, grow, mutate, and include, as the needs arose. How many times I’ve been made over in my life by some incident, accident, person, or thought. How many times I’ve seen those same makeovers in my daughters as they encountered new paradigm shifts in their realities. It fills me with a greater faith to observe our lives in this manner. Like Creation itself, each of us is a smaller, unique version of Creation that expands and contracts and remakes itself as the need arises. Each of us has been given that capacity and I cannot see it as anything less than amazing and miraculous.
It’s funny that I should be led to these musings today, this day of my daughter’s birth. We spoke this morning for, as my cell phone glaringly accused me, two hours and fifty-nine minutes. I’d say that was exceptional, but really with my girls it’s not all that out of the ordinary. What made this conversation somewhat more extraordinary is that I had the opportunity to be face-to-face (via the phone) with one of those expansion moments for my daughter. As the clock ticked over to give her another official digit on her age, she actually expanded and grew into a bigger version of herself right there in front of me.
Oh, it was just a little expansion – nothing earth-shattering. But you know, one of the joys of parenthood is always getting to watch your children grow. People think that stops somewhere in their late teens. It doesn’t stop there. I am witness to those growth moments so often. Because my children no longer tug on my coat tail or need me to feed them, help with homework, do their laundry, etc., I am actually more tuned in to those moments now than when they were ‘growing up’, whatever that means.
Today it is the younger daughter’s birthday, last week it was the older daughter’s need to just connect for a while (also about three hours as it happens – we’re a very talkative clan!) Every day, every place, nothing special. And yet, so amazing and wonderful to observe that I cannot speak of it without feeling those tinglings that tickle along the spine and make the heart jump just a little. What an incredible gift God has given me. What a long time it took me to see the breadth and depth of that gift. I suppose that’s my own expansion at work, eh?
Next month, the new little one arrives to our collective joy and anticipation. As Clint Black put it in a beautiful lullaby to his daughter, she’s a ‘new little branch on the family tree’. We will envelope and nurture her. We will nurse her through the hurts, and cheer her through the triumphs. My daughter will increasingly sense the presence of God all around her through these children, and I will again be witness to that scene, from a slightly different perspective, until there is no more of me here on earth to do so. Talk about sitting in a place of deepest humility! Here I sit. And here I rejoice. For what better things could I say about my life at the end of it than that I was witness to the Creation in microcosm, that God allowed me that view, handed me that precious gift when I was not only unworthy but pretty much incapable of handling it (and who among us is, in our early twenties)? My cup overflows…
I remember that this was a child I wanted and planned for. I remember wondering from month to month whether she would be a boy or a girl, changing my mind with each new ‘sign’ that seemed to point toward one or the other. I was so young – just 23 – and my life was firmly wrapped around the first child. Would I be able to make a space for this one? Would I love her as much, be able to give her as much of myself?
The answer is yes to both questions, as it turns out. Somehow our hearts expand miraculously to encompass as many people as we need to love. I believe God designed it that way, knowing that our lives would expand and contract, grow, mutate, and include, as the needs arose. How many times I’ve been made over in my life by some incident, accident, person, or thought. How many times I’ve seen those same makeovers in my daughters as they encountered new paradigm shifts in their realities. It fills me with a greater faith to observe our lives in this manner. Like Creation itself, each of us is a smaller, unique version of Creation that expands and contracts and remakes itself as the need arises. Each of us has been given that capacity and I cannot see it as anything less than amazing and miraculous.
It’s funny that I should be led to these musings today, this day of my daughter’s birth. We spoke this morning for, as my cell phone glaringly accused me, two hours and fifty-nine minutes. I’d say that was exceptional, but really with my girls it’s not all that out of the ordinary. What made this conversation somewhat more extraordinary is that I had the opportunity to be face-to-face (via the phone) with one of those expansion moments for my daughter. As the clock ticked over to give her another official digit on her age, she actually expanded and grew into a bigger version of herself right there in front of me.
Oh, it was just a little expansion – nothing earth-shattering. But you know, one of the joys of parenthood is always getting to watch your children grow. People think that stops somewhere in their late teens. It doesn’t stop there. I am witness to those growth moments so often. Because my children no longer tug on my coat tail or need me to feed them, help with homework, do their laundry, etc., I am actually more tuned in to those moments now than when they were ‘growing up’, whatever that means.
Today it is the younger daughter’s birthday, last week it was the older daughter’s need to just connect for a while (also about three hours as it happens – we’re a very talkative clan!) Every day, every place, nothing special. And yet, so amazing and wonderful to observe that I cannot speak of it without feeling those tinglings that tickle along the spine and make the heart jump just a little. What an incredible gift God has given me. What a long time it took me to see the breadth and depth of that gift. I suppose that’s my own expansion at work, eh?
Next month, the new little one arrives to our collective joy and anticipation. As Clint Black put it in a beautiful lullaby to his daughter, she’s a ‘new little branch on the family tree’. We will envelope and nurture her. We will nurse her through the hurts, and cheer her through the triumphs. My daughter will increasingly sense the presence of God all around her through these children, and I will again be witness to that scene, from a slightly different perspective, until there is no more of me here on earth to do so. Talk about sitting in a place of deepest humility! Here I sit. And here I rejoice. For what better things could I say about my life at the end of it than that I was witness to the Creation in microcosm, that God allowed me that view, handed me that precious gift when I was not only unworthy but pretty much incapable of handling it (and who among us is, in our early twenties)? My cup overflows…
Friday, August 6, 2010
My Christening Entry
It is now 2:02 p.m. EST and I’ve been sitting at this computer since 8:15 this morning. I do this for a living, so you’d think when I have a day off I’d stay away from the blasted computer. But here’s the thing. I have to find money to pay for my college tuition. The savings I’ve been using are drying up, the budget can’t squeeze out one more penny, and even though I’m only a high-school educated office worker, I make too much money for need-based financing.
You’d think they’d have some kind of financing for old people who’ve raised their kids, paid their dues, and contributed to the gross national product for more than thirty years. You’d think we would get some kind of free pass into academia with a few life credits included. But no. Partly because I’m still only enrolled at the local community college, and partly because I choose to work for a living instead of sustaining myself on the government’s dime, I am not eligible for anything until I pay at least $9,000 of my own money per year.
So I did a little research into student loans (yeah, going into debt at 50 with no promise of a lucrative career when I graduate five years older is an attractive prospect), and landed upon a scholarship search page at the Sallie Mae website. I highly recommend it for prospective students at any age. I thought that knocking my brains out for a 3.9 GPA would earn a few brownie points toward a scholarship. But it turns out that over half of the ones I’m even remotely qualified for are need-based or only require a 2.5 GPA. (So much for all those late nights in bed with nothing for company but books and bifocals!)
Then, somewhere down about scholarship opportunity number thirty, there are two scholarships given to bloggers. Go figure! All I have to do is write?! And I can write about anything?! Geez, where do I sign up???? So here I am writing whatever comes to mind, and here you are reading it and we’re both asking ourselves why I don’t just retire to the sofa with my crochet needles and NCIS and forget this nonsense.
But you see, I’ve always wanted an education. Not just the one life has handed me over the years, but one that makes me think, that inspires me to greater things. I want to know what the world has to offer out there beyond my crochet needles. I want to understand the Pre-Cambrian Period and why Reinhold Niebuhr devised something called Christian Realism. I want that education to inform my decisions, my politics, my theology, my world view. I want to win at Trivial Pursuit once in a while.
Most importantly, I want my daughters and granddaughters to see that life is full of possibilities for those who seek them. Education is for everyone and its value is immeasurable. We can be anything we want to be if our hearts desire it enough and our minds can imagine it as reality. So you’ll be hearing from me again. Hopefully I’ll have something interesting to say to you once in a while. I’ll start right now by saying that if you are a student, of whatever subject, of whatever age, don’t give up. Don’t let any obstacle, no matter how big it appears, get in the way of your aspirations.
You’d think they’d have some kind of financing for old people who’ve raised their kids, paid their dues, and contributed to the gross national product for more than thirty years. You’d think we would get some kind of free pass into academia with a few life credits included. But no. Partly because I’m still only enrolled at the local community college, and partly because I choose to work for a living instead of sustaining myself on the government’s dime, I am not eligible for anything until I pay at least $9,000 of my own money per year.
So I did a little research into student loans (yeah, going into debt at 50 with no promise of a lucrative career when I graduate five years older is an attractive prospect), and landed upon a scholarship search page at the Sallie Mae website. I highly recommend it for prospective students at any age. I thought that knocking my brains out for a 3.9 GPA would earn a few brownie points toward a scholarship. But it turns out that over half of the ones I’m even remotely qualified for are need-based or only require a 2.5 GPA. (So much for all those late nights in bed with nothing for company but books and bifocals!)
Then, somewhere down about scholarship opportunity number thirty, there are two scholarships given to bloggers. Go figure! All I have to do is write?! And I can write about anything?! Geez, where do I sign up???? So here I am writing whatever comes to mind, and here you are reading it and we’re both asking ourselves why I don’t just retire to the sofa with my crochet needles and NCIS and forget this nonsense.
But you see, I’ve always wanted an education. Not just the one life has handed me over the years, but one that makes me think, that inspires me to greater things. I want to know what the world has to offer out there beyond my crochet needles. I want to understand the Pre-Cambrian Period and why Reinhold Niebuhr devised something called Christian Realism. I want that education to inform my decisions, my politics, my theology, my world view. I want to win at Trivial Pursuit once in a while.
Most importantly, I want my daughters and granddaughters to see that life is full of possibilities for those who seek them. Education is for everyone and its value is immeasurable. We can be anything we want to be if our hearts desire it enough and our minds can imagine it as reality. So you’ll be hearing from me again. Hopefully I’ll have something interesting to say to you once in a while. I’ll start right now by saying that if you are a student, of whatever subject, of whatever age, don’t give up. Don’t let any obstacle, no matter how big it appears, get in the way of your aspirations.
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