I think blogs are a good thing. That’s not really a radical position for a blogger to take, I know. It may seem that it bears no explanation but I’m going to explain anyway because I’m a blogger and it’s kinda what I do.
Blogging is good for historians.
Blogs are a form of journal writing and journals have proven to be incredibly useful tools for historians. The fact that people who want to understand a wide range of public thought and reaction to major events now don’t have to wait until the writers die or are far enough removed from those events they feel comfortable publishing their thoughts in the form of a memoir (often by semi-ruining the information with what Shakespeare called ‘the pale cast of thought’ or what I call retrospective introspection) is, I think, a good thing. With the magic of blogging, you gather information on the immediate thoughts and feelings of people from vastly different walks of life by doing a simple Google search.
Blogging is good for bloggers.
People who are intimidated by a bound book of empty pages demanding to be filled can often find blogging a vastly more approachable medium. The fact that you are often writing to an audience encourages perseverance and persistence when many would have otherwise given up on writing a journal. Why is that good for bloggers? Because journaling and blogging create a scenario in which we actually sit down and think about our lives and the world around us. We take the time to consider events and how they might be affecting our feelings, leanings and even world view. This allows us to learn more from our successes and failures and about ourselves. The ability to look back and read past blogs allows us to understand the reasons we came to certain conclusions at the time we drew those conclusions. Believe it or not, the ability to objectively revisit emotionally motivated logic is an incredibly affective tool in the process of refining the series of beliefs and principles that make up our person.
Blogging is good for readers.
I mentioned historians because they’re a special case and reading doesn’t necessarily describe what they do with journals/blogs; with them it’s more like dissecting and discerning. A reader just sort of takes it in.
Blogging is good for readers in exactly the opposite way objective presentation of facts is good for readers. Objective presentations allow us the freedom to look at facts and form independent opinions. Blogging is good because it not only exposes us to vastly arrayed differences of opinion; it often shows us the process the writer’s thoughts took to come to those opinions. Thus, we not only are presented with a differing point of view but also the reasoning and facts that led to that point of view. We get to see that people who disagree with us don’t do so because they’re just deceived/deceivers with a malicious predisposition etc. There is a whole life’s history that goes into each person’s views on life, the universe and everything and readers get to see that. This causes us to be more sympathetic of those other experiences and, better, to learn from those experiences.
It’s like making plans to place your hand on a hot stove and then reading an account of what happened when someone else did the same thing. By reading the thoughts and experiences of others, you can save yourself.
Another way of putting it might be this: Life is a mine field and our experiences form the map we use to traverse it. As I move forward, I either develop theories about where mines are located or determine through painful experience exactly where mines are located. By reading of the experiences of others, I not only can learn the exact location of some mines, I can also gain knowledge that refines my theories about where possible mines are located. My map only covers a small part of the field. Blogging is, in effect, sharing my map with the world. Reading blogs is allowing the world to add to my map and refine it. The end result hopefully being that I step on fewer mines and live a longer, happier life.
Blogging is good for the world.
I love the movie A Far Off Place. There is a scene at the beginning of the film where Reese Witherspoon’s character is arguing with her father about the ethicacy and efficacy of two different approaches to the problem of poaching. He believes in addressing it peacefully and she believes in hunting down the poachers and shooting them.
Nonie: You know, Dad, people need to stand up and fight for what they believe in, or things will never change.
Nonie’s Dad: People need to sit down and talk, or people will never change.
I think blogging is yet another wonderful chance for global communication. I get to sit at my computer and read the inner thoughts of a teenager in the U.K., a world-wise woman in the Netherlands or a struggling musician on the East Coast of the U.S. There are so many different people with so many different paths and points of view. The ability to share the world with them and be aware of the fact that I share this world with them is an amazing gift; one that should be shared.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Crazy Conversations
My husband and I are a little crazy, I think. At least, we have these crazy-people conversations. It seems like the really crazy/silly conversations happen when we're getting ready for bed. I think it's mostly his fault.
For example, I got a new shampoo that I thought made my hair smell nice. I ask a simple question and this is what happened.
Me: Smell my hair. Doesn’t it smell nice?
Hubby: (Laughs) Smell my butt. It smells nice.
Me: No it doesn’t.
Hubby: How do you know it doesn’t? Have you smelled it?
Me: No. I don’t have to. It smells like butt. You know how I know? Because it IS a butt.
Hubby: Not necessarily. For all you know my butt could smell like daisies. You don’t know, because you haven’t smelled it. You wanted me to smell your hair but you won’t smell my butt.
Me: There’s a big difference between smelling someone’s hair and smelling someone’s butt.
Hubby: My butt has hair and I submit to you that the hair on my butt smells like daisies and until you’re willing to smell my butt and prove me wrong you’re going to have to concede that.
Me: So be it. Your butt smells like daisies. Are you happy?
Hubby: Very.
Me: You won’t be.
Hubby: What does that mean?
Me: Oh nothing.
Hubby: Okaaaay. … Good night.
Me: Good Night, Daisy.
Hubby: … Touché.
For example, I got a new shampoo that I thought made my hair smell nice. I ask a simple question and this is what happened.
Me: Smell my hair. Doesn’t it smell nice?
Hubby: (Laughs) Smell my butt. It smells nice.
Me: No it doesn’t.
Hubby: How do you know it doesn’t? Have you smelled it?
Me: No. I don’t have to. It smells like butt. You know how I know? Because it IS a butt.
Hubby: Not necessarily. For all you know my butt could smell like daisies. You don’t know, because you haven’t smelled it. You wanted me to smell your hair but you won’t smell my butt.
Me: There’s a big difference between smelling someone’s hair and smelling someone’s butt.
Hubby: My butt has hair and I submit to you that the hair on my butt smells like daisies and until you’re willing to smell my butt and prove me wrong you’re going to have to concede that.
Me: So be it. Your butt smells like daisies. Are you happy?
Hubby: Very.
Me: You won’t be.
Hubby: What does that mean?
Me: Oh nothing.
Hubby: Okaaaay. … Good night.
Me: Good Night, Daisy.
Hubby: … Touché.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The Why Game
Last Saturday my husband, his siblings, his siblings significant others, his Dad and I were all going to see the film Avatar. We all divided ourselves into different cars and my husband, Scott (my husband’s little sister’s husband) and I rode together. As the three of us were walking toward the theater I saw an empty McDonald’s fries container lying right in the middle of the beautiful, still miraculously green grass outside the theater. So, I picked it up.
My husband sighed and said, “What are you doing?”
Scott replied, “She’s being a Good Samaritan.”
That really struck me as odd. See, I didn’t think doing something as simple as picking up a single piece of trash and carrying it 20 or 30 feet to the nearest trash bin warranted the title “Good Samaritan”. To me that’s a pretty grand title.
The term ‘Good Samaritan’ comes from a parable of Jesus Christ. He tells the story of a Jewish man who is attacked by thieves on an isolated mountain road and left for dead. Two people, who are not only his countrymen, but religious leaders, happen along and both find reasons not to stop and help him. Finally a Samaritan, a minority Jewish sect persecuted and severely ostracized for their beliefs, stops and helps the man. He not only tends to the man’s wounds and carries him to the nearest city. Once there, he leaves money to pay for the man’s care AND makes the stipulation that if what he leaves turns out to be insufficient, he’ll be back by at a later date and will pay the difference.
THAT is a Good Samaritan. Actually, that is THE Good Samaritan.
The point of that story wasn’t to shame the predominantly insulated and self-agrandzing Jewish religious leaders of the time or to provide an example for people with regard to how we should treat each other. I’m pretty certain it accomplished both of those tasks and that was intentional but that wasn’t the main purpose of the story.
That story was told to answer a specific question which was the last in a series of questions that, honestly, reminds me of the ‘Why’ game my kids play sometimes.
(If you don’t have kids the game is a contest of wills. They ask why until they either they get bored, are satisfied or you lose your sanity.)
So, this guy comes up to Jesus and says, “You know what? We’ve got a lot of rules. A LOT of rules. Which is the most important?”
Personally, I think that was a pretty stupid question. It’s like. “There are a lot of laws in this country, Officer. Sure, I was breaking one but it wasn’t the most important one.”
Anyway, Jesus goes with it. He says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength…” Then most translations continue it this way “and the second is ‘like it/like unto it’, love your neighbor as yourself.” I hate the way this is translated.
I went to a Preacher’s school. Some people call it seminary. This one was called an ‘International Biblical Institute’. The point is, I studied Greek and that passage is not so simple and the concept is hard to put into words in English. I think the best I can do is ‘the second most important commandment is part of the first’. In my personal opinion and interpretation it wasn’t a ‘do this, and then that’ situation. It was an ‘if you do this then you will, by default, also be doing that’ situation. He wasn’t saying, “Love God first and then love your neighbor.” He was saying, “If you love God, then you automatically will love your neighbor.”
My kids get to take a single toy to day care every day. Today my son wanted to take the ambulance that his sister got him for Christmas. My husband said, ‘That one is extra special.’
Jonathan decided to start playing the Why Game.
“Why, Daddy?”
“Because it’s the one Emmy got you.”
“Why?”
“Because she loves you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re her brother.”
“Oh.”
That stuck in my head. (You may have noticed that happens a lot. What can I say? I have a sticky head.) Why did this particular incident stick in my head? Because the Why Game session was so SHORT. Because the concept of brotherhood was so fundamental, even to my three-year-old, that it severely truncated a Why Game.
The concept of the greatest commandment and its runner up is that God is the father of humanity and that makes each and every human being on the planet siblings; family. The concept of universal brotherhood isn’t limited to a belief in God either. Whatever your beliefs, if you go back far enough we all came from the same place. We are all related to each other. We are all family.
Jesus in that commandment was saying, “If you love God, then you will love your neighbor. Why? Because God does. Why? Because that other person is just as much His child as you are.”
The parable is the answer to the question, “Who is my neighbor?” The main aim of the story of the Good Samaritan was to teach the questioner that shared DNA, skin color, nationality or even religious beliefs do not determine who your neighbor is. We are ALL neighbors. We are all family.
If the holidays teach us anything, they teach us that you don’t necessarily always agree with your family. You don’t necessarily always like all of your family. BUT you do love them. You make a conscious decision to overlook things in family members that you make a conscious decision not to overlook in people who are not family. Petty annoyances, social and economic differences, differences in religious and political beliefs; they all drive us crazy at the holidays but we put up with them.
Why?
Because they’re ‘family’.
Why?
Because our society decided they are.
Why?
Because we needed people looking out for us.
Why?
Because human beings apparently don’t look out for each other unless they feel obligated by the dictates of society.
Why?
Um...
My husband sighed and said, “What are you doing?”
Scott replied, “She’s being a Good Samaritan.”
That really struck me as odd. See, I didn’t think doing something as simple as picking up a single piece of trash and carrying it 20 or 30 feet to the nearest trash bin warranted the title “Good Samaritan”. To me that’s a pretty grand title.
The term ‘Good Samaritan’ comes from a parable of Jesus Christ. He tells the story of a Jewish man who is attacked by thieves on an isolated mountain road and left for dead. Two people, who are not only his countrymen, but religious leaders, happen along and both find reasons not to stop and help him. Finally a Samaritan, a minority Jewish sect persecuted and severely ostracized for their beliefs, stops and helps the man. He not only tends to the man’s wounds and carries him to the nearest city. Once there, he leaves money to pay for the man’s care AND makes the stipulation that if what he leaves turns out to be insufficient, he’ll be back by at a later date and will pay the difference.
THAT is a Good Samaritan. Actually, that is THE Good Samaritan.
The point of that story wasn’t to shame the predominantly insulated and self-agrandzing Jewish religious leaders of the time or to provide an example for people with regard to how we should treat each other. I’m pretty certain it accomplished both of those tasks and that was intentional but that wasn’t the main purpose of the story.
That story was told to answer a specific question which was the last in a series of questions that, honestly, reminds me of the ‘Why’ game my kids play sometimes.
(If you don’t have kids the game is a contest of wills. They ask why until they either they get bored, are satisfied or you lose your sanity.)
So, this guy comes up to Jesus and says, “You know what? We’ve got a lot of rules. A LOT of rules. Which is the most important?”
Personally, I think that was a pretty stupid question. It’s like. “There are a lot of laws in this country, Officer. Sure, I was breaking one but it wasn’t the most important one.”
Anyway, Jesus goes with it. He says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength…” Then most translations continue it this way “and the second is ‘like it/like unto it’, love your neighbor as yourself.” I hate the way this is translated.
I went to a Preacher’s school. Some people call it seminary. This one was called an ‘International Biblical Institute’. The point is, I studied Greek and that passage is not so simple and the concept is hard to put into words in English. I think the best I can do is ‘the second most important commandment is part of the first’. In my personal opinion and interpretation it wasn’t a ‘do this, and then that’ situation. It was an ‘if you do this then you will, by default, also be doing that’ situation. He wasn’t saying, “Love God first and then love your neighbor.” He was saying, “If you love God, then you automatically will love your neighbor.”
My kids get to take a single toy to day care every day. Today my son wanted to take the ambulance that his sister got him for Christmas. My husband said, ‘That one is extra special.’
Jonathan decided to start playing the Why Game.
“Why, Daddy?”
“Because it’s the one Emmy got you.”
“Why?”
“Because she loves you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re her brother.”
“Oh.”
That stuck in my head. (You may have noticed that happens a lot. What can I say? I have a sticky head.) Why did this particular incident stick in my head? Because the Why Game session was so SHORT. Because the concept of brotherhood was so fundamental, even to my three-year-old, that it severely truncated a Why Game.
The concept of the greatest commandment and its runner up is that God is the father of humanity and that makes each and every human being on the planet siblings; family. The concept of universal brotherhood isn’t limited to a belief in God either. Whatever your beliefs, if you go back far enough we all came from the same place. We are all related to each other. We are all family.
Jesus in that commandment was saying, “If you love God, then you will love your neighbor. Why? Because God does. Why? Because that other person is just as much His child as you are.”
The parable is the answer to the question, “Who is my neighbor?” The main aim of the story of the Good Samaritan was to teach the questioner that shared DNA, skin color, nationality or even religious beliefs do not determine who your neighbor is. We are ALL neighbors. We are all family.
If the holidays teach us anything, they teach us that you don’t necessarily always agree with your family. You don’t necessarily always like all of your family. BUT you do love them. You make a conscious decision to overlook things in family members that you make a conscious decision not to overlook in people who are not family. Petty annoyances, social and economic differences, differences in religious and political beliefs; they all drive us crazy at the holidays but we put up with them.
Why?
Because they’re ‘family’.
Why?
Because our society decided they are.
Why?
Because we needed people looking out for us.
Why?
Because human beings apparently don’t look out for each other unless they feel obligated by the dictates of society.
Why?
Um...
Monday, December 28, 2009
The First Day
I work in Cube Land. It’s a magical place of in-between. There are these sort-of-but-not-really walls. People here are sort of friends (but not really) and it’s sort of your home away from home (but not really). The thing is you can’t escape your co-workers. You can try but then you get a black mark on your performance review.
(No, really, you do. I actually got a black mark saying basically that I worked too hard. I apparently “just sat at my desk and did my work” and I wasn’t “engaging with coworkers or making any attempt to be social”. My supervisor actually asked if I watched Survivor and when I said no suggested I start watching the show. She said that “the team” all watched and it would be a great opportunity for me to join in socially. Really. I’m not making this up.)
There are a few phenomena that are interesting in cube land. One of my favorites is the seemingly endless battle between those with hygiene and those without. The combatants are firmly entrenched in the restrooms but the fight occasionally extends to the communal refrigerators.
One of my favorite phenomena is the First Day After Christmas. The First Day is fun for me. People tend to put on this pretence of being grumpy about going back to work but generally are somewhat relieved to be free of the chaos of holidays that are usually filled with people who don’t know where to put their odds & ends and how the appliances work. Coming back to the quiet order of work is a relief but we can’t really say that so there is this affectation of “I don’t want to be here”.
The real fun though, is the gift display. People go to fetch coffee in new shiny World’s Greatest Dad mugs or wearing ties with a binary pattern that when decoded say, “Ties Suck.” They proudly wear inappropriately ornate but new jewelry or walk about with bulging pockets that conceal this or that new and exciting gadget.
Then there are the stories. I can tell the story of taking the kids to the movies and how Jonathan at one point apparently got tired of actually picking up the popcorn, just stuck his head into the tub and started munching. There will be present stories and burnt Turkey stories and missed flight stories. This year I’m sure there will be a few stranded by flooding stories.
Yes, on the First Day we’ll all whine about work and show off of gifted gadgets and tell tales of Turkey turmoil…oh, and work…sort of.
(No, really, you do. I actually got a black mark saying basically that I worked too hard. I apparently “just sat at my desk and did my work” and I wasn’t “engaging with coworkers or making any attempt to be social”. My supervisor actually asked if I watched Survivor and when I said no suggested I start watching the show. She said that “the team” all watched and it would be a great opportunity for me to join in socially. Really. I’m not making this up.)
There are a few phenomena that are interesting in cube land. One of my favorites is the seemingly endless battle between those with hygiene and those without. The combatants are firmly entrenched in the restrooms but the fight occasionally extends to the communal refrigerators.
One of my favorite phenomena is the First Day After Christmas. The First Day is fun for me. People tend to put on this pretence of being grumpy about going back to work but generally are somewhat relieved to be free of the chaos of holidays that are usually filled with people who don’t know where to put their odds & ends and how the appliances work. Coming back to the quiet order of work is a relief but we can’t really say that so there is this affectation of “I don’t want to be here”.
The real fun though, is the gift display. People go to fetch coffee in new shiny World’s Greatest Dad mugs or wearing ties with a binary pattern that when decoded say, “Ties Suck.” They proudly wear inappropriately ornate but new jewelry or walk about with bulging pockets that conceal this or that new and exciting gadget.
Then there are the stories. I can tell the story of taking the kids to the movies and how Jonathan at one point apparently got tired of actually picking up the popcorn, just stuck his head into the tub and started munching. There will be present stories and burnt Turkey stories and missed flight stories. This year I’m sure there will be a few stranded by flooding stories.
Yes, on the First Day we’ll all whine about work and show off of gifted gadgets and tell tales of Turkey turmoil…oh, and work…sort of.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Importance of Being You.
If you’ve read my blog, you know that I was hit by a car when I was a toddler. I spent some time in the hospital after that little stunt and made a connection. There was this nurse. I remember her being very beautiful, though I can’t see her face in my mind anymore. She had long silky black hair. One day she was adjusting something and it fell over my face. It smelled wonderful and tickled so gently. I absolutely loved it. From that point forward, whenever she came to check on me she would take the time to tickle me a bit with the ends of her hair.
I had my birthday while in the hospital and she gave me a present; a wire framed, pose-able, plush Tweety Bird. I loved that doll. I kept it for fifteen years before losing it. I packed it away with my things when I left home for Europe and it was somehow lost while I was away. I remember how truly upset I was when I realized that it was gone.
I have a point. It’s in here somewhere, trust me.
The point is this woman had a pretty demeaning job. Doctors don’t have a reputation for being appreciative and respectful of the role nurses play. In fact, nurses tend to be picked on by both the doctors and the patients. Most people don’t enjoy time spent in the hospital and don’t tend to express too much appreciation to nursing staff.
I don’t imagine that woman ever dreamed that I would remember her almost three decades later. I don’t imagine it crossed her mind when she picked up that fuzzy yellow bird that her purchase would make Tweety my mascot, the cartoon character with which I most identify.
There is a disease that has taken hold in the United States and is seen spreading all over the world. It’s a pandemic more disastrous than the much touted H1N1. People in this world have developed the concept of worth that is, in my opinion, dangerously warped. There is this designation of “important” roles and “unimportant” roles.
To try to better explain, I’m going to ask for help from one of my favorite TV shows; Chuck. Chuck is the name of the main character. He’s a computer technician at a large electronics store that is meant to be a parody of the US chain, Best Buy. He fixes people’s computers and cell phones and the show consistently portrays his job as unimportant to the point of being demeaning. Characters constantly ask when he will quit his “dead-end” job and get a “real job”, an important job.
The concept that he appears unimportant in this role but is actually a secret spy and very important, is one of the main themes of the show’s storyline. This is actually one of the only things I don’t like about the show. Chuck the ‘Nerd Herder’ is discussed as an unimportant cover life but he really is important in THAT role.
Example: In the pilot episode, a father comes into the store with his ballerina daughter. He is distressed because the video footage of the dance recital won’t play back. Chuck takes a look and discovers the man didn’t understand that he needed digital tape and has failed to record the recital. The girl is crushed and Chuck comes up with a solution.
The father purchases tape and Chuck sets up the great wall of screens to display the feed from the digital recorder. The little girl dances her part in front of this back drop and the day is saved.
Chuck, the lowly Nerd Herder saved the day! Another example is in a later episode. Lou (a brief love interest) comes into the store distraught because her smart phone is broken. She says something along the lines that her whole life is stored inside. Chuck is her hero, not because he has the knowledge of ‘the intersect computer’ locked in his brain, but because he can repair her phone.
We all need to pay attention to how important we are. A truck driver in the US is absolutely vital. They drive hour after hour alone on dark, slick and icy roads. People look down their noses at them, get annoyed at their large vehicles in traffic or just avoid them but without these men and women, America would come to a staggering and crashing dead stop.
The scary thing about people not valuing themselves or their contribution is we don’t see the consequences of our actions, good or bad. If we really don’t think our jobs matter, we lose opportunities to make other people’s lives better. If we don’t take pride in what we do, how can we really do it to the best of our ability? We’ve been sneering at each other for so long, we’re starting to forget what it’s like when someone really does take pride in their work and provides exceptional goods and services.
The other, even scarier, side of this is if we don’t think what we do matters, we don’t feel as much restraint from being dismissive or neglectful of other people’s needs. We can be cruel and not think much of it because what does it really matter what we do?
I’m sure that nurse didn’t think much of taking a few extra seconds to brighten a three-year-old’s day. That Tweety Bird doll was probably the first thing she came across in the store. Maybe it was an afterthought: Okay, got the eggs, milk & bread. Hmm, that little girl’s birthday is tomorrow. I’ll just grab this Tweety Bird on my way out.”
Yet twenty-eight years later, I remember her and her kindness. She will forever be a part of who I am.
You are important. What you do is important. What you do affects people in ways you cannot possibly imagine.
This Christmas my wish is that we all remember how important we are not only to our friends and family, but to people we will never meet.
I had my birthday while in the hospital and she gave me a present; a wire framed, pose-able, plush Tweety Bird. I loved that doll. I kept it for fifteen years before losing it. I packed it away with my things when I left home for Europe and it was somehow lost while I was away. I remember how truly upset I was when I realized that it was gone.
I have a point. It’s in here somewhere, trust me.
The point is this woman had a pretty demeaning job. Doctors don’t have a reputation for being appreciative and respectful of the role nurses play. In fact, nurses tend to be picked on by both the doctors and the patients. Most people don’t enjoy time spent in the hospital and don’t tend to express too much appreciation to nursing staff.
I don’t imagine that woman ever dreamed that I would remember her almost three decades later. I don’t imagine it crossed her mind when she picked up that fuzzy yellow bird that her purchase would make Tweety my mascot, the cartoon character with which I most identify.
There is a disease that has taken hold in the United States and is seen spreading all over the world. It’s a pandemic more disastrous than the much touted H1N1. People in this world have developed the concept of worth that is, in my opinion, dangerously warped. There is this designation of “important” roles and “unimportant” roles.
To try to better explain, I’m going to ask for help from one of my favorite TV shows; Chuck. Chuck is the name of the main character. He’s a computer technician at a large electronics store that is meant to be a parody of the US chain, Best Buy. He fixes people’s computers and cell phones and the show consistently portrays his job as unimportant to the point of being demeaning. Characters constantly ask when he will quit his “dead-end” job and get a “real job”, an important job.
The concept that he appears unimportant in this role but is actually a secret spy and very important, is one of the main themes of the show’s storyline. This is actually one of the only things I don’t like about the show. Chuck the ‘Nerd Herder’ is discussed as an unimportant cover life but he really is important in THAT role.
Example: In the pilot episode, a father comes into the store with his ballerina daughter. He is distressed because the video footage of the dance recital won’t play back. Chuck takes a look and discovers the man didn’t understand that he needed digital tape and has failed to record the recital. The girl is crushed and Chuck comes up with a solution.
The father purchases tape and Chuck sets up the great wall of screens to display the feed from the digital recorder. The little girl dances her part in front of this back drop and the day is saved.
Chuck, the lowly Nerd Herder saved the day! Another example is in a later episode. Lou (a brief love interest) comes into the store distraught because her smart phone is broken. She says something along the lines that her whole life is stored inside. Chuck is her hero, not because he has the knowledge of ‘the intersect computer’ locked in his brain, but because he can repair her phone.
We all need to pay attention to how important we are. A truck driver in the US is absolutely vital. They drive hour after hour alone on dark, slick and icy roads. People look down their noses at them, get annoyed at their large vehicles in traffic or just avoid them but without these men and women, America would come to a staggering and crashing dead stop.
The scary thing about people not valuing themselves or their contribution is we don’t see the consequences of our actions, good or bad. If we really don’t think our jobs matter, we lose opportunities to make other people’s lives better. If we don’t take pride in what we do, how can we really do it to the best of our ability? We’ve been sneering at each other for so long, we’re starting to forget what it’s like when someone really does take pride in their work and provides exceptional goods and services.
The other, even scarier, side of this is if we don’t think what we do matters, we don’t feel as much restraint from being dismissive or neglectful of other people’s needs. We can be cruel and not think much of it because what does it really matter what we do?
I’m sure that nurse didn’t think much of taking a few extra seconds to brighten a three-year-old’s day. That Tweety Bird doll was probably the first thing she came across in the store. Maybe it was an afterthought: Okay, got the eggs, milk & bread. Hmm, that little girl’s birthday is tomorrow. I’ll just grab this Tweety Bird on my way out.”
Yet twenty-eight years later, I remember her and her kindness. She will forever be a part of who I am.
You are important. What you do is important. What you do affects people in ways you cannot possibly imagine.
This Christmas my wish is that we all remember how important we are not only to our friends and family, but to people we will never meet.
Monday, December 21, 2009
She Came Bearing Gifts
Friday the social worker came for a visit and she came bearing gifts, just not for Jonathan. When I was a kid this happened all the time. My parents adopted kids and had foster kids as well. Christmas holidays, some organization or another would donate toys and such to the foster kids but this didn't extend to we biological children. There was also the fact that a couple of my foster siblings got presents from biological parents or extended family like grandparents. So, every year, my siblings got more presents than I did.
(One exception was this great Christmas where a church in town not only gave presents to all the kids in the family instead of just foster kids, but asked about our interests first and tailored the gifts to those interests and our ages. I said I was interested in drawing and got an incredible artistic package with pad, pencils, and even a pen and ink set. It was fantastic and still one of my all time favorite Christmas presents.)
But presents shouldn’t matter, right? What does it really matter that my siblings often got more presents than I did? Answer: I was a kid. It matters to kids…a lot. I think kids (in America at least) often see presents as a measure of their own value and worth. I blame Santa. In my opinion, the myth of Santa Clause really enforces this idea. Santa gives gifts to good children and neglects naughty children. Thus, the more presents you receive the more worthy you are of receiving them.
After I had de-boxed Emmy’s very nice gifts (No small feat, btw. Those suckers were practically welded in place), Emmy took them upstairs and started playing with them…in front of Jonathan. As the social worker was leaving, Jonathan came downstairs and in a curious but also clearly hurt 3 year-old voice asked, “Why you didn’t bring me any presents?”
This broke my heart. My husband and I tried to fix the situation as best as we could. Hubby pulled out a couple presents that had yet to be placed under the tree and we gifted them to Jonathan early. Unfortunately, my son is very thoughtful and not easily distracted. After he had opened his presents, which he absolutely adored, he came and sat quietly on my lap for a bit.
He asked, “Mommy. Why do more people love Emmy than me?”
That was how he interpreted the situation and I’ve got to say, from his perspective, it makes sense. All the people in his life who love him; me, my husband, our parents, friends and relatives, they have all opened their hearts and homes to Emmy. They have welcomed her and done their best to make her feel loved and at home.
Conversely, Jonathan was dragged along on monthly trips to Louisiana so that Emmy could visit with my sister, who barely acknowledged Jonathan’s presence, and Emmy’s former foster parents who also made no secret of the fact that they were interested in Emmy and not Jonathan.
Jonathan is three. The people with whom he comes into contact are his entire world. So, part of the world loves both him and Emmy but part of the world loves only Emmy. His little mind is trying to figure it out. So am I...still.
I was much older when my parents adopted but still remember sometimes feeling second place in a lot of people’s esteem, even my parents’. They’re such good people and such worry warts that the very last thing I would want is for them to find out about those feelings. You can’t help but feel strange and irrational things sometimes, especially as a child.
Unfortunately, irrational feelings hurt just as much as the rational ones. As my parents attended special meetings for my new siblings or took them to various visits and appointments there was a feeling that all our lives were built around them and what they needed. Since my biological sister and I needed less attention, we got it. It was hard sometimes to go to these places and visit with these people who cared for my siblings and not at all for us and not feel somehow unworthy.
I see this happening with Emmy and Jonathan. Emmy misbehaves in the strange incomprehensible ways only a child who has been deeply scarred can. She pushes boundaries regularly and creates chaos and disorder that Jonathan often finds baffling.
I try my best to give him attention for the good things he does. I try to reward them equally for good behavior and punish them equally as well. I try to make it so they receive the same amount of attention for good and bad behavior, just different sorts.
I can’t do anything about the fact that Emmy has more people in her life that care about her than Jonathan does. And I can’t do anything about the fact that Jonathan is aware of this. It’s not a thing I can figure out.
That’s one of the most baffling things about our lives. I watch Jonathan struggle with the same things with which I struggled as a child. I’ve had decades to figure it out and yet I still don’t have an answer to that question he asked. I understand now that the perspective of a child is warped and that the feelings of being second rate when compared to your seemingly more special siblings are invalid. However, I've no idea how to stop my child from feeling them or even really what to say. Even so, I have to say something, right?
So, what did I say?
I said, “Jonathan, who loves you?”
“Mommy.”
“How much does Mommy love you?”
“More than any little boy in the whole wide world.”
“Does it make you happy that Mommy loves you so much?”
(nods)
“It doesn’t matter how many people love you, Sweetie. It matters how much the people who love you, love you and the people who love you, love you as much as anybody can love anybody. Okay?”
(sigh)
“Okay. I love you, too, Mommy.”
(hugs)
(One exception was this great Christmas where a church in town not only gave presents to all the kids in the family instead of just foster kids, but asked about our interests first and tailored the gifts to those interests and our ages. I said I was interested in drawing and got an incredible artistic package with pad, pencils, and even a pen and ink set. It was fantastic and still one of my all time favorite Christmas presents.)
But presents shouldn’t matter, right? What does it really matter that my siblings often got more presents than I did? Answer: I was a kid. It matters to kids…a lot. I think kids (in America at least) often see presents as a measure of their own value and worth. I blame Santa. In my opinion, the myth of Santa Clause really enforces this idea. Santa gives gifts to good children and neglects naughty children. Thus, the more presents you receive the more worthy you are of receiving them.
After I had de-boxed Emmy’s very nice gifts (No small feat, btw. Those suckers were practically welded in place), Emmy took them upstairs and started playing with them…in front of Jonathan. As the social worker was leaving, Jonathan came downstairs and in a curious but also clearly hurt 3 year-old voice asked, “Why you didn’t bring me any presents?”
This broke my heart. My husband and I tried to fix the situation as best as we could. Hubby pulled out a couple presents that had yet to be placed under the tree and we gifted them to Jonathan early. Unfortunately, my son is very thoughtful and not easily distracted. After he had opened his presents, which he absolutely adored, he came and sat quietly on my lap for a bit.
He asked, “Mommy. Why do more people love Emmy than me?”
That was how he interpreted the situation and I’ve got to say, from his perspective, it makes sense. All the people in his life who love him; me, my husband, our parents, friends and relatives, they have all opened their hearts and homes to Emmy. They have welcomed her and done their best to make her feel loved and at home.
Conversely, Jonathan was dragged along on monthly trips to Louisiana so that Emmy could visit with my sister, who barely acknowledged Jonathan’s presence, and Emmy’s former foster parents who also made no secret of the fact that they were interested in Emmy and not Jonathan.
Jonathan is three. The people with whom he comes into contact are his entire world. So, part of the world loves both him and Emmy but part of the world loves only Emmy. His little mind is trying to figure it out. So am I...still.
I was much older when my parents adopted but still remember sometimes feeling second place in a lot of people’s esteem, even my parents’. They’re such good people and such worry warts that the very last thing I would want is for them to find out about those feelings. You can’t help but feel strange and irrational things sometimes, especially as a child.
Unfortunately, irrational feelings hurt just as much as the rational ones. As my parents attended special meetings for my new siblings or took them to various visits and appointments there was a feeling that all our lives were built around them and what they needed. Since my biological sister and I needed less attention, we got it. It was hard sometimes to go to these places and visit with these people who cared for my siblings and not at all for us and not feel somehow unworthy.
I see this happening with Emmy and Jonathan. Emmy misbehaves in the strange incomprehensible ways only a child who has been deeply scarred can. She pushes boundaries regularly and creates chaos and disorder that Jonathan often finds baffling.
I try my best to give him attention for the good things he does. I try to reward them equally for good behavior and punish them equally as well. I try to make it so they receive the same amount of attention for good and bad behavior, just different sorts.
I can’t do anything about the fact that Emmy has more people in her life that care about her than Jonathan does. And I can’t do anything about the fact that Jonathan is aware of this. It’s not a thing I can figure out.
That’s one of the most baffling things about our lives. I watch Jonathan struggle with the same things with which I struggled as a child. I’ve had decades to figure it out and yet I still don’t have an answer to that question he asked. I understand now that the perspective of a child is warped and that the feelings of being second rate when compared to your seemingly more special siblings are invalid. However, I've no idea how to stop my child from feeling them or even really what to say. Even so, I have to say something, right?
So, what did I say?
I said, “Jonathan, who loves you?”
“Mommy.”
“How much does Mommy love you?”
“More than any little boy in the whole wide world.”
“Does it make you happy that Mommy loves you so much?”
(nods)
“It doesn’t matter how many people love you, Sweetie. It matters how much the people who love you, love you and the people who love you, love you as much as anybody can love anybody. Okay?”
(sigh)
“Okay. I love you, too, Mommy.”
(hugs)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Christmas Cookies
Quoted from random e-mail:
Christmas Cookie Ingredients
1 cup water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup brown sugar
1 lemon juiced
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups dried fruit
1 bottle Crown Royal
Instructions:
Sniff the Crown Royal to check quality. Pour 1 level cup and drink it to be sure it is of the highest quality.
Turn on the electric mixer...Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar...Beat again. (At this point it's best to make sure the Crown Royal hasn't gone bad. Try another cup...just in case.)
Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck
in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor...Mix on
the turner. If the dried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it
loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Crown Royal to check for
tonsisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who giveshz a sheet. Check
the Crown Royal. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one
table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash
the oven.
Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to
beat off the turner. Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish
the Crown Royal and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.
CHERRY MISTMAS!!!
Christmas Cookie Ingredients
1 cup water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup brown sugar
1 lemon juiced
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups dried fruit
1 bottle Crown Royal
Instructions:
Sniff the Crown Royal to check quality. Pour 1 level cup and drink it to be sure it is of the highest quality.
Turn on the electric mixer...Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar...Beat again. (At this point it's best to make sure the Crown Royal hasn't gone bad. Try another cup...just in case.)
Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck
in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor...Mix on
the turner. If the dried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it
loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Crown Royal to check for
tonsisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who giveshz a sheet. Check
the Crown Royal. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one
table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash
the oven.
Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to
beat off the turner. Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish
the Crown Royal and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.
CHERRY MISTMAS!!!
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