Twenty five years ago, I started an annual tradition of taking a picture of our family on Christmas Eve, usually in front of the tree, to include in a family holiday book. When I started the book, I had 25 years to fill, and it seemed like an eternity as I leafed through the pages, figuring out where that book would end, and how old we would be. Christmas of 1984 was the first one. I was 24 years old, newly married, and had just found out I was pregnant with my first child. It was a happy and exciting time for us, filled with anticipation about the wonderful future that was ahead.
Over the years, the family grew and changed, adding first one child, then another. I always assumed that it would continue to grow as we added in-laws and grandchildren to the pages, a chronicle of the happy events in the life of a family. I envisioned that it would be an heirloom for them in the years to come, when they wanted to know how it all started, way back when.
However, life doesn't always follow the road map you drew in your mind when you were young, and things don't always work out the way you expect. For me, the expectation of growing old with someone I loved and who loved me back was replaced five years ago with a new reality, as divorce rent asunder the vows we had made so long ago.
As I have said before, divorce is a painful and difficult journey. It is filled with pitfalls as you try to sort through what to hang on to and what to throw aside for the new reality you now live. What fits a family of four can suddenly feel uncomfortable, the wrong shape or size for a family of three. You are forced to make changes in order to make the new you feel right again, but it's not always so obvious what they will be.
In the process of sorting out my life, I gave away a lot of things that were painful reminders of a past that no longer felt real to me, and which did not fit my new life as a single mom with teenagers. But I realized, even in the moment, that I had to save some of it, because my children would someday want to see a world in which their parents were happy together and loved one another, in order to validate their own lives.
I have not looked at my holiday book since 2004. That winter, I put it on a high shelf, where it has languished in anonymous forgetfulness. I didn't throw it away, which was my first angry inclination. It is, in fact, still there, accessible but unmoved, and not readily available. I don't know if I was afraid or angry or confused or just sad, but it was a painful reminder of all that I have lost, and I didn't want to step on that particular land mine if I didn't need to.
I considered tossing it and starting over, but that felt false to me. You cannot pretend the past away, and the 20 years we were married were a part of who I am, and who we are as a family. But neither have I added to the story - it remains stranded in time, like a capsule of someone else's life. The thread of the unfinished story is obviously broken, and it seemed wrong to document a family gone so far astray. So it continues to sit on a shelf unopened, a testament to how difficult it is to live happily ever after.
I suddenly realized a day or two ago that we have reached that far off final year in my holiday book. It is hard to imagine that 25 years are already history, but my 24 year old son makes clear that it is. I am curious now to peek at the past that will be revealed there. The child with whom I was then pregnant is now older than I was in that first picture, and what seemed impossibly far away in 1984 is now upon us, too soon.
And just as suddenly, I realized that I not only want to look at my book, but to finish it. The young person looking back at me has aged, but also grown up in unexpected ways. By ignoring that history, I am ignoring the very life experience that has made me who I am today.
In this holiday season of joy and rebirth, the renewal of my own family traditions is something more to celebrate. If you haven't kept your own records of your family's holiday traditions, start now! It's a fun way to preserve the present for those who will come in the future, and maybe even for yourself.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Ghosts of Christmas Past....
This week I had the fun and unexpected experience of reliving the past with friends who grew up in the same small rural town in Minnesota where I did, a town where time has not stood still, but the memories have. The recollections were prompted by a Facebook entry and a whiff of scent that is unforgettably tied to happy childhood memories that I thought belonged only to me. It seems they are more universal, and cherished, than I dreamed.
But first, you need some background. (Straight out of Norman Rockwell, I swear.)
The church in which I grew up was one of the hundreds of small, rural Lutheran churches that dot the landscape of outstate Minnesota. Not only was I baptised, confirmed and married there, my mother and many of my aunts and my uncles were, as well. The cemetery which surrounds the church on three sides is filled with family members which have gone before us, including all four grandparents, and most of my great-grandparents. I had my first child baptised there, too. So for me, as for most people who grew up there, it is a comfortable place filled with my own history.
Back in the 60's, the church looked a little different. Instead of the part of the building sort of growing off the front like it does now, it was a majestic stone church in the classical style, with the double front doors opening more or less straight into the sanctuary, and just a tiny [and in the winter very COLD] entryway between you and the great outdoors. (I tried to find a picture of it as it was, but don't have one available.)
On a side note, for the architectural purists in the reading audience - when the addition was built, the original stone front was preserved, and they built the addition onto it. So we can still see the beautiful entryway as it was, but now it is from inside the toasty warm building. Personally, I think that was inspired.
Anyway, contrary to popular perception, living in Minnesota means you are hearty and stubborn, it does not mean you don't feel the cold. Every time those doors opened, you would feel a blast from the biting wind licking at your bare legs. (Unless you kept on the pants under the dress that your mother made you wear back then.)
As soon as Thanksgiving was over, the moms would get excited, and it would be time to put on the annual Christmas Sunday School program. They would devote countless hours to finding the right program, making the costumes, and whipping the reluctant participants into shape so we would be ready to perform for our proud parents and grandparents, and the rest of the congregation.
These days, I think it's a lot harder for churches to put on the annual event, because they never know how many children will actually show up for it. Families are more mobile, church seems to be less the center of the community, and the annual Christmas program at church is one more thing to check off for a lot of families, I think.
Where I grew up, though, the yearly Christmas program was an Event to Attend, whether you had children or not. Families would arrive en masse, everyone dressed in their Christmas best for one of the most exciting evenings of the year. For the parents and grandparents, I imagine the fun of the evening was in seeing your offspring perform the Christmas story once again, nothing new or different, but moving none-the-less.
For the children, however, the program was something to be gotten through so you could get to the main event - The Presents. Several weeks before the program, the children in each Sunday School class (we had one or two grades per class) would put their names in a hat and each child would get a name for the gift exchange.
The cost was minimal, but that gift was something I looked forward to all year, because it was a gift from a classmate who would always find something frivolous and fun. [Think "champagne" bubble bath, paint by number sets, yoyo's, hula hoops. In the practical world of a Minnesota Lutheran, this was a thrilling departure from the norm.] I still have several of the gifts I received, including a couple of handmade items that a classmate decoupaged for me.
There would be some additional gifts under the tree, as well, perhaps something from your teacher, or another adult at church to whom you were a special child. When the fun was over, and it was time to go home, every child was handed a brown paper bag filled with peanuts in the shell and ribbon candy, and everyone, adults and children, received a shiny Red Delicious apple.
Every time I walk past a display of Red Delicious apples, especially if they are near the door and it's cold outside, I am blasted back to my childhood Sunday School Christmas program. The crisp, cold scent of those apples permeated the entryway of the church, wafting into the back of the sanctuary. When you opened the door to walk into the church, you would be enveloped by the aroma of those apples, a silent signal that something wonderful was about to happen.
The other night, my daughter and I were at the store, and I walked past a display of shiny red apples that were near the door. The combination of that apple scent and the unseasonal cold which resulted in a draft that I felt on my face triggered that memory once again. It was, as it always is, almost euphoric, and I had to share the memories with my daughter, who listened with polite interest, but who didn't really understand the power of it all.
A few days later, I read a Facebook entry written by a friend from that same little rural church, one of wistful recollection for the simpler lives we all led back then. It prompted me to recall the apples and the bag of nuts, which were, in an odd way, truly the highlight of the evening of that Christmas program.
Not only did he recall those bags (turns out his mother ordered the apples for the program every year, of all things, who knew? So I tell MY mother, and she says, oh ya, his mother was the Sunday School treasurer. Huh, you learn something every day, I had no idea, I thought they just magically appeared because it was Christmas or something.... Wait, where was I?) Oh ya, not only did he recall the bags, but he recalled the very scent I was talking about.
I was even more delighted when, a couple days after that conversation, another friend, who attended a different church, chimed in with her own memories of the same thing. Apparently this was a town of Kenyon thing, not a Gol Lutheran Church thing, and there are more people than I realized out there enjoying the same Red Delicious high that I experience at random and unexpected moments.
It struck me, once again, that the most pleasant memories for us were not of the gifts or the trappings of a holiday gone wild, whatever the advertisements of that time (or this time) may have led us to believe. [I remember the Norelco electric shaver commercial, where the shaver was a sled that flew over the snow, bringing Christmas cheer to some lucky guy who would now know the thrill of a closer electric shave, making his Christmas a success.] The most memorable moments of those long ago evenings were the simple gift of an apple and a bag of nuts and candies, handed out by someone's dad at the back of the church as we headed home.
In all the hustle and bustle of a modern Christmas, the meaning in the season is often overlooked in the effort to create the perfect holiday experience. I think my own children, and perhaps someday my grandchildren, will be surprised to find it is the simple experiences, what seem like throwaway moments at the time, that will stay with them, and which they will recall most fondly.
This Christmas, I wish each of my faithful readers, wherever you are, and whomever you may be, a bag of nuts and ribbon candy, and a shiny Red Delicious apple. Spread the Christmas cheer in this hectic week of last minute everything. Remember that whatever is left undone will not be remembered in the years to come. Instead, it is the quiet moments of time together that really matter, and which will be remembered in all their beautiful simplicity. The true joy of Christmas is found not in the trappings of the commercial holiday, but in the humble manger. From my stable to your heart and home, Merry Christmas!
But first, you need some background. (Straight out of Norman Rockwell, I swear.)
The church in which I grew up was one of the hundreds of small, rural Lutheran churches that dot the landscape of outstate Minnesota. Not only was I baptised, confirmed and married there, my mother and many of my aunts and my uncles were, as well. The cemetery which surrounds the church on three sides is filled with family members which have gone before us, including all four grandparents, and most of my great-grandparents. I had my first child baptised there, too. So for me, as for most people who grew up there, it is a comfortable place filled with my own history.
Gol Lutheran Church in 2009.
Back in the 60's, the church looked a little different. Instead of the part of the building sort of growing off the front like it does now, it was a majestic stone church in the classical style, with the double front doors opening more or less straight into the sanctuary, and just a tiny [and in the winter very COLD] entryway between you and the great outdoors. (I tried to find a picture of it as it was, but don't have one available.)
On a side note, for the architectural purists in the reading audience - when the addition was built, the original stone front was preserved, and they built the addition onto it. So we can still see the beautiful entryway as it was, but now it is from inside the toasty warm building. Personally, I think that was inspired.
Anyway, contrary to popular perception, living in Minnesota means you are hearty and stubborn, it does not mean you don't feel the cold. Every time those doors opened, you would feel a blast from the biting wind licking at your bare legs. (Unless you kept on the pants under the dress that your mother made you wear back then.)
As soon as Thanksgiving was over, the moms would get excited, and it would be time to put on the annual Christmas Sunday School program. They would devote countless hours to finding the right program, making the costumes, and whipping the reluctant participants into shape so we would be ready to perform for our proud parents and grandparents, and the rest of the congregation.
These days, I think it's a lot harder for churches to put on the annual event, because they never know how many children will actually show up for it. Families are more mobile, church seems to be less the center of the community, and the annual Christmas program at church is one more thing to check off for a lot of families, I think.
Where I grew up, though, the yearly Christmas program was an Event to Attend, whether you had children or not. Families would arrive en masse, everyone dressed in their Christmas best for one of the most exciting evenings of the year. For the parents and grandparents, I imagine the fun of the evening was in seeing your offspring perform the Christmas story once again, nothing new or different, but moving none-the-less.
For the children, however, the program was something to be gotten through so you could get to the main event - The Presents. Several weeks before the program, the children in each Sunday School class (we had one or two grades per class) would put their names in a hat and each child would get a name for the gift exchange.
The cost was minimal, but that gift was something I looked forward to all year, because it was a gift from a classmate who would always find something frivolous and fun. [Think "champagne" bubble bath, paint by number sets, yoyo's, hula hoops. In the practical world of a Minnesota Lutheran, this was a thrilling departure from the norm.] I still have several of the gifts I received, including a couple of handmade items that a classmate decoupaged for me.
There would be some additional gifts under the tree, as well, perhaps something from your teacher, or another adult at church to whom you were a special child. When the fun was over, and it was time to go home, every child was handed a brown paper bag filled with peanuts in the shell and ribbon candy, and everyone, adults and children, received a shiny Red Delicious apple.
Every time I walk past a display of Red Delicious apples, especially if they are near the door and it's cold outside, I am blasted back to my childhood Sunday School Christmas program. The crisp, cold scent of those apples permeated the entryway of the church, wafting into the back of the sanctuary. When you opened the door to walk into the church, you would be enveloped by the aroma of those apples, a silent signal that something wonderful was about to happen.
The other night, my daughter and I were at the store, and I walked past a display of shiny red apples that were near the door. The combination of that apple scent and the unseasonal cold which resulted in a draft that I felt on my face triggered that memory once again. It was, as it always is, almost euphoric, and I had to share the memories with my daughter, who listened with polite interest, but who didn't really understand the power of it all.
A few days later, I read a Facebook entry written by a friend from that same little rural church, one of wistful recollection for the simpler lives we all led back then. It prompted me to recall the apples and the bag of nuts, which were, in an odd way, truly the highlight of the evening of that Christmas program.
Not only did he recall those bags (turns out his mother ordered the apples for the program every year, of all things, who knew? So I tell MY mother, and she says, oh ya, his mother was the Sunday School treasurer. Huh, you learn something every day, I had no idea, I thought they just magically appeared because it was Christmas or something.... Wait, where was I?) Oh ya, not only did he recall the bags, but he recalled the very scent I was talking about.
I was even more delighted when, a couple days after that conversation, another friend, who attended a different church, chimed in with her own memories of the same thing. Apparently this was a town of Kenyon thing, not a Gol Lutheran Church thing, and there are more people than I realized out there enjoying the same Red Delicious high that I experience at random and unexpected moments.
It struck me, once again, that the most pleasant memories for us were not of the gifts or the trappings of a holiday gone wild, whatever the advertisements of that time (or this time) may have led us to believe. [I remember the Norelco electric shaver commercial, where the shaver was a sled that flew over the snow, bringing Christmas cheer to some lucky guy who would now know the thrill of a closer electric shave, making his Christmas a success.] The most memorable moments of those long ago evenings were the simple gift of an apple and a bag of nuts and candies, handed out by someone's dad at the back of the church as we headed home.
In all the hustle and bustle of a modern Christmas, the meaning in the season is often overlooked in the effort to create the perfect holiday experience. I think my own children, and perhaps someday my grandchildren, will be surprised to find it is the simple experiences, what seem like throwaway moments at the time, that will stay with them, and which they will recall most fondly.
This Christmas, I wish each of my faithful readers, wherever you are, and whomever you may be, a bag of nuts and ribbon candy, and a shiny Red Delicious apple. Spread the Christmas cheer in this hectic week of last minute everything. Remember that whatever is left undone will not be remembered in the years to come. Instead, it is the quiet moments of time together that really matter, and which will be remembered in all their beautiful simplicity. The true joy of Christmas is found not in the trappings of the commercial holiday, but in the humble manger. From my stable to your heart and home, Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Today's blog....
In the course of writing well over a hundred blog posts, I have always been honest, but have also striven to preserve a certain level of privacy for myself and my own experience. Today was a departure for me, one that I don't expect to make very often, but which was, at the bottom, my effort to take something painful for me and use it to help others who find themselves in the same situation.
I don't easily share my personal pain. But if, in the course of googling for answers, solace, or meaning, someone stumbles across this blog post, and I can give them hope, or I can let them know they are not alone in their pain, then it is worth the unwanted exposure.
You are not alone.
I don't easily share my personal pain. But if, in the course of googling for answers, solace, or meaning, someone stumbles across this blog post, and I can give them hope, or I can let them know they are not alone in their pain, then it is worth the unwanted exposure.
You are not alone.
Faith....
Faith is an interesting word, and means so many different things, depending on the context in which it is used. But in all cases, it means believing in something (or someone) even when there is absolutely no tangible basis to do so. Sometimes, you can see all the evidence to the contrary, and your faith will override everything - your doubts, your common sense, even the evidence you see with your own eyes and ears and mind. The heart is a willful ruler, and most people, no matter how cold and analytical they may seem on the outside, have a soft place deep inside their heart for the people they love.
I belong to a sorority of sisters, rich and poor, famous and totally unknown, to which no one would ever want to belong ~ the spectacularly spurned wife, the discarded woman of a serial philanderer. (Odd as it may sound, I think it may have been easier to find out about a long term love affair, where at least you could feel that it was a serious matter, and not just another fling, which cheapens both you and the relationship.) Thus, as I have watched the debacle of the Tiger Woods saga these past weeks, while the world seems to focus on him and his peccadilloes, I can only think of his wife, and what she is now going through.
The world at large seems to believe she should have been aware of what was going on. I can almost promise you that the truth is more like she harbored some suspicions in her heart, but couldn't quite bring herself to believe that what she thought was what she knew; much less that she was right. When you feel it, deep down inside you, but there are denials and you are made to be the one in the wrong, it is easy to overlook the evidence in favor of the faith.
I have been disturbed by the criticism, masquerading as false sympathy, for Elin Nordegren this week. I have seen speculation on her character and her behavior, and even her motives for marrying Tiger Woods in the first place, and it is wrong.
Whatever her husband did or didn't do, she is not, in any way, responsible or at fault, and she deserves every ounce of sympathy the public can muster. However much money you have, it cannot buy peace of mind, and the crushing dismantling of her carefully constructed house of cards in such a spectacularly public way is a hurt that she will never overcome, no matter how many promises Tiger makes, no matter how much money she has at her disposal.
It has been brutally, painfully self-evident to me that Elin had no idea of the level of infidelity that her husband had engaged in, and speaking from experience, I know exactly how she feels. It is like being suddenly dropped into the center of a minefield, and knowing, understanding, but not quite believing, that the only way to peace is walking out again, step by dangerous step, until you are free. If you have never faced that, I can tell you it takes a rare courage to make the journey under any circumstances. With all the public exposure, it must be almost unbearable.
I have walked that minefield, and it is a frightening experience filled with anguish and grief. You are assured, from the very first step, that you will bring your foot down upon a mine here and there, and it will blow up on you, wounding you with devastating accuracy. And yet, you have no other choice but to keep on going, because you can't stay where you are, either, however tempting it may be. Your life becomes an excruciating series of revelations of things you didn't know, may not have even suspected, and you continue to absorb those blows until you are transformed into someone new and different.
Because I have taken that demoralizing path in my own life, my sympathies are all for Elin, that intensely private wife who has been scorned so publicly, so humiliatingly, by someone who painted a public picture of a person who was clearly fatally flawed. I will say frankly, I don't know how Elin can bring herself to get up in the morning and get out of bed to face another day of increasingly painful revelations, because it was hard enough when I could choose who I told and who knew what was happening in my life, and it wasn't spread across the headlines of the world's news.
The media have barely scratched the surface of the real pain of the situation, however. We, the disassociated public, with our voracious appetite for the flaws of others, seem to believe that real people do not reside underneath the glamour and the false glitter of celebrity. For my part, I suspect that they are simply better at covering up their feelings than most of us, because if you are human, you have a heart, and it can be broken.
But more than for themselves, for most people, the most vulnerable place in their heart is reserved for their children. The children of Tiger Woods will always know how he treated their mother, their family, their life. There will always be a breach, and it is one that he will never heal.
Whatever the agony I may have felt during my marriage and the five years since, I would have borne it all and much more, if only to save my children from knowing the full hurtful truth. I can only imagine that Elin Nordegren, who I feel certain loves her children much the same as I love mine, feels the same way about the wanton public speculation on the demise of the perfect family she thought she had. Every careless word that is published is another spike in her heart, as she thinks about the future, and how to shield her little ones from the consequences of their father's behavior.
The part that is most frustrating, I think, is that although one person had control of the whole situation, it is everyone else that suffers by the actions that cannot be undone. While the person who caused it all may be in pain, it is, at least, self-inflicted, the result of their own choices. But the collateral damage was not only unexpected, it was unearned and undeserved. It is that pain which causes me to have the greatest empathy for Elin and her children.
I am not so foolish as to think that more than a few people read these words, or that it will make a difference to her to know that she has joined a sisterhood that is out here supporting her and feeling her pain along with her. But there are many other women out there, (men as well,) who belong to the club, and if my words help anyone, then it will be worth the price of revealing my own personal pain.
If one positive thing could come from this media nightmare for Elin and her children, it would be for all of us to understand that public words can cause a lifetime of hurt, and Tiger's first statement, that his family deserves some privacy, is the right one. When you hear about Tiger's fall from grace, and the additional revelations that I feel certain are still to come, think not about the prurient details of his misbehavior, but about the wife and children who will bear the brunt of the shame and the injury of his freewill choice.
If you know someone going through the painful journey of serial infidelity, don't look for the flaw in the spouse who was wronged. They do not need to hear how they should have known, they must have seen, or they should have done something.
It is not their fault that the person they married was a fatally flawed individual, (yes, it is most definitely fatal, as their marriage and their family have been dealt a terminal blow, whether she realizes it now or not.) He is most probably a narcissist, if not a full blown sociopath, and there is no cure.
Instead of finding fault with the victim, uplift them with encouraging words about what a great person they are (they won't believe you, but they will love you for saying it, anyway.) Tell them that the world is a better place because they are in it (see above comment.) And especially, tell them what a fantastic parent you think they are, and how their children are so lucky to have them, because they are good enough to bring them through this time. (They will be forever grateful that someone noticed how hard they are trying, and appreciated that effort, no matter how much trouble they have believing it.)
We, the people, do not have a right to know everything about our celebrities, especially when the celebrity being sold is based on a skill or a talent, and they have not sought out the attention for their lifestyle. I wish, for a change, the media would display a little discretion, and allow the personal pain to remain where it belongs - in the privacy of their rapidly disintegrating life. It would elevate all of us to know less about what we should never have known in the first place.
To anyone who may have stumbled upon this looking for hope, I can truly tell you that you will eventually emerge from the minefield - changed, but in one piece, none-the-less. Your life will look different than you thought it would, but you will have stability and peace instead of the quicksand of the unknown. Your spouse was, without a doubt, an edgy thrill seeker, because that is the personality of the serial philanderer, and you will find that while things are not as exciting, they are more predictable, and you will be able to wake up each day knowing pretty much what to expect.
Most importantly, have faith in yourself. It is enough.
I belong to a sorority of sisters, rich and poor, famous and totally unknown, to which no one would ever want to belong ~ the spectacularly spurned wife, the discarded woman of a serial philanderer. (Odd as it may sound, I think it may have been easier to find out about a long term love affair, where at least you could feel that it was a serious matter, and not just another fling, which cheapens both you and the relationship.) Thus, as I have watched the debacle of the Tiger Woods saga these past weeks, while the world seems to focus on him and his peccadilloes, I can only think of his wife, and what she is now going through.
The world at large seems to believe she should have been aware of what was going on. I can almost promise you that the truth is more like she harbored some suspicions in her heart, but couldn't quite bring herself to believe that what she thought was what she knew; much less that she was right. When you feel it, deep down inside you, but there are denials and you are made to be the one in the wrong, it is easy to overlook the evidence in favor of the faith.
I have been disturbed by the criticism, masquerading as false sympathy, for Elin Nordegren this week. I have seen speculation on her character and her behavior, and even her motives for marrying Tiger Woods in the first place, and it is wrong.
Whatever her husband did or didn't do, she is not, in any way, responsible or at fault, and she deserves every ounce of sympathy the public can muster. However much money you have, it cannot buy peace of mind, and the crushing dismantling of her carefully constructed house of cards in such a spectacularly public way is a hurt that she will never overcome, no matter how many promises Tiger makes, no matter how much money she has at her disposal.
It has been brutally, painfully self-evident to me that Elin had no idea of the level of infidelity that her husband had engaged in, and speaking from experience, I know exactly how she feels. It is like being suddenly dropped into the center of a minefield, and knowing, understanding, but not quite believing, that the only way to peace is walking out again, step by dangerous step, until you are free. If you have never faced that, I can tell you it takes a rare courage to make the journey under any circumstances. With all the public exposure, it must be almost unbearable.
I have walked that minefield, and it is a frightening experience filled with anguish and grief. You are assured, from the very first step, that you will bring your foot down upon a mine here and there, and it will blow up on you, wounding you with devastating accuracy. And yet, you have no other choice but to keep on going, because you can't stay where you are, either, however tempting it may be. Your life becomes an excruciating series of revelations of things you didn't know, may not have even suspected, and you continue to absorb those blows until you are transformed into someone new and different.
Because I have taken that demoralizing path in my own life, my sympathies are all for Elin, that intensely private wife who has been scorned so publicly, so humiliatingly, by someone who painted a public picture of a person who was clearly fatally flawed. I will say frankly, I don't know how Elin can bring herself to get up in the morning and get out of bed to face another day of increasingly painful revelations, because it was hard enough when I could choose who I told and who knew what was happening in my life, and it wasn't spread across the headlines of the world's news.
The media have barely scratched the surface of the real pain of the situation, however. We, the disassociated public, with our voracious appetite for the flaws of others, seem to believe that real people do not reside underneath the glamour and the false glitter of celebrity. For my part, I suspect that they are simply better at covering up their feelings than most of us, because if you are human, you have a heart, and it can be broken.
But more than for themselves, for most people, the most vulnerable place in their heart is reserved for their children. The children of Tiger Woods will always know how he treated their mother, their family, their life. There will always be a breach, and it is one that he will never heal.
Whatever the agony I may have felt during my marriage and the five years since, I would have borne it all and much more, if only to save my children from knowing the full hurtful truth. I can only imagine that Elin Nordegren, who I feel certain loves her children much the same as I love mine, feels the same way about the wanton public speculation on the demise of the perfect family she thought she had. Every careless word that is published is another spike in her heart, as she thinks about the future, and how to shield her little ones from the consequences of their father's behavior.
The part that is most frustrating, I think, is that although one person had control of the whole situation, it is everyone else that suffers by the actions that cannot be undone. While the person who caused it all may be in pain, it is, at least, self-inflicted, the result of their own choices. But the collateral damage was not only unexpected, it was unearned and undeserved. It is that pain which causes me to have the greatest empathy for Elin and her children.
I am not so foolish as to think that more than a few people read these words, or that it will make a difference to her to know that she has joined a sisterhood that is out here supporting her and feeling her pain along with her. But there are many other women out there, (men as well,) who belong to the club, and if my words help anyone, then it will be worth the price of revealing my own personal pain.
If one positive thing could come from this media nightmare for Elin and her children, it would be for all of us to understand that public words can cause a lifetime of hurt, and Tiger's first statement, that his family deserves some privacy, is the right one. When you hear about Tiger's fall from grace, and the additional revelations that I feel certain are still to come, think not about the prurient details of his misbehavior, but about the wife and children who will bear the brunt of the shame and the injury of his freewill choice.
If you know someone going through the painful journey of serial infidelity, don't look for the flaw in the spouse who was wronged. They do not need to hear how they should have known, they must have seen, or they should have done something.
It is not their fault that the person they married was a fatally flawed individual, (yes, it is most definitely fatal, as their marriage and their family have been dealt a terminal blow, whether she realizes it now or not.) He is most probably a narcissist, if not a full blown sociopath, and there is no cure.
Instead of finding fault with the victim, uplift them with encouraging words about what a great person they are (they won't believe you, but they will love you for saying it, anyway.) Tell them that the world is a better place because they are in it (see above comment.) And especially, tell them what a fantastic parent you think they are, and how their children are so lucky to have them, because they are good enough to bring them through this time. (They will be forever grateful that someone noticed how hard they are trying, and appreciated that effort, no matter how much trouble they have believing it.)
We, the people, do not have a right to know everything about our celebrities, especially when the celebrity being sold is based on a skill or a talent, and they have not sought out the attention for their lifestyle. I wish, for a change, the media would display a little discretion, and allow the personal pain to remain where it belongs - in the privacy of their rapidly disintegrating life. It would elevate all of us to know less about what we should never have known in the first place.
To anyone who may have stumbled upon this looking for hope, I can truly tell you that you will eventually emerge from the minefield - changed, but in one piece, none-the-less. Your life will look different than you thought it would, but you will have stability and peace instead of the quicksand of the unknown. Your spouse was, without a doubt, an edgy thrill seeker, because that is the personality of the serial philanderer, and you will find that while things are not as exciting, they are more predictable, and you will be able to wake up each day knowing pretty much what to expect.
Most importantly, have faith in yourself. It is enough.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Bleak Friday? Not this year....
Along with millions of Americans, I was out among the crowds at the mall yesterday, celebrating the nation's obsession with shopping on what is one of the biggest spending days of the year, the so called Black Friday. This is not in commemoration of the Black Widow Spider, who mates then kills off the evidence before he can kiss and tell. Black Friday refers to the legend that most retailers finally become solvent for the year on that day.
Although, come to think of it, the voracious appetite of consumers may have some similarities.... Thankfully, there were no reported deaths this year. I guess that's something, anyway.
While it may not be true that this is the first time they are solvent, there is no doubt that most retailers depend on the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas to pump their profits. They certainly depend on the sales from the holiday season to provide them with enough working capital to make it through the early months of the next year when shoppers, having gorged themselves on mostly superfluous merchandise, refuse to buy much more of it.
If you, like me, have no money, it makes the whole day a lot easier, since you do not have to rush out at 3 a.m. to get to the store to stand in line for the two items that you are looking for which are only available in the moments between 5:42 and 6:01 a.m. For which, it should be noted, you will then have to stand in line for an hour to pay.
I pretty much walked from store to store, looking at everything I not only cannot afford, but actually do not need, either, which is sort of an interesting realization. Being poor is, among other things, very clarifying, as you are forced to recognize the difference between needs and wants. That divide is crystal clear when the bank account is approaching zero.
I did notice this year that more shoppers were carrying bags and boxes, which should put a smile on the faces of stockholders receiving their dividend checks from the retailers who have survived this past year of belt tightening. Of course, the discounts were already deep, and the sales in full swing. Makes me wonder what will be left for the Saturday before Christmas, which is, in fact, the actual biggest shopping day of the year.
I have noticed the sales techniques have gotten a lot more innovative [mercenary] this year, as retailers work hard to induce customers to part with a little more of their precious cash. I saw a lot of sales tied to making a bigger purchase than originally intended; for example, buy one, get one for half price. It encourages you to buy two to get the sale price, the promise of savings working your subconscious like the massage therapists suddenly lining the mall hallways.
[Is it just me, or is it a little weird to be sitting in the mall getting your back rubbed and your teeth whitened in full view of the whole world? If I wanted people to see my gums, I would smile more.]
This is very creative marketing. The retailer has just gotten 150% on the sale, instead of simply marking each item down to 75% of the usual cost, which would land you in the same place if you bought two, but no one ever does.
Survival of the fittest, indeed. It is a jungle out there, and I am watching out for the teeth hidden behind the smiles of the cute little sales "associates" who are hawking the wares of their employers for $7.50 an hour. [Have you noticed how no one employs clerks any more? They are associates, partners, cast members - anything but sales clerks. Do they really think that, whatever you are calling them, sales people don't know a minimum wage job does not earn your name on the left side of the letterhead?]
One retailer I visited took that tactic a step further, requiring a purchase of two same priced items to get two free. I thought about it, because I really wanted one, but realized, ultimately, that I didn't need four, and didn't have the money to pay for two, either. [Actually, as it is a fairly spendy item to begin with, I didn't even really need one, so two was pretty much out of the question.]
Call it my little strike for the consumer, as I refused to play by the increasingly hardball rules of mega-corporations who want to part me from my money for baubles and trinkets no one, especially me, really needs. If only I had my own flag, we could start a facebook group and you could all be my fans. Of course, that assumes that you agree with me that it is a slippery slope, this whole buy one/get one trend.
Ultimately, I did come home with a few things that I really needed, including new shoes for work. (Buy one, get one 50% off, so naturally I bought two pair. Hey, they were on sale, so it was a real bargain, second pair almost free.) You have to look professional for these meetings, and I realized when dressing for the last one, that I am sorely in need. Seriously.
I bought a Christmas gift for my mom, which was at reduced price [once I renewed my discount card for the annual fee.]
I bought stamps for my Christmas cards. No sales there at all. On the contrary, I am surprised they didn't raise some extra funds by charging more for them. I guess they haven't thought of that yet. Rats. I should keep my mouth shut and not give them any ideas.
I bought a very expensive bag of dog food at the pet store, along with yet another cheap $2 toy that my Jack Russel Terrier will have fun destroying, just as soon as he gets his teeth on it. Call me Mommy Warbucks.
The best part of the day, for me, was spending the time with my lovely daughter, without whom life would be bleak indeed. Any day that includes spending time with her is a day that my life account is in the black with the only kind of capital that really matters.
I think spending time with your female relatives is the most compelling reason for Black Friday, and a lot of other people must agree, if the matching faces I saw walking the mall were any indication. It is always entertaining to see the same faces, youthful and maturing, and to know that the generations continue to find ways to connect, even if it's hunting for just the right pair of shoes, instead of hunting for food or shelter.
By the victorious smiles on many of the faces, and the bags swinging from arms on all sides, I think Black Friday was, indeed, a success this year. Whether you are shopping for presents, or groceries, or just spending time with your family doing traditional activities, I wish you the remaining holiday weekend hours to be spent in the joy of your family, doing whatever your own traditions lead you to do.
Happy holidays to each one of my faithful readers. I am thankful for each one who encourages me in my pursuit of perfect prose - it is very important to me, and has often propelled me to write my weekly post when I otherwise would not have done so. For each one who has asked me to publish my better offerings in a book, I thank you for the delicious compliment. However, unless my blog goes viral, there is a pretty limited audience for my collected wisdom, such as it is, so don't be looking for it on a store shelf near you any time soon! [Dollar Tree, anyone?!]
Happy Black Weekend, and here's hoping that whatever bleak things you are holding in your heart will be washed away with the joy of the holiday season now underway. I will leave you with one of my favorite verses from the Word of the Lord and Saviour I celebrate in the Holy Season of Christmas: " The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace." Numbers 6:24-26. NIV
Although, come to think of it, the voracious appetite of consumers may have some similarities.... Thankfully, there were no reported deaths this year. I guess that's something, anyway.
While it may not be true that this is the first time they are solvent, there is no doubt that most retailers depend on the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas to pump their profits. They certainly depend on the sales from the holiday season to provide them with enough working capital to make it through the early months of the next year when shoppers, having gorged themselves on mostly superfluous merchandise, refuse to buy much more of it.
If you, like me, have no money, it makes the whole day a lot easier, since you do not have to rush out at 3 a.m. to get to the store to stand in line for the two items that you are looking for which are only available in the moments between 5:42 and 6:01 a.m. For which, it should be noted, you will then have to stand in line for an hour to pay.
I pretty much walked from store to store, looking at everything I not only cannot afford, but actually do not need, either, which is sort of an interesting realization. Being poor is, among other things, very clarifying, as you are forced to recognize the difference between needs and wants. That divide is crystal clear when the bank account is approaching zero.
I did notice this year that more shoppers were carrying bags and boxes, which should put a smile on the faces of stockholders receiving their dividend checks from the retailers who have survived this past year of belt tightening. Of course, the discounts were already deep, and the sales in full swing. Makes me wonder what will be left for the Saturday before Christmas, which is, in fact, the actual biggest shopping day of the year.
I have noticed the sales techniques have gotten a lot more innovative [mercenary] this year, as retailers work hard to induce customers to part with a little more of their precious cash. I saw a lot of sales tied to making a bigger purchase than originally intended; for example, buy one, get one for half price. It encourages you to buy two to get the sale price, the promise of savings working your subconscious like the massage therapists suddenly lining the mall hallways.
[Is it just me, or is it a little weird to be sitting in the mall getting your back rubbed and your teeth whitened in full view of the whole world? If I wanted people to see my gums, I would smile more.]
This is very creative marketing. The retailer has just gotten 150% on the sale, instead of simply marking each item down to 75% of the usual cost, which would land you in the same place if you bought two, but no one ever does.
Survival of the fittest, indeed. It is a jungle out there, and I am watching out for the teeth hidden behind the smiles of the cute little sales "associates" who are hawking the wares of their employers for $7.50 an hour. [Have you noticed how no one employs clerks any more? They are associates, partners, cast members - anything but sales clerks. Do they really think that, whatever you are calling them, sales people don't know a minimum wage job does not earn your name on the left side of the letterhead?]
One retailer I visited took that tactic a step further, requiring a purchase of two same priced items to get two free. I thought about it, because I really wanted one, but realized, ultimately, that I didn't need four, and didn't have the money to pay for two, either. [Actually, as it is a fairly spendy item to begin with, I didn't even really need one, so two was pretty much out of the question.]
Call it my little strike for the consumer, as I refused to play by the increasingly hardball rules of mega-corporations who want to part me from my money for baubles and trinkets no one, especially me, really needs. If only I had my own flag, we could start a facebook group and you could all be my fans. Of course, that assumes that you agree with me that it is a slippery slope, this whole buy one/get one trend.
Ultimately, I did come home with a few things that I really needed, including new shoes for work. (Buy one, get one 50% off, so naturally I bought two pair. Hey, they were on sale, so it was a real bargain, second pair almost free.) You have to look professional for these meetings, and I realized when dressing for the last one, that I am sorely in need. Seriously.
I bought a Christmas gift for my mom, which was at reduced price [once I renewed my discount card for the annual fee.]
I bought stamps for my Christmas cards. No sales there at all. On the contrary, I am surprised they didn't raise some extra funds by charging more for them. I guess they haven't thought of that yet. Rats. I should keep my mouth shut and not give them any ideas.
I bought a very expensive bag of dog food at the pet store, along with yet another cheap $2 toy that my Jack Russel Terrier will have fun destroying, just as soon as he gets his teeth on it. Call me Mommy Warbucks.
The best part of the day, for me, was spending the time with my lovely daughter, without whom life would be bleak indeed. Any day that includes spending time with her is a day that my life account is in the black with the only kind of capital that really matters.
I think spending time with your female relatives is the most compelling reason for Black Friday, and a lot of other people must agree, if the matching faces I saw walking the mall were any indication. It is always entertaining to see the same faces, youthful and maturing, and to know that the generations continue to find ways to connect, even if it's hunting for just the right pair of shoes, instead of hunting for food or shelter.
By the victorious smiles on many of the faces, and the bags swinging from arms on all sides, I think Black Friday was, indeed, a success this year. Whether you are shopping for presents, or groceries, or just spending time with your family doing traditional activities, I wish you the remaining holiday weekend hours to be spent in the joy of your family, doing whatever your own traditions lead you to do.
Happy holidays to each one of my faithful readers. I am thankful for each one who encourages me in my pursuit of perfect prose - it is very important to me, and has often propelled me to write my weekly post when I otherwise would not have done so. For each one who has asked me to publish my better offerings in a book, I thank you for the delicious compliment. However, unless my blog goes viral, there is a pretty limited audience for my collected wisdom, such as it is, so don't be looking for it on a store shelf near you any time soon! [Dollar Tree, anyone?!]
Happy Black Weekend, and here's hoping that whatever bleak things you are holding in your heart will be washed away with the joy of the holiday season now underway. I will leave you with one of my favorite verses from the Word of the Lord and Saviour I celebrate in the Holy Season of Christmas: " The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace." Numbers 6:24-26. NIV
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Happy birthday, Mother of all Mothers....
Do you remember a few years ago, when the phrase, "Mother of all [fill in the blank with your own grandiose phrase,]" was so popular? We had the Mother of all wars. We had the Mother of all battles. We had the Mother of all bombs. Personally, speaking on behalf of mothers everywhere, I resent the association of motherhood with violence and destruction, since most of us spend our lives trying to achieve the opposite, at least within our own homes. However, today I find I must resurrect the phrase on behalf of my own mother, who is the Mother of all Mothers.
Today is her birthday, and I am celebrating with her, albeit from 425 miles away, the anniversary of the day that she graced the world with her presence. I don't know how you feel about your mom, but I love mine more than I can express, and I celebrate this day with great joy, because my mom is the best mom on earth.
Of course, as the offspring of child number five in her family of six, I have also had the opportunity to hear a few humorous stories that knock her right off that pedestal my brother has her on. [He always was her favorite, the suck up.]
My mother's family lived a relatively poor farming life, as most of the population did back in the days of The Great Depression, and they learned to make do or do without. They didn't starve, but they didn't have much spare change, either, so they were not awash in useless gewgaws like children today.
My mother learned to share from her earliest days, because she and her younger sister, child number six, were only 18 months apart. They shared a bed, they shared their toys, they shared their clothes, and they shared their friends. They even shared the family looks, as people have often mixed them up over the years.
My particular favorite sharing story is that they each had one "good" dress, which they would trade off wearing, so they would both feel like they had two. Given the closet full of clothes that most teenagers have now, it is hard to imagine only having two good dresses to wear. But I suspect they were happier to have their one apiece than most girls today are to have all their finery.
Another shared item that has given me some amusement over the years are the shared roller skates. They had one pair of skates between them, so they would either have to go one at a time, or, as I have heard it told, they would each wear one, hold hands, and skate together. I have a feeling that is why my aunt can always finish my mother's thoughts, even when Mom hasn't said a word.
My mom and my aunt also shared that most precious of toys in a little girl's world, a baby doll. When I was growing up, I got a doll almost every Christmas, which must have seemed like an embarrassment of riches to someone who only had half a doll to her name for a whole childhood.
Although money was tight, she made me a whole wardrobe of clothes for my dolls; little knitted Barbie dresses and ski outfits and long gowns with hand stitching, and baby doll capes and blouses and little skirts with adorable suspenders. The poverty of her youth inspired the creativity of her adulthood, and I was the fortunate recipient of her largess.
I didn't fully appreciate any of it at the time, of course, but I now cherish and hold every piece dear to my heart. Every stitch was filled with the love of giving her daughter something she never had, and I feel her love for me just holding the pieces in my hand. They are heirlooms to me, something that I will look forward to passing down to my grandchildren someday. I hope they will be a tangible reminder of the wealth of love that is to be found within their family circle, even if the woman who made them is no longer here to enjoy their delight.
My mom is perhaps the quietest of her siblings, some of whom are pretty chatty. Even now, in their 80's and 90's, I will occasionally see frustration written on her face as she tries to get a word in edgewise, usually without much success. I have been told by several aunts and uncles that my mom was daddy's girl, her father's favorite, and that she used to sit in his lap after supper almost every evening. I suspect that her talkative father appreciated the child who never had anything to say, and she was rewarded for always letting him have the last word with his special favor.
My mother was, and still is, a beautiful woman. It is sort of disconcerting to see pictures of her when she was young, and realize just how striking she was. Her black hair and red lipstick always remind me of a hard scrabble Snow White, a farm house for her castle, and a farmer her Prince Charming. She didn't have the money to dress to the height of fashion, but she always made whatever she wore look stylish and fashionable, just by putting it on.
My mother put the capital T in thrifty, and she worked hard to instill that same quality in her children. Apparently my brother was a better student, which might have something to do with that whole favorite thing, although my recent crash course may make her proud of me, yet.
She saves pretty much everything worth saving, and a whole lot of stuff that most people wouldn't, just in case. After all, you never know what you are going to need until you need it. I am sure this proclivity is partly from growing up on a farm in rural America, where you did for yourself or you did without, and partly from being a child of The Great Depression, where everyone did without, and they never want to do so again.
I have giggled more than once over the years about walking into her kitchen and seeing plastic bread bags hanging over the faucet to dry. She has the world's largest collection of twist ties, and more paper clips than she will use in a lifetime. She has every single pen that has ever come into her possession, whether they work or not. Some of those pens are probably collector's items by now, come to think of it, so perhaps she was not so silly after all!
My mother was born many years before John F. Kennedy was assassinated, but for most people, this day, November 22, will forever be the day that the world stopped and mourned the death of an American president. But for me, this is one of the happiest days of the year, because it is the day to celebrate a woman without whom my life would not be.
Her lasting legacy to me will not be riches or fame or material goods. [Although there is a certain rocking chair that has my name on it, whenever she is ready to give it up.] Instead, she will leave me with the extravagant love of a mother who has walked hand in hand with me when I wanted to quit, knows my mistakes and loves me anyway, and who unfailingly supports me, encourages me, and believes in me, even when I have given up on myself. She has given me the road map to be the best mother I can be, a gift I hope I have passed on to my children, as well.
Happy birthday, Mom of moms. You are, and will always be, the Mother of all mothers. I am thankful to call you my own, and I wish you many more to come. <3
Today is her birthday, and I am celebrating with her, albeit from 425 miles away, the anniversary of the day that she graced the world with her presence. I don't know how you feel about your mom, but I love mine more than I can express, and I celebrate this day with great joy, because my mom is the best mom on earth.
Of course, as the offspring of child number five in her family of six, I have also had the opportunity to hear a few humorous stories that knock her right off that pedestal my brother has her on. [He always was her favorite, the suck up.]
My mother's family lived a relatively poor farming life, as most of the population did back in the days of The Great Depression, and they learned to make do or do without. They didn't starve, but they didn't have much spare change, either, so they were not awash in useless gewgaws like children today.
My mother learned to share from her earliest days, because she and her younger sister, child number six, were only 18 months apart. They shared a bed, they shared their toys, they shared their clothes, and they shared their friends. They even shared the family looks, as people have often mixed them up over the years.
My particular favorite sharing story is that they each had one "good" dress, which they would trade off wearing, so they would both feel like they had two. Given the closet full of clothes that most teenagers have now, it is hard to imagine only having two good dresses to wear. But I suspect they were happier to have their one apiece than most girls today are to have all their finery.
Another shared item that has given me some amusement over the years are the shared roller skates. They had one pair of skates between them, so they would either have to go one at a time, or, as I have heard it told, they would each wear one, hold hands, and skate together. I have a feeling that is why my aunt can always finish my mother's thoughts, even when Mom hasn't said a word.
My mom and my aunt also shared that most precious of toys in a little girl's world, a baby doll. When I was growing up, I got a doll almost every Christmas, which must have seemed like an embarrassment of riches to someone who only had half a doll to her name for a whole childhood.
Although money was tight, she made me a whole wardrobe of clothes for my dolls; little knitted Barbie dresses and ski outfits and long gowns with hand stitching, and baby doll capes and blouses and little skirts with adorable suspenders. The poverty of her youth inspired the creativity of her adulthood, and I was the fortunate recipient of her largess.
I didn't fully appreciate any of it at the time, of course, but I now cherish and hold every piece dear to my heart. Every stitch was filled with the love of giving her daughter something she never had, and I feel her love for me just holding the pieces in my hand. They are heirlooms to me, something that I will look forward to passing down to my grandchildren someday. I hope they will be a tangible reminder of the wealth of love that is to be found within their family circle, even if the woman who made them is no longer here to enjoy their delight.
My mom is perhaps the quietest of her siblings, some of whom are pretty chatty. Even now, in their 80's and 90's, I will occasionally see frustration written on her face as she tries to get a word in edgewise, usually without much success. I have been told by several aunts and uncles that my mom was daddy's girl, her father's favorite, and that she used to sit in his lap after supper almost every evening. I suspect that her talkative father appreciated the child who never had anything to say, and she was rewarded for always letting him have the last word with his special favor.
My mother was, and still is, a beautiful woman. It is sort of disconcerting to see pictures of her when she was young, and realize just how striking she was. Her black hair and red lipstick always remind me of a hard scrabble Snow White, a farm house for her castle, and a farmer her Prince Charming. She didn't have the money to dress to the height of fashion, but she always made whatever she wore look stylish and fashionable, just by putting it on.
My mother put the capital T in thrifty, and she worked hard to instill that same quality in her children. Apparently my brother was a better student, which might have something to do with that whole favorite thing, although my recent crash course may make her proud of me, yet.
She saves pretty much everything worth saving, and a whole lot of stuff that most people wouldn't, just in case. After all, you never know what you are going to need until you need it. I am sure this proclivity is partly from growing up on a farm in rural America, where you did for yourself or you did without, and partly from being a child of The Great Depression, where everyone did without, and they never want to do so again.
I have giggled more than once over the years about walking into her kitchen and seeing plastic bread bags hanging over the faucet to dry. She has the world's largest collection of twist ties, and more paper clips than she will use in a lifetime. She has every single pen that has ever come into her possession, whether they work or not. Some of those pens are probably collector's items by now, come to think of it, so perhaps she was not so silly after all!
My mother was born many years before John F. Kennedy was assassinated, but for most people, this day, November 22, will forever be the day that the world stopped and mourned the death of an American president. But for me, this is one of the happiest days of the year, because it is the day to celebrate a woman without whom my life would not be.
Her lasting legacy to me will not be riches or fame or material goods. [Although there is a certain rocking chair that has my name on it, whenever she is ready to give it up.] Instead, she will leave me with the extravagant love of a mother who has walked hand in hand with me when I wanted to quit, knows my mistakes and loves me anyway, and who unfailingly supports me, encourages me, and believes in me, even when I have given up on myself. She has given me the road map to be the best mother I can be, a gift I hope I have passed on to my children, as well.
Happy birthday, Mom of moms. You are, and will always be, the Mother of all mothers. I am thankful to call you my own, and I wish you many more to come. <3
Saturday, November 21, 2009
If cleanliness is next to Godliness, I'm in big trouble....
I have come to believe, as I grow to maturity, that house cleaning is something that is less important to each generation. I find that rather ironic, since people with dirt floors presumably had a harder time keeping up with the cleaning than those of us with hardwoods and carpeting. But I can't lie - I wouldn't bet against the dirt floor being cleaner than my living room wall to wall.
It amuses me to hear my mother sigh occasionally, and lament that her mother was so much better of a housekeeper than she is. Naturally, my mother, a paragon of virtues if ever there was one, is a far more diligent housekeeper than I ever have been or could be. My recollection, from growing up with her, is that she spent her entire life cleaning and cooking, and had no fun whatsoever.
I suspect she would disagree with that characterization, since she occasionally remarks that she cannot keep up with the housework now, and she lives alone. Surely the house was messier than I remember it, back when I was young.
I know one thing for sure, I haven't got a chance of keeping up with two kids, a multitude of friends, two dogs, a cat and the messiest pets of all, a rabbit and a bird. You have to wonder if making a mess is their way of getting back at us for confining them to a lifetime of living in a cage.
In all fairness, I should probably mention that my own mother had to cope with two kids, a multitude of friends, two dogs in the house, a cat, and a bird. Um, ya, moving on....
Every so often, I get inspired to clean up the house, and I will go into a frenzy of efficiency, washing and vacuuming and dusting and sweeping, until we scarcely recognize the place. This is soon replaced by an exhausted me, laid out on the sofa, complaining bitterly about the futility of it all, and snacking on chocolate.
I have identified one major source of my problem to be my beloved, but rather neatness challenged, daughter. She has no real love of a clean house, and mess does not seem to disturb her, as long as it isn't in her own room, which she keeps immaculate. This miracle is primarily achieved by moving everything that would clutter up her room into some other room in the house, thereby foisting her disarray onto everyone else.
I can't argue with the success of her strategy - her room is, in fact, the neatest spot in the house by a long ways. On the other hand, it does create quite the challenge for the rest of us keeping things neat and put away when they are located everywhere other than where they belong.
It will be most interesting to see what happens next fall, when my lovely little girl will leave home and I will have the house all to myself. [And the aforementioned two dogs, cat, bird, and rabbit, of course.] I wonder, will I find myself with a neat space all the time? Will it be much easier to keep up with the cleaning, and the vacuuming, and the other housework that I currently find so abhorrent?
An amusing anecdote from my own past says perhaps it will be, just a little. When I went away to college, my own mother, a single mom since my father's death a few years earlier, lived alone for the first time in her life. She was sad, and missed me greatly [she did, she told me so,] especially during the first few months of adjustment.
Evidently, she even started to miss my mess. I know this, because she informed me, in one of the sweeter letters I've ever received, that she actually went to my room to get some of my things, then laid them around the house to remind her of me. That, my friends, is when you know you are truly loved.
I have a hard time imagining myself doing that - I have complained about the mess for approximately 17 years now. But perhaps, in another goofy twist of fate, I too, will find myself laying about little reminders of the life I once led and didn't adequately appreciate until it was over. You never know. Quite often the impossible becomes possible, with the right incentive. And loneliness is powerful incentive.
My grandmother, mother of six, farm wife, and obviously a hard worker, [and, I'm told, one of the sweetest people who ever walked the earth, although I never met her, since she died long before I was born,] kept her house and children in excellent order most of the time. But once a year, in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, she exceeded even her usual high standards. The harbinger of change was when she took down every curtain in the house right after Thanksgiving, a signal that it was time for the annual fall housecleaning.
Now, when I say cleaning, I mean just that - she Cleaned. She washed floors. She flipped mattresses. She washed the mop boards, washed the curtains, washed all the bedding and the tablecloths and everything else in the house that didn't move, along with quite a bit of it that did. By Christmas Eve, the house was spotless, spic and span down to the last doorknob and floor plank, and then she would reconstruct the house again in time for the festivities.
My mother has a particularly fond memory of her mother pulling a brand new tablecloth from the package, the final touch in refreshing their home for the sacred celebration. She remembers helping her mother with the cleaning and preparations, and also the fun of seeing everything put back into place, everything old and yet once again new, their home in readiness for the new year to come.
My mom made a valiant effort for many years to follow the same tradition, but somewhere along the line, she learned some short cuts. I do recollect, quite clearly, her stretcher frame set up in the dining room, with the freshly washed curtains stretched out on it to dry, so they wouldn't shrink. But I don't recall them being off the windows for a month, so I'm pretty sure they got replaced well before Christmas Eve.
Come to think of it, I haven't seen that stretcher frame in years.
My own Thanksgiving traditions have little to do with cleaning, although they do involve a massive effort on my part. After I get the turkey into the oven, I get my Christmas cards in the mail. [I set a rule for myself many years ago which has served me well - I will not allow myself to put up a single Christmas decoration until the cards have been mailed.] Once the cards are in the mail, and driving to the post office to throw them into the box on Thanksgiving Day is a cherished tradition in my family, I can heave a sigh of relief, and go home to decorate for the holiday season looming over me.
There is no time for cleaning, it is a race to the finish line as we all frantically throw our decorations in their traditional place, and then spend the rest of the month tearing around to open houses and office parties. We go on a spree of gift buying that determines whether most retail stores will end the year in the black or the red, and if they will survive for another year. Not to mention our own financial status, but we are not supposed to worry now about how we can pay for it all later, because shopping is the American Way to prosperity, even if it causes us to go bankrupt. I suspect my grandmother would have been most confused at our interpretation of what the Christmas holiday has become, with the hustle and bustle of materialism all but eclipsing the Savior whose birth we are ostensibly celebrating.
Instead of hysterical shopping on Black Friday, my grandmother engaged in her frenzy of cleaning. I have developed my own post-Thanksgiving cleaning traditions, which complement those of my mother and grandmother. [This is what I tell myself, to justify my own lack of preparedness for the holiday that comes around every 365 days like calendar work, but which still manages to take me by surprise every single time.]
I wait for my mother, who lives in Minnesota, to arrive for her annual two week visit, and then assign her the task of trying to get my filthy house clean enough to pass for holiday ready. I would posit that she needs to keep busy, or she gets bored, but of course, I don't think it would shock her to learn I simply don't have time to get it done in my hectic life.
I think it's safe to say, now that I am almost middle aged, that I do not keep the kind of house that my own mother did, to say nothing of my grandmother. I have other priorities, like working. [Of course, the nagging voice in my head reminds me that my mother also worked, and still managed to keep the house cleaner than I do. But I don't listen to little voices in my head, because that would make me crazy, right?]
I would love to have the time to tear my entire house apart and do a thorough cleaning, from floor to rafters. Instead, I shove my Swiffer WetJet around the kitchen floor in a frantic effort to pretend I really care, in between baking cookies and buying gifts, hoping that the memories we are making will count for more than a clean floor or washed walls. I wonder what Grandma would have thought of a Swiffer? I have a feeling she would have felt the same way I feel about spell check - it's nice to have, but it makes us lazy, and I don't think she would have approved.
I find myself pondering with interest what kind of housekeeper my daughter will be. Since the standards seem to fall with each generation, I fear my grandchildren will recognize hand sanitizer, but not know what a mop is. But then again, that would mean they would think my standards were impossibly high. It's all about perspective, and that is one I can live with.
Happy Thanksgiving!
It amuses me to hear my mother sigh occasionally, and lament that her mother was so much better of a housekeeper than she is. Naturally, my mother, a paragon of virtues if ever there was one, is a far more diligent housekeeper than I ever have been or could be. My recollection, from growing up with her, is that she spent her entire life cleaning and cooking, and had no fun whatsoever.
I suspect she would disagree with that characterization, since she occasionally remarks that she cannot keep up with the housework now, and she lives alone. Surely the house was messier than I remember it, back when I was young.
I know one thing for sure, I haven't got a chance of keeping up with two kids, a multitude of friends, two dogs, a cat and the messiest pets of all, a rabbit and a bird. You have to wonder if making a mess is their way of getting back at us for confining them to a lifetime of living in a cage.
In all fairness, I should probably mention that my own mother had to cope with two kids, a multitude of friends, two dogs in the house, a cat, and a bird. Um, ya, moving on....
Every so often, I get inspired to clean up the house, and I will go into a frenzy of efficiency, washing and vacuuming and dusting and sweeping, until we scarcely recognize the place. This is soon replaced by an exhausted me, laid out on the sofa, complaining bitterly about the futility of it all, and snacking on chocolate.
I have identified one major source of my problem to be my beloved, but rather neatness challenged, daughter. She has no real love of a clean house, and mess does not seem to disturb her, as long as it isn't in her own room, which she keeps immaculate. This miracle is primarily achieved by moving everything that would clutter up her room into some other room in the house, thereby foisting her disarray onto everyone else.
I can't argue with the success of her strategy - her room is, in fact, the neatest spot in the house by a long ways. On the other hand, it does create quite the challenge for the rest of us keeping things neat and put away when they are located everywhere other than where they belong.
It will be most interesting to see what happens next fall, when my lovely little girl will leave home and I will have the house all to myself. [And the aforementioned two dogs, cat, bird, and rabbit, of course.] I wonder, will I find myself with a neat space all the time? Will it be much easier to keep up with the cleaning, and the vacuuming, and the other housework that I currently find so abhorrent?
An amusing anecdote from my own past says perhaps it will be, just a little. When I went away to college, my own mother, a single mom since my father's death a few years earlier, lived alone for the first time in her life. She was sad, and missed me greatly [she did, she told me so,] especially during the first few months of adjustment.
Evidently, she even started to miss my mess. I know this, because she informed me, in one of the sweeter letters I've ever received, that she actually went to my room to get some of my things, then laid them around the house to remind her of me. That, my friends, is when you know you are truly loved.
I have a hard time imagining myself doing that - I have complained about the mess for approximately 17 years now. But perhaps, in another goofy twist of fate, I too, will find myself laying about little reminders of the life I once led and didn't adequately appreciate until it was over. You never know. Quite often the impossible becomes possible, with the right incentive. And loneliness is powerful incentive.
My grandmother, mother of six, farm wife, and obviously a hard worker, [and, I'm told, one of the sweetest people who ever walked the earth, although I never met her, since she died long before I was born,] kept her house and children in excellent order most of the time. But once a year, in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, she exceeded even her usual high standards. The harbinger of change was when she took down every curtain in the house right after Thanksgiving, a signal that it was time for the annual fall housecleaning.
Now, when I say cleaning, I mean just that - she Cleaned. She washed floors. She flipped mattresses. She washed the mop boards, washed the curtains, washed all the bedding and the tablecloths and everything else in the house that didn't move, along with quite a bit of it that did. By Christmas Eve, the house was spotless, spic and span down to the last doorknob and floor plank, and then she would reconstruct the house again in time for the festivities.
My mother has a particularly fond memory of her mother pulling a brand new tablecloth from the package, the final touch in refreshing their home for the sacred celebration. She remembers helping her mother with the cleaning and preparations, and also the fun of seeing everything put back into place, everything old and yet once again new, their home in readiness for the new year to come.
My mom made a valiant effort for many years to follow the same tradition, but somewhere along the line, she learned some short cuts. I do recollect, quite clearly, her stretcher frame set up in the dining room, with the freshly washed curtains stretched out on it to dry, so they wouldn't shrink. But I don't recall them being off the windows for a month, so I'm pretty sure they got replaced well before Christmas Eve.
Come to think of it, I haven't seen that stretcher frame in years.
My own Thanksgiving traditions have little to do with cleaning, although they do involve a massive effort on my part. After I get the turkey into the oven, I get my Christmas cards in the mail. [I set a rule for myself many years ago which has served me well - I will not allow myself to put up a single Christmas decoration until the cards have been mailed.] Once the cards are in the mail, and driving to the post office to throw them into the box on Thanksgiving Day is a cherished tradition in my family, I can heave a sigh of relief, and go home to decorate for the holiday season looming over me.
There is no time for cleaning, it is a race to the finish line as we all frantically throw our decorations in their traditional place, and then spend the rest of the month tearing around to open houses and office parties. We go on a spree of gift buying that determines whether most retail stores will end the year in the black or the red, and if they will survive for another year. Not to mention our own financial status, but we are not supposed to worry now about how we can pay for it all later, because shopping is the American Way to prosperity, even if it causes us to go bankrupt. I suspect my grandmother would have been most confused at our interpretation of what the Christmas holiday has become, with the hustle and bustle of materialism all but eclipsing the Savior whose birth we are ostensibly celebrating.
Instead of hysterical shopping on Black Friday, my grandmother engaged in her frenzy of cleaning. I have developed my own post-Thanksgiving cleaning traditions, which complement those of my mother and grandmother. [This is what I tell myself, to justify my own lack of preparedness for the holiday that comes around every 365 days like calendar work, but which still manages to take me by surprise every single time.]
I wait for my mother, who lives in Minnesota, to arrive for her annual two week visit, and then assign her the task of trying to get my filthy house clean enough to pass for holiday ready. I would posit that she needs to keep busy, or she gets bored, but of course, I don't think it would shock her to learn I simply don't have time to get it done in my hectic life.
I think it's safe to say, now that I am almost middle aged, that I do not keep the kind of house that my own mother did, to say nothing of my grandmother. I have other priorities, like working. [Of course, the nagging voice in my head reminds me that my mother also worked, and still managed to keep the house cleaner than I do. But I don't listen to little voices in my head, because that would make me crazy, right?]
I would love to have the time to tear my entire house apart and do a thorough cleaning, from floor to rafters. Instead, I shove my Swiffer WetJet around the kitchen floor in a frantic effort to pretend I really care, in between baking cookies and buying gifts, hoping that the memories we are making will count for more than a clean floor or washed walls. I wonder what Grandma would have thought of a Swiffer? I have a feeling she would have felt the same way I feel about spell check - it's nice to have, but it makes us lazy, and I don't think she would have approved.
I find myself pondering with interest what kind of housekeeper my daughter will be. Since the standards seem to fall with each generation, I fear my grandchildren will recognize hand sanitizer, but not know what a mop is. But then again, that would mean they would think my standards were impossibly high. It's all about perspective, and that is one I can live with.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Senate speak
As an insurance agent who works in the field of health insurance, among other things, I get asked quite frequently what I think of the current health reform proposals being bandied about by Congress, and the general public. I don't generally give an answer; after all, as an agent, I do have my responsibilities to the companies I represent, as well as needing the job, and not really anxious to lose my license.
However, speaking only for myself, on a personal level, I have found the new arena for the health care debate, the US Senate, to have an interesting language all it's own. [Disclaimer here - I am speaking ONLY on behalf of myself. My views do not represent those of my boss, any of the insurance companies I currently represent, or probably a fair number of my clients. I am speaking as a private citizen with a constitutional right to my own opinion, with no special inside information or insight. I know exactly what every other citizen does; what is on the news.]
$127 billion dollar savings: Over ten years, they are saying that their plan will save $127 billion dollars to the US economy. I could be wrong here, but my understanding is that this is new spending by the government, not a shift from current expenditures. Leaving out the fact that, last I heard, they have included no cost increases in any goods or services rendered during that ten year period for their own plan, while estimating those costs as worst case scenario for the existing situation, I have never been able to wrap my mind around the government contention that spending money somehow equates to savings, as long as they didn't spend as much as they could have.
I find that sort of accounting fascinating, especially given my own recent IRS audit, in which, if everything didn't work out to the penny, I was on the hook for whatever they said I should have claimed as income. I should have tried out the argument that I was amortizing over ten years, just like the US Congress. On the other hand, had I done that, I might be writing this from jail, so perhaps it's just as well I didn't try.
31 million new insureds: Doing some oversimplified math, it seems we are spending $837 billion to insure 31 million current uninsureds. That works out to roughly $27,387 per uninsured person. I'm wondering whether or not this is a good use of our tax dollars. I think it's a question worth asking, at least.
Taxing so called Cadillac plans to raise money to pay for this: Hm, presumably those currently enjoying the Cadillac plans have developed some type of intelligence to put themselves in a position where they can afford such plans. I'm thinking that as soon as they are penalized for providing them, they will be smart enough to stop providing them, and will ensure that their new plan falls just under the guideline. And poof, the whole however many billion dollars that they are counting on to fund this plan from this source will be gone. Then what? I wonder who they will tax to make up the difference?
Of course, that is not to even mention that most of those high cost plans are a result of medical rating on a group, and if they are no longer taking medical conditions into account, those rates will no longer exist. But perhaps I shouldn't have noticed that, either, since the insurance companies have been cast as the villian of the piece.
Penalizing employers for not providing insurance: The most recent figures I saw were that employers would be penalized to the tune of about $750 per employee for not providing a minimal insurance plan. Have they ever talked to any employer, insurance agent, or insurer? Because that is still going to be less than the cost of providing an insurance plan for their employees, especially if they remove the tax deduction at the same time, which is an idea I have seen floating around out there.
The other brilliant scheme I have seen is allowing the employer to keep the tax deduction, but then taxing the employee for the cost of the benefit provided. Brilliant way to ensure that even less people will be insured, since employees will then have to pay out of pocket for something that is already provided tax free, and they already have a hard time affording it. All I have to say is, huh?
Penalizing people for not carrying insurance: The penalty I have seen was $350. If you are a family, that is probably one month's worth of premium. Do the math. Again, huh? And as to the argument that it works for auto insurance (which, in fact, it doesn't, there are still a fair number of people who take their chances and go without, but I digress,) you have a choice about whether or not you want to own and or drive a car. You don't really have a choice about being alive, and if you are ill, you need health care. I don't really care to have my health care needs compared to an auto, thanks anyway.
Insurance exchanges: Um, speaking for independent agents everywhere, that is what I already do for my clients, every single time. I look at what is available from all the companies we represent, and I give them the advantages of each plan, thereby giving them the information they need to make the best decision for themselves. The assumption that cheapest is always best is flawed, to put it nicely. Race to the bottom, anyone?
High risk pools: The federal government is currently touting the creation of high risk pools for the uninsured. Would this be sort of like the high risk pools that already exist in every state for the uninsurable under regular individual plans (those covered under group plans already cannot be denied for health reasons)? Perhaps, if we just subsidize what already exists, we could get what we are after for less money? Just thinking out loud, but do we really think the federal government can reinvent the wheel better than the states?
One other tidbit, just in case you weren't aware of this, [the people in Congress certainly don't seem to be,] the current system requires the insurance companies that do business in the state to pay a premium based on their profits in the state into the pool to help defray the costs, so they are already bearing at least part of the costs of helping to insure those they don't accept under a regular plan. So evidently now the fed is going to take on the entire cost? I have never been good at math, but once I again, I don't get how this puts us ahead.
Health care as a right, as opposed to a privilege: As an insurance agent, it is fascinating to me how quickly people change their mind on this when they lose their own insurance, and suddenly cannot get it on the private market for one reason or another. Do I believe everyone should have it? Yes. Do I believe you can force it upon people? No, especially at such a high cost. Does the system require overhaul? Absolutely, because it is unsustainable as is.
Do I want the federal government in charge? Not really, because the moment that a new administration is in power, the whole focus will shift, and then where will we be? Guaranteed we will drop to the lowest common denominator, which is pretty low. For example, pre-existing conditions are currently excluded from new coverage under Kansas law for 90 days, in Texas, that maximum is 24 months. I'll stay in Kansas, thank you. Not to mention the fact that I don't trust the fed to get much of anything right, much less something this important. I don't think health care should be a political football, it should be a human right.
Tax now, spend later: I love how the government works. They are going to start making us pay now, so that we can have what they have promised us two election cycles from now. How do you like the chances that what you think you are paying for now will still look the same in 2013 and 2014?
Cutting waste to pay for the programs: If there is so much waste, why are we not cutting immediately, instead of tying it to some future program? If it is unnecessary, then stop spending our hard earned money on it. Period.
I have openly admitted I can't even run my own life effectively, so I certainly don't have the answers on solving a problem as enormous as the health care crisis in the US. But I don't like our chances with the federal government in charge, because from my observation, call me a cynic, but I don't think they do much well.
While some people have said you can't compare the post office to the health care situation, I think it's a pretty apropos comparison. The cost of a stamp is only 44 cents, genuinely a ridiculous bargain, even with all the confusing rules and regulations. But they have lost billions of dollars, and the bleeding shows no signs of stopping any time soon. Meanwhile, UPS and Fed Ex continue to run as successful businesses.
Why is that? The USPS cannot figure out what the real cost is to mail a letter, thus continuing to undercharge, until the whole system will eventually fail. Fed Ex and UPS have figured out what it actually costs, and with a modest profit, they are charging that amount. The results speak for themselves.
In a very familiar pattern, the current government run program, Medicare, underpays their vendors on a legendary basis, thus resulting in physicians who limit the number of Medicare patients, because they cannot sustain their business with too many of those patients underpaying them. (Current reimbursement rates are so far below actual costs, that any physician that tried to serve Medicare patients only would rapidly be out of business.) Private insurers are currently subsidizing the Medicare underpayments, along with the uninsured, who are subsidizing everyone with the highest rates of all.
So, let's review. The federal government sets rates that are below sustainable payments, thus requiring subsidization of private companies and the uninsured. When the private companies and uninsured are no longer available to subsidize the underpayments, then what?
Cutting Medicare to pay for this: If they cut out subsidies to private insurers to pay for the Advantage plans, the private insurers will simply stop providing them. Then the elderly will have to pick up the cost of their own supplemental policies. If anyone wants my opinion, this looks more like cost shifting, than cost savings, as the elderly will be paying, instead of the government, but it is still getting paid.
And here's another interesting question. If Medicare is such a great system, how come the elderly need supplemental plans? If you didn't know that, you should, because it's a huge business for the private insurers, who cover everything that Medicare doesn't. Some of those "frill" coverages include, but are not limited to, elements of annual exams such as mammograms, pap smears and PSA testing, drug coverage that covers where the Medicare plans drop out, leaving the elderly seriously exposed when they can least afford it, hospital coverage, nursing home care, and home health coverage, as well as some end of life services.
All I can say is, if the government is in charge of our health care, then we can kiss our privacy goodbye. We can assume that our coverage will be stripped down to the lowest common denominator. And we can count on that coverage costing us more than they ever predicted it would, until, by the time all is said and done, we will be spending more than ever to have pretty much what we have now - an inadequate system that has a lot of holes.
Personally, I'm tired of the Republican versus Democratic debate, because again, I will reiterate, it's not a political hot potato, it's the health and well being of our citizens. I am not a Democrat or a Republican, I am an American, and I want affordable health care for all by right of being an American. I am not too hopeful we will have that any time soon.
So, making the short story long, as I usually do, that's how I really feel. Stay healthy!
However, speaking only for myself, on a personal level, I have found the new arena for the health care debate, the US Senate, to have an interesting language all it's own. [Disclaimer here - I am speaking ONLY on behalf of myself. My views do not represent those of my boss, any of the insurance companies I currently represent, or probably a fair number of my clients. I am speaking as a private citizen with a constitutional right to my own opinion, with no special inside information or insight. I know exactly what every other citizen does; what is on the news.]
$127 billion dollar savings: Over ten years, they are saying that their plan will save $127 billion dollars to the US economy. I could be wrong here, but my understanding is that this is new spending by the government, not a shift from current expenditures. Leaving out the fact that, last I heard, they have included no cost increases in any goods or services rendered during that ten year period for their own plan, while estimating those costs as worst case scenario for the existing situation, I have never been able to wrap my mind around the government contention that spending money somehow equates to savings, as long as they didn't spend as much as they could have.
I find that sort of accounting fascinating, especially given my own recent IRS audit, in which, if everything didn't work out to the penny, I was on the hook for whatever they said I should have claimed as income. I should have tried out the argument that I was amortizing over ten years, just like the US Congress. On the other hand, had I done that, I might be writing this from jail, so perhaps it's just as well I didn't try.
31 million new insureds: Doing some oversimplified math, it seems we are spending $837 billion to insure 31 million current uninsureds. That works out to roughly $27,387 per uninsured person. I'm wondering whether or not this is a good use of our tax dollars. I think it's a question worth asking, at least.
Taxing so called Cadillac plans to raise money to pay for this: Hm, presumably those currently enjoying the Cadillac plans have developed some type of intelligence to put themselves in a position where they can afford such plans. I'm thinking that as soon as they are penalized for providing them, they will be smart enough to stop providing them, and will ensure that their new plan falls just under the guideline. And poof, the whole however many billion dollars that they are counting on to fund this plan from this source will be gone. Then what? I wonder who they will tax to make up the difference?
Of course, that is not to even mention that most of those high cost plans are a result of medical rating on a group, and if they are no longer taking medical conditions into account, those rates will no longer exist. But perhaps I shouldn't have noticed that, either, since the insurance companies have been cast as the villian of the piece.
Penalizing employers for not providing insurance: The most recent figures I saw were that employers would be penalized to the tune of about $750 per employee for not providing a minimal insurance plan. Have they ever talked to any employer, insurance agent, or insurer? Because that is still going to be less than the cost of providing an insurance plan for their employees, especially if they remove the tax deduction at the same time, which is an idea I have seen floating around out there.
The other brilliant scheme I have seen is allowing the employer to keep the tax deduction, but then taxing the employee for the cost of the benefit provided. Brilliant way to ensure that even less people will be insured, since employees will then have to pay out of pocket for something that is already provided tax free, and they already have a hard time affording it. All I have to say is, huh?
Penalizing people for not carrying insurance: The penalty I have seen was $350. If you are a family, that is probably one month's worth of premium. Do the math. Again, huh? And as to the argument that it works for auto insurance (which, in fact, it doesn't, there are still a fair number of people who take their chances and go without, but I digress,) you have a choice about whether or not you want to own and or drive a car. You don't really have a choice about being alive, and if you are ill, you need health care. I don't really care to have my health care needs compared to an auto, thanks anyway.
Insurance exchanges: Um, speaking for independent agents everywhere, that is what I already do for my clients, every single time. I look at what is available from all the companies we represent, and I give them the advantages of each plan, thereby giving them the information they need to make the best decision for themselves. The assumption that cheapest is always best is flawed, to put it nicely. Race to the bottom, anyone?
High risk pools: The federal government is currently touting the creation of high risk pools for the uninsured. Would this be sort of like the high risk pools that already exist in every state for the uninsurable under regular individual plans (those covered under group plans already cannot be denied for health reasons)? Perhaps, if we just subsidize what already exists, we could get what we are after for less money? Just thinking out loud, but do we really think the federal government can reinvent the wheel better than the states?
One other tidbit, just in case you weren't aware of this, [the people in Congress certainly don't seem to be,] the current system requires the insurance companies that do business in the state to pay a premium based on their profits in the state into the pool to help defray the costs, so they are already bearing at least part of the costs of helping to insure those they don't accept under a regular plan. So evidently now the fed is going to take on the entire cost? I have never been good at math, but once I again, I don't get how this puts us ahead.
Health care as a right, as opposed to a privilege: As an insurance agent, it is fascinating to me how quickly people change their mind on this when they lose their own insurance, and suddenly cannot get it on the private market for one reason or another. Do I believe everyone should have it? Yes. Do I believe you can force it upon people? No, especially at such a high cost. Does the system require overhaul? Absolutely, because it is unsustainable as is.
Do I want the federal government in charge? Not really, because the moment that a new administration is in power, the whole focus will shift, and then where will we be? Guaranteed we will drop to the lowest common denominator, which is pretty low. For example, pre-existing conditions are currently excluded from new coverage under Kansas law for 90 days, in Texas, that maximum is 24 months. I'll stay in Kansas, thank you. Not to mention the fact that I don't trust the fed to get much of anything right, much less something this important. I don't think health care should be a political football, it should be a human right.
Tax now, spend later: I love how the government works. They are going to start making us pay now, so that we can have what they have promised us two election cycles from now. How do you like the chances that what you think you are paying for now will still look the same in 2013 and 2014?
Cutting waste to pay for the programs: If there is so much waste, why are we not cutting immediately, instead of tying it to some future program? If it is unnecessary, then stop spending our hard earned money on it. Period.
I have openly admitted I can't even run my own life effectively, so I certainly don't have the answers on solving a problem as enormous as the health care crisis in the US. But I don't like our chances with the federal government in charge, because from my observation, call me a cynic, but I don't think they do much well.
While some people have said you can't compare the post office to the health care situation, I think it's a pretty apropos comparison. The cost of a stamp is only 44 cents, genuinely a ridiculous bargain, even with all the confusing rules and regulations. But they have lost billions of dollars, and the bleeding shows no signs of stopping any time soon. Meanwhile, UPS and Fed Ex continue to run as successful businesses.
Why is that? The USPS cannot figure out what the real cost is to mail a letter, thus continuing to undercharge, until the whole system will eventually fail. Fed Ex and UPS have figured out what it actually costs, and with a modest profit, they are charging that amount. The results speak for themselves.
In a very familiar pattern, the current government run program, Medicare, underpays their vendors on a legendary basis, thus resulting in physicians who limit the number of Medicare patients, because they cannot sustain their business with too many of those patients underpaying them. (Current reimbursement rates are so far below actual costs, that any physician that tried to serve Medicare patients only would rapidly be out of business.) Private insurers are currently subsidizing the Medicare underpayments, along with the uninsured, who are subsidizing everyone with the highest rates of all.
So, let's review. The federal government sets rates that are below sustainable payments, thus requiring subsidization of private companies and the uninsured. When the private companies and uninsured are no longer available to subsidize the underpayments, then what?
Cutting Medicare to pay for this: If they cut out subsidies to private insurers to pay for the Advantage plans, the private insurers will simply stop providing them. Then the elderly will have to pick up the cost of their own supplemental policies. If anyone wants my opinion, this looks more like cost shifting, than cost savings, as the elderly will be paying, instead of the government, but it is still getting paid.
And here's another interesting question. If Medicare is such a great system, how come the elderly need supplemental plans? If you didn't know that, you should, because it's a huge business for the private insurers, who cover everything that Medicare doesn't. Some of those "frill" coverages include, but are not limited to, elements of annual exams such as mammograms, pap smears and PSA testing, drug coverage that covers where the Medicare plans drop out, leaving the elderly seriously exposed when they can least afford it, hospital coverage, nursing home care, and home health coverage, as well as some end of life services.
All I can say is, if the government is in charge of our health care, then we can kiss our privacy goodbye. We can assume that our coverage will be stripped down to the lowest common denominator. And we can count on that coverage costing us more than they ever predicted it would, until, by the time all is said and done, we will be spending more than ever to have pretty much what we have now - an inadequate system that has a lot of holes.
Personally, I'm tired of the Republican versus Democratic debate, because again, I will reiterate, it's not a political hot potato, it's the health and well being of our citizens. I am not a Democrat or a Republican, I am an American, and I want affordable health care for all by right of being an American. I am not too hopeful we will have that any time soon.
So, making the short story long, as I usually do, that's how I really feel. Stay healthy!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
The past is now....
This morning, I was looking through the news online, and realized that the word, news, no longer has the same meaning that it did ten or twenty years ago.
Back in the dark ages of broadcasting, when everything wasn't condensed into a ten second sound bite, you learned about important world events on the news. The weighty subject matter was delivered by serious reporters like Walter Cronkite and Edward R. Murrow, who understood the importance of the information they were imparting, and took their position in the eye of the nation seriously. They researched and covered their stories from the start to the finish, and when Walter told us, "And that's the way it is," we knew it was. They were not there to entertain us - they left that job to Bob Hope and Lucille Ball.
There was this thing called "In Depth Reporting," where they dug into the issues of the story, found out the basic questions that were vital to our understanding, and then presented it to the public. They weren't necessarily the first to report it, but that seemed to matter less than whether or not they had the facts and the important information, so that when they were done, the public had been fully informed. The news was filled with stories that we, the people, needed to know to create a more perfect union. Or something like that.
A very famous Truman moment aside, I think Watergate was the first time, at least in my recollection, when being first truly began to trump being accurate. It was a slippery slope, the intoxicating need to be first at all costs, but we didn't fling ourselves down into the abyss with reckless abandon, at least at first.
It was more of a slow and mushy slide, like when it's 42 degrees, and the snow is melting, all sloppy and sticky, until today we are drowning in irrelevancy. Being first is the only thing that counts. It no longer seems to matter if the content is even interesting, to say nothing of important, so long as they said it or did it or wrote it or experienced it first.
Maybe I am just crabby, but these days, it seems like the news is a poorly disguised imitation of a gossip column, filled with innuendo and hearsay, but containing very little in the way of hard facts. We look down upon the medieval period as the Dark Ages, but I'm not so sure we aren't in our own intellectual desert today.
This morning, as I was perusing the headlines, I was astonished to discover that among other critical matters, I could see photos of the backsides of roughly 40 actresses, and it was my job to guess to whom they belonged. I was so fascinated at the idea that someone would actually consider this worthy of notice, sort of like being drawn to stare at a car accident even though you don't really want to see it, that I couldn't help myself. I had to look.
Of course, I didn't recognize half the names, to begin with. I am not exactly what my younger friends would call up-to-date. And I am thankful to report I didn't recognize a single butt cheek or crack hanging out of what currently passes for a swimsuit. [Seriously, someone should take these girls aside and explain to them the concept of mystery and imagination.] The only thing the story left uncovered [*ahem] was why I needed that information in the first place.
I am genuinely appalled to report that CNN expended less words on the massive health care overhaul bill passed by the United States House of Representatives last night than they did on a review of a bad movie starring George Clooney, the point of which seems to be that it doesn't have one. We are looking at a situation in which every American could be forced, under penalty of fines and jail time, no less, to purchase health insurance, whether we want it or not, whether we can afford it or not, and all that the news outlets can think to discuss is George Clooney's relationship with a goat?
There is a pandemic of H1N1 currently striking people down all over the world, but most Americans couldn't define pandemic to save their lives. Call me old fashioned, but I think we should at least be able to explain a thing before we panic about it. Perhaps if we were more literate, we would be less likely to be driven by the whims of the mass media.
While Brad and Angelina flit around the world with the paparazzi chronicling their every move, we know literally nothing about what is going on in the People's Republic of China, the largest, most populous nation on the planet.
Is Malawi important because Madonna went there? Or did Madonna go to Malawi because it is important? Why does Malawi even matter to us? We don't know, because the only thing the media told us is that the Material Girl is adopting another unfortunate child whose parents cannot afford to feed it.
That is not a knock against Madonna. On the contrary, at least she took the problem seriously enough to go and see for herself. Which sadly, is what is required if you really want to know about something in these days of 24/7 news cycles.
Shouldn't we be asking why there are so many orphans and abandoned children in Africa? Shouldn't we want to understand what is behind the sound bite that makes it important enough to bring to the attention of the world populace? Isn't there a reason that movie stars are going to Africa to adopt a child every other day? Call me crazy, but I happen to think that is the real story, one to which we don't have the answers.
Sadly, I think Madonna might agree. But she will never have the chance to get her message out, because the media, driven by the consumer, is only interested in whether or not her divorce from Guy Ritchie is final, or if she had an opportunity to work out so she can keep her 20 year old figure on her 50 something body in one of the poorest places on the planet.
That seems to be the current definition of the news you need to know. Count me out.
What is most disturbing to me is that even when the media makes the attempt to bring a serious story to us, they miss the facts and go for the fluff. In a story about the psychiatrist who shot dozens of people at Fort Hood, today's offering was a statement from a relative in Palestine, who apparently hasn't seen him in 15 years, although that particular fact was buried in the very fine print deep in the article, and whose offering, boiled down in a paraphrase, amounted to, "Who knows?"
I, for one, do not consider that newsworthy, and if that is all you have, don't even bother. Save the story until you have something solid, something concrete, something that will inform or enlighten or at least lead us forward. I don't want speculation, third and fourth hand non-witnesses describing what the suspect had for breakfast that morning.
I don't care what was in his stomach, I care what was in his mind. What could have led him to a mental perspective where shooting dozens of people on a military base seemed like a reasonable objective? And are there others out there like him? As far as I am concerned, the most important thing about this story is how we can learn from it so it won't happen again.
That is not to say that I am uninterested in the human interest story, the lighthearted anecdote, the chuckle. But don't call it news. And don't devote 24 hours a day to it, because you have nothing else to talk about.
I swear I am not just getting old and cranky, Andy Rooney in panties. I feel that it is to our extreme detriment, indeed, even our peril, that Americans, in particular, remain so ignorant of world events, and their significance.
While we obsess about Kate and A-Rod house hunting together, our military men and women are fighting a war in Afghanistan against not just long odds, but historically significant odds. How many Americans have any knowledge of the long history that is found there? Or how that history may affect the outcome of a battle today?
Although we may recognize the name Genghis Khan, do we know whether or not he ever invaded Afghanistan? Do we understand the ramifications of the Cold War on the region? Or the outcome of the war the Soviet Union fought there a couple of decades ago? How did Osama bin Laden come to be in Afghanistan? Have they ever been our allies? What was our part in bringing them to where they are today?
These are all important considerations to understanding the Afghanistan of the here and now. It's not a simple matter of right and wrong, win or lose. It is a very complex region with a long and complicated history, which cannot be reduced to a twenty second sound bite.
Our demands for instant gratification will not win the day, or the war, in a region that measures its history in millennia instead of a couple hundred years. And the prosecution of that war certainly should not be driven by polls taken amongst people who can't even locate the country on a map.
I love the internet for everything it brings to my life. It allows me to talk to people hundreds of miles away as if I'm having a conversation, a sentence or two at a time. It brings information, if only I am interested enough to look for it, into my living room at the click of a mouse. It allows me to work from my own home office, because everything I need to do my job effectively is available online 24 hours a day.
But the downside of the cyberworld is the sense of false urgency it creates. The constant need for updates, for something more, for the media to produce scoop after scoop, has also created an artificial need for information that has vastly outpaced our human ability to make sense of events. The incessant drive for something else has spilled over into every aspect of our lives, and the pressure we are all under on a constant basis is almost intolerable to me.
It is that climate which makes someone with no talent and no real achievements a celebrity. The rich and famous of today are not known because of their accomplishments, but because they are the quickest at thinking up new ways to draw the camera's eye towards themselves. Call me a cynic, but it is hard to imagine Ashlee Simpson or The Real Desperate Housewives of Wherever They are From leading us into a better future.
For those whose interest has been piqued, Genghis Khan and his army of Mongol warriors invaded the area now known as Afghanistan in the 13th century in a grab for the riches of the region, which they needed to support their growing power base. He directed the murder of thousands of people in his effort to subdue them, in some cases, wiping out every living thing, plant, animal and human, for hundreds of square miles.
His soldiers destroyed property, including a massive irrigation system which had allowed the area to be one of the most productive in that region of Asia, leaving devastation and destruction in their wake. He ruled with little regard for the indigenous people, which created his deserved reputation for barbarism and cruelty. The Mongols ruled ruthlessly during Khan's lifetime and beyond, as his kingdom was split apart into khanates.
And yet, despite his most strenuous efforts, he was unable to eliminate the spread of Islam, which had already taken root, and was flourishing there. When the Mongol dynasty had been overtaken by the next band of marauding tyrants, and Genghis Khan and his descendants were just a part of history, Islam remained, as it does to this day. Their faith is the foundation of their very lives, stretching back for a millennium. I don't know about you, but that certainly puts things in a different perspective for me.
News is not measured in moments, it is measured in decades and centuries. In the end, the wise will prevail, and the stupid will fail. From where I am sitting, the wisest nations worry less about celebrity than they do about history, because those who do not understand where others have gone awry are doomed to repeat the failures.
It's not as fun as "News of the Weird," but it's probably the news we need to hear. And that's the way it is.
Back in the dark ages of broadcasting, when everything wasn't condensed into a ten second sound bite, you learned about important world events on the news. The weighty subject matter was delivered by serious reporters like Walter Cronkite and Edward R. Murrow, who understood the importance of the information they were imparting, and took their position in the eye of the nation seriously. They researched and covered their stories from the start to the finish, and when Walter told us, "And that's the way it is," we knew it was. They were not there to entertain us - they left that job to Bob Hope and Lucille Ball.
There was this thing called "In Depth Reporting," where they dug into the issues of the story, found out the basic questions that were vital to our understanding, and then presented it to the public. They weren't necessarily the first to report it, but that seemed to matter less than whether or not they had the facts and the important information, so that when they were done, the public had been fully informed. The news was filled with stories that we, the people, needed to know to create a more perfect union. Or something like that.
A very famous Truman moment aside, I think Watergate was the first time, at least in my recollection, when being first truly began to trump being accurate. It was a slippery slope, the intoxicating need to be first at all costs, but we didn't fling ourselves down into the abyss with reckless abandon, at least at first.
It was more of a slow and mushy slide, like when it's 42 degrees, and the snow is melting, all sloppy and sticky, until today we are drowning in irrelevancy. Being first is the only thing that counts. It no longer seems to matter if the content is even interesting, to say nothing of important, so long as they said it or did it or wrote it or experienced it first.
Maybe I am just crabby, but these days, it seems like the news is a poorly disguised imitation of a gossip column, filled with innuendo and hearsay, but containing very little in the way of hard facts. We look down upon the medieval period as the Dark Ages, but I'm not so sure we aren't in our own intellectual desert today.
This morning, as I was perusing the headlines, I was astonished to discover that among other critical matters, I could see photos of the backsides of roughly 40 actresses, and it was my job to guess to whom they belonged. I was so fascinated at the idea that someone would actually consider this worthy of notice, sort of like being drawn to stare at a car accident even though you don't really want to see it, that I couldn't help myself. I had to look.
Of course, I didn't recognize half the names, to begin with. I am not exactly what my younger friends would call up-to-date. And I am thankful to report I didn't recognize a single butt cheek or crack hanging out of what currently passes for a swimsuit. [Seriously, someone should take these girls aside and explain to them the concept of mystery and imagination.] The only thing the story left uncovered [*ahem] was why I needed that information in the first place.
I am genuinely appalled to report that CNN expended less words on the massive health care overhaul bill passed by the United States House of Representatives last night than they did on a review of a bad movie starring George Clooney, the point of which seems to be that it doesn't have one. We are looking at a situation in which every American could be forced, under penalty of fines and jail time, no less, to purchase health insurance, whether we want it or not, whether we can afford it or not, and all that the news outlets can think to discuss is George Clooney's relationship with a goat?
There is a pandemic of H1N1 currently striking people down all over the world, but most Americans couldn't define pandemic to save their lives. Call me old fashioned, but I think we should at least be able to explain a thing before we panic about it. Perhaps if we were more literate, we would be less likely to be driven by the whims of the mass media.
While Brad and Angelina flit around the world with the paparazzi chronicling their every move, we know literally nothing about what is going on in the People's Republic of China, the largest, most populous nation on the planet.
Is Malawi important because Madonna went there? Or did Madonna go to Malawi because it is important? Why does Malawi even matter to us? We don't know, because the only thing the media told us is that the Material Girl is adopting another unfortunate child whose parents cannot afford to feed it.
That is not a knock against Madonna. On the contrary, at least she took the problem seriously enough to go and see for herself. Which sadly, is what is required if you really want to know about something in these days of 24/7 news cycles.
Shouldn't we be asking why there are so many orphans and abandoned children in Africa? Shouldn't we want to understand what is behind the sound bite that makes it important enough to bring to the attention of the world populace? Isn't there a reason that movie stars are going to Africa to adopt a child every other day? Call me crazy, but I happen to think that is the real story, one to which we don't have the answers.
Sadly, I think Madonna might agree. But she will never have the chance to get her message out, because the media, driven by the consumer, is only interested in whether or not her divorce from Guy Ritchie is final, or if she had an opportunity to work out so she can keep her 20 year old figure on her 50 something body in one of the poorest places on the planet.
That seems to be the current definition of the news you need to know. Count me out.
What is most disturbing to me is that even when the media makes the attempt to bring a serious story to us, they miss the facts and go for the fluff. In a story about the psychiatrist who shot dozens of people at Fort Hood, today's offering was a statement from a relative in Palestine, who apparently hasn't seen him in 15 years, although that particular fact was buried in the very fine print deep in the article, and whose offering, boiled down in a paraphrase, amounted to, "Who knows?"
I, for one, do not consider that newsworthy, and if that is all you have, don't even bother. Save the story until you have something solid, something concrete, something that will inform or enlighten or at least lead us forward. I don't want speculation, third and fourth hand non-witnesses describing what the suspect had for breakfast that morning.
I don't care what was in his stomach, I care what was in his mind. What could have led him to a mental perspective where shooting dozens of people on a military base seemed like a reasonable objective? And are there others out there like him? As far as I am concerned, the most important thing about this story is how we can learn from it so it won't happen again.
That is not to say that I am uninterested in the human interest story, the lighthearted anecdote, the chuckle. But don't call it news. And don't devote 24 hours a day to it, because you have nothing else to talk about.
I swear I am not just getting old and cranky, Andy Rooney in panties. I feel that it is to our extreme detriment, indeed, even our peril, that Americans, in particular, remain so ignorant of world events, and their significance.
While we obsess about Kate and A-Rod house hunting together, our military men and women are fighting a war in Afghanistan against not just long odds, but historically significant odds. How many Americans have any knowledge of the long history that is found there? Or how that history may affect the outcome of a battle today?
Although we may recognize the name Genghis Khan, do we know whether or not he ever invaded Afghanistan? Do we understand the ramifications of the Cold War on the region? Or the outcome of the war the Soviet Union fought there a couple of decades ago? How did Osama bin Laden come to be in Afghanistan? Have they ever been our allies? What was our part in bringing them to where they are today?
These are all important considerations to understanding the Afghanistan of the here and now. It's not a simple matter of right and wrong, win or lose. It is a very complex region with a long and complicated history, which cannot be reduced to a twenty second sound bite.
Our demands for instant gratification will not win the day, or the war, in a region that measures its history in millennia instead of a couple hundred years. And the prosecution of that war certainly should not be driven by polls taken amongst people who can't even locate the country on a map.
I love the internet for everything it brings to my life. It allows me to talk to people hundreds of miles away as if I'm having a conversation, a sentence or two at a time. It brings information, if only I am interested enough to look for it, into my living room at the click of a mouse. It allows me to work from my own home office, because everything I need to do my job effectively is available online 24 hours a day.
But the downside of the cyberworld is the sense of false urgency it creates. The constant need for updates, for something more, for the media to produce scoop after scoop, has also created an artificial need for information that has vastly outpaced our human ability to make sense of events. The incessant drive for something else has spilled over into every aspect of our lives, and the pressure we are all under on a constant basis is almost intolerable to me.
It is that climate which makes someone with no talent and no real achievements a celebrity. The rich and famous of today are not known because of their accomplishments, but because they are the quickest at thinking up new ways to draw the camera's eye towards themselves. Call me a cynic, but it is hard to imagine Ashlee Simpson or The Real Desperate Housewives of Wherever They are From leading us into a better future.
For those whose interest has been piqued, Genghis Khan and his army of Mongol warriors invaded the area now known as Afghanistan in the 13th century in a grab for the riches of the region, which they needed to support their growing power base. He directed the murder of thousands of people in his effort to subdue them, in some cases, wiping out every living thing, plant, animal and human, for hundreds of square miles.
His soldiers destroyed property, including a massive irrigation system which had allowed the area to be one of the most productive in that region of Asia, leaving devastation and destruction in their wake. He ruled with little regard for the indigenous people, which created his deserved reputation for barbarism and cruelty. The Mongols ruled ruthlessly during Khan's lifetime and beyond, as his kingdom was split apart into khanates.
And yet, despite his most strenuous efforts, he was unable to eliminate the spread of Islam, which had already taken root, and was flourishing there. When the Mongol dynasty had been overtaken by the next band of marauding tyrants, and Genghis Khan and his descendants were just a part of history, Islam remained, as it does to this day. Their faith is the foundation of their very lives, stretching back for a millennium. I don't know about you, but that certainly puts things in a different perspective for me.
News is not measured in moments, it is measured in decades and centuries. In the end, the wise will prevail, and the stupid will fail. From where I am sitting, the wisest nations worry less about celebrity than they do about history, because those who do not understand where others have gone awry are doomed to repeat the failures.
It's not as fun as "News of the Weird," but it's probably the news we need to hear. And that's the way it is.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Last Dance? Not yet, but soon....
Since my darling daughter, Erin, came blasting unexpectedly into my life almost 18 years ago, she has turned my world upside down and my life inside out. She is never more than a thought away from some devilment, and she usually keeps me on the edge of my seat, wondering what she will dream up next.
This is a big year in our household. It is a year of lasts, as Erin enjoys her final year of high school, and all the fun that goes with it. She is almost grown, a beautiful young woman, inside and out, with a zest for life and a knack for fun that draws people to her.
I feel like we have fast forwarded through the last 17 years, like some kind of crazy time warp, but this year is the fastest yet. I look ahead with both enthusiasm and dread at the separation that is coming so quickly, in so short a time. I can't help but wonder how we got from preschool to senior year of high school so soon. We have already seen the final first day of school come and go. This week, it was homecoming, culminating with a dance on Saturday night. Ironically, and perhaps fittingly, it was also Halloween.
Halloween is one night in the year when Erin always allows her imagination to run away with her enthusiasm. Never one to allow an opportunity for a good time to pass by without her participation, she was determined to have her final homecoming, and still enjoy Halloween as well.
Things started out traditionally enough. She fell in love with a dress she saw this summer, and it quickly became apparent that she was not going to be able to live without it. We took it home long before she knew that homecoming and Halloween would be the same evening. Fortunately, it was black and white, and would work with the holiday theme she ultimately devised.
Her first unconventional move was to join forces with her friend, Ali, to go as each other's date. The reasons why each of them was otherwise dateless don't merit discussion here - they both determined early on that they would have the most fun going with each other. It turned out to be an excellent choice, I would say, given how much fun they had.
They each had a beautiful little dress, Erin in black and white, and Ali in all black. Then, they added the zombie features that would turn the event into Another Fun Occasion. Erin and Ali, actresses both, with a flair for the dramatic, ripped their stockings, painted on their lipstick scars, and wore each a glove - the most captivating zombies I have ever seen.
They are a bevy of beautiful girls, genuinely funny and real and never afraid to throw themselves into the occasion. I will miss these opportunities next year, when I will no longer have the fun of peeking into their world for a few hours, and participating in their off the wall fun.
One of my goals as a mom has always been to be in the moment, to enjoy the time I am having now, and to not look backwards or forwards, regretting or anticipating another time. Next year, everything will be different, everything will change. In the end, I have only the limited time that I have now to build the memories for a lifetime, and I have to make the most of it before this time has gone.
But one thing will never change - my abiding joy at being Erin's mom. Erin has already given me a lifetime of joyous experiences, and the wonder of her has never ceased to amaze me. From her first dance, to the last, I cherish every moment.
Just one question - has anyone seen my bathroom counter? Because that's where the real scares can be found.
Happy Halloween!
This is a big year in our household. It is a year of lasts, as Erin enjoys her final year of high school, and all the fun that goes with it. She is almost grown, a beautiful young woman, inside and out, with a zest for life and a knack for fun that draws people to her.
I feel like we have fast forwarded through the last 17 years, like some kind of crazy time warp, but this year is the fastest yet. I look ahead with both enthusiasm and dread at the separation that is coming so quickly, in so short a time. I can't help but wonder how we got from preschool to senior year of high school so soon. We have already seen the final first day of school come and go. This week, it was homecoming, culminating with a dance on Saturday night. Ironically, and perhaps fittingly, it was also Halloween.
Halloween is one night in the year when Erin always allows her imagination to run away with her enthusiasm. Never one to allow an opportunity for a good time to pass by without her participation, she was determined to have her final homecoming, and still enjoy Halloween as well.
Things started out traditionally enough. She fell in love with a dress she saw this summer, and it quickly became apparent that she was not going to be able to live without it. We took it home long before she knew that homecoming and Halloween would be the same evening. Fortunately, it was black and white, and would work with the holiday theme she ultimately devised.
Her first unconventional move was to join forces with her friend, Ali, to go as each other's date. The reasons why each of them was otherwise dateless don't merit discussion here - they both determined early on that they would have the most fun going with each other. It turned out to be an excellent choice, I would say, given how much fun they had.
They each had a beautiful little dress, Erin in black and white, and Ali in all black. Then, they added the zombie features that would turn the event into Another Fun Occasion. Erin and Ali, actresses both, with a flair for the dramatic, ripped their stockings, painted on their lipstick scars, and wore each a glove - the most captivating zombies I have ever seen.
The Zombie Dates - Erin and Ali, Halloween Homecoming, 2009
My contribution to the evening was their wristlet corsages, a last minute addition dreamed up from items laying around the house. The end result was festive, fun and cheap, and if nothing else, added a little flair to their costumes. One thing was for sure, no one else had anything like them!
As has become a tradition, Erin and Ali, together with the third musketeer, Kelly, took over my bathroom in the afternoon, and prepared for their big evening. As always, we took the first pictures of the three of them, posing in the living room, and just having the fun of being themselves.
Kelly, Erin and Ali - all dressed up and ready to scare!
They are a bevy of beautiful girls, genuinely funny and real and never afraid to throw themselves into the occasion. I will miss these opportunities next year, when I will no longer have the fun of peeking into their world for a few hours, and participating in their off the wall fun.
One of my goals as a mom has always been to be in the moment, to enjoy the time I am having now, and to not look backwards or forwards, regretting or anticipating another time. Next year, everything will be different, everything will change. In the end, I have only the limited time that I have now to build the memories for a lifetime, and I have to make the most of it before this time has gone.
But one thing will never change - my abiding joy at being Erin's mom. Erin has already given me a lifetime of joyous experiences, and the wonder of her has never ceased to amaze me. From her first dance, to the last, I cherish every moment.
Just one question - has anyone seen my bathroom counter? Because that's where the real scares can be found.
Happy Halloween!
Sunday, October 25, 2009
About audacity and hope....
Five years ago today, the best thing and the worst thing that ever happened to us happened - Prince Charming jumped on the nearest passing horse and rode off into the forest with the wicked witch and her shiny, red, and ultimately poisonous, apple. What? Life isn't a fairy tale?
In that case, five years ago today, my husband of 20 years, the father of my children, the architect of our life as we knew it, walked out the door and into what he so charmingly referred to as his "New start."
For those who don't know him, he was serious. He seems to have been under the impression that if you really, really wanted to, you could stop your old life and start a new one seamlessly, effortlessly, and with no collateral damage. Like a mulligan on life, or something.
I only bring this up in case someone reading this has the same delusional game plan for their life [and the lives of their family, because whatever you are telling yourself, it WILL affect them.] Allow me to give you the benefit of my hard earned experience - telling the wife and kids that it's not about them, it's about you, does not make anyone feel one iota better about your choice.
I would like to think my own wayward prince been enlightened now, but enough about him.
For anyone who may stumble across this and has been left choking on the dust as the king or queen of their own personal kingdom rides away, I want you to know one thing. [Enough allegory, I'm serious here.] You will gradually have less and less times when you hurt so bad you can't even breathe, and you will have more and more times when you laugh and feel okay about your life, until one day, somewhere around the two to three year mark, probably, you will realize you have gone all day without thinking about it, or him/her, and you will realize that you are, in the words of the most famous song in television history, "Going to make it after all."
Just don't go to Nicollet Avenue and throw your cloche in the air, because Minnesotans are pretty tired of that, and don't think it's cute any more.
Whatever you may think about President Obama, [and there is a wide range of opinions out there, I know,] he hit on the very combination of words that describe the best qualities of the human spirit - audacious and hopeful. No matter what has happened in our lives, somehow most human beings manage to sort it out, work it through, and arrive on the other side of the problem ready to move forward and keep on going. I am constantly amazed by that, and although each of us has a different method for surviving, they all have one thing in common - the audacious hope that life will be better if we just keep on trying.
On a day that I saw my family's world fall apart, I was still able to look forward and know that someday our lives would be better for having gone through that difficult time. That is audaciousness at it's finest, and I suspect that everyone who has ever gone through it has felt the same way, sooner or later. Hope springs eternal is not just a cliche after all.
Think about the people you see on television who have just been through crisis or catastrophe. You rarely hear them say, "I am giving up," or "I quit on life." Instead, you hear them talk about how it could have been worse, what they still have, how they will go forward - all positive signs that they realize that the future will someday overcome the moment. Audacity of hope in the flesh.
I could talk about the events of that day five years ago, or the events that followed, but that is our personal family history, and if you don't already know about it, then you probably are not on the list of those who need to know. Unlike a reality show, I believe there are some things that should be kept to ourselves, and not spread around the globe for the entertainment of others.
But one thing I will share with you, and if you are going through your own hard time, perhaps you can gain some courage from these words and live your own life with audacious hope - whatever heartache you are currently experiencing is only a brief moment in a whole life. You will get through it. You will laugh, and find joy, and have moments of peace and contentment again. Although your life may be forever changed, and it will not necessarily be a trouble free path, you will somehow find your way, and your journey will make you a smarter, more thoughtful, more compassionate person.
I audaciously wish you the hope of better days to come.
In that case, five years ago today, my husband of 20 years, the father of my children, the architect of our life as we knew it, walked out the door and into what he so charmingly referred to as his "New start."
For those who don't know him, he was serious. He seems to have been under the impression that if you really, really wanted to, you could stop your old life and start a new one seamlessly, effortlessly, and with no collateral damage. Like a mulligan on life, or something.
I only bring this up in case someone reading this has the same delusional game plan for their life [and the lives of their family, because whatever you are telling yourself, it WILL affect them.] Allow me to give you the benefit of my hard earned experience - telling the wife and kids that it's not about them, it's about you, does not make anyone feel one iota better about your choice.
I would like to think my own wayward prince been enlightened now, but enough about him.
For anyone who may stumble across this and has been left choking on the dust as the king or queen of their own personal kingdom rides away, I want you to know one thing. [Enough allegory, I'm serious here.] You will gradually have less and less times when you hurt so bad you can't even breathe, and you will have more and more times when you laugh and feel okay about your life, until one day, somewhere around the two to three year mark, probably, you will realize you have gone all day without thinking about it, or him/her, and you will realize that you are, in the words of the most famous song in television history, "Going to make it after all."
Just don't go to Nicollet Avenue and throw your cloche in the air, because Minnesotans are pretty tired of that, and don't think it's cute any more.
Whatever you may think about President Obama, [and there is a wide range of opinions out there, I know,] he hit on the very combination of words that describe the best qualities of the human spirit - audacious and hopeful. No matter what has happened in our lives, somehow most human beings manage to sort it out, work it through, and arrive on the other side of the problem ready to move forward and keep on going. I am constantly amazed by that, and although each of us has a different method for surviving, they all have one thing in common - the audacious hope that life will be better if we just keep on trying.
On a day that I saw my family's world fall apart, I was still able to look forward and know that someday our lives would be better for having gone through that difficult time. That is audaciousness at it's finest, and I suspect that everyone who has ever gone through it has felt the same way, sooner or later. Hope springs eternal is not just a cliche after all.
Think about the people you see on television who have just been through crisis or catastrophe. You rarely hear them say, "I am giving up," or "I quit on life." Instead, you hear them talk about how it could have been worse, what they still have, how they will go forward - all positive signs that they realize that the future will someday overcome the moment. Audacity of hope in the flesh.
I could talk about the events of that day five years ago, or the events that followed, but that is our personal family history, and if you don't already know about it, then you probably are not on the list of those who need to know. Unlike a reality show, I believe there are some things that should be kept to ourselves, and not spread around the globe for the entertainment of others.
But one thing I will share with you, and if you are going through your own hard time, perhaps you can gain some courage from these words and live your own life with audacious hope - whatever heartache you are currently experiencing is only a brief moment in a whole life. You will get through it. You will laugh, and find joy, and have moments of peace and contentment again. Although your life may be forever changed, and it will not necessarily be a trouble free path, you will somehow find your way, and your journey will make you a smarter, more thoughtful, more compassionate person.
I audaciously wish you the hope of better days to come.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Birthday wishes times fifty and more....
Today is a very special day in the life of two people that I love, one from my family by adoption, and one from my family by choice.
I have been spectacularly fortunate in my extended family. I have cousins who are like sisters to me, I have aunts and uncles who I know I could turn to if I ever needed to, and each one has some special quality or characteristic all their own which makes them uniquely lovable.
My Aunt Shirley, my aunt because my Uncle Fritz had the good sense to marry her while he had the chance some time back, (I don't want to make anyone feel old, but the number 60 comes to mind,) is the best kind of aunt. She makes the world's best Special K bars, she has the most infectious laugh, she is the best hostess ever, she still worries about me getting sunburned at the cabin and reminds me to put on sunblock [too bad she wasn't here for the last Royals-Twins game I attended,] and she still loved me, even when I was an obnoxious teenager and everyone wanted to strangle me for being so mean to my mother. What more can you ask for in an aunt?
Although I got her a birthday card, it is, unfortunately, currently sitting somewhere other than in her mailbox. [I don't think we need to go into that any further. Blush.] So, to my Aunt Shirley, happy birthday to you, and many, many more. Consider yourself hugged!
The other special person who is celebrating a big birthday today is my long time friend and college roommate, Beth.
We are not talking routine, run of the mill friendships here. This is a friend of the heart who knows all my secrets, so unfortunately for my readers, who are breathlessly anticipating my usual expose of humorous anecdotes, I will not be dishing any dirt here today. We have swept all that under the rug a long time ago.
Although, if I were going to dish up some funny stories, I could theoretically reveal we might have considered doing a little more sweeping and vacuuming while we were in college. Of course, we would have had to work around the less than cleanly dishes. Which might have been under the closets hanging on the wall. Not that I mean anything by that. Just throwing out some hypotheticals, here.
Beth and I have gone through a lot together, and I recently remarked that we seem to find ourselves going back in time. It's like we just graduated from college again - single, broke and trying to figure out what to do with our lives. I think I can safely speak for both of us when I say we are now ready to pass go and collect our $200.
The choosing of a college roommate is an inexact science, and you never really know how it will work out until you try it out. Living together in a dorm room reveals the cracks and fissures in the landscape of your relationship. There is no guarantee that living with someone just like you will be a success. And that doesn't mean opposites can't be best friends and work it out.
When I think about Beth and me, I am reminded of a Donny and Marie song from longer ago than I want to remember. [For those youthful brats who pretend they don't know Donny and Marie, that would be Donny Osmond, teen idol, and Marie Osmond, who used to be a country singer before she became the poster child for post-partum depression and whatever other causes she is currently representing.]
Beth was a lot country, I was a little bit rock and roll. Beth was an athlete, I considered moving from my bed to the sofa to be a major workout. Beth was a morning bird, I was a night owl. (The only way we were awake at the same time was if she lapped me getting up in the morning before I got to bed.) She was a blond Norwegian, I was not. She took school seriously, I took boys (and hooking rugs, for one memorable finals period) seriously. I was a creative writer with no self-discipline, she was a serious student that put me continuously to shame. We had nothing in common, if you looked at the surface.
Yet, despite our differences in nature and personality, our three year stint of rooming together worked out so well that she is still one of my closest friends, godmother to my children, [some more recently than others,] and keeper of my deepest secrets I wouldn't dare to tell anyone else. I know there were a number of people back then who wondered how we could possibly live together so successfully, since we were so different. The answer was pretty easy. Compromise, honesty, and shared values was the secret to our success. A secret we both evidently forgot when choosing our life partners, I would add, since we both ended up with the wrong people, which is how we ended up single once again.
The two special people who share this natal day remind me of how truly gifted I am in my life. As this day has approached, I have contemplated at some length how truly bereft I would be without all the people I love, and who love me back.
You are never alone when you have people who love you. The gift of love, freely given, is the only thing in life that is truly irreplaceable. Cherish those you love, nurture those relationships, and when you have the chance, let them know how much you care about them and about the relationship.
Aunt Shirley and Beth, you each have a place in my heart that cannot be filled by the love of anyone else. Wishing each of you the happiest of days, and in Beth's case, I wish that 50 times over! Happy birthday, happy year, and I want you each to know that I am looking forward to many more happy birthdays to come.
I have been spectacularly fortunate in my extended family. I have cousins who are like sisters to me, I have aunts and uncles who I know I could turn to if I ever needed to, and each one has some special quality or characteristic all their own which makes them uniquely lovable.
My Aunt Shirley, my aunt because my Uncle Fritz had the good sense to marry her while he had the chance some time back, (I don't want to make anyone feel old, but the number 60 comes to mind,) is the best kind of aunt. She makes the world's best Special K bars, she has the most infectious laugh, she is the best hostess ever, she still worries about me getting sunburned at the cabin and reminds me to put on sunblock [too bad she wasn't here for the last Royals-Twins game I attended,] and she still loved me, even when I was an obnoxious teenager and everyone wanted to strangle me for being so mean to my mother. What more can you ask for in an aunt?
Although I got her a birthday card, it is, unfortunately, currently sitting somewhere other than in her mailbox. [I don't think we need to go into that any further. Blush.] So, to my Aunt Shirley, happy birthday to you, and many, many more. Consider yourself hugged!
The other special person who is celebrating a big birthday today is my long time friend and college roommate, Beth.
Beth and Sarah on May 23, 1982, when we graduated from St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota.
We are not talking routine, run of the mill friendships here. This is a friend of the heart who knows all my secrets, so unfortunately for my readers, who are breathlessly anticipating my usual expose of humorous anecdotes, I will not be dishing any dirt here today. We have swept all that under the rug a long time ago.
Although, if I were going to dish up some funny stories, I could theoretically reveal we might have considered doing a little more sweeping and vacuuming while we were in college. Of course, we would have had to work around the less than cleanly dishes. Which might have been under the closets hanging on the wall. Not that I mean anything by that. Just throwing out some hypotheticals, here.
Beth and I have gone through a lot together, and I recently remarked that we seem to find ourselves going back in time. It's like we just graduated from college again - single, broke and trying to figure out what to do with our lives. I think I can safely speak for both of us when I say we are now ready to pass go and collect our $200.
The choosing of a college roommate is an inexact science, and you never really know how it will work out until you try it out. Living together in a dorm room reveals the cracks and fissures in the landscape of your relationship. There is no guarantee that living with someone just like you will be a success. And that doesn't mean opposites can't be best friends and work it out.
When I think about Beth and me, I am reminded of a Donny and Marie song from longer ago than I want to remember. [For those youthful brats who pretend they don't know Donny and Marie, that would be Donny Osmond, teen idol, and Marie Osmond, who used to be a country singer before she became the poster child for post-partum depression and whatever other causes she is currently representing.]
Beth was a lot country, I was a little bit rock and roll. Beth was an athlete, I considered moving from my bed to the sofa to be a major workout. Beth was a morning bird, I was a night owl. (The only way we were awake at the same time was if she lapped me getting up in the morning before I got to bed.) She was a blond Norwegian, I was not. She took school seriously, I took boys (and hooking rugs, for one memorable finals period) seriously. I was a creative writer with no self-discipline, she was a serious student that put me continuously to shame. We had nothing in common, if you looked at the surface.
Yet, despite our differences in nature and personality, our three year stint of rooming together worked out so well that she is still one of my closest friends, godmother to my children, [some more recently than others,] and keeper of my deepest secrets I wouldn't dare to tell anyone else. I know there were a number of people back then who wondered how we could possibly live together so successfully, since we were so different. The answer was pretty easy. Compromise, honesty, and shared values was the secret to our success. A secret we both evidently forgot when choosing our life partners, I would add, since we both ended up with the wrong people, which is how we ended up single once again.
The two special people who share this natal day remind me of how truly gifted I am in my life. As this day has approached, I have contemplated at some length how truly bereft I would be without all the people I love, and who love me back.
You are never alone when you have people who love you. The gift of love, freely given, is the only thing in life that is truly irreplaceable. Cherish those you love, nurture those relationships, and when you have the chance, let them know how much you care about them and about the relationship.
Aunt Shirley and Beth, you each have a place in my heart that cannot be filled by the love of anyone else. Wishing each of you the happiest of days, and in Beth's case, I wish that 50 times over! Happy birthday, happy year, and I want you each to know that I am looking forward to many more happy birthdays to come.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Reasoning.....
I have heard that everything in life happens for a reason. Good. Glad to hear the universe is not as random as it usually seems. The real question, though, is when, exactly, do we get to know what that reason is?
I look at my own, rather average, pretty normal life, and I wonder, what, exactly, was the reason for the tires on every vehicle I own (that would be three,) to go bad at the same time? In a rational universe, that seems ridiculous, since the tires that were on the vehicles were not all originally purchased at the same time.
I wonder what higher purpose was served by my broken foot on the Fourth of July? Did it save me from some dreadful fate, a la "Sliding Doors," because I wasn't able to drive somewhere for a couple of weeks while it healed?
What could be the higher meaning for the flu vaccine running out immediately prior to our arrival, thus causing us to run around town looking for an alternative provider? [The reason being my daughter was required to have it for her class the following day, which she didn't know until that week, because she was out sick the week before, when the rest of the class found out, and no one told her. See? Totally random.]
The things that plague me are mostly small things, I realize. Nothing too serious or earth shattering, just the stuff that keeps you up nights wondering.
But there are bigger questions, too. What betterment of the universe could possibly have been served by The Great Depression, our current recession, the Holocaust, rampant unemployment, or any of the other major issues of this, or any, day, that seems to plague us in this world.
To me, the world appears very random and haphazard. My favorite poem, which I have posted here previously, is about God as the master weaver, and he sees the fabric being woven from the upper side, where the pattern is clear, and the outcome neat and orderly.
We, on the other hand, see the weaving from the underside, where everything is a mess, there are strings hanging everywhere, the pattern is not evident, and all is in disarray. I don't know about you, but if life could array itself, even briefly, it would really help me out while I'm going through the struggle.
I don't mean to imply, for the relatives and friends who are suddenly feeling panic clutching their hearts, that I am deeply depressed again. I am not, so breathe! I am just contemplating the random nature of the world, and wondering if, in telling people there is a reason for everything, we are not doing them, and us, a real disservice.
Perhaps, instead of seeing reason in everything, we should just accept that some things have no reason, no purpose, no ultimate meaning. Perhaps, sometimes, life just happens. Sometimes it happens good. Sometimes, it happens bad. But all in all, mostly it just happens.
I have always been fascinated with the concept of people who have missed this tragedy or that happening by seconds because of some random thing that occurred. Someone with a flat tire missed one of the flights from 9/11, and they are here today because of it. While they no doubt cursed their bad luck at the time, I am sure that ultimately it appeared to be a blessing.
What we don't hear is that because that person had a flat tire and missed that flight, there was probably another person on standby that perished that day because of the flat tire. Is there a higher purpose for that person to have died, seemingly out of turn? I think, perhaps, it was just a matter of random luck, happenstance gone wrong.
There is such a thing as karma, I think, because bad living always does catch up with you, sooner or later. But I'm not sure that it is truly a tit for tat type of thing. I think that if you live your life badly, sooner or later, you will run into the wrong person, abuse the system one too many times, or do something so egregious that you ultimately end up getting caught. While it may make the people on the other side of the equation feel better, I'm not sure that it is a balancing of the universe so much as having pressed their luck one too many times.
We frequently hear about prayer being answered, usually because people are thankful for the positive outcome of a situation that only God could have saved. But the truth is, more people have prayed for the same outcome for their loved one that never happened, so why one and not the other?
Prayer is everywhere, despite the naysayers who howl that prayer is being removed from our world by the atheists and the ACLU. Truly, we are a very prayerful nation, and everyone from the president to the smallest children can be seen praying, or talking about praying, any, and every, day of the week.
Where are most of the preschools located? In churches. We find polling places, where people go to vote, in churches across the nation. We hear the president in the middle of a catastrophe talking about praying for the victims. We see sports teams talking about praying for the outcome.
Prayer and Christian values are seen and heard almost everywhere we look in this nation, from the courthouses to the schools to the workplace. We get married in churches. We have funerals in churches. We discuss almost every important concept in the context of our religious values, from abortion to economics to the weather. Who has not heard a weather forecaster talking about praying for rain?
I have noticed, however, that it is usually the victor who is seen talking about how their prayers were answered. Curiously, we rarely hear from the losing side, talking about how their prayers were not answered. I always wondered, did one side pray harder? Were the prayers more virtuous? Did they have more people, like some sort of other-worldly reality show, where the pray-ers vote for the winner with their prayers?
We pray for jobs for those we love. People find jobs every day, of course, but we also hear, all too often these days, about people who searched diligently for months to no avail. Are they not praying hard enough? Do they not have enough people praying for their success? Do they need to find another team, perhaps? One with a more direct line to God's consciousness?
We pray for a cure for cancer, hoping for a miracle for the people who are important to us, or those on our church prayer chain. So why does one person receive a miracle, while another one does not? I have no answers.
I have truly felt the power of prayer, and I believe strongly in it. I know that prayers are sometimes answered, and other times they are simply not. And at other times yet, they are answered in ways that are revealed only months or even years down the line.
I know of a family that prayed for custody of the children in a divorce to go one way, while it went exactly the opposite. Yet, in the end, the children ended up exactly where they belonged, for a complex set of reasons that don't matter here. Was that a long delayed answer to prayer, or was it simply that things worked themselves out as best they could, under the circumstances? I don't know.
I know that the right thing ultimately happened, although it took a very winding path to get there. But I will never know if it was God's hand that drove it, or simply that things worked themselves out in the end, because people are who they are, and don't really change, over the long term.
The truth is that you will never know what might have happened had you taken the road less traveled, the other fork in each decision-making situation that you faced. While you can speculate on what might have been a better choice, (i.e. if I had married B instead of A, I wouldn't have gotten divorced,) you will never really know what would have happened, because you don't know all the ramifications of having made that other choice.
I look at my own life, and speculate occasionally on what might have been. I don't find it to be a particularly helpful exercise, nor a particularly appealing one. But every now and then, I play the "What If" game as well as anyone else, and although I don't have the answers, I try, at the very least, to use the speculation to learn and make better choices the next time I am faced with a similar situation.
My own life of sliding doors, those instances where I made a decision, and things haven't worked out, or perhaps even when they have, is not that exciting, overall. I have made many mistakes in my life, like most people, but few of them were truly life changing. I have been able to recover, more or less, from pretty much everything that has ever gone wrong in my life, and even now, have hope that the greatest disaster to befall me, divorce and financial ruin, will ultimately work itself out. [Although if anyone has a spare million or so sitting around that they want to get rid of, I could use a hand. Just sayin'!]
And so it is with most people, if you look at their lives as a whole, and not in small part.
That is the interesting thing about life, something which my 82 year old mother holds at the heart of her optimism. No matter what has gone wrong for me, [and she knows everything that has ever gone wrong, and has patiently heard about it in minute detail, whether she wanted to or not, which I think probably assures her saintly passage straight to the right hand of God when she leaves this earthly life behind,] she has held fast to the phrase, it will all work out in the end. It's her mantra, and generally, it turns out she is right.
Perhaps that is really what is meant when we say, everything happens for a reason. Perhaps there is no intentional meaning at all. Perhaps, as human beings, we have been created to be resilient, so that whatever comes our way, we will shift gears, fire up our brains, and turn it into something that will work for us. Maybe the reason is simply that we will self-direct to make whatever happens work for us, in the end.
I think that might be the most hopeful part of the human spirit, this never ending ability to change directions and to accept and move forward, whatever happens. People who have terminal cancer continue to hope, against all odds, that they will beat it, and sometimes, for no apparent reason, they do. In the depths of despair, we search for anything positive upon which to hang our hats, and feel good about having done so.
There is a Minnesota phrase, [perhaps other people say it, too, but I have never heard it uttered from anyone who was not from Minnesota,] "Well, at least it's something." It is a to-the-point analysis that while everything is not perfectly ordered, there is at least one thing that is going okay.
It is almost breathtakingly poignant in its simplicity, and it's truthfulness. I have yet to find a life situation in which I could not utter those words; well, at least it's something.
I guess, if there is a reason for everything that happens in life, at least that's something. I'm not sure what, and if you figure it out, let me know. Until then, I, for one, will continue to watch out for the strings in my eyes, and the potholes in my path, and look for that silver lining. Maybe I can sell it and get some money to pay my bills. Now that really would be something!
I look at my own, rather average, pretty normal life, and I wonder, what, exactly, was the reason for the tires on every vehicle I own (that would be three,) to go bad at the same time? In a rational universe, that seems ridiculous, since the tires that were on the vehicles were not all originally purchased at the same time.
I wonder what higher purpose was served by my broken foot on the Fourth of July? Did it save me from some dreadful fate, a la "Sliding Doors," because I wasn't able to drive somewhere for a couple of weeks while it healed?
What could be the higher meaning for the flu vaccine running out immediately prior to our arrival, thus causing us to run around town looking for an alternative provider? [The reason being my daughter was required to have it for her class the following day, which she didn't know until that week, because she was out sick the week before, when the rest of the class found out, and no one told her. See? Totally random.]
The things that plague me are mostly small things, I realize. Nothing too serious or earth shattering, just the stuff that keeps you up nights wondering.
But there are bigger questions, too. What betterment of the universe could possibly have been served by The Great Depression, our current recession, the Holocaust, rampant unemployment, or any of the other major issues of this, or any, day, that seems to plague us in this world.
To me, the world appears very random and haphazard. My favorite poem, which I have posted here previously, is about God as the master weaver, and he sees the fabric being woven from the upper side, where the pattern is clear, and the outcome neat and orderly.
We, on the other hand, see the weaving from the underside, where everything is a mess, there are strings hanging everywhere, the pattern is not evident, and all is in disarray. I don't know about you, but if life could array itself, even briefly, it would really help me out while I'm going through the struggle.
I don't mean to imply, for the relatives and friends who are suddenly feeling panic clutching their hearts, that I am deeply depressed again. I am not, so breathe! I am just contemplating the random nature of the world, and wondering if, in telling people there is a reason for everything, we are not doing them, and us, a real disservice.
Perhaps, instead of seeing reason in everything, we should just accept that some things have no reason, no purpose, no ultimate meaning. Perhaps, sometimes, life just happens. Sometimes it happens good. Sometimes, it happens bad. But all in all, mostly it just happens.
I have always been fascinated with the concept of people who have missed this tragedy or that happening by seconds because of some random thing that occurred. Someone with a flat tire missed one of the flights from 9/11, and they are here today because of it. While they no doubt cursed their bad luck at the time, I am sure that ultimately it appeared to be a blessing.
What we don't hear is that because that person had a flat tire and missed that flight, there was probably another person on standby that perished that day because of the flat tire. Is there a higher purpose for that person to have died, seemingly out of turn? I think, perhaps, it was just a matter of random luck, happenstance gone wrong.
There is such a thing as karma, I think, because bad living always does catch up with you, sooner or later. But I'm not sure that it is truly a tit for tat type of thing. I think that if you live your life badly, sooner or later, you will run into the wrong person, abuse the system one too many times, or do something so egregious that you ultimately end up getting caught. While it may make the people on the other side of the equation feel better, I'm not sure that it is a balancing of the universe so much as having pressed their luck one too many times.
We frequently hear about prayer being answered, usually because people are thankful for the positive outcome of a situation that only God could have saved. But the truth is, more people have prayed for the same outcome for their loved one that never happened, so why one and not the other?
Prayer is everywhere, despite the naysayers who howl that prayer is being removed from our world by the atheists and the ACLU. Truly, we are a very prayerful nation, and everyone from the president to the smallest children can be seen praying, or talking about praying, any, and every, day of the week.
Where are most of the preschools located? In churches. We find polling places, where people go to vote, in churches across the nation. We hear the president in the middle of a catastrophe talking about praying for the victims. We see sports teams talking about praying for the outcome.
Prayer and Christian values are seen and heard almost everywhere we look in this nation, from the courthouses to the schools to the workplace. We get married in churches. We have funerals in churches. We discuss almost every important concept in the context of our religious values, from abortion to economics to the weather. Who has not heard a weather forecaster talking about praying for rain?
I have noticed, however, that it is usually the victor who is seen talking about how their prayers were answered. Curiously, we rarely hear from the losing side, talking about how their prayers were not answered. I always wondered, did one side pray harder? Were the prayers more virtuous? Did they have more people, like some sort of other-worldly reality show, where the pray-ers vote for the winner with their prayers?
We pray for jobs for those we love. People find jobs every day, of course, but we also hear, all too often these days, about people who searched diligently for months to no avail. Are they not praying hard enough? Do they not have enough people praying for their success? Do they need to find another team, perhaps? One with a more direct line to God's consciousness?
We pray for a cure for cancer, hoping for a miracle for the people who are important to us, or those on our church prayer chain. So why does one person receive a miracle, while another one does not? I have no answers.
I have truly felt the power of prayer, and I believe strongly in it. I know that prayers are sometimes answered, and other times they are simply not. And at other times yet, they are answered in ways that are revealed only months or even years down the line.
I know of a family that prayed for custody of the children in a divorce to go one way, while it went exactly the opposite. Yet, in the end, the children ended up exactly where they belonged, for a complex set of reasons that don't matter here. Was that a long delayed answer to prayer, or was it simply that things worked themselves out as best they could, under the circumstances? I don't know.
I know that the right thing ultimately happened, although it took a very winding path to get there. But I will never know if it was God's hand that drove it, or simply that things worked themselves out in the end, because people are who they are, and don't really change, over the long term.
The truth is that you will never know what might have happened had you taken the road less traveled, the other fork in each decision-making situation that you faced. While you can speculate on what might have been a better choice, (i.e. if I had married B instead of A, I wouldn't have gotten divorced,) you will never really know what would have happened, because you don't know all the ramifications of having made that other choice.
I look at my own life, and speculate occasionally on what might have been. I don't find it to be a particularly helpful exercise, nor a particularly appealing one. But every now and then, I play the "What If" game as well as anyone else, and although I don't have the answers, I try, at the very least, to use the speculation to learn and make better choices the next time I am faced with a similar situation.
My own life of sliding doors, those instances where I made a decision, and things haven't worked out, or perhaps even when they have, is not that exciting, overall. I have made many mistakes in my life, like most people, but few of them were truly life changing. I have been able to recover, more or less, from pretty much everything that has ever gone wrong in my life, and even now, have hope that the greatest disaster to befall me, divorce and financial ruin, will ultimately work itself out. [Although if anyone has a spare million or so sitting around that they want to get rid of, I could use a hand. Just sayin'!]
And so it is with most people, if you look at their lives as a whole, and not in small part.
That is the interesting thing about life, something which my 82 year old mother holds at the heart of her optimism. No matter what has gone wrong for me, [and she knows everything that has ever gone wrong, and has patiently heard about it in minute detail, whether she wanted to or not, which I think probably assures her saintly passage straight to the right hand of God when she leaves this earthly life behind,] she has held fast to the phrase, it will all work out in the end. It's her mantra, and generally, it turns out she is right.
Perhaps that is really what is meant when we say, everything happens for a reason. Perhaps there is no intentional meaning at all. Perhaps, as human beings, we have been created to be resilient, so that whatever comes our way, we will shift gears, fire up our brains, and turn it into something that will work for us. Maybe the reason is simply that we will self-direct to make whatever happens work for us, in the end.
I think that might be the most hopeful part of the human spirit, this never ending ability to change directions and to accept and move forward, whatever happens. People who have terminal cancer continue to hope, against all odds, that they will beat it, and sometimes, for no apparent reason, they do. In the depths of despair, we search for anything positive upon which to hang our hats, and feel good about having done so.
There is a Minnesota phrase, [perhaps other people say it, too, but I have never heard it uttered from anyone who was not from Minnesota,] "Well, at least it's something." It is a to-the-point analysis that while everything is not perfectly ordered, there is at least one thing that is going okay.
It is almost breathtakingly poignant in its simplicity, and it's truthfulness. I have yet to find a life situation in which I could not utter those words; well, at least it's something.
I guess, if there is a reason for everything that happens in life, at least that's something. I'm not sure what, and if you figure it out, let me know. Until then, I, for one, will continue to watch out for the strings in my eyes, and the potholes in my path, and look for that silver lining. Maybe I can sell it and get some money to pay my bills. Now that really would be something!
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