The new Edsel...

I have already written this post once, and it disappeared into cyber-space never to be seen again. So I will give it another shot, but rest assured, the first version was better, because it always is!

I learned a startling new piece of information recently, which tells me that change has truly come to America after all. Here in Suburban Bubble World, we have more big vehicles than the Australian Outback, but one of them, the Hummer, is about to go away. I say, better late than never.

I have never been able to understand the fascination with gigantic, oversized vehicles. I just do not understand the need that drives (that is a pun, in case you didn't notice,) some people to jack up their axles and their insurance rates in a quest to look cool driving down the manicured streets of our wealthy suburban county. Don't they realize that in reality, they only look silly? To each his own, I guess, but seriously?

I have noticed a corresponding phenomenon, too. The bigger the vehicle monopolizing the parking space, the smaller the person getting in and out of it. Sometimes I think it looks like a clown car performance, as I'm watching the tiny little owner emerge from the behemoth vehicle she has maneuvered into a parking place like an ancient ship steaming into port.

It could be fairly stated that I, myself, drive a large vehicle. I drive a Dodge Dakota quad cab truck, and I cannot deny that it is bigger than some of the vehicles on the road. However, I also own, way over on the far side, a painting and refinishing business, and my excuse is that I need a vehicle to cart around all my accoutrements for my side business. Since I can't afford to keep around vehicles I'm not using, I am sort of stuck with the truck as my every day driver.

My other vehicle, currently being driven around town by my lovely daughter, is a sedan. I look forward to the day when I can start driving one myself again. [I will just share with you that my entire family joins me in that, since I am not very adept at driving large vehicles. I am the one who spends 20 minutes trying to get into a parking place straight, only to spend another 20 minutes trying to extract myself again when I leave. I will just issue a general apology to the world for that, and we can move on.]

I am not a large vehicle owner, by nature. I do not drive down the highway and pretend that I own the universe. Frankly, I don't have any illusions that I even own my own little portion of it, since my life seems to be constantly careening out of control. I am always amazed by those people who seem to feel that they pay taxes on both sides of the road and want to get their money's worth, judging by the way they hog the center line.

I was hopeful that the gas crisis would signal the end of these gargantuan vehicles, [which are about the same size as the mobile home I lived in while in grad school, by the way,] driving on the road and parking next to me at WalMart. But it seems that the gas crisis has dissipated alongside my retirement IRA, taking away some of the pressure to downsize. In addition, I have also learned that as part of the total financial melt-down of our universe, the credit crisis is apparently preventing owners who are upside down on their credit from getting any further credit, thus preventing them from getting out from under their large vehicles. So it seems we may still be contending them for some time to come, to my immediate regret.

Feeling as I do, you know I saw the news that the Hummer is going the way of the Edsel to be good news. I know it's a jungle out there, especially in urban America, but I don't think a vehicle designed for the army to navigate in a war zone is one that we really need blazing a trail in our quiet corner of suburbia. I wonder at the vision of someone hiding in an assault vehicle, and I'm not just talking about seeing the road, here.

If we want to reduce violence in our society, I think we have to get out of our sheltered cocoons and re-involve ourselves in the real world. I believe that fear breeds more fear. The more we lock ourselves down and shut ourselves away, the more out of touch we are with others whose lives are different and whose experiences don't match ours, the more likely we are to have violence and mayhem, because we will not understand life from any other perspective.

Personally, I think perspective is what it's all about. If you are looking at life through an armoured assault vehicle, everywhere you look, you will see danger lurking. If you are driving down the street in a convertible with the wind blowing gently through your hair, and nothing between you and the world around you, you see things more up close and personal.

When my daughter was a little girl, we used to have a special book, The Churkendoose, which we would read every time we went to visit Grandma. She loved that book, looked forward to it with the most excited anticipation, partly, I think because, in a way, she identified with the Churkendoose in the story. [She also thinks she is Elphaba from "Wicked" but that's another story....]

The Churkendoose was different - part chicken, turkey, duck and goose - and therefore, he wasn't really one of them. They couldn't lock him in a neat little category, couldn't identify him as anything particular, so they were afraid and ostracised him altogether. Only after he proves himself and saves them by scaring the fox away from the coop do they understand it's not about what is on the outside, it's what is inside your heart that really counts.

You can have someone who looks different on the outside be exactly like you in their heart, where it matters. On the other hand, you can live with someone in the same house for years, and have nothing in common at all.

The Hummer is, by its very nature, a barrier to others. In our society, we need to tear the barriers down. I will say so long to the Hummer, without a regret. Don't let the gate hit you in the bumper on your way into the junk yard.

Jagged Edge of the Universe

It has been a hard week around here, and I took a mental health day today. As I was driving around running errands, I was thinking about how life looks from my vantage point, and the thought came into my head, I am constantly on the jagged edge of the universe. Well, that is surely the title of a book, one I will have to write some day. In the meantime, this poem will have to do....

Jagged Edge of the Universe

Everyone has moments in their lives,
Moments that are frozen in mind,
Moments that they relive
Over and over again,
Almost in slow motion.
Every breath, every scent,
Every movement is there,
Instantly available for recall.

Every time I find myself,
Struggling to find my place,
Hoping for a newer space,
I look for something different,
Than haunting
The jagged edge of the universe.

For me, those moments, every one,
Are not times wreathed in joy or fun
But in crisis mode, hopelessness
Pervading the very air I breathe.
My life, once again out of control,
Shattered by a fate beyond me still.
The first such moment, and the last,
Equally painful to behold.

Those moments take my breath away
I cannot think about them without
Feeling the pain anew.
And each time it has happened,
I have found myself struggling,
Once again on the edge of the abyss
The jagged edge of the universe.

It doesn’t get easier,
Those who say it will have lied,
Or they have never dangled their lives
Over the dangerous drop off.
I haven’t gotten stronger
Or more prepared
Like they said I would.
I am no more able to cope
Than I was when I was a child.

If it gives anyone hope,
I can say,
With clarity and faith,
That I have gotten farther away
From the edge.
It doesn’t own me.
It will take more to push me over.

It wasn’t always that way.
I haven’t always felt this strong.
I have fallen, many times,
And clawed my way to the top.
Life has stepped on my fingers,
Forcing me to let go once again,
Falling into the depths.

But peace is a choice.
You can find it
Even in the midst of catastrophe.
You must insist upon it,
Strive for it,
Look for ways to have it.

And then
Every time I find myself,
Struggling to find my place,
Hoping for a newer space,
I will find something different,
Than haunting
The jagged edge of the universe.

That's what little girls are made of....

It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day 17 years ago today. How do I know this, you may well ask? I usually have trouble remembering yesterday, so it is not run of the mill for me to remember a day from years ago. But that day was the most special kind of day - a once, or in my case, twice, in a lifetime day. I remember it so clearly because my beautiful daughter, Erin, was born 17 years ago today, and changed my world forever.

There are lots of opinions on what it means to have a girl come into your life. They are sweet, they are sour. They are perky, they are depressed. They are fun, they are a nightmare. They are all these things, sometimes simultaneously. They will mix you up, and stomp on your heart, and then they will smile, and suddenly, none of it matters. Because they are your world, and without them, the world wouldn't be the same.

My relationship with my daughter has changed over the years, as I moved from Mama, to Mommy, to Mom, to Mo-ommmmmmm, and now, once again, I am back to Mom. As she has grown up and changed, so have I, and so has our relationship.

This relationship with my daughter is one of brutal honesty, one in which there are no holds barred, nothing hidden or tucked away. She doesn't hold back, and neither do I, as we navigate closer to her independence day. But if you have no barriers, you can also love unconditionally, and there is no other love so purely unselfish. But even as she starts to move away from me for real, we are becoming closer in our hearts.

The biggest change comes now, as she approaches adulthood, and suddenly, she is no longer just the student, learning at my feet. As she has grown, there is more give and take, and now, I learn from her, just as she learns from me. We are still mother and daughter, and will always be. But we are more than that - we are becoming friends, and it is that which causes me the greatest joy this day.

I am sad to see her leaving childhood behind so quickly. I don't know where the years have gone, and I don't understand how my little girl is suddenly so grown up. But at the same time, I look forward to seeing who she will become, to watch her move from potential to reality.

My daughter is everything I ever dreamed of, and so much more. I wouldn't trade my daughter for all the stars in the universe, or all the diamonds in the earth. She is priceless, and my heart will never be the same.

Happy birthday to my wonderful, fabulous, most special daughter. Although today is the day for you to be showered with gifts, you are the real gift, and I am the luckiest mom in the world, because you were given to me. That is what I am celebrating on this day.

Sarah with an h...

Shakespeare would have us believe that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Well, I beg to differ. I'll bet if it had smelled less sweet, it would have been named something else, because names, more often than not, describe the thing for which they are the moniker.

What is in a name? Well, when your name is Sarah, it has an h, at the very least. Or it should, anyway. But all too often, that h gets left off, misplaced right out of the picture, sort of like a train without its caboose. And we all know that the caboose is the fun part with the guy who waves as he goes by. So, in short, my h is important to me.

I was always under the impression that this was a personal quirk of mine, but it seems that I am not alone. I found this out the other day when I met my boss for a mid-week meeting at Starbucks. I breezed in a few minutes late, as usual, and rushed to the counter to make my order. When she asked my name, I replied as I always do, "Sarah. With an h."

She looked at me sort of funny, then laughed right out loud. Since I don't think there is anything really funny about the name Sarah - it's not my favorite name, but it's mine, so I live with it - I couldn't really see any reason for her to laugh out loud at me or it. I looked back at her quizzically, and she responded by telling me that Sarahs are generally obsessed with that h. I asked her what she meant, and the answer was intriguing to me.

Apparently, whether you have an h or not, if your name is Sarah, (or Sara,) you are worried about it. She said it's not even just the Sarahs with the h that talk about it. She said the ones without the h will say, "Sara. Without an h." So apparently, regardless of how we spell it, we all have that h on our minds. How entertaining!

The really intriguing thing she told me, though, was that no one else seems to have that same obsession with getting their name spelled right. For example, she said her name is Sherry, and it gets spelled all kinds of ways, but she doesn't care. She said, neither does anyone else, at least not to mention it. But every Sara or Sarah brings up that h, for some reason.

I am rather intrigued at the idea that we are all worried about our h. The economy is crashing and burning, the world is a mess generally, but by golly, we are not going to lose our h along with everything else.

It makes me wonder, what is it about our name, in particular, that sets off this possessiveness of all our letters? This desire to leave no h behind? What is it about all of us Sarahs, that we are tied together in the desire to hang on to all our letters, and not lose any of them somewhere along the line? I am fascinated at the thought that somehow, we have all had some common experience that leads us to be possessive, or dispossessive, of all the letters in our name, showing up exactly where they belong, in a nice neat row.

I, personally, have been known to insert the h where it belongs on all kinds of pre-printed items. If it's spelled wrong, rest assured it will be corrected one way or another, and you will see an h awkwardly added somehow, even if it's falling off the end of my name like the afterthought it obviously was.

Of course, there are some people, when you tell them you want your h, who get flustered and discomfited, and don't know where to put it. I have had my name spelled in the most amazing ways - from Sarha to Shara to Saraha. For some reason, that h just seems to confound.

Then there is my cousin who nicknamed me Sahara Desert when we were young, but that's another story altogether. Although, come to think of it, that might explain my rather unnatural need to have water available at all times. And I answer pretty readily to "Des" even now.

As I explained to the barista at Starbucks, there is nothing wrong with the name Sara. It's fine, if that is your name. However, it is not my name. My name is Sarah. They are different. You might as well just call me Dave, as leave off my h.

All in all, I am entertained that the Sarahs of the world are united by something more than name only. It seems, from somewhere deep inside of us, we are also a little crazy. At least about our h.

Kiss off....

I learned yesterday that kissing has been the subject of some recent hot study. Researchers have now learned that for 66% of women, the first kiss should be the last, because she is just not that into him.

Men are less choosy, it seems, [I know I'm shocked, how about you?] with about 59% of men deciding to give it up as a lost cause after the first kiss. I don't know - that sounds rather high to me. Men, from my own personal observation, will make eyes at anything that looks back with admiration, especially the mirror. Do you think that is why so many men like dogs?

I have known a few men in my time. I may have even kissed a few of them, but I'm not one to kiss and tell. The idea that people are making Ever After life choices based on that rather insignificant moment in time is somewhat baffling to me. Perhaps this is the answer to where I went wrong in my own decision-making process? I should have paid more attention when I realized that my ex, Mr. Peacock, was gazing so attentively into my eyes because he was seeing his own reflection rather than to what was happening between locked lips.

Kissing is an inter-species activity. Cats touch noses in a show of familiarity and courage that has all the earmarks of a kiss. Dogs kiss everything and everyone that comes within tongue length, a slobbery show of affection that is carried out with complete abandon for those they love.

Kissing is not just for lovers, though. In fact, I would guess that most kisses are exchanged between those for whom romantic love is not in the picture. Parents kiss their young children, and children kiss back with wet, sloppy gifts of affection that leave you sticky until your next shower. Not unlike an animal marking you with its scent, I suspect.

Friends will give each other a kiss on the cheek, and in some circles, especially if you are Gaelic, a kiss thrown across the air is part of a standard greeting. We give kisses to show affection, support or sympathy, a physical display that needs no explanation.

There are many different kinds of kisses, of course. There are short, brief kisses, and long, drawn out affairs. But one thing researchers learned is that you discover a lot about another person subconsciously by kissing them. The area around the mouth and nose is one of the most sensitive areas of the body, and your sense of smell and touch are in full play when you are kissing someone. You pick up all kinds of subconscious cues from the object of your affection, and they can learn some things about you, too.

So, getting back to Valentine's Day, which, if you missed the advertising blitz, was yesterday. Valentine's Day is positively designed for disaster, if you ask me. The retail world sets us up for failure right off the top.

Women have unrealistic expectations, because that is what we do, and consequently, that is what is being sold - advertisers still think we are looking for that knight in shining armour to sweep us off our feet and carry us off on the white horse to Happily Ever After Land. And they must not be entirely wrong, because we do have Valentine's Day as exhibit one for the fact that it works.

In the meantime, no man is ever going to get the perfect gift, since none of them are mind readers, and women don't consider any gift you have to ask for to be perfect. I have to say, I feel for the men on that one, because it's a lose/lose deal for them. On the other hand, they seem to get most of the other breaks in life, so perhaps this is nature's way of achieving balance. I dunno.

A brief digression here. [You knew it was coming, so just stop your sighing and soldier on.] Have you ever noticed how as men age, they supposedly get more distinguished, and attract increasingly younger dates? While as women age, they just looked aged, and hope for someone ten years older to notice them? What is that about? Why is aged wine a good thing, and aged women bad? Mr. Dandy is now dating a woman that wasn't born when he graduated from college, while I am dating...? Oh, that's right. No one. It is a perverse universe, I tell you.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. It now seems our hormones are ever vigilant and looking for the flaws in every potential mate, too, even if we think we know what we're doing. How anyone ever gets together is a mystery to me, since everything seems to be stacked against success. I say, give me chocolate, instead. It's a less complicated relationship.

There was probably a lot of kissing going on around the country last night, although certainly none of it at my house. [Unless you count my dogs, who give me more adoration than is really seemly, which is why I keep them around.] If researchers are right, there are probably a lot of relationships that ended as well, which is probably a good thing, given the divorce rate in this country. Apparently, we should all pay more attention to that first kiss.

Personally, I like mine wrapped in foil, with a little Hershey's flag waving bravely from the top. If you want to find the way to my heart, that's the road map you should follow.