It's a dogs life....

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be a dog. This morning, for instance, the dogs awoke, and were excited, as they always are, to get outside and sniff the ground. Only to find that the ground had disappeared under a blanket of white, fluffy snow, and the drab, dead yard to which they have become accustomed during The Long Winter had become a fluffy white fairyland instead.

I wondered, as I saw them tear off down the steps of the deck with the snow flying up underneath their feet, exactly what thoughts were going through their heads. Surely they expected to see the deck that was there yesterday when I opened the door for them? Although they seemed to take the snow totally in stride, and didn't even pause as they rushed through, surely they were surprised at the change in seasons while they slept?

It made me think about life as a dog, which seems to be a singularly pleasant path, at least in this household. They get two square meals a day, they have treats more often than is good for them. They spend their weekdays lounging under a desk in beds where they are warm and cozy, and their nights cuddled up with me in my bed where they obviously feel safe and secure.

They have their kennel homes, where they will, on occasion, go and hang out for no reason whatsoever, and they have a cat and a bird to provide other wildlife to observe in their natural habitat. In short, this has to be the perfect place to be a dog.

When we first got the Jack Russell Terrier, Gizmo, it was obvious that he thought he had hit the life jackpot and he was just sure it would soon be snatched away from him as quickly as it came. He had been severely abused, left tied up in a yard day and night by an owner who cared less than nothing for him, and who left him defenseless from attack at will by children and other dogs. And no doubt an adult or two, for good measure, but I try not to think about that.

Gizmo shows the psychological scars of his early days in a variety of ways, not the least of which is that he is still sure, even after five years, that it will all somehow go away. It makes dropping him off somewhere when we go out of town pretty difficult. He goes into an instant decline as soon as we leave, and you can tell he is just sure that he has done something, he has no idea what, that has caused the party to end, and he is sad and sorry about it.

Gizmo considers his number one priority to be defending the family and our territory [read home] and he takes his job very seriously. Thus, when someone innocently rings the doorbell, they will be greeted instantly by a full set of doggie teeth snarling in their kneecaps. [He would like it to be in their faces, but he's too short, so kneecaps, it is.]

When we yell at him to be quiet and stop the barking, he looks at us with wounded bewilderment, unable to comprehend why we are mad, since he is doing his job as ferociously as he can. Often, it simply makes him redouble his efforts in order to justify his existence, thereby making the situation even worse. One of us is not too bright, and I'm not sure he is the real problem, since I can read his mind, and he obviously has no idea what I want from him.

The other dog, a frilly little Papillion named TidBit, is cut from another cloth altogether. [I'm guessing the purple velvet that was originally restricted to use by royalty.] It would never occur to him that he was an annoyance, or that someone wouldn't want him. He has been accustomed to excessive attention since birth, and his expectation is that everyone should worship him at all times.

Despite this, he is a needy little guy, always following me around. He has given a whole new meaning to the term "dogging my heels" because that is what he does. I haven't made a move in six years that hasn't been observed, in detail, by this inquisitive little canine. His nose is everywhere, sniffing everything he can, to get the fullest experience life has to offer him.

But still, when he is left behind, you can see his little mind wondering what is coming next. I think he feels like he has been put on pause, awaiting our return when the fun will restart. He is longing to be let out to roam his kingdom again, and in the meantime, he is going to sleep the time away. But it is clear he hopes it won't be long.

Gizmo is a dog's dog, with the natural instincts and rules of canine society built into his psyche, and it's interesting to see his mind working within his limited scope of experience and understanding. His one goal in life is to make us happy, and his quest takes a variety of forms.

Being a Jack Russell, Gizmo sees all small furry creatures as the enemy, something to be cleared out and disposed of. That, of course, comes into substantial conflict with the resident cat, Meow, who sees her mission in life to be getting as much sleep as possible in between meals. For the most part, Gizmo carefully avoids Meow, and you can almost see him thinking, "Leave the cat alone, leave the cat alone, leave the cat alone." But every so often, in order to demonstrate his loyalty to our family pack, he seems to feel it is required to pay her some loving attention.

He will run over to her, usually when she is laying stretched out on the floor, and start to lick her, very roughly, and often just barely showing his teeth, in the sort of tough love that makes me worry for the cat's safety. Meow takes this treatment about as well as any cat would, hissing and batting his face, and snapping at his head until he moves.

When Gizmo is laying on my bed with me, or on the sofa, he will curl right up next to me, in the beta dog position, usually trying to be as close to my head as possible. If I get up for a minute, he will move into my position, yielding it back again the moment I return. If you read about canines in the wild, that is the role and behavior of the beta dog - they are second in command, holding down the fort while the alpha is busy, then yielding the leadership post upon the return of the real leader. Clearly, Gizmo covets that beta role.

And yet, in so many other ways, he is subservient to everyone and everything else in the household. He will lay on his back in submission the moment anyone reaches their hand out towards him. He will allow TidBit to push him around, and will even handicap himself when they are playing to make the playing field more fair.

I see Gizmo as a reluctant leader, filling the power vacuum of the second in command because no one else wants the job, and in his mind, you have to have a second in command, so he will do it. But the moment someone comes along that wants the job, he will be happy to surrender the position and go back to being a worker dog, just a part of the pack.

TidBit does not care about leadership. TidBit cares about toys and going for walks and eating dinner. He shoves his food bowl around with his foot, clearly waiting for the food to appear with each push of the paw. I can't tell if he understands that his pushing his bowl does not result in meal time, since the two are, in fact, frequently related. In order to get him to stop, I will, all too often, simply feed him if its time, thus rewarding him for his ridiculous behavior.

TidBit is, as dogs go, probably the smartest dog I've ever been around. He learned all his obedience training in one or two repetitions, a trait which seems admirable until you realize that he learns the bad habits even faster.

This natural intelligence leads to some rather amusing quirks, however, as his tiny brain tries to make sense of a world that is entirely random, at least from his perspective. One of the more entertaining things he does is what we like to call The Vent Challenge. It consists of him throwing or rolling his toy onto a heating vent in the floor, barking at it a couple of times, then snatching it away and strutting off triumphantly, like William the Conqueror after the fall of England.

As my son succinctly put it, "I would love to have been there for the birth of that psychosis."

TidBit has a rather extensive recognition of vocabulary, and responds quite vividly to words. Thus, a favorite game in this household has been to say a list of words he recognizes and associates with pleasure, occasionally throwing in a word that he hates. Cruel? Perhaps, but it's fun to see his little brain spin.

I will walk into a room to hear my son saying, "Walk. Treat. Toy. Bath." And I will see TidBit cock his head one way and then the other, trying to figure out which good thing is about to happen, and suddenly be frozen in time as he takes in the bad word that just got thrown his way. He seems somewhat more immune to it lately, so perhaps he has finally figured out that Adam is full of empty threats, but I notice he still keeps a healthy distance whenever that bath thing comes up.

When I looked out and saw all the snow this morning, I found myself contemplating what it must be like to have every single moment be unexpected, to never know what is happening or why, and to never make a plan, never worry about the future or fret about yesterday. When the dogs go to sleep at night, they do not spend time worrying about what will happen tomorrow, nor do they waste a moment regretting what went wrong today. They take life as it comes, they face the difficulties of the moment by solving them as best they can, and they move on to fight another day.

It must be a pretty odd existence to never know what is coming, and for everything to be a surprise all the time. But in a real way, despite our best efforts, we humans cannot see the future, either. We can plan, but plans go awry. We can prepare, but there will always be something unexpected that will pop up. We can anticipate and manage and hope and dream, but life offers no guarantees for any of us.

Life has been hard the last few years, not only for me personally, but for the country as a whole. We have all been focused on the negatives in our world today, from the economy and terrorism to health care and job losses. There has been little room in the gloom and despair for the joys and delights that make life worth living.

Although we certainly do need to face the difficulties that life throws our way, and there is no excuse for not having a long term goal or two, I am wondering if we shouldn't take a lesson from the dogs, and try to live life a little more in the here and now, instead of spending so much time worrying about what we cannot control. At the very least, I think we need to spend more time going for walks, treating ourselves to something good, and having fun with those we love.

Happy weekend! I wish you a week of joyful living, and the capacity to look a snowstorm in the eye and make a snowman out of it!

Spotless sunshine. Or something like that....

This morning, I got up, fed the dogs, got my coffee (the fact that they get fed before my coffee infusion tells you something about my feelings for them,) checked my e-mail, and then looked at my Facebook page. The first thing I saw at the top of my page was a quote posted by a young man of my acquaintance, and it made me think.

The quote was: "'How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.' Alexander Pope"

I suspect, for most who see the quote, they will not think about it at all, much less respond. But that quote struck a chord for me - it summed up something I have been pondering lately, and provided me the blog topic for this day.

As a purveyor of wordcraft, I cherish the subtle meanings and the hidden intentions of a carefully stated piece of prose. This particular piece evokes much thoughtful reflection in me, and my impromptu response was immediate, because the words are meaningful to me.

The landscape of the world has changed. When I was young, growing up in rural Minnesota, going the hour drive to The Cities was a Big Deal, an Event which would be thought about and planned for days, if not weeks, in advance. It usually required at least one long distance phone call, which was, of course, very expensive, so not something to be undertaken lightly. That small step out into the wider world was a major effort, and thus, we tended to be rather insulated from those who were different from us, and whom we did not know.

My, how things have changed. We now think nothing of talking to people across the globe at a moment's notice. We are constantly exposed to thoughts and ideas of every persuasion. We have information beating a path into our brains 24/7. We can have "friends" we have never met, we talk to total strangers and know all about their lives when we wouldn't recognize them if we ran into them at the mall. We see pictures and hear stories of people that have no connection to us, other than that they occupy the same social networking space.

And I am beginning to wonder whether this is all a good thing after all.

Don't get me wrong. I love Facebook for it's ability to bring me into touch with people I wouldn't otherwise see or talk to. I have reconnected with my roots in a way that has enriched my life unexpectedly, and it is a wonderful thing.

I have found an old friend once again, and restarted a relationship that I didn't even know I missed until it was there again, and I am grateful for that. I have built new relationships with other people that were only tangential to my existence when I was young, but with whom it turns out I have more in common than I realized, now that we are grown up. And it all happened with the simple click of a mouse.

The beauty of it all is that I don't have to explain anything about myself, because they already know my story from having lived it with me all those years ago in the small town where we started. Our parents are friends, we attended the same churches and schools and musical events, and our shared history gives us a common stage from which to view the world, even all these years later. Although our relationships are now primarily in cyberspace, they are rooted in the realities of the past.

But perhaps it is that very point which makes me wonder about the obsession of Facebook today, and the importance of keeping it in its place.

The dark side of social networking is, of course, that people who don't know you at all have an illusion that they do, and the two dimensional person you present on the page may be nothing like the real person you are. I fear that real relationships are being threatened by the shifting sands of a cyberworld that can be anything you want it to be, and the outcome may be, in the end, that what is most important will be ignored for what is not valuable at all.

I read an article just yesterday about connectedness, and how people are having permanent long distance relationships, aided by computers and webcams and social networking sites. Those interviewed expressed the thought that they were, in fact, intimately connected via cyberspace, even though they were hundreds of miles apart.

That made me wonder about the reality of the relationships, because it is pretty easy to be with someone for a few minutes online every few hours during a day. It's a whole other universe to be with someone in person 365 days a year. It's a rare person who would be flattered in the comparison, because in the former you can be anyone you want to be, while in the latter, you have no choice but to be yourself.

I have a friend who is in his late 20's, and unhappily single still. He has shared with me some of his frustrations, and it has been interesting to hear about dating in the 21st Century. Things have changed, and not necessarily for the better.

These days, when you find someone in whom you have an interest, the first thing you do is facebook them, to see what they look like. Then you send them a message; maybe ask to be friends. From there, you leave a message on their wall, or perhaps even chat, building up to exchanging cell phone numbers. Then you text back and forth for a few days.

By the time you get around to having that first date, you have already talked more than a lot of couples used to after weeks of dating. While we used to spend the week thinking about that special person, planning what to say when we were finally together again, in the accelerated dating culture of today, young adults have already had all the conversations before they even meet. It seems backwards to me, taking away the mystery, which is so much a part of the thrill of getting to know each other.

I can also see a risk to real relationships, as the easy flirting and instant access give you an illusion of a relationship that may not reflect a meeting of the minds involved. People with nothing to lose can harm those with everything to lose with a careless tap on the keyboard, and ill chosen words are seen instantly by hundreds of people on all sides of the equation.

In the last couple of days, I have seen that potential for disaster manifest itself several different ways, and they all worry me. As a friend recently pointed out, the problem with electronic communication is that there is no emotion, no body language, to help you interpret what is meant and what is intended, nor to help you understand how your words have been received. The anonymity of it all is what makes it so powerful; someone can engage in relational guerrilla warfare, and the victim won't even see it coming.

Google recently released a social networking feature for their e-mail that put this danger into powerful perspective for me. Research has shown that the success of social networking is directly related to the number of contacts you have amassed. Thus, the developers wanted to be sure that anyone using Google Buzz would have as many contacts as possible from the start. Someone in an ivory tower decided the best way to achieve this would be to include everyone you e-mailed from your account in a publicly viewed network, with your most frequent correspondents being ranked at the top of the list.

The outcry was immediate, and fairly devastating for Google, as people were suddenly put on the defensive by everyone from spouses to friends to co-workers, forced to explain the presence of this contact or that near the top of their list. I am willing to bet that more than a few friendships, not to mention relationships, blew up on the path to enlightenment before Google acknowledged the consequences of their ill conceived plan.

The saddest part, however, is that many of the people who were hurt were probably innocent bystanders, caught in a web of suspicion cast not by willfully inappropriate behavior, but by the unintended consequences of something meaningless that was left open to misinterpretation. Such is the danger of cyberspace, where everything is open to whomever is on your buddy list, and the most innocent of actions can be twisted into something nefarious at the whim of anyone who has an ax to grind.

I enjoy Facebook as much as the next person, and I certainly don't see it as an evil thing. But the obsession to check in all the time, know what everyone on your buddy list is doing, thinking, feeling every minute of the day, seems a little dangerous to me. There are apps which report your location so you don't even have to post it yourself, leaving your friends not a trail of bread crumbs, but a literal road map to your location. If I know you are having breakfast across town, but couldn't identify you if I saw you on the street, is that really a good thing for either one of us?

I am not giving up Facebook altogether, but I think there are a few reasons to pause and reflect on the power, both for good and bad, that have been revealed recently. It is a message that I am taking seriously, because I don't want to lose track of the flesh and blood people that are most important to me in order to know what someone I've never met is doing for lunch.

I have gradually become aware that the power to misinterpret words or intentions is greater than ever before, and is now carried out in front of a rather large audience, made up of people who may not have the same goals as me. I think I will be far more careful of the words I post in public, and keep my thoughts that may be best left in privacy to myself.

If Alexander Pope were to write his story today, I don't know what he would say. Instead of the illicit marriage, perhaps he would refer to cyberspace relationships, and the separation of the lovers would, instead, refer to the separation of oneself from the fantasy.

"How happy I deleted my Facebook page! I am forgotten by the social networking world, I am only who I really am. The angst of group thought is no longer an obsession in my head. I pray, I wish, I dream. I am me, and I am real."

The road unraveled...

Last weekend, I was out of town, celebrating the 18th birthday of my youngest child. It is a big milestone in life, not only for my daughter, but also for me. I have started in earnest the transition away from being her teacher, traffic controller, cook, and chief organizer to being her mentor, friend, and cheering section, and it's quite an adjustment for both of us.

Seeing your baby transform from a child to an adult is a disconcerting event, to say the least. I know from experience (she is not my first child to turn 18) that I will continue to see my newborn/two year old/six year old/ten year old/ early teen whenever I look at her. But I have also recently realized, especially when I see her in photos, how others see my little girl, and she is not so little any more.

Suddenly, she is in charge of her own life and dealing with her own issues; more effectively than I do, in some cases. She is smart, competent, capable and fully functional in the adult world. In other words, the day she has been dreaming about since she uttered her first word has become a reality, and she is now A Grown Up. Sort of.

It is interesting to watch your child become an adult. It has, at least for me, prompted a certain amount of soul searching about my own life; how I got to where I am, and where I would like to be if I was master of my universe. I have made more mistakes along the road than I care to remember, things I wish could have done better, along with the things I am proud of and which I feel I did well.

My daughter and I had a conversation in the car a few weeks ago which prompted some of the recent self-examination. We were talking about some of the big mistakes I have made in my life, and it quite naturally led to the phrase I have often heard people utter, "If I could do [X Event] over again, I would do it differently and get it right." It's a pretty human reaction when things turn out differently than you expect in life.

But when you are talking to your child, it puts those words into a different context, if you really consider what you are saying. The more I thought about it, I realized I had it backwards. We do not have a crystal ball to guarantee that life would have been better if only we had made another choice. We can only know where are, we cannot know where we would be if we had done things differently.

That led, in natural progression, to asking myself a totally different question, one that turned out to be more important to me. What would I be willing to give up in my life as it is now to go back in time and have a second chance to get it "right?"

That is a big question, one that cuts to the heart of your life regrets. Because if you had done things differently, you might have some benefits, it's true, but you would also have a cost. I think, while we are moaning about what is wrong, we owe it to ourselves to also acknowledge what is right, and to recognize that even bad decisions can have positive outcomes.

It is easy for someone who is divorced, for example, to carelessly say that if they could go back and do things differently, they would make a better choice in life partners. I would like to think that I have learned from my mistakes, and have frequently voiced that very opinion.

But, in light of my new vantage point, I turned that around, and asked myself what, in my current life, I would be willing to give up to have that second chance. That answer is much harder, because I value greatly most of what I have now, and I wouldn't be willing to give up much in order to have those years back.

If I had made a different decision when I was 23, first and foremost, I wouldn't have my children. Most parents will say they wouldn't trade their children for anything, of course, and I feel the same way. But if I had never married their father, and hadn't stayed in a marriage that was fairly dysfunctional for too many years, I wouldn't have them.

They have pointed out that if they had never been born, I wouldn't know the difference. But how much would I have missed out on not having my particular quirky, goofy children around? And what would the world have missed out on without them in it, as well? That puts an entirely different price on the cost of having a different outcome, one that would not be worth paying when seen through the lens of my current experience.

All of the consequences don't have to be life and death, of course. I would also have to give up the traveling I've done, the house I live in, the friends I have. I would be a totally different person, because the person I am today is the culmination of my life experiences, both good and bad. There would probably be another house, other travels, other friends, and other experiences, but would they mean as much to me? I don't know. All in all, I'm not so sure I would want to find out.

I could have made a decision to be a working mom while my kids were growing up, and we probably would have been better off financially when the divorce inevitably happened. But would I be willing to give up the many years of being a full time mom to my kids? How would that have changed their lives, and their opportunities?

Would my son be a Ph.D. candidate now if I hadn't been there to push and prod and work with the school to be sure he got exactly what he needed when he was younger? I don't know the answer to that, but I would not want to give up the opportunities he is now enjoying to find out.

My daughter and I have as close of a relationship as any mother and daughter I know. Would we have that kind of relationship if I had not been her room mother six years in a row? Would she be as proud of me, and I of her, if we had not gone through everything we have experienced together for the last five years? I don't know that, either, but I wouldn't give up the relationship we have today for anything.

I live in Kansas City because my ex-husband's job brought us here. I am enriched immeasurably by my life here, from my friends and neighbors to the work I do, all because of the decision I made 25 years ago. Would I be willing to give it up to have a different life experience now? That would be a pretty big sacrifice, and I'm not sure it would be worth it.

When we focus on what is wrong in life, [and rest assured, there is plenty wrong to focus on in mine at the moment,] it is easy to think that I should have done things differently or made better choices. But I am reminded, when I look at my beautiful 18 year old daughter, that even bad decisions can have good results, and for every mistake there is usually a silver lining.

As my daughter launches into her adult life, I wish many things for her. I wish her happiness and success, of course, along with wisdom and courage for what surely lies ahead. But I also wish her the comfort of knowing that whatever goes wrong can also work out all right, and that when you look for the silver lining, sometimes you find a whole jewelry store.

When you reach the inevitable fork in life's road, you have to choose one way over the other, or you will never get anywhere. There is no way to know what would have happened if you had taken the other option, no matter how things turn out. But you can rest assured that even the wrong way can lead to the right end.

Happy birthday to the greatest gift life can bring - my darling and much loved daughter. I wish you many more happy stops along your own path, and a life filled with all good things. When you reach the same vantage point where I currently find myself, I wish you the peace of knowing what is important to you, and the wisdom to spend your time looking forward instead of back.

Don't come crying to me....

When my children were young I was fond of saying, "Well, you can do [whatever stupid thing you are about to do that I, with my superior knowledge gleaned from greater life experience, have already told you will not end well,] but don't come crying to me when [whatever dire thing I have predicted] happens." My kids hate that phrase, but I have always felt it was important for them to recognize when someone with better information is warning them off of the action they are about to take, they should listen. And if they choose not to, they are, in fact, the architects of their own demise.

Just to be clear, that doesn't mean I won't be standing there with them to help them pick up the shattered pieces. Of course I will. I am their mom, and I'm in it with them, for better and for worse, for the rest of their lives. I will be that little voice in their heads, whether they want me there or not, and that is where I will stay.

If there is one thing I find intolerable in our current narcissistic culture, it is the inability of virtually everyone to take responsibility for their own stupid mistakes. There is no bad outcome for which blame cannot be assigned to someone else, no matter how small or big the transgression. It seems to be endemic in our culture, systemic in everything from government to sports to education.

Believe it or not, this little rant does not arise courtesy of the Tiger Woods dramatic presentation for this week. [Truth be told, I genuinely cannot comprehend why an overpaid prima donna athlete behaving badly off the course corresponds to multiple international press conferences to explain what we already knew - he is human, he has too much time and money on his hands, and he has used it unwisely. To everyone, I say, don't come crying to me. See how well that works?]

No, the straw that broke this particular camel's back can be laid at the feet of yet another elite athlete exhibiting a monumental breakdown of common sense. And the only thing more stupefying than the international revelation of his poor sportsmanship is the collective yawn that his own particular world has issued upon hearing from him at this inopportune point in time.

The Olympic games are, above all, supposed to be a display of the world's greatest athletes coming together in unity for the sake of some greater good. Peace, harmony, higher level endorsements - take your pick, it's a bonanza of blessings with plenty for all. Whatever else happens, though, the Olympics are, in a sense, supposed to embody the joining of hands around the world's campfire while we all sing Kum Ba Yah and share s'mores.

There are spotlight events, certainly, which are eagerly anticipated by people across the globe, and which receive the lion's share of the televised attention. [Since these events are the money makers, they probably deserve the greater televised time commitment and attention, and I don't suppose anyone is complaining about that.] But there are lesser events, also, shown on a national stage once every four years, and which probably survive on the brief, but financially critical exposure they receive. I for one, applaud that, because there should be room enough for everyone at the round Olympic table, if the Olympic spirit means anything at all.

Unfortunately, that uneven attention also gives athletes who are inexperienced at being the focus of the world's so-called hard news press corps unequal power in making remarks on that same international stage. We are not talking about professional athletes who have microphones shoved in their faces after every weekly televised performance, who have advice and guidance on handling that attention, and often still screw it up. We are talking about mostly young, impulsive athletes, risk takers by nature or they wouldn't be elite at such a young age, who are normally guided and shielded from the moment they get up in the morning until they retire at night, suddenly unleashed on their own to say whatever they may really think without someone to put the right words in their mouths.

It's a recipe for catastrophe. Spoiled individuals who would otherwise not have a forum from which to make stupid remarks are suddenly caught in the limelight, and they cannot resist the temptation to justify themselves at the cost of whomever gets in their way.

It is one of those athletes who has cast his narcissistic pall over what otherwise appears to have been as successful an event as is possible where a participant was killed right before the opening ceremonies. [A brief disclaimer here - I have not watched more than a few minutes of the entire spectacle this year, because I swore off the Olympics some years ago in the wake of a judging scandal which has soured me on my former favorite sport, ice skating, pretty much forever.]

The athlete in question is a Russian figure skater, and it is not his remarks themselves that I would question, nor his right to make them. I believe that a sport is shaped by its participants, so who better to determine the future course than one who has been elite in the performance of that discipline?

But, as my mother used to say, there is a time and a place for everything, and the Olympics is neither the time nor the place to complain about the standards for performance, especially after the medal has been won by someone else. I could have told him his complaints would fall flat. I suspect, if he shared his intention to reveal his own narcissistic vision of reality to anyone else, they probably did.

Unfortunately, his diarrhea of the mouth ran unchecked, and he became the poster child for everything that is wrong with our society in one ill fated moment. According to him, he did not earn the second place silver medal he was awarded, despite leaving the competitive arena for three years and trying to make his come back a scant few months before the main event. No, instead the sport should be changed to fit his particular strengths, and the athlete who was awarded the top prize was not worthy.

In other words, it's not FAAAA-IR. Wah.

I am sure many second place athletes have thought that before. I imagine more than a few were even correct in that opinion. We have seen athletes walk away from the podium and throw their floral bouquets or even take their medals off in a display of petulant poor sportsmanship which was usually roundly disparaged.

But never, in my memory, has an athlete on so privileged a stage had the classless lack of grace to insinuate that he lost because the broken eggs in the sports basket he chose were more valuable than the dozen that were delivered safely. And I am stupefied that anyone, to say nothing of the people in the highest levels of his sport, would not only not solidly condemned him, but even defend his rotten public behavior.

Timing is everything, and this was not it. If you want to change the nature of men's figure skating, then have an international conference and argue it out until you come to consensus. Cover it, don't cover it, talk about the rules, don't talk about them, whatever.

But do not, in the wake of losing the event, come out at the Olympic games and deliver a sanctimonious condemnation of the judging which pointed out that some of your eggs were broken. If he were my kid, I would call him a spoiled brat, and tell him to apologize to the winner, who has been wronged most greatly by his selfish actions.

The Olympics are not about one sport or one country or one person. The Olympics are about international peace and cooperation through sport. The Games themselves are the important thing, and they transcend the petty differences of the usual, every day world.

It is for that reason that they continued, despite the murder of athletes in the Olympic Village. Because Jesse Owens threw down the gauntlet for racial tolerance in the face of the world's most well known bigot on the stage of the Olympic games, it was the beginning of change. It was because of the transcendence of the Games over the individual that the Opening Ceremonies were celebrated a few hours after the tragic death of an athlete who dreamed his entire life of reaching that pinnacle. It is a testament to the dream of international unity that the games go on no matter what obstacles are thrown in the path. That is what makes them special.

It is disappointing that the highest officials in one of the most visible and popular sports at the Games didn't have the common sense to rein in their cranky athlete and send him back to the podium to make at least a superficial apology to the gold medal winner of the event. This apparently officially sanctioned temper tantrum will certainly come back to bite them down the road.

It is not only the sport of figure skating that suffers from this particular form of myopia, of course. It seems like wherever we look these days the media, and our own personal lives, are filled with people refusing to accept the consequences of their bad decision making. Whether it is fixing a speeding ticket, lying to parents or cheating on a spouse, passing the buck at work, or glorifying an athlete who takes steroids, we want to be conscience free. The end justifies the means, unless we get caught, in which case, it is everyone's fault but our own.

Perhaps the sport of figure skating should take a hint from Tiger, after all, and realize that the first step back to relevancy comes with an apology, whether sincere or not. And the second step is all about the actions. Nothing less than the legitimacy of the sport itself is at stake. If they fail to grasp the consequences, they have only themselves to blame.

If that happens, we can only hope that they won't come crying to us in the end.

Oh, my martyred saint....

It seems Valentine's Day cannot be ignored. Believe me, I've tried. It can't be done. It is ubiquitous, obsequious even; everywhere.

The media are full of stories on everything from the cost of flowers and online dating to finding the perfect Valentine's gift, which will win the heart of your Valentine and bring true love to your life. The stores have rolled out candy and cards to commemorate your timeless feelings. Facebook has gotten into the act by asking you to spill the details of your love story with everyone else. We are inundated with the trappings of the holiday. Cupid is pervasive, and the celebration is complete.

Except I know a number of people for whom that goal has been elusive.

Some have given up entirely. I, for one, thought I had grabbed that brass ring, but it turned out to be fool's gold. I'm not eager to be made the fool once again, and I'm not too fond of merry-go-rounds, either. Others, waiting for their own Godot, look hopefully into a future that never seems to arrive. For a few, they have loved and lost too soon, and there is no replacement for the soul mate that is gone.

Whatever the reason, there are a lot of people looking through the window at the party for which they didn't receive an invitation. It can be hard, painful even, to be left with your face pressed to the glass, invisible, watching everyone else have all the fun.

I was thinking about Valentine's Day this week, and started to wonder why the celebration got started, and who Valentine really was. After extensive research (which actually means I wiki'ed it this morning,) I have learned a few interesting facts.

Saint Valentine was a person (or possibly several people) who may have lived a few centuries after Christ, and could have been a martyr for his Christian faith. It's a little cloudy as to whether he was even real, but if so, there seems to be some agreement that he was probably beheaded. [So far, this sounds a lot more like divorce than love - after a lot of pain and anguish, you aren't sure any of it was even real.]

The early Catholic church didn't recognize him as a saint, but somewhere along the line, he was added in as a "generic" martyr. To make a short story even shorter, that means they have no idea who he was or what he actually did, but there was a legend out there, and they were covering all their bases, just in case he was real and God was especially fond of him.

Thus was born the story of Saint Valentine, who was martyred for his love of a Saviour that the world of his day didn't recognize. Even if he wasn't real as a person, he made a terrific stand-in for all the true Christian martyrs of that time, so the legend became reality.

The holiday of love that we associate with Saint Valentine today seems to be a medieval concoction. It is commonly attributed to Geoffrey Chaucer, an English writer of the 14th century. Chaucer glorified the tradition of courtly love and chivalry in his writing, and may have referred to St. Valentine's Day in his Parlement of Foules, although scholars disagree on that point. It seems clear, however, that the traditions of romantic lovers exchanging gifts came into common practice sometime during the mid to late Middle Ages, and have been in place ever since.

In the current incarnation of Valentine's Day, the expressions of love have expanded somewhat to include classmates, parents and children, friends, and co-workers. We decorate our homes and desks with hearts all pink and red, and the flower industry goes into overtime to provide the tributes that will be exchanged. There are classroom parties, private dinners, and valentine cards and candies traded all around. The cynic in me believes this expansion of the holiday is more about a love of retail than a love of people. But the net effect is that the window to the party has been thrown open, and everyone who loves someone is free to join the festivities.

There is a movie, "Love Actually," which the director has attributed to a delayed flight. While he sat in the airport, he watched people arriving and departing, and he made the interesting observation that love is not the stuff of fairy tales and glamorous moments. It is not elegant, and often not eloquent. It is messy and raw and real. Love is experienced in the moments when one person needs another, and finds someone there for them.

Whether you have A Valentine, the soul mate of fables and dreams, or many valentines in your life, as Hugh Grant said in the movie, "Love actually is all around." In a cold, hard world filled with grim reminders of how evil humans can be to each other, I think that is something worth celebrating.

Happy Valentine's Day to one and all! Enjoy your celebration of love, whatever it may be.