Seasonal greetings....

Every country has its holidays, and wishes for a happy day are given in their own unique ways.  In the U.S. we celebrate the Fourth of July with fireworks, we have Memorial Day and Labor Day to open and close the summer boating season, and most people recognize Halloween, AKA the kickoff for The Holiday Season.  Soon we hear "Happy Thanksgiving" as everything turkey and pilgrim floods the store shelves.  Then, before we have even plucked the napkins off the end cap, we are inundated with Christmas catalogs and a marketing blitz that would bring Ebeneezer himself to his knees.

Social MEdia

Everywhere you look someone is on a cell phone, a laptop, a device of some kind.  We no longer see people's eyes, because they are always focused in a downward direction.  We have launched a generation that has no idea how to have an ongoing conversation, because there are no silent spaces.  Every moment is filled tweeting, texting, e-mailing, or messaging someone who is not there.  They are constantly updating each other on every thought that passes through their minds.  What someone had for breakfast is suddenly equal to, even more important than, the real news of the world.  Why should I care that there is a famine in Africa?  I have breakfast to report.

Narcissus appears to be alive and well and living on planet Earth.

INTJ 101....

I have recently engaged in a mental exercise online which has provided me with some fascinating insight into both myself and other people.  I did a personality profile test, expecting to find some change with the passing years in who I am and how I approach the world.  In fact, I have changed, but only slightly, and I continue to fall into that very small sliver of people known as INTJ on the Myers Briggs Type Indicator personality profile.

Turkey of a day...

Today started as too many Thanksgiving Days do in my house.  The turkey was still frozen, I was tired and didn't want to get out of bed, I am behind on everything, and my dining room table is covered in brochures for work.

Since that early morning hour, I have managed to speed thaw the turkey, cook the giblets, make the stuffing, stuff the bird, get the turkey in the oven, scrub the potatoes, prepare the carrots, get the green bean hot dish ready to pop into the oven, and I even got in a shower.  I fed the rabbit, two dogs, fish and bird, and I have had  a couple cups of coffee.  I am now contemplating my usual Thanksgiving day activity, finishing up the Christmas cards.  Of course, I'm a little behind this year.  I think I have them.  Somewhere.

Shutting the barn doors and all that jazz...

Unless you have been under a rock lately, you are probably aware that Penn State University has undergone a scandal of epic, one might even say Vatican sized, proportions.  Too bad they didn't pay a little more attention to how that whole "deny and ignore the problem and hope it goes away" thing worked out for the Catholic Church.  Perhaps if they had fine tuned a little more closely, they might have made some better decisions for themselves and the children entrusted to their care.

Party of One...

When I was growing up, I wanted to be Mary Richards. Mary Tyler Moore portrayed her single, working woman character as beautiful, fun and interesting. She led an exciting life filled with friends, cute furniture, glamorous clothing and people around whenever she wanted. But she had solitude when that was desired, as well. It was, in a word, a perfect life.

There are no winners in this reality show...

For the past several weeks, we in the Kansas City metro area have been the focus of the nation for all the wrong reasons once again. [I am telling you here and now, the vast majority of people who live here are wonderful, down to earth, truly decent human beings with great hearts who would do anything to help someone in need. Just because we have some real wackos around here doesn't mean we are all like that. Seriously.] We are in the news this time because a sweet little baby with a cherubic face and a smile that lights up the room is missing, and we all want her found and back with her family where she belongs. So the entire city is obsessing about the situation, while we scan the faces of every baby we see, looking for the answer to what happened in the eyes of strangers.

Decisions, decisions....

Life is full of decisions. Little decisions, big decisions, we are all making decisions every moment of every day. We don't normally think about it in those terms, of course. Should we stop at the stop sign or run right through it? That doesn't seem like a real decision, but in fact, it is a choice. Other people's lives, not to mention our own, depend upon our being willing to make the decision to follow the rules, and society is better for it.

Thinking about critical thinking...

I read three items in the news this morning, which at first glance, may seem disconnected. But for me, they are all part of the whole picture, grainy and blurred, a reflection of a country embracing mediocrity at our peril.

The first article discussed the state of critical thinking in college graduates who are coming into the job market, and their lack of required skills to perform higher order thinking tasks. The second was an article on the trend in entertainment to "remake" films and television programs which were popular 30 or 40 years ago, updating them to entertain today's youth. The third was yet another discussion about the new Martin Luther King, Jr. memorial, which has a quote engraved upon it which was taken so far out of context it changes the meaning entirely, and which has caused controversy to rage between those who were associated with the man versus those who know only of the legend.

Job well done....

The death of Steve Jobs this week has prompted me to reflect on how much the world has changed since I was a child.  Steve and I are of an age, and in looking back at what he accomplished in 56 short years, it is an incredible story.

Way back when we were young, computers and cell phones were something we saw on "Get Smart," not something we pulled out of a backpack or a pocket.  Cameras were large and expensive and used film which had to be processed, which cost a small fortune.

In entertainment, Rob and Laura had separate twin beds, Samantha was a witch with a twinkling nose problem, and Star Trek was as technologically advanced as most people could imagine.  Animation on the big screen was limited to Disney style movies, fairy tales for children taking place in a land far away.

Out of that background came Steve Jobs, a middle class boy, a college drop out, to lead one of the most transformative changes in history.  Although there were many others also at the forefront of the computing age, it was Steve Jobs who made computing personal, and in so doing, changed the course of history.

Even without the creative mind which envisioned a platform in which grandmothers and little children could be functional, I suppose technology would have advanced and gotten smaller.  I imagine that even without his influence, the computer would have eventually become personal.  But I have no doubt that the passion in his heart and his single minded focus pushed us forward faster and further than we would have gone otherwise.

Steve had a particular genius for taking the ordinary and turning it into something extraordinary.  He started with a relatively mundane product, and over and over again, he made it accessible, an accessory, even.  His attitude of quality over quantity has mystified marketing gurus for decades, but his success, even in times of economic downturn, is impossible to overlook.  Whether computer, digital music player, cell phone, or animation, Steve stretched the boundaries of the possible, challenging his staff, and his competitors, to do it better.

Steve Jobs was, by all accounts, an exacting person, a temperamental perfectionist who insisted on things being right.  He didn't tolerate shoddy work or lazy thinking, and was quick to cut free anyone who thought good enough was adequate.  Steve continued to pursue the edges of his universe, even to the very end of his life, in order to be a part of creating the world of connectedness that he envisioned.

I think the life of Steve Jobs is instructive, especially for children today.  It is a story of perseverance, adversity overcome, the power of the personal, and boot strap success.  His story is the fulfillment of The American Dream, that anyone can do anything, if they just set their mind to it.

Personally, I think there was some luck involved along the way, along with creative genius, hard work, a gift for marketing and for understanding the mind of his customer.  Those aspects are key to his success, and should not be overlooked.

There is no question that our lives have been enriched by computers and cell phones and video games and the internet.  But I wonder, if they had all been around back when we were children, would Apple have ever been born?  I find it interesting that Steve didn't allow his own children to watch television, for fear it would stifle their creativity.

My very first computer was an Apple IIc, purchased new in 1984, complete with a second drive bay and a color monitor.  It was the most exciting purchase I had ever made up to that point in my life, an expensive luxury that I used for more than ten years before finally upgrading to something more comprehensive that could go online.  I wrote a graduate thesis on that computer, and my children played games with it.  It never failed us.  There was no blue screen of death, it just clicked along flawlessly through all the years of hard use.  I still have it, and it still works - a throwback to a simpler time when my life was also less complicated.

Some people are reformers, some are transformers, some are transcenders and some are onlookers.  Steve Jobs was a transformer who transcended the everyday world around him and envisioned what tomorrow would be.  He looked forward with a determination that kept him focused on the future instead of the past.  He was the Walt Disney of the computing age, the Gutenberg of his era.  He has found his place in history. Centuries from now, I believe the name Steve Jobs will still be uttered in the halls of academia as children learn about the history of the world and discover there was a time when personal computers didn't exist.

In a famous quote, Brian Littrell said, "Shoot for the moon.  Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars."  Steve Jobs dared to look past the moon and shoot for the stars in the first place.  A creative genius who never gave up, Steve Jobs is a man in five billion.  They come along once every few decades, and I think it will be awhile before someone has as profound an influence on the world again.

Rest in peace, Steve.  In a world of imperfection, you dared to reach for the unreachable. Your legacy lives on in each person whose life you have touched.

Birthday blessings....

I recently celebrated yet another birthday, a day which seems to come around faster every year. It was one of the lesser birthdays, as humans calculate these occasions, not a zero or a five day, but a one, as in 51. The celebration was low key, time spent with family, and consisted mostly of a long drive, followed by trips to the auto repair shop, the grocery store, and a fun little pub, and ended with a night spent sleeping on the sofa with a couple of curious cats. Although it is not the kind of birthday party you dream of as a child, when you are an adult, it was a perfectly fine way to celebrate. It had all the important elements to make the day a success for me, family, food and a few hugs and warm reminders that I am loved.

When I think back to birthdays as a child, it is interesting what I do, and don't, remember. I would have been shocked to find out that the things I was so worried about for each party would be so insignificant once a few years had passed.

1970, when I turned 10.

I do not recall most of the gifts I received, although I had a party most years, and I know they were well attended. I don't remember the date of each party, although it certainly would have been mid-September each year. I don't remember the theme of each party, although most of them had an animal shaped cake, hand created by my artistic mother with frosting and an assortment of candies to provide detail. They were works of art in food form, and are still remembered by some of the girls who attended those parties, which tells you just how beautiful they were. I don't remember the menu for most of them, although as I got older, I usually had a bonfire, so it probably included hot dogs and s'mores.

I remember who came to each party, my memory jogged by the black and white photos my mother snapped with her little Brownie camera. When we were really young, we wore party dresses and shiny black patent leather shoes, because birthday parties were fancy affairs demanding respectful appearance and presentation. Our mothers would caution us to behave like little ladies, and we would try hard to comport ourselves as our mothers would wish. Those were the days when anyone's mother was allowed to reprimand a child, and heaven help you if it was needed, because your own mother would do it again, just for good measure, when you got home. Not surprisingly, I do not recall out of control children at any party I ever attended. Embarrassing the entire family was frowned upon in our little community of Scandinavian offshoots, where generations resided side by side, and you knew everyone else's grandparents.

A birthday no-slumber party

As we got older, the formal parties turned into slumber parties, where it became a contest to see who could stay up longest. We had one friend who decided early on that her rest was more important, so she would take her sleeping bag off into a corner and go to sleep when she was ready, despite our best efforts to prevent her. I laugh now, but she was probably smarter than the rest of us, who would go home and crash all day, annoying our families, who would then vow that was the last one we would attend.

All of those memories are fun to think of, and I don't regret a moment of the time spent. But none of that is what I think of first, when I remember those special days of long ago. Instead, I remember a couple of things with which my parents, who were short on money, but long on creative spirit, gifted me.

The first such gift occurred on my seventh birthday. I awoke in the morning to my mother and father coming into my room, waking me up for school, and wishing me a happy birthday. My parents took me by the hand and said they had a surprise for me. I don't know what I was hoping for, but I'm sure it was something simple, like a doll or perhaps an artsy kit of some kind. I was very surprised when they led me a few steps to the bedroom next to mine, which always had the door closed, and to which I paid no attention.

With my mom in 1962

My mother opened the door, and I stepped into what looked like a fairyland. They had painted the walls my favorite color, baby blue, and they had put carpeting down on the cold hardwood floor. There was a beautiful bed with a pretty light blue spread and pillow shams to match, and the sheer curtains hanging from the windows were the same fabric. There was a little vanity, with a stool in front of it, skirted in blue fabric by my mother, who must have spent hours sewing it while I was at school. They had hung a mirror on the wall over the vanity, so I could primp and feel like a grown up as I got ready for school in that amazing place. I felt like a princess to have all that loveliness surrounding me.

The vanity was old, and made out of orange crates, if I remember rightly. We still have it in the attic at my mother's house, blue fabric now gone, still full of my junk that I can't quite bear to part with, but don't really want, either. It gives me a rush of pleasure every time I see it, because of the memory of that special day. The little stool was a small wooden barrel surrounded with a skirt of blue fabric, and topped by a little round pillow, hand made by my mother.

Perhaps the most exciting thing about that room, however, was the door that led directly outside to a small porch where I could sit in the sun and have some privacy while I played or read. It was my own personal balcony looking out over the world, and I felt like a queen surveying my kingdom every time I stood at the railing and glanced around the yard below.

That room became my haven from a world that turned hard rather early, and I still find a peace within those walls that I cannot reach anywhere else. The gift my parents gave me that day was not just a material gift, but rather, the gift of their time and attention. To have spent so much time to give me a space that was just right for me made me feel special and valued in a way that a usual gift never could.

It would be hard to top that incredible birthday gift, but my creative and energetic mother didn't stop there. A couple of years later, I was again led by the hand to another gift, this time outside.

My parents blindfolded me to build up the suspense, and led me carefully across the yard. I didn't know where we were going until suddenly we stopped, and they removed the blindfold. In front of me was a building, the former brooder house, I had somehow not really noticed there before, despite it's having been moved from another area of the yard. [If there is ever a crime happening in my vicinity, I will not make a good eye witness. Apparently, I notice nothing.] My gift was a playhouse that was a real little house, probably 12X10, complete with stove [not working, they were creative, not stupid,] cupboards, vinyl flooring, windows with curtains, and furniture.

Petite

That playhouse was an amazing place for a little girl to "keep house." I spent many happy hours in that very special place, winter and summer, planning my life and enjoying the dreams of what I would do when I grew up. I imagined myself as a career woman, coming home at night to my own home. I pictured myself as a mommy, strolling my baby [usually in the form of my dog dressed up in doll clothes] around the farm in a doll buggy. [That dog was a saint.] I played FBI with the neighbor boys, and pretended that I ran a hotel. It was a store, it was a radio studio, and it was a school. It was whatever my imagination made it, ever versatile for the needs of the moment.

I had a large map of the world hanging on the wall, which fueled my dreams of seeing the world. It gives me a feeling of nostalgia to see that my daughter now has a similar map hanging on her wall, and my dreams of seeing the world are carrying on through her.

With my Dad in 1963

In a world that is focused on the things people want, it is ironic to me that the most important gifts I ever received were mostly created from the materials they had at hand. They spent very little money on either gift, I'm sure, since there wasn't a whole lot to go around. But in the end, it's the time and attention they spent to give me something extra special and one of a kind that I remember.

Wisdom is the gift you give yourself as you mature. I have been blessed 51 times over, and the wisdom I have gained is one of the most important gifts life has given me.

We are rapidly coming up on the Christmas season, and soon we will be inundated with the wants and requests of loved ones and strangers alike. With the advantage of hindsight, I can assure you that the best gift you can give your family is the gift of your time and attention. It is the one gift they will never forget, and the most important one you can receive. Although the trappings are nice to have, the love is what you need to have, and what you will remember the most.

Of all the birthday blessings I have ever received, it is the loving creativity of my mother and father that stand out for me. All material things pass away, but love is forever.

Showing our faces....

This week, Facebook has been a major feature in the news. They have launched a whole new format for their webpage, which, like it or not, you are stuck with. The true purpose of Facebook, always thinly veiled behind the respectable curtain of sociability, has never been more apparent. Clicks and Likes are what count to their advertisers, and Facebook has stepped up to the plate of advertising dollars and sold out their original ideals, not only to the highest bidder, but to anyone who will pay them for your information.

A quick disclaimer here. I have been on Facebook for years, although not as early as my son, who was the 30th Kansas State University student to sign up. I never liked MySpace, and wasn't a huge fan of Facebook, either, but got into it for a singular purpose and never got disconnected. I have always been a little uncomfortable with the whole concept of Facebook. What you put online is truly forever, and someone can drag it out 50 or 100 years from now, and there isn't a thing you can do about it. That makes me nervous.

I have always had a bit of a love/hate relationship with social media, and technology, generally. I am all for privacy, the more the better, and every new technology strips a little more of our personal privacy away. Things like Foursquare and Check-in give me the shivers, because the thought of someone following my movements that closely is both laughable and not funny at all.

But the world has entered a Brave New Era where nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, is truly private any more. It is an interesting irony that Congress has finally grabbed onto the back of the privacy bandwagon as it rushed by. Of course, in their usual whiplash inducing way, they have taken away with one hand what they have given us with the other, passing HIPAA laws to protect patient privacy, while at the same time requiring all patient records to be online for any provider we consult to access. Not that it matters, since most people post their entire lives on facebook with total abandon, anyway. But does a dermatologist really need to know about my bowel issues, or when I had my last flu shot?

To be fair, I do enjoy the occasional stalking session myself, looking at pictures of friends and family, reading about the vacations they take, seeing their children or their grandchildren, seeing what is on the minds of people who frequent my newly revamped secret-facebook-generated-algorithm-for-my-top-stories wall. So it would be hypocritical of me to pretend that I don't also benefit from, and often partake in, the fruits of everyone else's Facebook labors.

And there is an additional hypocrisy, I realize, in posting a public blog while complaining about facebook's lack of privacy. But a blog, although it can reveal a lot about a person, doesn't chronicle my up to the moment whereabouts, or show my activities in real time, unless I want it to. Facebook, on the other hand, is about to do exactly that, whether I want it to or not. Am I the only one who finds that a little scary? Call me paranoid, but maybe I'm not the crazy one after all.

I don't know the answer to the facebook dilemma. You can put all the privacy controls on your content that you want, but you are still only one screen shot emailed to the wrong person away from disaster anyway. That profile picture you thought you were restricting can be downloaded by anyone who knows how to right click and e-mailed or posted anywhere they choose, whether you like it or not. Whatever you say to your friend is being said to anyone else who can read their wall. That is a lot of people knowing you hate carrots or went on vacation to Disney World.

Most of us do not lead exciting lives, and there probably isn't anyone out there watching our every movement. But even if no one is watching, I wonder if facebook doesn't encourage us to feel an artificially heightened sense of our own self-importance. I am a pretty boring person, with a pretty boring life. Why should anyone care what I post or what I'm thinking? Could it be that our recent level of public discord is associated with a sense that our opinion is more valuable, and valued by others, than, in fact, it actually is?

Computers, cell phones, microwaves, washing machines, automobiles - these technologies have, without question, enhanced the lives of everyone who uses them, and I have embraced them with gusto. But I wonder, in 100 years, how Facebook will be remembered? Will this connectedness be remembered as a help or a hindrance in a country polarized on every issue? Does it provide a point of common interest, or is it simply another way to advertise the lack of substance in our society?

Facebook, like everything else in this temporal world, your days are numbered. Birthday books and calendars were replaced by planners which were replaced by palm pilots which were replaced by computers and cell phones and Facebook. I suspect that somewhere in The Cloud, our next innovation is waiting to be born, and facebook will be a thing of the past. Nothing ever stays the same. I think facebook will go the way of the Apple IIe, remembered with fondness, but not exactly missed.

Maybe then we will get out of the light reflected off our glowing screens and show our face to the sun, and each other, again.

Of course, that will lead to skin cancer. As Roseanne Rosannadanna used to say, "It's always something."

The 23rd Psalm

As we remember those who shed these mortal bonds and flew to the arms of God on 9.11.2001, I cannot improve upon the 23rd Psalm.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

Injustice served...

The case of Dominique Strauss-Kahn is a situation where just about everything that could go wrong did, leaving the public across the world with the impression that justice was not so much served as dropped on the floor and stomped on. [If you are unfamiliar with the story, google it. The media has already thoroughly covered the topic far more exhaustively than I would.] Since only the two people who were in that hotel suite know the truth, and they disagree so dramatically on what happened, there is very little room to compromise on the ending. The only thing that is clear is that someone lied, and someone is a victim, but we don't know who is which. It is an unsavory and dissatisfying conclusion to a sensational story, driven by a media that believes it has the right to pronounce sentence before all the facts are in.

How profoundly disappointing.

Problems with the outcome abound. Either a callous, self-centered rapist was allowed to go free, or a callous, self-serving money-grubber was allowed to get away with the total destruction of a man's international reputation. The trial by media, fueled by sensational details released by the prosecutor and embellished by an ever eager press, was over before the mug shot was snapped, the head of the IMF convicted more for his past misdeeds and his profligate lifestyle than for anything he did that morning. The reputation of the accuser has also taken a hit, partially from her own lies, and partially because the press went after her, as well.

No where in this situation was pure justice an evident consideration. This was always about evidence and proof, a he said-she said of grand proportions, an international scandal that brought down presidential aspirations and the dreams of a better life for a hotel maid from Guinea.

The French were scandalized by the picture of their presidential hopeful in handcuffs spread across the international news. That he is a roue and a cad seems incontrovertible. Even his best friends have been forced to admit that he cheats on his wife with a regularity and boldness that is somewhat breathtaking even in the morally relaxed France, to say nothing of here in the land of the Puritans. In fact, that seems to have been, in part, at least, his defense. Why, they posited, would a man who can cheat at will with any woman he chooses, take a woman by force? It makes no sense his friends proclaimed, even as another woman came forward with her own story of impropriety.

The prosecutor with the famous name [his father was Secretary of State under Jimmy Carter] and a career to protect brought forth the charges and forcefully defended the accuser, until more information came to light. We all know the wealthy and the powerful have a different system of justice applied to their cases. Perhaps it's unavoidable. But it seems, at least in this case, that the unequal treatment was turned against the man with the big reputation. He was a man who could determine the fate of a country on a whim, but couldn't stop the train wreck in which he had become entangled.

Had he been a poorer man, a less well known man, a less cosmopolitan man, would he have been treated differently? Would they have looked into the reputation of the accuser a little more fully before bringing charges? Would they have found out her lies and her enthusiasm for money before his picture was spread across the globe? I think the answer is obvious, and it says little for American justice that it could be so.

Did the accuser, an immigrant searching for a better life in a new locale, understand how thoroughly her story would be checked out? Did she know that her background would be examined by a press rabid for dirt and details, fueled by clicks rather than a desire for truth? I don't know for sure, but I suspect she had no idea of the scrutiny to which she would be subjected. Would that have changed her mind about reporting the incident? And will that level of scrutiny cause other women, genuine victims of the less famous, to refrain from reporting what they should?

There is another issue, too, which has barely been touched on, but which should matter to anyone concerned with true justice. In practical terms, how do we compensate a man for what was ultimately determined to be an indefensible accusation which ruined his reputation, cost him his job and his political supporters, and forced him to pay the costs for his own house arrest, which amounted to hundreds of thousands of dollars? In the end, the prosecutor requested that the charges be dropped, not because the man was powerful or famous, but because the story of his accuser simply didn't stand the smell test. Is that justice served? For anyone?

I suspect that the truth lies somewhere in the middle of the two opposing stories. A powerful, wealthy man, accustomed to getting what he wants, may well have made an assumption that a poor maid in a hotel room wouldn't say no, and acted on the impulse. And the maid, who may have originally said yes, possibly saw the brass ring and grabbed for it, not realizing that if she missed, she would fall off and get run over.

Two people, multiplied by the many lives touched by this scandal, will never be the same. Careers are over because of the fallout. The course of the IMF has been changed, whether for better or for worse remains to be seen, but certainly affecting countries across the globe. Although the long suffering, and one imagines fairly humiliated, wife has stood by her man thus far, I can only think that the marital bond will have been seriously strained by the events of the last few months. The prosecutor will be fighting for his job in the near future, and I can't imagine this episode will be helpful to him in retaining his position.

Two people, two stories, many careers, fabulous wealth, personal reputations, family ties, sex, and international intrigue - this story had just about everything. What it didn't have was a sense that justice was ever an intrinsic part of the process, much less the end goal. Trial by media is the latest fad, and it's one that I hope fades quickly. Innocent until proven guilty shouldn't just be an ideal, it should be the reality in a country that prides itself on the fairness of its system of justice.

The events of Saturday, May 14, 2011 will remain shrouded in mystery, perhaps even to the two people who participated in the whole debacle. Wealthy rapist, or falsely accused? Assault victim, or gold digger? Accuser and accused - which was which, we shall never know.

But justice was denied. Of that, we can be assured.

Lazy days of summer....

When I was a child, the lazy days of summer were just that - a lazy, sun drenched oasis of relaxation in the midst of life. I devoted myself to reading books, laying in the sun, drinking my mom's special, and most delicious iced tea, and doing pretty much whatever I wanted for months on end. Looking back, it was idyllic, the serenity of the farm where I grew up covering me like a gentle blanket warm from the dryer.

As I got older, summer represented time to work extra hours, make more money, and try to get enough spending money for college, when I was chronically short of funds. (Much like now, but more tolerable then.)

In addition, I took summer school classes, trying hard to graduate in four years, despite changing my major several times. It was not lazy or relaxing in those years, it was stressful and busy, and fall came as a sort of relief valve from all the frenetic activity.

Grad school, which also came with marriage and motherhood, was busy all the time, as I learned to balance school, work and being a young mom. I no longer had the luxury of a minute to myself, and all my waking, (and half my sleeping) hours revolved around meeting the needs of other people. It was satisfying to see my little guy growing and learning and maturing so rapidly, but serene it wasn't.

When he was five, I became an at home mom, and learned about yet another kind of busy, especially once the next child put in her appearance. My home and family were my job, and I spent my time working hard to be sure that they had everything I could give them. We went to the zoo and the park and the pool. We enjoyed reading and playing games and playing outside.

I built a sandbox, and did elaborate landscaping. I cooked meals and planned parties and volunteered tirelessly at both church and school, trying the help make life better for everyone around me. It was rewarding work, and I enjoyed every second of it. But there are stresses even in volunteering, and being an at home mom can be lonely and boring, at times, too.

Eventually, the divorce hit me upside the head, and I had to make yet another change. Suddenly, I was the breadwinner, and it has been no easy task. As everyone who knows me has seen, I have struggled to find my way as a single mom. It is not easy to switch gears so rapidly, and the path has been strewn with more boulders than seems absolutely necessary. Time is something in short supply when you are trying to build up a sales-related business, and I haven't truly relaxed in years. There are a few lazy days thrown in, to be sure, but they are spent at the cost of a guilt trip that never seems to end.

Now that my children are both grown and out of the house, the days are back to just me, lazy or not at my whim. It's a new sort of alone, as my children are now doing the college juggle, trying to make money and still come home and see their friends. They are in and out, but they are independent, so I am now able to make my own plans and do my own thing in my own time, without regard for what other people are needing or wanting or doing. It's a new way of life, and I'm enjoying the solitude and peace once again.

Life is circular, I have learned, and eventually you meet yourself where you started. It's not exactly the same - I'm a lot older and a lot wiser, and there is no doubt that the years have taught me a lot. I have more responsibilities than I did when I was young, but I also have more freedom to do as I please, without regard for what anyone else wants.

Life is circular in a lot of ways, actually. People are born as others die. People graduate and leave home as others start kindergarten. Children become parents who become caretakers for their own parents.

I watch young parents with their offspring, and feel a little nostalgic for the days when I was the center of the universe for my own family. I know how quickly those years fly by, and want to tell young people to treasure these moments, because they will be gone too soon.

It is September, and summer will soon be wrapping up its sunny warmth in a crisp blanket of fallen leaves, swept aside in a seasonal dance. The crisp air will begin to bite at my nose when I let the dogs out in the morning, and I will need to throw on a jacket to go watch them from the deck. In the blink of an eye, the leaves will begin their final curtain call before they are swept aside by winter's arctic fingers blasting us from the north. I will miss the heat and the more casual atmosphere of summer, now my favorite season of the year.

But fall is a time of new opportunity, along with the smell of fresh crayons and new pink erasers and football and the sounds of the marching band practicing in the distance. It can be invigorating to have new challenges and new interests to pursue.

I have never been one to embrace change, and I would rather the dog days of summer last until the sun reveals it's summer wardrobe once again. I will accept the changing seasons, and the new opportunities they bring with them. But I will miss you, lazy days of summer. Come again soon!

Seeing things in perspective...

According to Merriam-Webster, the word perspective has it’s origins in Medieval Latin’s perspectivum and the Middle English word perspectyf, both of which mean to see through or to see clearly. In past centuries, an optical glass contraption through which maps and prints were viewed was also called a perspective. The perspective glass also contained a mirror, which flipped the object being viewed in reverse from how it was printed. Thus, for the photo or map to be properly observed, it had to be inverted to the naked eye in order to be seen "in perspective."

In more modern linguistics, the word perspective has taken on additional nuance. When we say we want to see things in their proper perspective, we no longer mean only what we can see with our eyes. Today, we use that phrase to refer to the interrelationship between the parts of the whole within which a less tangible concept is viewed.

The ability to see things in relationship to the bigger picture, in perspective, is a skill which appears to be lacking in many people today, particularly among the electorate [I am using that term loosely, but let's not get sidetracked.] Perspective is a critical element in understanding our place in the world, whether as a country, or as individuals, because it allows us to step out of our own experience and see things from someone else’s vantage point. I lament the absence of the underlying respect which is to be found only when things are put into their proper place. Perspective enables us to see that another viewpoint may also have value, may even be right, even if different from our own.

I originally got to thinking about perspective this week as Hurricane Irene blew through the Bahamas and struck an ominous path towards the east coast of the United States. The media went wild as Irene targeted the Carolinas in it’s bullseye. The national weather forecasters relayed ever more frightening scenarios to a public still battered from images of New Orleans, Port-au-Prince, Fukushima, Tuscaloosa and Joplin. People emptied store shelves and gas stations as they boarded up, holed up or headed out to deal with the wrath of the unknown force bearing inexorably down upon them.

To the rest of the world, it must have appeared that the entire country was under siege from the impending weather event. All the major news sources focused on the doom they were predicting, scrolling headlines about preparedness and evacuation, warning over and over that time was running out. Even the president got into the act, calling it an historical event long before it touched a single U.S. shore. While a Category 3 Irene lashed its way through the Bahamas causing more than a billion dollars in damage, we barely noticed their travails as we were inundated with warnings about the disaster soon to befall our own citizens on the east coast.

Speaking for myself, it was all a bit much. A little perspective would have been useful.

The last few months have been filled with historical natural disaster events.

Tuscaloosa was laid bare, an open wound on the skin of the earth, from an F4 tornado whose 190 mph winds ripped along an 80 mile path through Alabama during a tornado outbreak in April that caused billions of dollars in damage and took the lives of over 300 people across several states.

Joplin, Missouri was nearly wiped off the map from a multi-vortex F5 tornado in May which packed wind speeds in excess of 200 mph, left 134 people dead and scattered debris more than 70 miles away.

The March 11 earthquake and resulting tsunami in Japan left millions homeless and more than 20,000 dead or missing, and caused a radiation release from their failed nuclear reactors more powerful than an atomic bomb.

Flooding along the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers this spring left millions of dollars of prime farmland ruined, billions of dollars in damage across numerous states, and hundreds of homes unsalvageable, the aftermath of record snowfalls to the north and a Corps of Engineers plan which didn’t anticipate that kind of runoff. The flooding continues to work it's way south months later, with estimates of the damage still coming in.

Record breaking snowfalls and rainfalls across the country this year have wreaked billions of dollars in damage to homes, businesses and infrastructure, much of which is still being repaired.

At the other extreme, the drought being experienced in some of the south central states has already taken a toll in the billions in lost farmland, crops, livestock and people's livelihood, and it is not over yet.

Cyclone Yazi,the Category 5 hurricane which smashed into the Queensland, Australia coast last March caused billions of dollars in damage to coastline, homes, and businesses.

I realize that for those in the storm’s path, it is a frightening, perhaps even terrifying, episode. I have been in more than one storm with 80 mph winds, and know how the howling can shatter fraying nerves. Tennis ball sized hail crashing against my house this spring just about put me over the edge, so I can appreciate how scary it is to be in the track of a destructive storm.

And I am grateful for early warnings which allowed people in harm’s way to remove themselves to safer locales, especially in North Carolina, which took the brunt of the storm. Their departure limited the risk to emergency personnel, [although there is always a stubborn dolt that is trying their best to self-destruct that will ultimately need saving, anyway.]

For the many people who have lost homes, belongings, businesses, infrastructure or tragically, lives in this storm, I understand this was the big one, and it has torn their lives apart. I am sorry for their troubles, and I hope the country is behind them as they start the long process of rebuilding their lives, just as it has been in every catastrophe. This was a major storm, of course, and it left another gash of destruction in it's journey up the coastline.

But in light of the massive disasters which have befallen helpless citizens without warning across the globe recently, pardon me for being underwhelmed by the hysteria which has accompanied this hurricane-lite event. In terms of the natural disasters that have befallen an unsuspecting populace, this is not even in the top five this year.

Some perspective would have been good, not to minimize the dangers of a powerful storm, but simply to keep things in their proper place in the public discourse. I particularly worry about the next hurricane. Will people refuse to take the warnings seriously? That is how you get a Katrina event – it is not only the nature of the storm that causes problems, but the nature of human beings to ignore that which is too familiar, as well.

This whole experience has caused me to consider the lack of perspective in our public discourse generally, extended well beyond this simple weather event. It is, I believe, lack of perspective, more than any other thing, which hogties us at every turn. Hyperbole is a poor substitute for facts and reason. Everything cannot be the biggest, the most, the worst. If we would save end time talk for things that are truly catastrophic, and take the exaggeration down a notch or ten, perhaps more people would pay attention, instead of tuning out. Today, people find their position and dig in their heels, so sure of their righteousness that there is no room for alternative experience. No perspective.

Selling health insurance, I get to see the light bulb go on for people several times a week, as the formerly group insured, now unemployed, get an education in what the market looks like for those who don’t have that option available to them. Nothing changes minds like personal experience, and some of the strongest advocates for changing the system are those who have been unexpectedly wounded by the lack of an affordable alternative once they, too, are unemployed. Perspective.

We can declare war on poverty, but unless we are willing to listen and understand the root causes of the cycle in which people find themselves, we will never solve the problem. We can just say no to drugs, but unless we are willing to learn from an addict, we cannot understand the drivers in the addiction which holds them in thrall even unto certain death. Perspective.

Winston Churchill gave, on several occasions, the epitome of the underdog speech, impassioned pleas to pull together as one for the betterment of all. His words are powerful, and genuine, because he believed in his cause. He had proper perspective on the situation, which enabled him, with succinct precision, in his speech on the Battle of Britain in WWII, to put all of history in its place with just a few powerful words,

"Two or three years are not a long time, even in our short, precarious lives. They are nothing in the history of the nation, and when we are doing the finest thing in the world, and have the honour to be the sole champion of the liberties of all Europe, we must not grudge these years or weary as we toil and struggle through them."

His perspective allowed Churchill to inspire and lead his countrymen to victory in a conflict which consumed the world and threatened not just the freedom but the very lives of millions of people across the globe. His understanding, that divided they would fall, but together, they could accomplish anything, was a perspective that led him to listen, to compromise, and to carefully chart a course which brought everyone forward together. He listened, he managed, he cajoled and pushed and pulled, in an effort to bring everyone to the same experience, so that together, they would walk into history as the victors in the epic conflict.

I think we are sadly lacking in perspective today. [We are short on true statesmen like Churchill, too, but that's probably a whole other blog.] There are many reasons for the position in which we find ourselves, none of them easily solved. We listen, but only in 15 second sound bites, instead of searching for the deeper answers which are harder to come by, and harder yet to act upon. We accuse those who are willing to change their minds of flip-flopping, rather than applauding how, with solid reasoning, sometimes you come to understand things in a new, more enlightened way. When did listening and analyzing problems, ultimately coming to a compromise, become an evil deed?

By sharing your candle flame with another, you double the light. Isn't that what we should be striving for? You achieve that with perspective.

Perspective is what happens when we walk that long, lonely mile in the shoes of another. When you feel the blisters from the unfamiliar soles building up on your feet, you will certainly see things in a different way. Just as those who have survived Katrina are not more noble than those who experienced Irene, neither are those who have escaped disaster more righteous than those for whom each corner turned is another smack into hardship.

I feel that we, as a nation, are standing at a very dangerous crossroad, at risk of slipping down the slope of extremism to become nothing more than an irrelevant footnote in history. The grand experiment of democracy cannot succeed without compromise and understanding, and we are in short supply of both these days.

Sir Winston Churchill, on November 9, 1954, spoke with perspective on the past and the future. Sir Winston was a leading character on the stage that is world history, and if he can find perspective in the midst of the tragedy and despair that surrounded him, we should be able to as well. His words inspire me and give me hope that we can overcome our current divisions and persevere to days of greater glory.

"We have surmounted all the perils and endured all the agonies of the past. We shall provide against and thus prevail over the dangers and problems of the future, withhold no sacrifice, grudge no toil, seek no sordid gain, fear no foe. All will be well. We have, I believe, within us the life-strength and guiding light by which the tormented world around us may find the harbour of safety, after a storm-beaten voyage."

The more things change, the more they... change...

One year ago, my life changed completely. For 25 years, I had self-identified first and foremost as a mom, and my life revolved around the needs and wants of someone else. My work schedule was set to accommodate the schedule of a busy teen. My evening hours were occupied by her activities, and my daytime hours were constantly on call, in case she found herself in need.

In addition, my other child, the college graduate, [several times over, read professional student,] moved away to another life as a doctoral candidate in a state far away. It is a world that is unfamiliar to me, and in which I have no part at all.

As my children know, I didn't start out intending to be Super Mom. I was going to be Mary Tyler Moore when I grew up, single and free, a career woman with a fabulous life in the city. Marriage and family were not a part of that plan. To a solitude loving adolescent on a farm in SE Minnesota, her life looked glamorous and exciting, and I dreamed of walking in her footsteps to have the same kind of experience.

It never occurred to me that Mary was often lonely. That is the adult observation, lost on a kid with big dreams and no coherent plan.

I never had much interest in little children as a kid. I was the youngest in my own immediate family and one of the youngest in both extended families, so I didn't have much exposure to them. I rarely babysat other people's children, and I was never the one to ooh and ah over the babies in church.

It wasn't that I disliked children. I even taught Sunday School and Bible school when I was in high school, and I had fun doing it. [I don't know if the kids had fun - you would have to ask them, and I'm not naming names.] I just wasn't really interested in going there myself.

However, life, as it has a way of doing, dropped a bomb on my plans, first, in the form of a spouse, and then an unexpected baby a year later. Becoming a mother was an event which changed everything I thought and expected from life. Suddenly, my world revolved around a tiny creature whose well being was the most important thing in my universe. After I recovered from the shock, I embraced the unexpected opportunity that came my way, and found the map that would guide my life journey to be much clearer.

I threw myself into the job with complete abandon, and I worked hard to be the best mother I could be. Note, I did not say perfect. That is not an achievable goal, and I, for one, am smart enough to know it. If we ended the day with more good memories than bad, it was a good day. [I also learned not all days can be good days, but that's another blog altogether.]

Fast forward to one year ago, when my life was in review, forced into change once again by the leave-taking of my youngest. Making myself obsolete had been the focus of the last 25 years of my life, and now that it was coming to fruition, it felt like I was cut adrift in the vast sea of the unknown. I have felt like that at other times in my life, of course, but mostly when I was the one initiating the change. It is a very different experience to be on the outside looking in, the one left behind, having to make the new normal comfortable for myself.

It has been an interesting year, and I think all three of us could agree that we wouldn't have imagined the year going quite the way it has for any of us. It is not bad to deviate from the course you thought you set; sometimes it is for the best to be flexible. But it can be surprising when you find yourself somewhere other than where you thought you would be when you are looking back on the journey.

I have had some reminders in the last few days of that magnificent change that was thrust upon me twelve short and long months ago, as I have watched friends send their first child, their last child, their middle child, off into the world of the unknown. A brief acquaintance that I made this week put words to the feeling that most mothers have - "When he is there, I hold my heart outside my body; when he comes home, I can put it away again."

She was not talking about college, she was talking about her son in the military, currently in Afghanistan, and it was an image that helped me understand the fear that she lived with every day that he was gone. But it was also an emotion with which I could relate. Sooner or later, every mother has to let go of her child's hand and allow them to cross the street of life unattended. It is scary for everyone the first time, but eventually, when you see them on the other side having so much fun, its worth the momentary discomfort, and it's better for both of you.

I have found, in this year, some new pursuits, along with a new freedom to enjoy life my way. I am engaging in activities I never imagined I would. I am feeling old passions anew. I am suddenly daring to dream about things that have long been shelved, and open to experiences that I haven't been interested in until now.

At 50, I am no longer young. I have less life ahead than behind me, and I'm okay with that. I no longer worry about changing the world - I'll leave that to someone else. I am at an age where I look back with fondness at things which once seemed constraining, unthinkable even just a few years ago. I am settled inside my own skin, and I no longer feel the urge to make something more of myself than who I am.

I have felt interesting emotions, watching friends send off their children as I did a year ago, and seeing how they handle it. Contrary to sitcom portrayals or funny commercials, most parents neither cling to nor forget about their children who are moving away into a new life of their own.

I doubt many mothers have dropped their child into their new situation without shedding a tear, but most of them don't camp out in the dorm or barracks, either. Most dads will help one more time with setting up the bunk or giving advice, but they are usually the first one out the door for the return trip home.

When a child leaves your home, whether first, last, or middle, your life relentlessly changes. The child whose life rhythm has become so familiar you don't even think about the myriad ways in which you accommodate them leaves a gaping hole in your equilibrium when they are suddenly missing. After 18 years of putting them first, it's difficult to put them away in the back of your mind, and accept that they can get along without you. But if you have done your job well and they were a good student of your teaching, they will do better than get along - they will ultimately excel.

As I look to the unknown future, I do not worry that my children will find their way in their own lives. Each of them has charted their course, and the journey they are taking is to a destination of their own choosing. It is fascinating to see them grow and mature and change, becoming the adult they were always meant to be.

I am nostalgic today, as I look back a year in time and see how far we have all come. My eldest child talks about credit ratings and triathlon training and is already worrying about getting a job in the working world despite several years to go on the final [I'll believe that when I see it] degree. My youngest is preparing for a semester abroad in a place she hadn't even dreamed about when she left home one short year ago.

They have met new people, and seen new places. They have tried new activities, and fought through life issues mostly on their own. They are both dealing with balancing the many demands on their time and learning how to prioritize to get everything done that needs to be accomplished. I am amazed and gratified to observe how well they have handled the transition.

I am also wistful as I gaze from a growing distance upon the journey of other children who have been an important part of my life. For one in particular, I feel the same combination of nostalgia and excitement I felt for my own children as he walks confidently forward out of childhood and into his new life in college. I am pulled back in my memory to toddler times even as he reaches out with both arms to embrace his adult future.

Chance is the unexpected actor on life's stage, and I am thankful for the serendipity that brought him into our world. Inevitably, knowing him changed each of us, as we have changed him, and it is with great pride that I look forward to seeing how his life unfolds from here on out.

I am realizing, as I watch from afar, that life never stands still. Change is not only inevitable, it is part of what makes life interesting. I would not want to be the person I was 25 years ago when I was my son's age, and he won't want to be that person 25 years from now, either. Each day on the path of life brings a new challenge or a new opportunity for growth, and if you rise up and embrace it, you will continue to evolve.

As I sit here today, seeing with new eyes our lives in constant transition, I wonder what life will look like 25 years from now. I am sort of glad I don't know, because for better or worse, I think life is best lived day to day. But one thing I am sure of - we all will have transformed in some way.

I am grateful for the unexpected deviations in my life journey. My path has been long and winding, and I am thankful for the companions that have shared the traveling with me. I am a better person for their companionship, and I hope they are better for having traveled with me.

I think the words of a favorite song, For Good from the musical, Wicked, sum it up for me.

Just look at you,
You can do all I couldn't do...
so now it's up to you,
For both of us.

I've heard it said
That people come into our lives
For a reason
Bringing something we must learn.
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow,
If we let them,
And we help them in return.
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today,
Because I knew you....

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.

Common denominators....

I have read that 75% of the population are extroverts. I don't recall the source, but based on my own personal experience, I would have to say I think that number is a little low.

In the interests of full disclosure, it would probably not be all that shocking to a regular peruser of this blog if I reveal that I am not an extrovert. In anyone's opinion. My very own son, Mr. Technology himself, once despaired over my enthusiasm for texting and instant messaging. He said it's an introvert's paradise, and will enable me to never see anyone in person again.

That is an obvious exaggeration.

Although, in the interests of fair and accurate reporting, I will acknowledge that hiding in my house on the weekend is an activity with which I am familiar.

[Mr. Tech Dude has had a few more things to say, too, but I'll keep them to myself. For now. You never know when you might have a need to use his own words against him, and I don't want to waste.]

I have digressed. Back to my point. And I do have one, I promise.

It appears to me that it's become the great American past time to be in everyone else's face all the time. There is just no privacy any more, and I'm pretty uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Americans have always venerated individuality. The great melting pot is a myth - we cling to our own way of doing things with a dedication that is singularly perplexing to me. Everyone is unique, everyone is, oh dreaded word, Special. It's a particularly insular and irritating American birthright, to be our own person, and we cling to it like an addict with a needle.

Put those two characteristics together, and one would imagine the whole 300 million of us are out there arguing and fighting to have things our own way, incapable of compromise or cooperative living. Sounds like Congress, or presidential politicking, but not the world I live in.

I have been singularly struck this week by the commonality of our human experiences. I, like virtually everyone in touch with the cyberworld, am on facebook. It's a tricky relationship, fraught with all sorts of complications for a person who isn't entirely comfortable with putting their whole life online. But to be left out is to live in a parallel universe, one where you are out of touch with what is happening in the real world, and that isn't really an option either.

Over the last few days, the very best thing about facebook became clear to me, and reaffirmed for me the importance of staying connected. I joined a new group, created as a celebration of the same small town from which we all emerged as adults. Some of us made our exit many years ago, some of us more recently fled the confines of the little burg in which we formed our world view. Some of us still live there, continuing the work of generations past to maintain the traditions and history of which we are all a part.

But the striking thing, at least to me, is the commonality of life events that has spanned the generations. The names have changed, the locations may be slightly altered, but the experiences, the ties that bind us together as people from this same tiny slice of the planet, are nearly identical.

We have discussed common memories and common places. We share sights and sounds and smells which take us back to a childhood in which the world was less complicated. We have discussed the unique smell of the public library and the smoking that occurred in the bathroom of the high school. Turns out we were all afraid of the same little dog, and the same locations have hosted generations of fun loving students throwing parties out of sight of their parents.

Despite age differences that span dozens of years, we have the same familiar teachers and the same cafeteria food to look back on. No matter that we are from different generations, the Boulevard remains embedded in our memories and we all know exactly what it means to the town without another word of explanation needed.

It is rather startling just how much commonality there is amongst us. I have never before realized how much my memories, which I thought were unique and different from everyone else's, mirrored not only my age cohort, but people of all ages who grew up in the same place.

I think we, as humans, are frequently guilty of fixating on the things that divide us. Family background, political persuasion, profession, location, ethnic background, religious upbringing - all are used to drive a wedge between otherwise decent and interesting people. And yet, when groups form and start to share their story, it seems we are all characters in the same chronicle, common memories staying with each of us over the years.

I have seen the comments made by a couple of friends who are in similar groups for their home towns, and it is even more apparent just how much we all have in common. We think a small town girl from Minnesota has little in common with a city girl from the East Coast, and yet, the basic memories are much the same. We all have our comfort food, we all listened to the same music, we all had our mascots and our broken hearts and our goofy teachers and people who reached out to us and truly made a difference in our lives.

It has dawned on me that what stays with us as we move through our lives is not the exact place, but how it made us feel. It is that comfort, that knowledge that we were young and safe and cared for, which brings us into groups such as these, and allows us to reminisce with others who share those feelings.

Nostalgia has suddenly taken on a new meaning for me. I have left the small town behind, in some ways, but the siren call of my childhood will never leave me. And the times we shared, the feelings we had, the sights and smells and laughter and memories, are something we keep for all time.

It has been a sentimental journey, and it has left me with a song in my heart. "Oh Day, Full of Grace" is the name of that song. It's sort of nice to know that there are a few thousand other people out there who understand exactly what I'm talking about.

Flexible Fahrenheit...

The last couple of weeks have brought home to me once again the infinite flexibility of the human mind. It is an acrobat of amazing versatility, going in all directions as the whim takes it's owner. The mind can be forced to conform to almost any position, as long as we believe what we are telling ourselves.

You may think I'm referring to the self-induced debt crisis which has been so much in the news recently, created by our Congress in it's infinite ability to behave like a naughty juvenile. You would be wrong. I am tired of Congress, I am tired of politics, and I am especially tired of politicians, who seem to exist in some alternate universe where they are not held accountable for their misbehavior.

No. I am referring to the weather. The very hot, very dry weather that we have been experiencing here in flyover country. This great mid-section of America, where the Dust Bowl got its name, has had record breaking heat the last couple of weeks. The drought which has plagued parts of Texas and Oklahoma for several years has now gotten a foothold in more than a handful of states, and the situation is becoming dire as crop yields and animals are dropping like flies in a zapper.

But I would forgive you for not knowing, because the international news isn't exactly shouting about it. If it happened on the east coast, you can bet your nude stilettos that the whole world would know about it. But we are only Main Street USA, so we are not worth troubling about.

I mean, there are Royal Weddings and Almost Royal Weddings and Jennifer Aniston in Hawaii sightings and Casey Anthony sightings, and of course, the entire FAA fiasco, which, if I understand the news bites correctly, is everyone else's fault. Not to mention the whole S&P downgrade, which either matters a whole lot or not at all, depending on which faction finds a home in your head. That's a lot to keep us intellectually exercised, so it's easy to understand how a thing like 109 degrees in Kansas City could slip by a person. Unless you are actually here.

A friend kindly pointed out that a mere six months ago, it was 12 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit, for the internationally minded who might be confused,) and we had a blizzard. Even if I had been toying with a complaint about the heat, that reminder would surely have brought me up short. It is not possible to complain about heat when reminded that a foot of snow takes hours of shoveling in the cold.

I never complain about the heat, anyway, because I hate cold. Detest it. Despise it, even. I would move to the equator before I would willingly subject myself to another flake of snow, if only there were work down there.

But if I were the complaining type, 109 degrees would do it. Because 109 degrees is HOT. Really hot. So hot you can fry an egg on the dashboard, should you care to try. [Yes, someone actually did it, just to see, and it worked.]

Compared to a blizzard, I consider my burned up grass to be a minor inconvenience. I can live with barren patches of scorched earth darkly glowering at me. I can live with the stumps of dead trees and bushes dotting the landscape like an eerie scene from On the Beach. I don't mind the flowers dying on their vines, and I can even tolerate the wilting population, sweat and all.

It confounds me how the same people who complained endlessly about the snow just six short months ago can now complain about the heat at the other end of the spectrum. The same people who swore that summer would a blessed relief are now anxiously awaiting the breaking out of the fall wardrobe, looking forward to sweaters and even, dare I say, boots.

Not me. I will cling to my shorts and camisole tops. [Yes, I realize 50 is too old for cami tops, but if it's 109 degrees outside, I'll wear what I want.] I will not abandon my flip flops and sunscreen one moment before I am forced. Life is too short to be cold, and I'm going to embrace the heat while I have it.

It is fascinating to me that in winter, people pine away endlessly for the summer heat. They dream about fun under a constantly glowing orb, and take vacations to warmer climes, desperate for the feel of the heat on their face. Then, when the heat arrives, they are dissatisfied with the experience, longing instead for the biting cold of winter snapping at their nose.

I try to exercise my mind as much as I can, within the confines of my own rather humdrum existence. I read, I walk, I think. I will never be flexible enough to eschew the summer heat for the bitterness of winter. I will leave those kinds of acrobatics for the more whimsical among us.

I sweat, therefore I am. It's not Shakespeare, but it's good enough for me.

Suicide by addiction...

Amy Winehouse, a singer who is internationally infamous for both her music and her battles with addiction, is dead at age 27, probably by her own hand as surely as if she had put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. [On October 26, 2011, the coroner released a report that Amy Winehouse died as a result of alcohol poisoning from excessive drinking that night.] In this case, the smoking gun will likely turn out to be a drug of choice for the young and famous who have no limits placed upon them, and the trigger will have been her inability to deny herself what she surely had to know would ultimately end her life. The consequences of her decision making failures will haunt her family and her true friends for the remainder of their lives, as they struggle with the guilt from their inability to force her to get clean and sober.

I don't think anyone can deny the valiant battle fought by those close to her, especially her family, as she continued to make the decisions that would ultimately lead them down this deadly path. They loved her and supported her efforts as she made rehab a revolving door. She made a fortune off an insufficiently critical public while belting out her true intention to resist the efforts made on her behalf by those who knew better than she where this journey would end if she didn't make a change. Although she walked through the door, vowing aloud that this time it would be for real, she was still singing, "No, no, no," in her heart and mind, and the end result was a waste of time and effort for everyone involved, especially her.

And waste it is, because a young woman's life is over much too soon, and whatever she may have accomplished is going to go undone. Whether you loved her or hated her or didn't know anything about her, I hope we can all agree that a 27 year old woman should not be in a morgue, and it's a tragedy that she is, whoever is to blame.

As the parent of a child about the same age, I am saddened and sickened at the thought of what her parents have been through, and what is still to come. Their lovely daughter, the little girl they sang to, and read to, and watched grow from a baby to a teen to an international celebrity, is gone like the puff of smoke that probably started her down the path to her own destruction.

I am not much of a celebrity watcher, but at the same time, I feel dismay when I watch anyone flame out so publicly and spectacularly. They are, underneath the goofy make-up and the expensive clothing and the outrageous lifestyle and the crazy behavior, still a human being. I hurt with them as they flutter against the caged confines of their own situation, self inflicted though it may be. It is not comfortable to watch a human being fall apart so publicly, and I don't want to see anyone die at 27 from a preventable condition.

There are no easy answers, as Amy's parents could no doubt testify. We have seen too many young and vulnerable celebrities making the same bad decisions and ending up the same tragic way, all fully documented in the fan magazines and the news headlines around the world.

It can be done - Britney Spears seems to have turned her life around. But I don't think anyone can have any illusions that it took nothing less than her parents taking control of her entire life to achieve it. And in the end, even that may not be enough - we won't really know until she is once again in control of her own life whether or not someone else can take enough control to save someone from themselves if that isn't what they really want.

But it is not only the rich and famous that face the fallout from deadly addiction. We have our jails full of people who could not just say no. We have graves dotting cemetery plots of people who died too soon because of the easy availability of something that was not good for them, but which they found irresistible. We have poor families rent asunder by the aftermath of lives gone wrong. We have middle class families struggling to go on after dealing with deadly addiction in a child or parent. Wealthy parents, with all their resources, have no more power to stop the addictions of their children than anyone else.

When someone makes a mockery of rehab, there is little that can be done to force them to do better for themselves. We have observed Martin Sheen suffer for the sins of son Charlie, and felt his pain as he helplessly watched the self-destruction along with the rest of us. We gaze in wonder as someone like Amy, who "Has It All," throws it away for the lure of a silent master that ultimately takes no prisoners. We wonder if the genius is part of the addictive personality, and tacitly encourage the behavior by supporting the insanity with our time and money, attending concerts and buying records and merchandise with little regard for the outcome.

Ultimately, the loss of one 27 year old woman doesn't matter much in the larger scope of the world, however much it hurts her family and friends. But the needless death of yet another young celebrity should, at the very least, cause us to examine what we can do to save the lives of the other 27 year olds who are battling the same problems. If the very public failure of a celebrity can help someone else to do better, perhaps it will not be entirely in vain.

It's not the outcome she planned for, I'm sure. But perhaps, if through her death she encourages someone else to choose a different path, Amy Winehouse can make her life and death less of a waste. At this point, it is the only thing her celebrity will have gained her. It is surely not enough, but it's all she has left.

Rest in peace, Amy.

No Mary here, no one is contrary, either, but wow, does Mom's garden grow....

Tonight, I feasted on the fruits of my mother's hard earned labors. It's not the first time I have benefited from her largess, of course, but never has it been more welcome than when stuffing fresh produce from her garden into my facial orifice designed for just that purpose. On the menu tonight was fresh coleslaw, pea pods, new potatoes unhilled just minutes before they were popped into the boiling water, and a homemade apple pie. It was a delicious end to an exciting day of gastronomic ecstasy, and I enjoyed every culinary highlight.

The women of yesteryear were, undeniably, overworked and underpaid. Probably under-appreciated, too. But there must have been an enormous amount of satisfaction in putting a table laden with food they grew with their own hard effort in front of their families day after day after day.

My mother grew up on a farm in the midst of the depression, and they certainly didn't enjoy a lot spare morsels. But they didn't starve, either, and she certainly learned how to make food stretch. It was a handy skill, since my parents were none too well off, and she watched the budget with an eagle eye.

My parents took the self-sustaining lifestyle a little further than most people, and grew their own meat, as well. They would butcher a steer and fill the freezer with the delicious cuts of meat with nary a hormone in sight. Grass fed cattle was the only kind there was on our farm, and it wasn't a trendy lifestyle decision so much as a statement of making the most of the little we had.

I think my dad would find it pretty peculiar that you get to pay extra these days for something that was grown the old fashioned way. But the steaks and ground beef that came at the end of the hard work were flavorful and delicious, no matter how simply they were prepared, which is more than I can say for most of the expensive cuts of meat I purchase at the local supermarket today.

My dad would occasionally hunt, too, and pheasant from the freezer was an occasional treat. My mother would get out her big pressure cooker and tenderize that meat until it just melted off the bone. I had no idea it was a delicacy. I just thought it was delicious, and the more so because my dad had brought it to our table himself.

I think that the elemental nature of food back then must have given a deep feeling of satisfaction and well being to those who produced the bounty - seeing your hard work translated into the tasty dishes born to the table with pride and thanksgiving had to be very gratifying. They didn't go crazy with spices and condiments, but perhaps that was because they weren't needed. The food itself was so flavorful and succulent that all the extras simply weren't required.

I often look at the fruits and vegetables in the modern supermarket, and it's hard to get too excited about any of it. They are pretty, of course. Tomatoes are so red they almost glow. Apples are unblemished, and perfectly formed. Beans don't have brown spots and pea pods are beautifully packaged, ready to steam still in the freezer bag in which they were packaged.

As perfect as they look, however, where is the flavor to tickle your taste buds? Where is the aroma that draws you in like flies to birthday cake on a summer day? The beautiful outsides hide the emptiness within, which is a good metaphor for a lot of things besides our food these days, if you ask me.

There is something enticing about a garden full of growing vegetables, green and lush and begging to be pulled or picked or cut. There are no carrots in a hermetically sealed bag that come close to the succulent sweetness of a carrot pulled up fresh from the soil. Fresh picked cabbage has a mild flavor unknown to those who have only experienced what comes from the shelves of a supermarket far from the field in which it was grown. Pea pods are tender and delicate and filled with a delicious flavor unattainable from something pulled from the freezer.

There are many things I love about coming home, of course. Running away from my "real" life is prime among them. But I also love coming home to enjoy the bounty my mother provides from her garden, and reliving, for a brief few days, the joys of my childhood when we lived on fresh produce for dinner and supper for weeks on end.

You may not be able to go home again, but you can certainly revisit the past in your mind. And there is nothing like the smell and taste of fresh garden produce to take 40 years off my memory.

Grow a garden - save the planet. Or at least enjoy a fresh picked meal grown with your own hard effort. It's a satisfaction that passes all understanding, and if you are Lutheran, you will understand this is most certainly true!

Happy eating, and enjoy the summer bounty. And don't forget the pie!

Independence Day....

In 1776, our forefathers declared the independence of this nation for the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness. Turns out, some people are little confused as to what it's all about, though.

A recent poll tells us that almost 50% of Americans do not know what year we declared our independence, and if you limit it to those under 30, the percentage is even lower. I'm happy to report that 75% of them did know that we were leaving Great Britain in our dust. That must have come as a huge surprise to the other 25%, since we are constantly told by the media that Great Britain is our closest ally, and the Royal Wedding got more coverage on our national news networks than the impending debt ceiling doom discussions in Congress. (And never mind Canada, who is saddled with us, no matter how much they may try to distance themselves. Not that they don't have their own issues, what with Quebec and all.)

Am I the only one who thinks those statistics are rather appalling? I thought we weren't leaving any children behind any more? Sounds like a lot of these people missed the boat.

I have always found the 4th of July to be an odd little national diversion. We are celebrating our separation from the country that now stands as a proud second at our international duels. I'm not sure that's what the forefathers had in mind when they started this whole little brouhaha in the land of the free and home of the brave, but hey, whatever, right? Gotta be flexible when you're the BMOC.

As a word-worker, a purveyor of thoughts and ideas through written prose, I am always filled with admiration for those whose writing rings clear and true through the years. If you have never taken a gander at the Declaration of Independence, which was, after all, the kickoff point for today's barbecue, swimming pool and fireworks celebrations, I strongly encourage you to take the time and read it. It's short, it's to the point, and it is a powerful statement about what the founding fathers actually had in mind when they risked their lives and everything they had for a crazy idea called democracy.

If you are an American, and these words don't inspire and excite you on this sacred day in our nation's history, then you are a colder person than me. Thank you to all the men and women in our nation's history who have been willing to sacrifice their all in order for us to enjoy this day, and each and every other day that we are fortunate enough to be a cog on the planet that we call Earth, as a citizen of the United States of America.

Happy Independence Day!

IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776
The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

— John Hancock

New Hampshire:
Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple, Matthew Thornton

Massachusetts:
John Hancock, Samuel Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry

Rhode Island:
Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery

Connecticut:
Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott

New York:
William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris

New Jersey:
Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark

Pennsylvania:
Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross

Delaware:
Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean

Maryland:
Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton

Virginia:
George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton

North Carolina:
William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn

South Carolina:
Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton

Georgia:
Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton