Colleague of mine at work comes to me the other day and says that "It's time I got out there again and started dating." She goes on to extol the virtues of Match.com, E-Harmony, etc. She'll even help me create a profile. At first, I demure politely, not wanting to shake the image that she has of me. An image in which as she puts it, I'm way too smart and pretty to be uncoupled. I'm flattered, who wouldn't be? But finally, I say "No thanks, I've been down that road."
She persists and finally, the mean old spinster that lives deep down in me, snaps, "No, I just don't want to. I mean it!" And she slinks away, probably not thinking me that smart, or pretty anymore, for that matter.
I sit there and mostly feel bad (in case you wondering, of course I apologized) about my attitude and for snapping at a woman who so obviously means well. A woman who can't understand why I am so anti-dating. After all, she loved dating. And at the age of 46, even older than I am, she reminds me, and one disastrous first marriage, she met her soul mate.
If I'm honest, the first thing I ponder is the mental capacity of a woman who purports to 'love dating'. I put dating in the category of things like a visit to my gynecologist, filing my taxes, or having dental surgery, i.e., things that I dread but that I'm supposed to do for my own good, or so that I don't break the law.
Dating always felt like the ultimate job interview. And just like in 3rd grade kickball team choosing or a real interview (seriously have you never read this blog!!!), I usually wasn't chosen until last or once they'd exhausted all the much prettier and popular candidates. And in my often-times foolish, but highly romantic heart, that just isn't the way love is supposed to be. I don't want to be the candidate you pick because I'm what's left over and for that matter, who would?
Maybe I've seen too many Rom-Coms, or read too many sappy poems. But, I still, persist in believing in 'it'. Love...magic...fate...or at the very least...kinship.
Yes, I'm a believer. In so many things. I believe in God, and my salvation, dreams, wishes. I believe in true love, romance and being with a person who is truly meant for you. I just don't see that being a product of an online profile.. Which is not to say that I haven't tried it in the past, with absolutely horrific and soul-destroying results. And I'm not being in the least dramatic when I say that. Parts of me were damaged in some of these manufactured on-line romances that I know now, contribute to my wariness, my trust issues, and so many times I wish I could turn the clock back and tell my younger self that you don't really need a relationship that badly to settle for what you are about to.
There is a line in the service of marriage that I have always been particularly drawn to, "those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder". So that must mean that God puts people together, God joins them together. I've always taken that to believe that I can rest, that this is out of my hands, my destiny is in safe-keeping, God's timing, His hands.
It's a little un-religious, but to me that's the ultimate magic. The sense that one day when I least expect it, a man will show up in my life, and he'll be the one. That I'll know him when I see him, because there will be recognition, kinship, a feeling like I've always known him, and maybe, hopefully a tall man, with handsome features and a wicked sense of humor.
I'd much rather wait on God's timing, then wait for a profile.
But above all, I know it will be...magic.
Monday, November 19, 2018
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Alexa and Me
I often come late to the table technologically. Sometimes...not at all.
And sometimes I'm dragged there by a well-meaning and generous parent.
Take for instance Christmas of 2016. I'm given a medium size square box with a red-ribbon. My mother watches me with a barely repressed gleam in her eye as I peel off the wrappings and find myself the possessor of a brand new Amazon Alexa Dot.
Frankly at first, I'm not entirely sure what it is...
My mom fills in the gaps,
"You will love this, it's an Alexa...all you have to do is talk to it, and it will play you any song that you can think of! This morning, I listened to the whole Phantom of the Opera soundtrack! Just because I could!"
"You can ask her about the news, the weather...anything, just say 'Alexa what's up?'"
It's clear that my mother is about one step away from getting on Jeff Bezos Christmas Card list. But I'm still a bit skeptical.
After all, I'm the one who has electrical tape over the camera on the lid of my laptop (c'mon Mark Zuckerberg does that!), I turn off the location finder on my phone, because frankly it's none of Google's damn business if I enjoyed my trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond. By the way, I totally did. I love BB & B, it's a wonderland of kitchen supplies, spanking new comforters and it smells like those scented sachets you hang in your closets. Pretty sure heaven is similar to BB & B. Or maybe Lowe's which is also up there...
Anyhow...back to Alexa and I.
I take her home with me, plug her in and watch the colored light ring change from orange to blue as she processes all the mundane details of my life, my skimpy calendar entries, Amazon lists, my music (way more impressive). Watching the light rings, all I can think about is well, first of all Tron, because...hello...and then I start thinking about Close Encounters...and then for some reason...Close Encounters always makes me think of E.T., and then Alexa interrupts my geekout to announce "Connected to Internet"
Then, we have our first conversation.
I think, I bet this is exactly how Alexander Graham Bell felt when he first contacted Watson...
But then, I kind of freeze, not knowing exactly what to ask her, tell a joke, no wait, maybe the news...yeah the news is important! Or maybe a song, but which song, should it be classic, contemporary, Beatles...ummm...Duran Duran, ummm, BRUNO MARS??? The endless choices...I mean she can play ANYTHING!!!
I think in the end, I blurt out "Fancy" by Reba McEntire.
Still have no idea why...I mean I love Reba...but a seminal moment like this...
For several months, I'm drawn to the novelty of her. I ask her jokes, I wake up every morning and yell, "Alexa, Good Morning". She wishes me a good morning in return, tells me my schedule, what the weather is, what kind of traffic problems I'll be encountering, etc.
We get along well, until that fateful day when it's discovered that she can also support Dot to Dot conversations. In setting this up, I find to my chagrin that my cell phone is too dated and not up to the task. So, I upgrade to a new cell phone, then spend 3-4 hours (not kidding) with some Amazon burn out who tries to set it up. All so that I can call my Mom on her Dot. Have a flashback to an early Beverly Hillbillies episode in which Jethro, hearing the voice of Ms. Hathaway on the speaker at the gate, thinks she is actually trapped in the wall, instead of outside in her sporty red convertible and hurling an axe attempts to break into the wall to let her out. Luckily, my Mom and Stepdad, Glen aren't too 'creeped out' hearing my voice over the Dot and no walls are harmed in the process.
It starts to occur to me that technology is taking over my life...something I swore I would never let happen. Weird things began to occur...Sometimes for no reason at all, Alexa would start up and say, "I don't know the answer to that" when I'd not asked her a question. The other morning at 3 a.m, she must have had a "Rosie Moment" (Jetsons' beloved maid robot) and short-circuited because she woke me out of a sound sleep giving navigation to a town in what I believe was the state of Minnesota.
She refused to tell me what the secret ingredient was in Big Mac Sauce. I don't like Big Macs, I just wanted to know. She wouldn't explain the meaning of life, or why my cat Jamie likes to sleep on my head sometimes.
So for the last few months, she's sat on a pile of index cards on my desk. Sturdy cardboard index cards ready for all of the worldly wisdom of my research and study. And if you must know, so I can keep all of my books and DVD/Blu-Rays indexed and on cards. Because, at the heart of things, I'm still analog. I admit it, I like pens (actually border on OCD over the type of pen I use), hardback books, and the sound of my own thoughts in my head.
Yet, the other night as I washed dishes, I called out to the downstairs Echo,
"Alexa, play "Moonglow by Artie Shaw and his Orchestra".
She did and for one brief moment my tech side and my analog side were perfectly in sync.
And sometimes I'm dragged there by a well-meaning and generous parent.
Take for instance Christmas of 2016. I'm given a medium size square box with a red-ribbon. My mother watches me with a barely repressed gleam in her eye as I peel off the wrappings and find myself the possessor of a brand new Amazon Alexa Dot.
Frankly at first, I'm not entirely sure what it is...
My mom fills in the gaps,
"You will love this, it's an Alexa...all you have to do is talk to it, and it will play you any song that you can think of! This morning, I listened to the whole Phantom of the Opera soundtrack! Just because I could!"
"You can ask her about the news, the weather...anything, just say 'Alexa what's up?'"
It's clear that my mother is about one step away from getting on Jeff Bezos Christmas Card list. But I'm still a bit skeptical.
After all, I'm the one who has electrical tape over the camera on the lid of my laptop (c'mon Mark Zuckerberg does that!), I turn off the location finder on my phone, because frankly it's none of Google's damn business if I enjoyed my trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond. By the way, I totally did. I love BB & B, it's a wonderland of kitchen supplies, spanking new comforters and it smells like those scented sachets you hang in your closets. Pretty sure heaven is similar to BB & B. Or maybe Lowe's which is also up there...
Anyhow...back to Alexa and I.
I take her home with me, plug her in and watch the colored light ring change from orange to blue as she processes all the mundane details of my life, my skimpy calendar entries, Amazon lists, my music (way more impressive). Watching the light rings, all I can think about is well, first of all Tron, because...hello...and then I start thinking about Close Encounters...and then for some reason...Close Encounters always makes me think of E.T., and then Alexa interrupts my geekout to announce "Connected to Internet"
Then, we have our first conversation.
I think, I bet this is exactly how Alexander Graham Bell felt when he first contacted Watson...
But then, I kind of freeze, not knowing exactly what to ask her, tell a joke, no wait, maybe the news...yeah the news is important! Or maybe a song, but which song, should it be classic, contemporary, Beatles...ummm...Duran Duran, ummm, BRUNO MARS??? The endless choices...I mean she can play ANYTHING!!!
I think in the end, I blurt out "Fancy" by Reba McEntire.
Still have no idea why...I mean I love Reba...but a seminal moment like this...
For several months, I'm drawn to the novelty of her. I ask her jokes, I wake up every morning and yell, "Alexa, Good Morning". She wishes me a good morning in return, tells me my schedule, what the weather is, what kind of traffic problems I'll be encountering, etc.
We get along well, until that fateful day when it's discovered that she can also support Dot to Dot conversations. In setting this up, I find to my chagrin that my cell phone is too dated and not up to the task. So, I upgrade to a new cell phone, then spend 3-4 hours (not kidding) with some Amazon burn out who tries to set it up. All so that I can call my Mom on her Dot. Have a flashback to an early Beverly Hillbillies episode in which Jethro, hearing the voice of Ms. Hathaway on the speaker at the gate, thinks she is actually trapped in the wall, instead of outside in her sporty red convertible and hurling an axe attempts to break into the wall to let her out. Luckily, my Mom and Stepdad, Glen aren't too 'creeped out' hearing my voice over the Dot and no walls are harmed in the process.
It starts to occur to me that technology is taking over my life...something I swore I would never let happen. Weird things began to occur...Sometimes for no reason at all, Alexa would start up and say, "I don't know the answer to that" when I'd not asked her a question. The other morning at 3 a.m, she must have had a "Rosie Moment" (Jetsons' beloved maid robot) and short-circuited because she woke me out of a sound sleep giving navigation to a town in what I believe was the state of Minnesota.
She refused to tell me what the secret ingredient was in Big Mac Sauce. I don't like Big Macs, I just wanted to know. She wouldn't explain the meaning of life, or why my cat Jamie likes to sleep on my head sometimes.
So for the last few months, she's sat on a pile of index cards on my desk. Sturdy cardboard index cards ready for all of the worldly wisdom of my research and study. And if you must know, so I can keep all of my books and DVD/Blu-Rays indexed and on cards. Because, at the heart of things, I'm still analog. I admit it, I like pens (actually border on OCD over the type of pen I use), hardback books, and the sound of my own thoughts in my head.
Yet, the other night as I washed dishes, I called out to the downstairs Echo,
"Alexa, play "Moonglow by Artie Shaw and his Orchestra".
She did and for one brief moment my tech side and my analog side were perfectly in sync.
New Blog Title
After nearly six years, I've decided to change the name of this blog. I don't feel the need to 'strike back' any more. I started this blog as an angry rant after a terrible job interview left me feeling alone, disenfranchised...and let's face it...bitter. I'm not in the same place as I was then, and I need a new approach.
So now I'm just down to me...a.Gen X lifer and these are the stories of my life and how it goes. A place for all of my sometimes whimsical, sometimes pessimistic, and often downright emotionally purgative thoughts.
Fate has also stepped in through the guise of new co-worker who is a solidly Gen Y millennial. We have a lot of interaction over the differences in our experiences. It's helped me to see life through a different prism.
Although...being born in 1986, I thought for sure he would at least know one of my favorite songs from the year of his birth.
I mean after all, I am very well acquainted with "Sweet Home Alabama" which was number one in the year I made my entrance into the world. (Don't make me tell you, look it up)
So I gleefully mentioned "Something About You" by Level 42, to which he replied,
"Huh?"
We'll get there...
So now I'm just down to me...a.Gen X lifer and these are the stories of my life and how it goes. A place for all of my sometimes whimsical, sometimes pessimistic, and often downright emotionally purgative thoughts.
Fate has also stepped in through the guise of new co-worker who is a solidly Gen Y millennial. We have a lot of interaction over the differences in our experiences. It's helped me to see life through a different prism.
Although...being born in 1986, I thought for sure he would at least know one of my favorite songs from the year of his birth.
I mean after all, I am very well acquainted with "Sweet Home Alabama" which was number one in the year I made my entrance into the world. (Don't make me tell you, look it up)
So I gleefully mentioned "Something About You" by Level 42, to which he replied,
"Huh?"
We'll get there...
Saturday, March 18, 2017
"Hi...I'm Robert Osborne"
Admit it....you thought I was dead.
If in fact, you actually even read this...
Not going to apologize, or offer any excuses....
It's been awhile since I felt like I had anything to say....to offer humanity...if you will.
Maturity seems to bring out many things, different kinds of aches and pains where you stop and think 'wait a minute, when did THAT start being painful', an increased reverence for soft rock, and lately the march of time has made it seem that everyone familiar in pop culture is dead or will be soon.
For the most part I can't say I was surprised to see an early death for George Michael or Carrie Fisher, they seemed to live their lives with an appetite for self-destruction. I felt twinges of remorse over seeing Debbie Reynolds and Mary Tyler Moore pass away. Last week though was the hardest for me. It was personal.
Last week, Robert Osborne passed away.
Robert Osborne was the genial, mellifluous-voiced host for Turner Classic Movies for over 20 years. For most of those 20 years, I was one of his most ardent fans. Probably not the most devout or zealous; I never wrote him a letter, or sent him a knitted sweater. For some reason that I've never really questioned, Robert was part of my life, like a favorite uncle who just happened to be the most well-informed movie fan on the planet. No really, he was...he wrote the definitive guide to old movies, "85 Years of Oscar, the Official History of the Academy Awards".
Bout of illness or surgery, Robert was there for me, broken-heart, Robert was there for me, a period of unemployment, Robert was there for me. With a kindly smile and a story about the movie I was about to see was my class film professor. Sometimes it felt like he was personally there watching it with me.
Some years ago, back in about 1988 when my grandma became ill and moved back to Ohio, while helping my mother go through her possessions in her Florida summer home, I came across old movie magazines, Photoplays, etc. They mesmerized me, the old advertisements, the pictures of the movies stars. I paged through and looked at them until the pages literally came apart in my hands. Yes, I realize if I'd been more careful, I could have probably unloaded them for some serious coin on Ebay. If I'd done so though, I'd never have had the experience of falling in love with Gable, Grant, Niven and Powell long before I'd ever seen one of their movies. I cut their pictures out, made collages and plastered my bedroom walls with them. Out when the Julian Lennon, the Wham posters and the Duran Duran; I was infatuated with these debonair leading men who had died before I was born.
About that time our cable company began carrying American Movie Classics (AMC), the place you now know as the home of the Walking Dead, and Mad Men actually used to have classic films all day (and the world was better for it) introduced by Bob Dorian and Nick Clooney. Finally a chance to see some of my heartthrobs for real. So when the fledgling Turner Classic Movies (TCM) was announced in 1994, I was excited. Unfortunately, it would be another 5 years until the network actually made its way from a premium HBO-like pay channel to a basic cable offering where I could actually watch. Even then I was skeptical about this Robert Osborne, whoever he was. Nick Clooney and Bob Dorian were my guys.
Then I saw my first Robert Osborne intro and it was as if he'd always been there, that I'd always known him. Whenever I had free time or was sick, when it was Christmas, or Easter, Robert and TCM always had the programming I tuned in for. To this day, "Libeled Lady" is one of my favorite comedies because Bob said I needed to see it. Through Mr. Osborne, I learned to appreciate acting as it should be, how a movie can make you see life differently, it's power to pick you up when you are down, to inspire, to make you laugh, to make you cry. I think in this day of 24 hour news and social media, of constantly revolving reality shows, people crave stories about a less complicated age and less 'reality' which is why TCM keeps gaining fans (younger and younger) and ratings. Without a powerhouse like Robert Osborne to helm it, I don't know if TCM would have ever gotten a chance.
Just the other weekend, I went to our local art movie house (back in the days before TCM and it's efforts on film preservation, we never even had a local art movie house and now it's planning to expand) to see a showing of "It Happened One Night" with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, a movie that came out in 1934, before my parents were born, an 83 year old movie. The reaction amazing; to see the laughter and seen the joy on the faces of people who were connecting to this Academy-Award winning film directed on a shoe-string budget with Gable on loan from his home studio and Colbert who had to be persuaded to put off her summer vacation to film it. The first person I thought of was Robert Osborne, "I bet he would have loved something like this"
As I was leaving the theatre, two guys walking behind me who couldn't have been more than 18-22 years old were saying, "Dude, that was really good. I wasn't going to see this, but...man I'm glad I did". I beamed. It seemed that life, that mankind felt better to me.
I had a similar reaction two years earlier checking my Twitter TCM feeds while waiting on my car to get tires, my favorite actor William Powell was actually trending. I marveled for a moment, 'I wonder what Powell would think?' When he died in 1984, no one had even dreamed of social media and here he is being searched, where he was born, who he loved. They tweet that they find him handsome, funny and name drop the movies he's been in.
If not for Robert Osborne, I wonder if it would ever have happened?
My DVR is full of TCM movies, many of which I already own on DVD or Blu-Ray, and I keep them not for the movies, but for Robert's introductions. They can't be replaced. It'll be a while until I can let them go.
When I learned that he'd passed away, via social media...I texted my Mom,
"Robert Osborne died. Absolutely heartbroken..."
It wasn't nearly enough to sum up the way I felt about him...not nearly enough. I find comfort in the fact that there are many others who like me, today...grieve.
If in fact, you actually even read this...
Not going to apologize, or offer any excuses....
It's been awhile since I felt like I had anything to say....to offer humanity...if you will.
Maturity seems to bring out many things, different kinds of aches and pains where you stop and think 'wait a minute, when did THAT start being painful', an increased reverence for soft rock, and lately the march of time has made it seem that everyone familiar in pop culture is dead or will be soon.
For the most part I can't say I was surprised to see an early death for George Michael or Carrie Fisher, they seemed to live their lives with an appetite for self-destruction. I felt twinges of remorse over seeing Debbie Reynolds and Mary Tyler Moore pass away. Last week though was the hardest for me. It was personal.
Last week, Robert Osborne passed away.
Robert Osborne was the genial, mellifluous-voiced host for Turner Classic Movies for over 20 years. For most of those 20 years, I was one of his most ardent fans. Probably not the most devout or zealous; I never wrote him a letter, or sent him a knitted sweater. For some reason that I've never really questioned, Robert was part of my life, like a favorite uncle who just happened to be the most well-informed movie fan on the planet. No really, he was...he wrote the definitive guide to old movies, "85 Years of Oscar, the Official History of the Academy Awards".
Bout of illness or surgery, Robert was there for me, broken-heart, Robert was there for me, a period of unemployment, Robert was there for me. With a kindly smile and a story about the movie I was about to see was my class film professor. Sometimes it felt like he was personally there watching it with me.
Some years ago, back in about 1988 when my grandma became ill and moved back to Ohio, while helping my mother go through her possessions in her Florida summer home, I came across old movie magazines, Photoplays, etc. They mesmerized me, the old advertisements, the pictures of the movies stars. I paged through and looked at them until the pages literally came apart in my hands. Yes, I realize if I'd been more careful, I could have probably unloaded them for some serious coin on Ebay. If I'd done so though, I'd never have had the experience of falling in love with Gable, Grant, Niven and Powell long before I'd ever seen one of their movies. I cut their pictures out, made collages and plastered my bedroom walls with them. Out when the Julian Lennon, the Wham posters and the Duran Duran; I was infatuated with these debonair leading men who had died before I was born.
About that time our cable company began carrying American Movie Classics (AMC), the place you now know as the home of the Walking Dead, and Mad Men actually used to have classic films all day (and the world was better for it) introduced by Bob Dorian and Nick Clooney. Finally a chance to see some of my heartthrobs for real. So when the fledgling Turner Classic Movies (TCM) was announced in 1994, I was excited. Unfortunately, it would be another 5 years until the network actually made its way from a premium HBO-like pay channel to a basic cable offering where I could actually watch. Even then I was skeptical about this Robert Osborne, whoever he was. Nick Clooney and Bob Dorian were my guys.
Then I saw my first Robert Osborne intro and it was as if he'd always been there, that I'd always known him. Whenever I had free time or was sick, when it was Christmas, or Easter, Robert and TCM always had the programming I tuned in for. To this day, "Libeled Lady" is one of my favorite comedies because Bob said I needed to see it. Through Mr. Osborne, I learned to appreciate acting as it should be, how a movie can make you see life differently, it's power to pick you up when you are down, to inspire, to make you laugh, to make you cry. I think in this day of 24 hour news and social media, of constantly revolving reality shows, people crave stories about a less complicated age and less 'reality' which is why TCM keeps gaining fans (younger and younger) and ratings. Without a powerhouse like Robert Osborne to helm it, I don't know if TCM would have ever gotten a chance.
Just the other weekend, I went to our local art movie house (back in the days before TCM and it's efforts on film preservation, we never even had a local art movie house and now it's planning to expand) to see a showing of "It Happened One Night" with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, a movie that came out in 1934, before my parents were born, an 83 year old movie. The reaction amazing; to see the laughter and seen the joy on the faces of people who were connecting to this Academy-Award winning film directed on a shoe-string budget with Gable on loan from his home studio and Colbert who had to be persuaded to put off her summer vacation to film it. The first person I thought of was Robert Osborne, "I bet he would have loved something like this"
As I was leaving the theatre, two guys walking behind me who couldn't have been more than 18-22 years old were saying, "Dude, that was really good. I wasn't going to see this, but...man I'm glad I did". I beamed. It seemed that life, that mankind felt better to me.
I had a similar reaction two years earlier checking my Twitter TCM feeds while waiting on my car to get tires, my favorite actor William Powell was actually trending. I marveled for a moment, 'I wonder what Powell would think?' When he died in 1984, no one had even dreamed of social media and here he is being searched, where he was born, who he loved. They tweet that they find him handsome, funny and name drop the movies he's been in.
If not for Robert Osborne, I wonder if it would ever have happened?
My DVR is full of TCM movies, many of which I already own on DVD or Blu-Ray, and I keep them not for the movies, but for Robert's introductions. They can't be replaced. It'll be a while until I can let them go.
When I learned that he'd passed away, via social media...I texted my Mom,
"Robert Osborne died. Absolutely heartbroken..."
It wasn't nearly enough to sum up the way I felt about him...not nearly enough. I find comfort in the fact that there are many others who like me, today...grieve.
Friday, September 2, 2016
Saying It
I've just been reading over what I recently blogged a few days ago and I wondered who's voice that really was?
It's apparently mine, since I don't have any trouble recalling writing it.
But reading it again...I felt...I don't know... apologetic?
That voice was whiny and somehow...old.
It's not the voice I imagine myself to have or the thoughts either. I came across angry and bitchy and that's not really how I meant it. I'm really neither, angry really or bitchy.
If anything, I'm...bewildered.
I don't know what my place in this world is and I figured by the age of 42, I'd have certainly figured it out. It's the reason I started this blog in the first place.
Gen X.
I'm Gen X and this is my voice, my way of striking back at the things that have changed in my part of the world.
My sister, a Gen X by the skin of her teeth, I think of her as Gen X on the Cusp of Millenial, once said that she rejected that title, and resented being labeled as such.
I've always embraced it, feeling that at least I wasn't a lone figure sitting cross-legged on my bed in front of my laptop venting my spleen, that there was a whole generation of us trying to puzzle out the ways things are from the way things used to be. Safety in numbers if you will.
It's really been on my mind of late. How do I fit myself into this society? I feel it in so many ways, trying not to be swallowed up by past recollections. I chafe at the idea of turning into an ersatz Miss Havisham, although instead of a wedding dress, I would be ensconced in my Benetton rugby shirt circa 1986, neon Swatch and high-top Reeboks. In some ways I want to fully embrace all the future has to offer, but then I take a really hard look at the trappings of our post-modernist society and feel myself contort into an Edvard Munch-esque tableau.
Sometimes it feels like I'm standing up on a table screaming into a megaphone to a world that is mute to all but the clicking of their thumbs.
I'm not angry...I'm confused at a world that consistently rejects the values it once espoused.
I'm not angry...I'm heartbroken that we've shoved all of our optimism and belief in a brighter day into a class struggle where we all end up losers.
I'm not angry...I'm astonished at the fact that arguably sane adults are running into oncoming traffic trying to catch an imaginary Pikachu.
Social media is a particular sticking point. The other day, the Google function on my cellphone began picking out my news items for the day. I admit it, I snapped a bit, 'the gall of Google telling me what news I was and was not going to read'.
"Dammit, all I want you to do Google, is to tell me the answer when I ask for it, not log everything I've ever 'shown interest' in to pick out the articles that I will read!"
I want the freedom to choose what I want to read and when I will read it, I don't want to be coaxed like a recalcitrant child into reading, "Now be a good girl and let's read our Channel 63 weather forecast, you've shown interest in Channel 63!" Because the truth is, Channel 63 is pretty lame and their digital doppler is nowhere near as mack daddy as Channel 89, but Channel 63 paid out more ducats than 89 to show up first on the Google search list and I'm lazy sometimes!
Then the resentment comes in, resentment at the world where my privacy is so regularly violated. It's not as if there is even anything particularly nefarious, I just want the right to live in a world where if I so choose to re-read an old Judy Blume book to see what they are like as an adult reader, Google and Amazon don't immediately start recommending children's books to me.
I don't want Twitter to make me feel guilty that I don't 'tweet' more. Or chide me for my lack of followers. And how about you Facebook, telling me the other day, when I finally deigned to look in at my home page that if "I had more FB friends, you would load more stories in my News Feed!"? I can't believe it, I'm 42 and I'm still being mocked by the 'cool kids'!
All of this just makes me feel more isolated and less included and that's why I started writing here, so that my voice wouldn't be just another metric to measure traffic. So that I could write it all out and justify, I don't know, my existence perhaps?
I've always loved "The NeverEnding Story", which worth mentioning is all the more prescient because it just celebrated it's 37th anniversary. I loved the idea that Bastian is not merely reading the story, he's participating in it, he's part of it. Down to the moment, when he has to overcome the feelings of his lack of worthiness and call out the name of the Empress. When he says it, shouting the name in the midst of all of the confusion and cacophony, the Nothing recedes. If you say it, say the name, the Nothing has to recede.
And I guess that's why I keep at this, writing this, saying it, so that my own personal Nothing recedes.
It's apparently mine, since I don't have any trouble recalling writing it.
But reading it again...I felt...I don't know... apologetic?
That voice was whiny and somehow...old.
It's not the voice I imagine myself to have or the thoughts either. I came across angry and bitchy and that's not really how I meant it. I'm really neither, angry really or bitchy.
If anything, I'm...bewildered.
I don't know what my place in this world is and I figured by the age of 42, I'd have certainly figured it out. It's the reason I started this blog in the first place.
Gen X.
I'm Gen X and this is my voice, my way of striking back at the things that have changed in my part of the world.
My sister, a Gen X by the skin of her teeth, I think of her as Gen X on the Cusp of Millenial, once said that she rejected that title, and resented being labeled as such.
I've always embraced it, feeling that at least I wasn't a lone figure sitting cross-legged on my bed in front of my laptop venting my spleen, that there was a whole generation of us trying to puzzle out the ways things are from the way things used to be. Safety in numbers if you will.
It's really been on my mind of late. How do I fit myself into this society? I feel it in so many ways, trying not to be swallowed up by past recollections. I chafe at the idea of turning into an ersatz Miss Havisham, although instead of a wedding dress, I would be ensconced in my Benetton rugby shirt circa 1986, neon Swatch and high-top Reeboks. In some ways I want to fully embrace all the future has to offer, but then I take a really hard look at the trappings of our post-modernist society and feel myself contort into an Edvard Munch-esque tableau.
Sometimes it feels like I'm standing up on a table screaming into a megaphone to a world that is mute to all but the clicking of their thumbs.
I'm not angry...I'm confused at a world that consistently rejects the values it once espoused.
I'm not angry...I'm heartbroken that we've shoved all of our optimism and belief in a brighter day into a class struggle where we all end up losers.
I'm not angry...I'm astonished at the fact that arguably sane adults are running into oncoming traffic trying to catch an imaginary Pikachu.
Social media is a particular sticking point. The other day, the Google function on my cellphone began picking out my news items for the day. I admit it, I snapped a bit, 'the gall of Google telling me what news I was and was not going to read'.
"Dammit, all I want you to do Google, is to tell me the answer when I ask for it, not log everything I've ever 'shown interest' in to pick out the articles that I will read!"
I want the freedom to choose what I want to read and when I will read it, I don't want to be coaxed like a recalcitrant child into reading, "Now be a good girl and let's read our Channel 63 weather forecast, you've shown interest in Channel 63!" Because the truth is, Channel 63 is pretty lame and their digital doppler is nowhere near as mack daddy as Channel 89, but Channel 63 paid out more ducats than 89 to show up first on the Google search list and I'm lazy sometimes!
Then the resentment comes in, resentment at the world where my privacy is so regularly violated. It's not as if there is even anything particularly nefarious, I just want the right to live in a world where if I so choose to re-read an old Judy Blume book to see what they are like as an adult reader, Google and Amazon don't immediately start recommending children's books to me.
I don't want Twitter to make me feel guilty that I don't 'tweet' more. Or chide me for my lack of followers. And how about you Facebook, telling me the other day, when I finally deigned to look in at my home page that if "I had more FB friends, you would load more stories in my News Feed!"? I can't believe it, I'm 42 and I'm still being mocked by the 'cool kids'!
All of this just makes me feel more isolated and less included and that's why I started writing here, so that my voice wouldn't be just another metric to measure traffic. So that I could write it all out and justify, I don't know, my existence perhaps?
I've always loved "The NeverEnding Story", which worth mentioning is all the more prescient because it just celebrated it's 37th anniversary. I loved the idea that Bastian is not merely reading the story, he's participating in it, he's part of it. Down to the moment, when he has to overcome the feelings of his lack of worthiness and call out the name of the Empress. When he says it, shouting the name in the midst of all of the confusion and cacophony, the Nothing recedes. If you say it, say the name, the Nothing has to recede.
And I guess that's why I keep at this, writing this, saying it, so that my own personal Nothing recedes.
Sunday, August 28, 2016
A Substantial Identity Crisis
(Originally published in 8/16- re-released 12/18)
Judging by my output over the last several weeks, it should be fairly easy to conclude that I haven't had much to say...
You know you are experiencing a formidable dearth of creativity when the most original thing you've done in two and a half months is create a playlist of all songs with the word 'magic' in them. It was a doozy though, with everything and everyone from Olivia Newton John to the Cars.
I've been in a sort of philosophical 'funk' of late. Inspiration has never seemed so far away. Began to think that I might be experiencing some sort of 'mid-life' crisis...Nothing is more hackneyed and clichéd, I know, but how else to explain the fact that the only things I've looked forward to of late was TCM's Summer Under the Stars Movie festival and the fact that Yacht Rock returned to Sirius XM Radio. Even more worrying was the recent trip I paid to my local used book store in which I spent 45 minutes and emerged empty-handed! That's never happened in my personal history. Not Ever....Absolutely Never.
Panicked, I retreated to a local antique store hoping to find some sort of tchotchke or piece of décor to pluck myself from the oblivion I seemed to be inhabiting. It didn't work. I emerged like a sleepwalker from the shop mumbling to myself some gibberish about not wanting 'more clutter' or 'things that would only collect dust'. Alien phrases I've never before heard myself use...
After retreating home to huddle cocoon-like with a cup of tea and a few pieces of verboten Scottish shortbread on my sofa, I proceeded to spend some time staring off into space contemplating my seemingly erratic behavior of late.
What was happening to me?
I realized that I was tired of the same old, same old. Nothing substantive. I'm sick of reading magazines in which the only 'meaty' reading was the disclosure page for prescription medicines. They seem to be writing periodicals these days for people with zero attention span. The pages were a hodge podge of 'bites' of articles with no real story with a beginning thesis, supportive documentation and a conclusive ending. I went into the bookstore looking for a sweeping novel and all I found were breezy pieces of 'chick lit' and for some reason I can't work out, hundreds upon hundreds of books about vampires, zombies and various other assorted stories of the undead. I couldn't even find any of the Louis L'Amour(s) which were so prized by my late great-aunt.
It's as if I'm in a state of perpetual mourning, (no I'm not really depressed) for more than society is capable of providing. I mourn the lack of civility, manners, the casual dress, the appalling lack of education. In the time period between my last writing on this blog and now, I've been informed that cursive writing is no longer part of the standard curricula in our schools. Upon hearing this, I embarked on a lengthy period of research (nothing thrills me more than doing research) and in several articles I read, I was backed up by several eminent sociologists, many teachers and educators as to the irreparable harm this is doing, but in the midst of my quest for validation, was the far more sobering thought that, "No one cares..." If the parents whose children this is affecting say nothing and thus far, their silence in this case is deafening, then what do I, a parent of none, a childless spinster have to say? I've got no skin in this game. My contemporaries who have school age children argue that "computer skills are more important...and no one writes in cursive these days anyway".
Except well...me...I always write in cursive. Even down to the notes that I write to myself.
So I am once more perhaps, an anachronism in my own time.
Maybe it's foolhardy to be this way, but I find myself unable to deny the fire that burns within me for substance. So in spite of the fact that it is possibly an exercise in futility, I will continue to seek out the elusive well-written sweeping novel, I will keep using 'big words'. I will keep my inner pilot light lit with zeal for the beauty and class of classic movies, for the arts, for music and for the hope that somehow the written word will stand the test of time.
Judging by my output over the last several weeks, it should be fairly easy to conclude that I haven't had much to say...
You know you are experiencing a formidable dearth of creativity when the most original thing you've done in two and a half months is create a playlist of all songs with the word 'magic' in them. It was a doozy though, with everything and everyone from Olivia Newton John to the Cars.
I've been in a sort of philosophical 'funk' of late. Inspiration has never seemed so far away. Began to think that I might be experiencing some sort of 'mid-life' crisis...Nothing is more hackneyed and clichéd, I know, but how else to explain the fact that the only things I've looked forward to of late was TCM's Summer Under the Stars Movie festival and the fact that Yacht Rock returned to Sirius XM Radio. Even more worrying was the recent trip I paid to my local used book store in which I spent 45 minutes and emerged empty-handed! That's never happened in my personal history. Not Ever....Absolutely Never.
Panicked, I retreated to a local antique store hoping to find some sort of tchotchke or piece of décor to pluck myself from the oblivion I seemed to be inhabiting. It didn't work. I emerged like a sleepwalker from the shop mumbling to myself some gibberish about not wanting 'more clutter' or 'things that would only collect dust'. Alien phrases I've never before heard myself use...
After retreating home to huddle cocoon-like with a cup of tea and a few pieces of verboten Scottish shortbread on my sofa, I proceeded to spend some time staring off into space contemplating my seemingly erratic behavior of late.
What was happening to me?
I realized that I was tired of the same old, same old. Nothing substantive. I'm sick of reading magazines in which the only 'meaty' reading was the disclosure page for prescription medicines. They seem to be writing periodicals these days for people with zero attention span. The pages were a hodge podge of 'bites' of articles with no real story with a beginning thesis, supportive documentation and a conclusive ending. I went into the bookstore looking for a sweeping novel and all I found were breezy pieces of 'chick lit' and for some reason I can't work out, hundreds upon hundreds of books about vampires, zombies and various other assorted stories of the undead. I couldn't even find any of the Louis L'Amour(s) which were so prized by my late great-aunt.
It's as if I'm in a state of perpetual mourning, (no I'm not really depressed) for more than society is capable of providing. I mourn the lack of civility, manners, the casual dress, the appalling lack of education. In the time period between my last writing on this blog and now, I've been informed that cursive writing is no longer part of the standard curricula in our schools. Upon hearing this, I embarked on a lengthy period of research (nothing thrills me more than doing research) and in several articles I read, I was backed up by several eminent sociologists, many teachers and educators as to the irreparable harm this is doing, but in the midst of my quest for validation, was the far more sobering thought that, "No one cares..." If the parents whose children this is affecting say nothing and thus far, their silence in this case is deafening, then what do I, a parent of none, a childless spinster have to say? I've got no skin in this game. My contemporaries who have school age children argue that "computer skills are more important...and no one writes in cursive these days anyway".
Except well...me...I always write in cursive. Even down to the notes that I write to myself.
So I am once more perhaps, an anachronism in my own time.
Maybe it's foolhardy to be this way, but I find myself unable to deny the fire that burns within me for substance. So in spite of the fact that it is possibly an exercise in futility, I will continue to seek out the elusive well-written sweeping novel, I will keep using 'big words'. I will keep my inner pilot light lit with zeal for the beauty and class of classic movies, for the arts, for music and for the hope that somehow the written word will stand the test of time.
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Stuff
I am going to ramble a bit in this post...
I couldn't marshal all my thoughts together...into one cohesive theme.
Perhaps Annie Lennox said it best in my favorite of all her songs, "Why".
"This is the book I never read
These are the words I never said
This is the path I'll never tread
These are the dreams I'll dream instead
This is the joy that's seldom spread
These are the tears...
The tears we shed
This is the fear
This is the dread
These are the contents of my head"
So here are the contents of my head....
1. Feeling bad about the way that I snapped at a grocery store clerk earlier this evening. I stopped off to pick up a few things at the store and when I was in produce, she (the grocery store clerk) offered me a flower saying "Happy Mother's Day!". I snarled back a graceless "No Thanks!" and then I snapped, "I'm not a mother!" It wasn't her fault, but I am so tired, so...so tired of 'getting through' Mothers' Day. Why is it that just because you are a female on Mothers' Day, everyone assumes you must therefore be a mother? It just needs to stop. Don't we inflict enough pain on people through taxes, reality shows and this current political election without reminding them of other pain? Not everyone is a strong empowered female who is okay with the life she's been handed. Don't make them feel worse because corporate America needs to find another way to guilt the public into buying more 'stuff'. I just want to get my groceries in peace; if I really wanted to be accosted by people giving away 'free carnations', I could hang out at the airport in search of a Hare Krishna. (although do they still do that?)
2. Last weekend, I decided that I had the time to go and while away some hours at my local Books-A-Million, so you can imagine my dismay when I pulled up to the shop and it was no longer there! Just a darkened storefront with empty shelves and a sign taped to the door telling me not to despair, that I could still find them online. Don't Despair! My stomach felt like it had been dropped into my shoes. You can't smell freshly ground coffee and cinnamon snickerdoodles when you shop online. Nor can you find inner peace and tranquility in the quiet hush of a shop with thousands of tantalizing titles right at your fingertips where you can read the blurb on the back, take a few pages for a test drive, or much like Billy Crystal in "When Harry Met Sally" read the ending in case you die before you finish the book. You can't make discreet eye contact with some hipster guy in really cool glasses and skinny jeans while inwardly rejoicing in the fact that he too is mildly obsessed with Outlander. No Books a Million, I can't...not despair! Sometimes it feels like I am the only human being on the planet that still likes to read actual books. I felt less alone in bookstores. So now I am not only in despair, but alone in a weird alien world of non-readers. It is constantly held up to us that United States is consistently lagging behind the rest of the world in test scores. Maybe statisticians would not completely agree, but I bet you could draw a pretty significant corollary between the drop in test scores to the amount of books stores closed in the last 10 years. Please don't comment to me about your Godless Kindles. True reading is done curled up in an armchair or sofa with a paperbound volume in your hands, perhaps a cat in your lap, or a faithful dog at your feet, a glass of red or a cup of chamomile at your side as God intended. Anything else is just- soul-crushing.
3. Whenever I go visit my Mom, after I've crossed over the bridge which always makes me feel as if I'm on a long journey, instead of a mere 20 or so miles, there is a little, what I believe to be auto-repair or some sort of industrial site that has out in front of it a large 30 foot or so T-Rex figure. They always dress the T-Rex in season-appropriate clothing. For instance, at Christmas he might wear a Santa hat and hold a wreath in his massive claws. For Easter, he'll have a basket in his claws and a stuffed rabbit dangling from his teeth, an Uncle Sam hat at the 4th of July...you get the picture. I always want to go and pull off the road, knock on the door of their warehouse, etc., and tell them how much I look forward to seeing the Rex every time I cross over the bridge and into their city. That I appreciate their whimsy and the trouble that it must take in order to get a crane out there to lift off the various attire and re-dress him, the expense of it, etc. That it always just makes my day and I always chuckle at what they dress him in. I should do that some day... really I should!
4. Being a very doting pet parent, there is almost nothing that I like better than going to a pet shop in order to buy treats and 'stuff' for my boys. I am almost as at-home in pet stores and the vet as I am in book stores. I am one of those types for which the great impresario PT Barnum once famously remarked (or not depending on which side of the conjecture you come down on) 'there's a sucker born every minute'. I think that Pet Smart, or Supermarket or Petco or wherever probably gleefully rub their hands together when they see me, 'It's okay guys, she's here, we'll definitely be able to make payroll this month!" In any case, the Go Cat company certainly must have had dupes like me in mind when they came up with their As-Seen-On-TV video "Cat Dreams". In my defense, it was sold as a freebie tacked on to the purchase of a large pouch of "Tiger Grass" Gold Standard catnip. 'Cat Dreams' is a DVD of what purports to be 'Natural Sights and Sounds Cats Love'. It's basically images of birds moving slowly, cheeping merrily while squirrels cavort chasing each other's bushy tails. On the same day that I purchased this visual feast for the feline eye, in the interest of trying to decrease stress and stay hip and current at the same time, I purchased an 'adult coloring book' for myself complete with special markers. After coming home and treating my two moggies to a catnip infused mouse play session, I attempted to get them to come down off their 'kitty high' by running the 'Cat Dreams' DVD. At the same time, I was attempting to try and de-stress with my coloring book. The only thing is...I am not actually very good at...how shall we say...coloring. I was attempting to fill in something called a mandala. I don't even know (or particularly care) what a mandala is! But the book promised hours of relaxing color therapy, so I gamely continued, certain that at any moment, stress would fall from me like water from a colander. The opposite occurred, the more I colored the tighter my shoulders got, I couldn't seem to stay completely immersed in the center of the image and occasionally, mortifyingly strayed outside the lines. The color didn't seem to be spreading evenly, one of my markers dried up, and I found myself ranting, "Damn it, now I'm out of green, I'm going to have to double up on orange and the whole design will be off! The whole mandala is ruined, just ruined!' Reduce stress, I think I tripled it...After throwing my markers down and tossing the coloring book to the side, I caught sight of 'Cat Dreams'. Gordon and Jamie my now manic catnip-laced cats were nowhere to be found, having decided that watching 'Cat Dreams' was lame, they engaged in a game of racing each other up and down the stairs. As for me however, after just 15 minutes or so of watching birds and squirrels and the restful sounds of their chirping, I was fast asleep, completely stress-free!
5. I attended my 3rd funeral of one calendar year last Wednesday, I am not going to blog about this one however out of my deep respect for the family other than to say that life is short and finite and you need to hug your love ones often and tell them why they are special. I work in an industry that is all about estate planning and is very tied into life and death. It has felt so much lately like I have been surrounded by death and yet something that has very much surprised me is that when I came into this line of work, I was impressed with the vast amounts of resources and money I worked with, but the longer I am in this business, the more I see the folly of running after the accumulation of money. Yes, you need to have the necessities of life, people need homes to make memories in, but do you really need to have subway tile, quartz countertops or an outdoor kitchen to be complete? At last, I see that it is the people, the relationships that really matter. I believe it was Thoreau who said "Friends they cherish each other’s hopes. They are kind to each other’s dreams.” Care about your friends and family, build up their hopes and dream with them.
I am going to close this out Oliver Wendell Holmes...
"Alas for those that never sing,
But die with all their music in them"
Whatever you do in this life, don't die with your music in you, sing your song, dream your dreams and love even when it's easier not to.
I couldn't marshal all my thoughts together...into one cohesive theme.
Perhaps Annie Lennox said it best in my favorite of all her songs, "Why".
"This is the book I never read
These are the words I never said
This is the path I'll never tread
These are the dreams I'll dream instead
This is the joy that's seldom spread
These are the tears...
The tears we shed
This is the fear
This is the dread
These are the contents of my head"
So here are the contents of my head....
1. Feeling bad about the way that I snapped at a grocery store clerk earlier this evening. I stopped off to pick up a few things at the store and when I was in produce, she (the grocery store clerk) offered me a flower saying "Happy Mother's Day!". I snarled back a graceless "No Thanks!" and then I snapped, "I'm not a mother!" It wasn't her fault, but I am so tired, so...so tired of 'getting through' Mothers' Day. Why is it that just because you are a female on Mothers' Day, everyone assumes you must therefore be a mother? It just needs to stop. Don't we inflict enough pain on people through taxes, reality shows and this current political election without reminding them of other pain? Not everyone is a strong empowered female who is okay with the life she's been handed. Don't make them feel worse because corporate America needs to find another way to guilt the public into buying more 'stuff'. I just want to get my groceries in peace; if I really wanted to be accosted by people giving away 'free carnations', I could hang out at the airport in search of a Hare Krishna. (although do they still do that?)
2. Last weekend, I decided that I had the time to go and while away some hours at my local Books-A-Million, so you can imagine my dismay when I pulled up to the shop and it was no longer there! Just a darkened storefront with empty shelves and a sign taped to the door telling me not to despair, that I could still find them online. Don't Despair! My stomach felt like it had been dropped into my shoes. You can't smell freshly ground coffee and cinnamon snickerdoodles when you shop online. Nor can you find inner peace and tranquility in the quiet hush of a shop with thousands of tantalizing titles right at your fingertips where you can read the blurb on the back, take a few pages for a test drive, or much like Billy Crystal in "When Harry Met Sally" read the ending in case you die before you finish the book. You can't make discreet eye contact with some hipster guy in really cool glasses and skinny jeans while inwardly rejoicing in the fact that he too is mildly obsessed with Outlander. No Books a Million, I can't...not despair! Sometimes it feels like I am the only human being on the planet that still likes to read actual books. I felt less alone in bookstores. So now I am not only in despair, but alone in a weird alien world of non-readers. It is constantly held up to us that United States is consistently lagging behind the rest of the world in test scores. Maybe statisticians would not completely agree, but I bet you could draw a pretty significant corollary between the drop in test scores to the amount of books stores closed in the last 10 years. Please don't comment to me about your Godless Kindles. True reading is done curled up in an armchair or sofa with a paperbound volume in your hands, perhaps a cat in your lap, or a faithful dog at your feet, a glass of red or a cup of chamomile at your side as God intended. Anything else is just- soul-crushing.
3. Whenever I go visit my Mom, after I've crossed over the bridge which always makes me feel as if I'm on a long journey, instead of a mere 20 or so miles, there is a little, what I believe to be auto-repair or some sort of industrial site that has out in front of it a large 30 foot or so T-Rex figure. They always dress the T-Rex in season-appropriate clothing. For instance, at Christmas he might wear a Santa hat and hold a wreath in his massive claws. For Easter, he'll have a basket in his claws and a stuffed rabbit dangling from his teeth, an Uncle Sam hat at the 4th of July...you get the picture. I always want to go and pull off the road, knock on the door of their warehouse, etc., and tell them how much I look forward to seeing the Rex every time I cross over the bridge and into their city. That I appreciate their whimsy and the trouble that it must take in order to get a crane out there to lift off the various attire and re-dress him, the expense of it, etc. That it always just makes my day and I always chuckle at what they dress him in. I should do that some day... really I should!
4. Being a very doting pet parent, there is almost nothing that I like better than going to a pet shop in order to buy treats and 'stuff' for my boys. I am almost as at-home in pet stores and the vet as I am in book stores. I am one of those types for which the great impresario PT Barnum once famously remarked (or not depending on which side of the conjecture you come down on) 'there's a sucker born every minute'. I think that Pet Smart, or Supermarket or Petco or wherever probably gleefully rub their hands together when they see me, 'It's okay guys, she's here, we'll definitely be able to make payroll this month!" In any case, the Go Cat company certainly must have had dupes like me in mind when they came up with their As-Seen-On-TV video "Cat Dreams". In my defense, it was sold as a freebie tacked on to the purchase of a large pouch of "Tiger Grass" Gold Standard catnip. 'Cat Dreams' is a DVD of what purports to be 'Natural Sights and Sounds Cats Love'. It's basically images of birds moving slowly, cheeping merrily while squirrels cavort chasing each other's bushy tails. On the same day that I purchased this visual feast for the feline eye, in the interest of trying to decrease stress and stay hip and current at the same time, I purchased an 'adult coloring book' for myself complete with special markers. After coming home and treating my two moggies to a catnip infused mouse play session, I attempted to get them to come down off their 'kitty high' by running the 'Cat Dreams' DVD. At the same time, I was attempting to try and de-stress with my coloring book. The only thing is...I am not actually very good at...how shall we say...coloring. I was attempting to fill in something called a mandala. I don't even know (or particularly care) what a mandala is! But the book promised hours of relaxing color therapy, so I gamely continued, certain that at any moment, stress would fall from me like water from a colander. The opposite occurred, the more I colored the tighter my shoulders got, I couldn't seem to stay completely immersed in the center of the image and occasionally, mortifyingly strayed outside the lines. The color didn't seem to be spreading evenly, one of my markers dried up, and I found myself ranting, "Damn it, now I'm out of green, I'm going to have to double up on orange and the whole design will be off! The whole mandala is ruined, just ruined!' Reduce stress, I think I tripled it...After throwing my markers down and tossing the coloring book to the side, I caught sight of 'Cat Dreams'. Gordon and Jamie my now manic catnip-laced cats were nowhere to be found, having decided that watching 'Cat Dreams' was lame, they engaged in a game of racing each other up and down the stairs. As for me however, after just 15 minutes or so of watching birds and squirrels and the restful sounds of their chirping, I was fast asleep, completely stress-free!
5. I attended my 3rd funeral of one calendar year last Wednesday, I am not going to blog about this one however out of my deep respect for the family other than to say that life is short and finite and you need to hug your love ones often and tell them why they are special. I work in an industry that is all about estate planning and is very tied into life and death. It has felt so much lately like I have been surrounded by death and yet something that has very much surprised me is that when I came into this line of work, I was impressed with the vast amounts of resources and money I worked with, but the longer I am in this business, the more I see the folly of running after the accumulation of money. Yes, you need to have the necessities of life, people need homes to make memories in, but do you really need to have subway tile, quartz countertops or an outdoor kitchen to be complete? At last, I see that it is the people, the relationships that really matter. I believe it was Thoreau who said "Friends they cherish each other’s hopes. They are kind to each other’s dreams.” Care about your friends and family, build up their hopes and dream with them.
I am going to close this out Oliver Wendell Holmes...
"Alas for those that never sing,
But die with all their music in them"
Whatever you do in this life, don't die with your music in you, sing your song, dream your dreams and love even when it's easier not to.
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