Evolution....

Back when I was young, we graduated from high school and went off to college, and gradually lost touch with most everyone we had known and gone to school with our entire lives. (Keep in mind I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone. And everyone's parents, and grandparents, and cousins....)

It wasn't intentional or willful, or even desirable, necessarily. There was no easy way to contact them and remain in conversation with them - phone calls were long distance and expensive, and letters took too long - and it just sort of happened.

Even remaining in the same small town didn't guarantee maintaining those old friendships, because other people moved away, and, well, life evolves. You would occasionally hear about people from your parents, of course, or have the happy moment of running into them when one or both of you were home visiting, and you could catch up briefly, and it was really fun.

But gradually, in the normal course of living your life, you would lose touch with most people until you realized, one day, that you no longer thought of this or that person as a "friend," in the current sense of the word. Instead, they were now someone you knew "when I was in high school." You remembered them fondly, but it would have been awkward to just write a letter or call them out of the blue, and that was another mild regret to add to the ever lengthening list.

That was something that went along with growing up, and living your adult life. I barely see my neighbor and close friend who lives across the street, much less someone living hundreds of miles away. For most of my life, it was just the way things were, and there wasn't much you could do about it.

My son and I had a conversation on that very topic awhile ago that has now come back to haunt me, but in a good way. As a member of the Millennial generation, he has never known a time when there weren't computers and e-mail. Cell phones were not science fiction, a la Maxwell Smart or James Bond or Batman, but an everyday reality for most of his life. He was an early user of Facebook, back in the day when it was limited to college students only, and it's main intent was to help kids connect with other kids who were attending their same institution of higher learning.

He is not suspicious, like I am, of every new technological advancement. He takes advantage of anything that makes his day easier or which he perceives to enhance the quality of his life, and he embraces technology with enthusiasm for all the benefits it brings to his life. He immediately understood the advantages of a Facebook world, and as I said, he was one of the first people to sign on, before he even arrived on his college campus.

Anyway, on this particular day that I mentioned, we were discussing "real friends" versus "Facebook friends," a term which has instant meaning for anyone who has been on Facebook for any length of time at all. I will explain [as briefly as is possible for me] for those who haven't heard the term, and don't understand what it means.

Most people have friends they know well, whom they see regularly, or at least with whom they remain in regular contact, just as people have done since time began.

They also have acquaintances that are encountered in church, at school, at work, or wherever people congregate. You don't really know them well, you wouldn't call them to go to a movie or meet for a cup of coffee, but you know enough about them to at least say hello and have a conversation with them when you see them out and about.

Now, in this computer age, there is another set of people with whom friendship is primarily found in cyberspace, and it's a weird sort of relationship, indeed. You may know more about them than you do about your next door neighbor, because Facebook keeps you up to date on everything they are doing (to say nothing about Twitter, but let's not even go there.) Every time they post a picture or update their profile or simply have a thought, you are notified by the server on the mothership in the cyberspace universe, but you may not recognize them if you run into them on the street or in a store.

While you are generally connected to your real friends on Facebook, you can now add everyone that knows everyone you've ever known, and the people who know them, as well. Friends of friends will suddenly friend you, and before you know it, you have over a thousand Facebook friends (my socially adept daughter, for example,) made up mostly of people you've never met.

[On the one hand, it's sort of creepy to know that your best friend's cousin's girlfriend's brother is on an extended visit to Peru. But it's also sort of hard to resist looking at the pictures that he posts from his cell phone each evening, too.]

It seems kind of weird to me, this accumulation of names and people that have no genuine connection with you, other than as a number in your list of competitive friending. It was that phenomenon which got the conversation with my son going, but we quickly expanded beyond that to discuss how he has kept in touch with high school classmates and never really lost those relationships, although they have, as expected, evolved.

His most persuasive argument for this type of social networking was simple and compelling; why lose touch with people when you don't have to? And what is the harm in remaining friends, he pointed out, even if only Facebook friends, with someone whom you haven't seen in a long time, and with whom you may not have a lot in common now, but who had shared the experience of growing up with you? Since I didn't really have a counterpoint to that very logical and reasonable position, the conversation ended with my feeling slightly dissatisfied about having been on the wrong side of an argument that should have been obvious, since I have lost far more friends than he has over the years!

This conversation has come back to haunt me in the last few days, as I said before, in the best possible way. I have suddenly reconnected, all in the last week, and thanks to the internet and Facebook, with several people with whom I shared my growing up years, and it has been the most fun I have had in a long time. To catch up and talk with people whom I knew, and who knew me, when we were five or ten or 15 is even more fun that I would have imagined. Not surprisingly, it turns out we are avidly interested in what each other's lives look like now, and very happy to suddenly have a way to find out again.

I have never attended a class reunion, I never understood the desire before, but suddenly, I am having the class reunion anyway, without ever leaving my sofa. I am annoyed to find out that my mother was right again; it is a lot of fun to catch up and see, not only how all those people turned out, but how varied and interesting they all are. All those sullen and hormonal teenagers, (myself more than anyone, I'm sure!) suddenly revere their parents, have serious careers, have gotten married or divorced (or both,) have difficulties with their children, and actually make plans with the siblings they couldn't stand when we were young. Who knew?!

One of the reconnections for me came through a roundabout path. A woman, Patrea (isn't that a lovely and unique name?!) that went to elementary school with me, and who attended my church until her family moved when we were about ten, was traveling through my hometown, and actually remembered me from way back when. [Trust me, I am far more shocked than anyone at that.]

She asked someone at my little country church to pass her e-mail along to me. It traveled from there to my mom, who then passed it along to me, and eventually, when I found a few free minutes, I sent off the first attempt to reconnect.

I was nervous, sort of like a first date with someone you have heard about, but don't really know. I didn't know what to say about myself, or my life, because I didn't know if she would be interested or not, so it was an awkward attempt, to say the least.

A few days later, I received a wonderful and enthusiastic reply, with the tale of her life in brief, and the wish that we would now stay in touch. I replied with a longer and more forthcoming story of my life, and am now awaiting her reply with happy anticipation. Without e-mail, this would never have happened, and we would have missed out on something that has brought me, at least, pleasure I didn't even know I would feel.

I have a cousin, Mary, who is very socially engaging. Her laugh is irresistible, and she is a warm and caring person. So it's pretty obvious why everyone wants to be her friend!

Hearing from Pat made me start to wonder about other people I had been friends with growing up, and naturally, I turned to Mary's Facebook page. [Yes, that's correct, I continue to be the little cousin dogging everyone's heels!] As it turns out, she is, not surprisingly, ridiculously talented at locating people online, and I raided her friend list to find a few for myself. Mary has obviously been very busy rounding people up, because she has pretty much everyone I've ever known in her list of friends, and I have been slowly but surely adding them myself.

It turns out her younger brother, my cousin Tom, was on Facebook, so I was able to wish him a happy birthday, something I haven't done in years, despite always thinking of him on that day, because all it required of me was a simple click. From there, someone else found me and friended me, and we have now had a fun and interesting conversation.

I found another girl I knew my entire life, and whom I have missed over the years, but never thought to contact, because it was just too complicated. Suddenly, we are writing back and forth, comparing notes on life, and divorce, and our kids, and it is not only fun, but rewarding to find that no matter how far we have come, those people you cared about so much growing up, and who cared about you, still do. It is like discovering your long lost relatives, in a way, and it is very gratifying.

I am, as most people who know me well will attest, a pretty confirmed introvert. As anyone who reads this blog regularly knows, I am cynical and jaded by a life that has had more bumps and scrapes and bruises than it should have, mostly self-inflicted, and I find it difficult to trust and make friends with people.

So for me, this is a different kind of experience. Not only do I not need to explain where I come from, or who I really am, they already know the most important things about me, because they were all there while they were happening. That small town farm girl still lives in me, and that is someone they already know.

While there are certainly some dangers involved in the internet, including identity theft, online stalking, and that whole creepy Googling-pictures-of-my-house-where-you-can-see-my-furniture-on-my-deck thing, the benefits have always outweighed the risks for me. I understand the attitude of the young, who regret the parental intrusions into their formerly out-of-reach online world. But now that even my 82 year old mother has a facebook page, it is evident that Facebook is here to stay, and it is a good thing.

[Brief update: My lovely mother decided it was just too complicated, and had me delete her page!]

If you haven't gotten yourself a Facebook page, I encourage you to go online and get one. At best, you will find out who you didn't even know you were missing until you find them, or they find you. At the least, you will find yourself more in touch with the people who matter most to you. Evolution in the computer age simply means adding to your list of friends, and it's a lot of fun.

Happy hunting!

Lion, lamb or something in between?

This week saw the death from a brain tumor of a man both loved and hated, reviled and idolized, an integral part of what is, perhaps, the only true American family dynasty, and yet, very much a human being. For all that has been said about him over the years, the part of Edward Kennedy that has always struck me was his humanity.

I don't know what he was like up close and personal, of course. I suspect, like most famous politicians, he thought well of himself. Humility is not the first thing that comes to mind, when looking for adjectives with which to describe the man called the "Lion of the Senate." But that sort of seems to go with the territory, no matter what your political persuasion may be.

His family, who still call him Teddy, clearly saw the softer, gentler side of the private man. His legion of friends cannot be all for show - I have to think he must have been, for the most part, a fairly decent person, as politicians go, in his day to day conduct and relationships.

Why does Ted Kennedy even matter, to someone like me, one of the little people of the world? I think he matters because, although he lived large, his world view was, more than most people born to wealth and power and prestige and fame, sort of like mine. Perception, perhaps, but life is all about perceptions, and I think that perception is the reason so many people voted for him for so many years, and now mourn his passing. His ability to connect was rooted in his humanity, and I think that will be his longest legacy.

Two things stand out for me to make Ted Kennedy more human than most, however, with the flaws and the virtues showing in almost equal measure.

The greatest flaw, of course, came in the death of a young woman at his hands. Regardless of the facts in the situation, which no one but Ted will ever really know on this earth, he did not do the right thing that night. The true measure of a person is in how they handle adversity, and Ted Kennedy failed that test, when, as a young man, he ran away from an accident of his making, leaving a young woman to certain death.

His apology to the nation, and his constituents, was inadequate, more of a dissembling than an explanation of what happened, of how he could have done the things he did that night. Although the events of that night in Chappaquiddick hung over his head, and his career, for the remainder of his life, I believe he salvaged a political career that would not have survived had he been anyone else in the nation, based on sympathy for a family that had suffered and lost much, and a name that meant everything in the 1960's in Massachusetts. It isn't right, and her family did not receive justice in this case, because they never got the answers they deserved.

But life isn't fair, and I believe in grace and redemption. Thus, I think the other measure of character is how you conduct yourself ever after.

Whether I agreed with him or not on a particular issue, he passed that test, in my mind. More than almost any other politician I can think of, he championed, through all the years in his political career, the needs of the common man, with whom he seemed to feel aligned, regardless of his family name and wealth. While there was some political self-service in that, I believe that, for his faults, Ted Kennedy really did believe in the rights of the regular guy, and that his self-identification was based on what he felt in his heart.

Although I have frequently disagreed with this most liberal of senators, I am less cynical about his motives than I might be, because he carried it through his entire life's work, from the beginning to the end. His assault against the status of health care in this nation, for example, was not the beginning of his quest - he was no Johnny come lately to that battle. It was the culmination of his lifetime of work, a cause that he had fought for over many years, and several presidencies.

It is particularly ironic that he chose health care as the issue of his heart, given that virtually his entire adult life was spent utilizing the Cadillac of health care systems, set up by the US Congress for their own members. The one part of the health care reform movement that really appeals to me is that everyone, including the president and the Congress, has to live under the same system they devise for the rest of us.

I don't know if Kennedy favored that idea, but it wouldn't surprise me to find out he, of all the people in Washington, did. [Of course, I realize it is not the big conundrum for him that it would be for the rest of us, since he has enough money to buy any health care he wants. But I don't think that takes anything away from the fact that he was trying to meet the needs of those less fortunate than himself, even if I would choose to quibble about the details of how he was getting there.]

It is my thought, in fact, that health care was one of the reasons he ultimately chose to publicly support Barack Obama for president over the more logical, and obvious, selection of Hillary Clinton, who up to that point, had a lock on the nomination. I think, in his opinion, Hillary was not going to get any health care reform passed, because the battle would degenerate into the past battle, which she resoundingly lost. I believe that Kennedy, the man with a reputation for reaching across the aisle and making pragmatic compromise, felt his only chance of getting real reform passed was to have in office someone new, someone different, someone who didn't have a past with regard to his pet issue, and thus, who would not polarize the entire Congress into their usual entrenched positions.

I have been musing the last couple of days about his long term legacy, and how history will remember this most complicated of Senators. His niece, Caroline, spoke of carrying on his life's passions to honor his memory. His grandson has claimed that torch of service for himself someday in the future. People in Congress have floated the idea of naming the eventual reform bill after him, in recognition of his contributions to the debate that is currently raging (and enraging, but I digress, as usual.)

His funeral, attended by some of the most powerful people on earth, and also watched by thousands of people whom no one has ever heard of, exposes the real humanity of the man being memorialized. We understand why the wealthy, the well connected, the powerful and famous, would want to see and be seen at the funeral of a Kennedy, whether they knew him or not. But what makes the common people, people like me, shed a tear over the scion of a dynasty that they never met?

Edward Kennedy is a fascinating mix of the good and the bad, the high and the low, the right and the wrong, that is a part of each of us. I think that is our fascination with him, as much as his family name and his power and wealth. For once, the rich and famous aren't unreachable; they have been exposed for what they really are - people just like us.

For those who loved him, I wish them peace and comfort in their grief. It surely must be a heavy load right now, his sister having died just a couple weeks before him. For me, I say farewell to a flawed man with mostly good intentions - an example both of how to live well, and how to live badly, but ultimately, to keep trying the best you can to the very end.

Happy New Year!

Fall, as a season, is about the beginning of the end. It is about leaves falling off the trees, and the cold of winter pressing in. Someone in the fall of life is creeping up on the time when as much of life is behind them as is ahead of them. Fall is not the harbinger of renewal and regeneration. On the contrary, fall signals the death of summer.

It is incongruous, then, that fall also ushers in the season of the greatest new beginning there is, known as the start of the school year.

I have always found it ironic that we celebrate New Years on January 1, which has very little relevance to anyone. There is nothing new or interesting about January, with it's cold, it's dreary skies, it's sense of let down after the exciting Christmas holiday. Indeed, many people would just as soon skip January altogether. So why, then, would we celebrate the initiation of the most depressing month of the year?

I think we should celebrate New Years at the real start of the new year, which occurs when school is once again in session. The Yankee candle scent of New Years could be the smell of fresh crayons, just out of the box, or perhaps the aroma of a new textbook, fresh and full of all the opportunities to learn which are hiding within. Those things are worth celebrating, and I think most people, even those without children participating in the process, feel the new energy, the new excitement, that goes along with the beginning of classes across the country.

Although it's been awhile since I, myself, started school, I have two young people in my household who participate in the ritual each year. They have widely varying attitudes about it, of course, as they do about most things.

My son, Adam, loves school, and relishes everything about getting back to the books. A lover of learning, he is never really out of school, since he has taken summer school classes at a local college the last couple of years, and always has his nose in a book. But even for him, fall signals a change, as he returns to his college campus from the summer at home, fresh and ready to begin his quest for knowledge anew.

My daughter, on the other hand, summed up her feelings about school as she was leaving for the first day of her senior year by informing me, "I am already sick of school." Not a particularly promising beginning. She has never embraced the educational experience, and this year is no different, senior status notwithstanding.

This year, of course, she is taking part in the greatest fall game of all, applying for college. If you haven't done it in awhile, I can tell you it is a cut-throat sport, filled with everything that makes for a good drama. You have big money, as these applications now come with a rather steep price tag, $40 and more apiece. You have competition, as hundreds or thousands of students apply for too few spaces to take them in. You have scholarship races, as kids compete for the precious dollars doled out so carefully by each college or university, and which are becoming increasingly scarce in these days of economic turmoil.

Most of all, you have the angst, as kids apply willy nilly to colleges which may or may not accept them, and they worry mightily about where they will be come fall. It is migraine inducing, ulcerating blood sport, and only the most relaxed of students won't have their senior year of high school shattered by the experience.

My son, who debates everything all the time, has debated with me about the wisdom of students applying to five or six or more competitive colleges, hoping to be accepted to one, tying up wait lists and scholarship dollars in the meantime for other students who may genuinely want to attend that institution. Back in the day, when I was a youth applying for college, you would apply to the college of your choice, and then to a back up school that you knew had to take you, such as a state university.

These days, there is so much competition, even the most qualified of students rarely gets accepted at a competitive college without being wait listed. Many students don't actually know where they will be attending until summer arrives, and some are notified in late summer that their school of choice is now open to them, once they have already made their peace with attending elsewhere.

I can't see how this angst is helping anyone. Applying for college shouldn't be the worst part of senior year, the moment every student and parent dreads as the clock ticks relentlessly onward. The stress of figuring out where you can afford to go, together with the worry about whether you will even be accepted, is a lot for most families to handle, especially at a time when they are coming to grips with the change that is about to hit their family. When your child is young, and leaving the nest for the freedom of the skies is far off, that day looks very different than when it is looming over your head, a reality sooner rather than later. You should be able to experience that time free of the stress and fear of how many pins you will knock down in your particular college bowling game.

This year, for the second and last time, we are experiencing some of the thrill ride that is college application time. My daughter, like my son before her, has decided to apply early and get it out of the way, so she doesn't have to worry about it any further. I am all for that. Let the stress of paying for it be the biggest worry we, as a family, have to face. I am not looking forward to the day when she will leave me behind, but I anticipate with enjoyment the fun she will have wherever she lands, on her feet and ready for a good time.

This fall season is, for us, a time of bittersweet lasts, as she moves through her final year of high school. It is, in a way that no other school year can be, a year of endings, as she writes the final chapter of her pre-adult years. Next year at this time, she will be flying high in her own world, pursuing a life independent and entirely her own, just as I have prepared her to do for the last 18 years.

What will be, for her, the greatest new beginning of her life, will signal for me, also, one of the biggest changes in my life. For I am fast approaching the fall of my life, and slowly but surely, the leaves will begin to change their colors and fall from the tree.

However, just as the start of school brings fresh opportunity and a new chance of success for every student, this will be a new adventure for me, as well. Even as the seasons change and the weather begins to turn, that brings with it a chance to see the world through a different filter, and to grow and appreciate things in a new way.

Where I have spent the last 24 years tied up with children's concerns, suddenly, I will be free to pursue my own interests, dedicate my own time, determine my own activities, without regard for anyone else's needs. It is a scary time, but an exciting time as well, for most parents, and I will try, as I always do, to embrace this new reality with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

I think we should start the process this year by celebrating New Year's at the start of the real new year, and have a little party right now! Happy New Year!

The more things Change, the more they stay the same....

It's been a long week around here, and I am not in the mood to be witty and entertaining. So if that's what you're looking for today, you are in the wrong blog. I am feeling moody and dark, and I cannot overcome it just to make everyone else feel good. (That is called foreshadowing, for any potential English majors out there.) I've gotta be me.

Americans have a reputation around the world for being naive. Although I enjoy "Pollyanna" as much as the next girl, I have to be honest, I sort of agree with the global assessment of our national obsession with second chances. And third chances. And fourth chances. And so on, and so on, and so on. It seems that no situation exists in which redeeming qualities cannot be found, or there isn't some reason to take a second chance, or more, on someone who insists, generally in front of God and the world, that they have learned their lesson and have, well, Changed.

Michael Vick is only the latest example of The Newly Enlightened. He has come out of prison a Changed Man, he has Learned His Lessons, it was a Wake Up Call that he was on the Road to Ruin. Funny how finding yourself behind bars can open your eyes in a way that years of enculturation cannot.

Of course, now that he has Changed, he must be given another chance (and another multi-million dollar contract to go with it.) This is nothing against Michael Vick. He may, indeed, have genuinely changed. But by and large, barring some really hideous and unfortunate happening (which prison surely must be,) my life experience tells me that most people really can't change. And what's more, they don't really want to, either.

I can't decide if it's part of the hopeful nature of being human that we persist in believing wholesale character change is possible, or if we are just chronically deluded. But I think we are the most optimistic country on the planet. No matter how bad the act, no matter what may have gone before, there is always redemption available, if only you have Learned Your Lesson and Changed.

This past week, Lynette "Squeaky" Fromme made the news because she has been released from prison after three decades behind bars. She was only a twenty-something when she was remanded into federal custody, and now, several decades later, she barely resembles the angry young thing that was originally sent off into relative obscurity.

I don't know if she has Changed, but she has certainly changed. One imagines, spending years in the relative isolation of a prison setting, that you would have some time to reflect upon your previous actions, and perhaps, somehow conclude that you might have been in error somewhere along the line. She has gotten older, as everyone does, and as you age, you have less energy for everything, including the kind of hatred and anger that leads you to try to assassinate a sitting President.

I imagine, if she had not declared herself a Changed Person, she would not have been released from the custody of her keepers. One hopes that she will have some way to keep her mind occupied once she is out of the grasp of the federal prison system, otherwise, we may be hearing more about her. And I, for one, have heard all I really need to know about someone who was, in everything but actual fact, a cold blooded killer.

I find this incredible optimism that people can change their inherent natures sort of perplexing. In my experience, whether in matters great or small, I have found that most people are, in fact, pretty consistent throughout their lives. My children, for example, have the same personalities they had even in utero, although I didn't appreciate the full nuances of it until they were much older.

I don't know that I have ever personally witnessed a genuine change in personality in anyone that didn't have a brain affliction. You can be more or less yourself, depending on the circumstances in which you find yourself, certainly. You can tone yourself down, or pump yourself up, depending upon what is called for in any situation. Just as we understand the word casual means different things at the office and in our own backyard, we also moderate our personal behavior depending on where we are and who we are with. So it's hard to know if we ever, really and truly, see the internal person we are dealing with, even when we are very close to them in relationship or proximity.

But the basic question which interests me is whether or not someone can, deep down inside of them, where it truly matters, change. Is it possible to reverse the thought process held from birth until that moment? Can someone permanently revoke their opinions and attitudes of a lifetime to embrace something new and different?

We, as a nation, believe in the bootstrap theory of life, whereby hard work and effort will eventually lead us to the promised land of wealth and all that is good. Hard knocks, in our cultural view, bring out the best in us, and help us to become the best we can be.

In my own personal experience, hard knocks have their use, but it's more to reveal the person within than to bring out someone that wasn't there in the first place. When faced with genuine hardship in life, some people, even with everything against them, inexplicably rise to the occasion, revealing the stellar person within.

I think most people, in fact, are good and decent people, and thus, when faced with a rough patch, handle it with the same grace with which they handle their successes. The quality of character is just easier to identify when faced with the negative than the positive.

However, there are a smaller, but still significant number of people who do not handle anything well. They screw up success, they are bitter in failure, they constantly make the wrong decisions for all the wrong reasons. They are, temporarily, at least, accomplished chameleons, but eventually, they will be exposed by the inevitable difficulties in life.

The idea that hardship will make someone better is intuitively backwards, for me. In my experience, when the chips are down, people are more themselves, not less so, and that is magnified, rather than reduced, by difficult circumstances. People who are thoughtful and caring towards others will continue that path, even at the cost of their own lives, in some cases, not because society expects it, but because it is who they are, and they cannot do anything differently.

Whether it was providing refuge to escaping slaves on the Underground Railroad, or safe haven to Jews in Nazi Germany, or jumping into a lake to save a drowning child, or plunging into a fiery building to save someone's pet, there are those who will not only rise to the occasion, but rise above and beyond it, even giving their lives for someone else, simply because it is the right thing to do. And conversely, there are those who, even having every advantage in life thrown their way, will still make the wrong choices, using and abusing everyone around them, simply because they can.

What makes an O.J. Simpson or a Tim McVeigh? What creates a Mother Teresa or a Stephen Hawking? Could anything have persuaded Dave Pelzer to go the wrong way in life? Or was his goodness so innate, no matter what happened (short of actually being murdered by his abusive mother,) he would have risen above his temporary circumstances and not only survived, but thrived?

I am fond of saying that each day presents us with a new opportunity to make a choice about how we are going to live our lives, as though anything is possible every new day. [Apparently I am afflicted with a dose of the same optimism that dooms my fellow countrymen to actually believe we can solve the problem of poverty in Africa or violence in the Middle East.]

But I wonder, in the final analysis, if that is true. Perhaps we are simply stuck in the place we are, characteristically speaking, predestined to inhabit, and there never really was a choice at all. I think at least part of our reluctance to impose the death penalty in this country is reflective of our deep seated ambivalence on this very subject. Where there is life, there is the possibility of change, goes the thinking, and we can't cut short the opportunity to make a better choice.

I imagine this attitude baffles both our allies and our enemies in equal proportion, since it leads us to do things like carpet bomb a town, then provide funds to rebuild it bigger and better than ever, or decry dictatorship, a la Fidel or Kim Jong Il, while holding hands with the architects of the Tienanmen Square fiasco. It seems we are ever hopeful [some might say delusional, but I digress] that if we can only find the right incentive, we can save the world from itself. Whether it wants us to or not, I might add.

If it makes the rest of the planet's population feel any better, I can say with some confidence that we confuse us, too. If George H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton can not only work together on a project, but even appear to have forged a friendship, of all things, there is hope for everyone. Second chances are the American way, after all.

I don't know, but I wish the Eagles luck with Michael Vick. When you dance with the devil, you have no excuse for being surprised when you get burned.

Chips anonymous....

I believe I have discovered a new addiction,and I feel it's important to bring it out into the public eye, raise funds, and discover a cure. The source of the problem? Chips.

For me, the word chip has become a "bad word" in the traditional sense, with all the negative connotations to which we are accustomed when combined with words of four letters. The simple chip represents all that is wrong with our society today, in fact.

I realize that a chip looks innocent enough, hiding inside a crackling bag with pictures of smiling people or fancy lettering, leading us by the nose and taste buds to the promised land. But it is a false promise, built on the shifting ground of fat cells and calories, all of which will come and live in your body forever.

Did you know that once a fat cell has formed, you will never get rid of it? It can deflate, but it will be there 30 years from now, waiting to puff out at the merest whiff of a chip passing your table on someone else's plate. Liposuction is the only cure, and that will only work if you never eat another piece of the manna. The moment you falter and surrender to your weakness, that fat cell comes roaring back, waylaying your thighs on the way to the beach.

Chips are a mean master, too. They insist on being eaten with a siren call that is nearly impossible to resist. They beckon you from your cupboard (or the grocery store - they are very loud, and I don't know about you, but they have me on speed dial, obviously,) lonely and waiting, promising nirvana, if only you will give in.

It's a false promise. Chips lie. It's a fact. The only pot of gold you are going to find at the end of that rainbow is the one you will fork over to the diet mavens who are promising to save you from yourself.

No, there is only one cure for the chip addiction to which I currently find myself enslaved. I have to take responsibility for myself and quit eating them. That's right, I need to go cold turkey. I have to stop believing the false promises, and look at the facts without being swayed by the satisfaction to my taste buds. Because what satisfies the taste buds is not nearly so enticing on the hips.

I am not merely dependent on chips. No, I have a full fledged addiction, one which has driven me to do things I would never have imagined from myself before this happened.

Like most addictions, it started innocently enough. Awhile back, I was actually so slender, it was a struggle to keep the pounds on. I was going through a very difficult time in my life, and when I am under stress, I generally lose all desire to eat. I was going through a divorce, and let me just share with you, that is the best diet you will ever find, although the source is probably not worth the outcome. Although that might depend on who you're married to, but that is your judgment call.

When I fell under a certain weight, I realized that I simply had to put on some pounds, however I could do it. That was when I discovered eating in bed.

I had never, in my whole life, been a bed eater. I hate sleeping on crumbs, and it just doesn't seem like a good idea. I should have gone with that, because I was right.

Eating in bed, while reading a good book, is heaven on earth. There is nothing like it, I promise you. The satisfaction of a salty, crunchy snack while consuming equally satisfying literature is the high point of my life, irreplaceable.

Sounds pretty innocent, right? I started with snack mix, something with caloric content, to put the pounds back on, and it worked. Then I realized that something with a few more calories would probably be even better, and again, I was correct. (I love to be right.) I definitely put on the pounds, slowly but surely building to my desired weight. And then past my desired weight, right into new pants territory, at which point, I became alarmed.

But of course, as every veteran dieter knows, by then, it was too late. I was already addicted, and there was no going back. It was no longer a choice, it was a compulsion, full blown and out of my control.

Now, I go to bed every night, resolved to awaken snack free, and a few ounces closer to my goal of ten pounds gone.

And every morning, I awaken, disgusted with myself and miserable, because I have once again fallen. It's demoralizing. It's frustrating. It's an addiction.

I will do anything for my chip fix, it seems. I lay down, satiated, requiring nothing more for the day, but within moments, I am ravenously in need of sustenance. I gradually move from wishful to frantic, ready to do anything to satisfy my urges. I am not sure why Eve fell for the apple, but if Satan showed up with chips, I'd be in serious trouble.

I have tried all kinds of strategies to stop myself. I have moved the chip supply from my bedside table to the dresser, thinking that having to get up out of my bed will slow me down. I can tell you that it takes exactly 3.2 seconds to accomplish that task.

I have tried leaving the chips in the kitchen, thinking that the risk of running into one of my offspring may discourage me. I have been known to grab it out of their hands on the way to their mouths, if it is the final chip in my bag which they are stealing out from under my need.

[Not to digress here, but today we are celebrating the day one of said offspring decided to grace the world with his presence, for which I am profoundly thankful. Life without my eldest child would be a lot less argumentative, it's true, but also a lot less interesting.]

I have tried measuring out a serving for myself, thinking that total denial is not working, but perhaps moderation is the place to begin. Nope. I just keep getting additional servings, because seriously, I ask you, who eats only eight chips at a time? Whoever came up with those serving sizes was clearly someone with an eating disorder.

I have tried to fool myself with baby carrots, thinking the satisfying crunch will trick my brain into thinking I've had a chip. No dice. My brain is smarter than that, and will not be fooled by an inferior impostor.

I have promised myself rewards for not eating a snack, and even managed to fall asleep without indulging my need. I have also been known to wake up in a sweat in the middle of the night (yes, I am 48, but they are not night sweats from menopause, I promise you,) and run to the kitchen to satisfy the urges that are then keeping me awake. I cannot fall back to sleep with the din of desire beating a message into my brain. I simply must have a chip, or I will never find peace again.

I have even, in desperation, tried not buying them, because surely they cannot call me from the grocery store a mile away. Wrong. They have my super secret cell phone number that I give out only to those who are most important to me, and they call me from the store shelf, crying and begging me to come and take them home with me.

As it turns out, I have overestimated my own abilities to control my baser urges. It is disheartening to realize that something so small and insignificant can rule my world. If that's not addiction, I don't know what is.

We are all victims of the chip manufacturers, and I think the time has come to unite and file a class action against them for selling a product that is inherently defective, resulting in addiction and subsequent weight gain over which its victim has no control. My son, Mr. Intellect, informed me the other night that Doritos, for example, actually are made to address all the various taste buds in your mouth, thus satisfying all your culinary urges at once.

What are we to do, I ask you, when the chips are designed to be irresistible? I say we hold the manufactures accountable for our inability to live without their chips, and make them pay for programs to help us deal with our addiction. We could slip it into the newly designed health care program being dreamed up by our government representatives, who, by the looks of things, share the same addiction for instant gratification without consequences that the rest of us do.

The next time you see someone who clearly does not need the additional caloric intake shoving a chip in their mouth, don't look down on them. They may be in the throws of an addiction, and it's stronger than they are. Instead, feel sorry for them, and don't get between them and the grocery store.