Wise old owl....

Not too long ago, in a moment of exasperation, someone I know informed me that I am an owl. He had recently learned about animal personality profiles, and his assessment of me was that I fit that profile to an O. This evening, as I was mulling something over, I thought of that comment and it prompted me to look up that personality test to see what the owl traits actually were.

The Owl Personality: A quiet thinker with analytical traits; wants to know things, wants accuracy, likes lists, numbers and statistics. Loves detail, research, data and information. Dislikes change, taking risks, people who are sloppy in their work and who have poor time-keeping habits. Owls also dislike people who are showy and loud. When change is happening, they want to know HOW to do what they are being asked to do. Can get quite stressed during change processes, particularly if a lot of change happens over a sustained period. Under pressure Owls will avoid conflict. Owls are attracted to careers in banking, insurance, office management and even credit control.

I hadn't bothered to look at the profile before, because I knew it wasn't exactly meant as a compliment. I have to admit, though, he probably got it exactly right, although I think most of the traits are qualities, of course, whereas I believe my identifier was feeling otherwise, at least at the time.

I haven't taken the test, but I probably don't need to, either. Anyone who knows me at all should be able to easily identify me, in fact. I laughed out loud when I got to the end. I wish I'd had this back when I was in my 20's and trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up....

Of course, this is just a profile, and I'm sure everyone has elements of all four profiles in their personalities. I am certainly the owl, but I also have some dove traits, too. Which probably explains why it takes me two weeks to choose a pencil. (That observation came courtesy of my ex, Mr. Peacock, when he was irritated with my indecision one day. Sadly, I couldn't deny it. If you're right, you're right. Annoying, but right.)

As I reviewed the other profiles, I quickly identified my closest relatives, some of whom are my exact opposites. That might explain a few things. Anyway, I offer here for your reading enjoyment the remaining profiles. See if you can find yourself, or your spouse, parents or children, in any of them.

The Dove Personality: Amiable, caring, sensitive. Great helpers, very personal, indirect communicators (tend to ask permission before they will do something). Also don’t like too much change, but if change has to happen, they want to know WHO needs to do what. Can become personally involved with other people’s problems, sometimes to the detriment of their workload. Their whole reason for being is to build personal relationships. Very supportive people; great in customer service. Under great pressure can tend to do a ‘Poor me, it’s not fair’ type of reaction. Can be martyrs if they are not careful. Love careers to do with people. Nursing, counseling, teaching and being nannies. Great in customer service and love dealing with customer complaints. They will love your customers to bits.

The Peacock Personality: Peacocks are the very loud, life-and-soul of the party types that Owls dislike so much. They are intuitive, impulsive, swift moving (often hard to find because they move about so much and so often). Love being the front person, love social situations, parties are their life-blood. Need appreciation, recognition and regular pats on the back. Like to inspire others – can be very charismatic. Not good with deadlines, detail or time-frames. Dislike meetings, particularly meetings that drill down into too much detail. Great at coming up with off-the-wall ideas, but don’t ask them to implement the ideas, they are not great implementers. Want to know WHY. Great salespeople.

The Eagle Personality: Direct, action-orientated, can be quite forceful and dominant. Often in positions of power. Wants to know WHEN. Needs to be in Control, needs deadlines and expects people to stick to them. A direct communicator – can tend to tell rather than ask. Not good with time-wasters or woolly thinkers. Particularly dislikes long-winded explanations and hates excuses.

Turns out I am closely related to a peacock, a dove, and an eagle, although I'm guessing the eagle wouldn't recognize himself. The peacock would not only embrace the situation, but would, in fact, want to throw a party to celebrate.

The profiles that are most likely to come into conflict? Peacocks and owls; doves and eagles.

Of course, you need all kinds of personalities, or you would never get anything done. So I think we should embrace our own particular qualities, whatever they may be. Of course, owl that I am, I enjoyed seeing myself quantified and nailed down. Odd? Perhaps. But at least it's in character.

The only thing missing was how much of the population falls into each category. Given the current celebrity cultural obsession, I'm guessing peacocks make up the majority of the population, followed by the eagles, who all want to be in charge of everyone. [As an owl, I spend a lot of time avoiding those in charge types, because it's people like me that they most want to rule.] I suspect doves are in short supply, and all the owls are in hiding, trying to figure out where they will blend best with the foliage so no one notices them. [They just need to accumulate a few more facts before they have to make a decision about something.]

While I don't take these personality profiles too seriously, I think there is some value in looking at the different ways we all approach the world, and how we cope and manage our lives. If we spend a little time recognizing our own traits, it may help us to identify those areas where we need to give a little extra effort. And it may help us to work better with others if we understand where they are coming from, as well.

Birds of a feather flock together, they say. But I wish you a bouquet of feathers of every bird, because that will make your life richer, if a little more confusing. And probably more fun, if the peacocks have anything to say about it.

Give me an inch, I will take a mile.....

About 13 years ago, I had a tiny spot on my upper back, under a bra strap, that would not go away. It was in a location that was very hard to see, and it took awhile for me to pay attention. It would catch, then it would bleed, then scab over until the next time, and we would repeat.

After a few weeks of this, I was tired of treating the blood stains on my clothing, so I decided I had better get serious about healing it up. I put a bandaid over it with a little antiseptic ointment, figuring with a little protection, it would be gone in a day or two, and that would be it.

Things didn't work out quite the way I expected. It didn't heal, it continued to bleed on and off, and this tiny little spot, no bigger than a pin point, really, just would not go away. Finally, I made an appointment with my doctor to have it removed.

This was not my first trip into his office. I had been there many times before to have suspicious moles looked at and the occasional dysplastic nevi removed, due to my high risk for having melanoma. (Fair skin, blue eyes, so many blistering burns I can't count them, difficulty tanning, the list goes on and on.)

I thought at least this time there wouldn't be the worry about what it was, because it in no way fit the risk factors for anything serious. I didn't think it was a mole, and I didn't recall having seen it there before. It was tiny, pin point sized, and perfectly round. It was raised, but that was only because it kept scabbing over. The edges were irregular, but of course, the scab was my explanation for that as well. It just appeared to be an irritated spot, and I wanted to get rid of it.

The couple weeks wait before I could get into his office passed quickly. When I got into the examining room, the doctor, who has a lot of experience with these kinds of spots, said he didn't think it was anything to worry about. However, he agreed it needed to come off, since it just wouldn't close up and heal. He also said he was sending it in to a lab for testing, just to be on the safe side given my history of dysplasia, which seemed like overkill to me, but I was just happy to be over and done with it.

It was a quick procedure, although it seemed more painful than usual. He told me when he had finished that he had taken enough that it required taping with steri strips, which would fall off on their own. He also warned me to make sure I kept it dressed with a bandaid until it was fully healed.

I thought it was odd, for such a small spot, to have taken such a large amount around it, and the wound went rather deep. But he reassured me before I left his office that although he would biopsy it, he didn't think it was anything to worry about, and I didn't need to come back unless it gave me trouble.

I went home, not thinking about it any more, and figured no news is good news. I thought very little more about it, other than the wound hurting for a day or two.

A couple of weeks later, I received a phone call from his nurse, and she uttered the word that I had been waiting, in the back of my mind, to hear for so long. "Because the biopsy revealed melanoma cells, we need to get you scheduled for a follow up exam."

I will never forget that moment.

It took my breath away, and my stomach knotted into a ball as I stood at the end of my kitchen counter. I don't remember what day of the week that call came, but I will never forget how it felt to hear the word cancer applied to my own life. I had very young children, I was only in my 30's. I had too much life left to have cancer, (and a very deadly form, moreover.)

I hit bottom with a thud, then realized it had to be a mistake. The doctor had never notified me, they didn't call and have me come in, nothing. Obviously, they had the wrong patient; had mixed me up with someone else.

I heaved an internal sigh of relief, and then told the nurse that I thought she had the wrong person. I confidently told her I hadn't been notified of anything like that, I only had a small spot removed, and it was over and done with. She asked me to hold so she could look at the original report again, to verify her information.

It was a long minute while I awaited the official reprieve - although I have always been the queen of denial, it is a lot harder to live in ignorance when you are waiting on hold for the doctor's office. But still, I knew in my heart that it was a mistake, and waited with confidence to have it cleared up.

The next voice I heard was my doctor, apologizing, and trying to explain. I don't remember exactly what he said, I sort of blanked out as he was talking, overwhelmed at the sudden turn my life had taken. I do remember him saying that somehow, my report had slipped by him, and that he was sorry I had gotten the news on the phone. I also remember him telling me they only saw a few cells in the top layer of the skin, that it was caught in the earliest stage possible, stage 0 to 1, and that they were certain they got everything with the biopsy.

The other thing he said are the words I have embraced since that day - I was lucky, because most people wouldn't have gone in and done anything about it. Melanoma is a rapid and deadly killer, and six months later might have been too late. Except for the extreme good fortune that it was in a location where it was being irritated, I might not have seen it until it was too advanced to treat.

An inch to the right or an inch to the left, and this story might have had another ending. That inch very probably saved my life.

Other than my immediate family and a few close relatives and friends, I have rarely mentioned my brush with cancer to anyone.

It is in part denial, I suppose. I am good at ignoring things in hopes they will somehow evaporate, although that has never been a particularly winning strategy, so I'm not sure why I keep trying. Until you talk about it, it's not really real, goes the thought process, so don't talk about it, and it won't be happening.

But it is also partly because I have never really felt like I had cancer, so I never felt it was right for me to say that I did. I didn't know what I had brewing at the time, and it was already gone before I found out. Talking about a cancer that was barely there seemed somehow wrong, because I didn't have a life battle to tell about; no chemotherapy, no radiation, my hair never fell out, nothing. I had a bit of minor surgery, it was gone before I knew it was there, and my life went on as if nothing happened.

The only time I have ever really talked about it is to yell at my kids to put on sunblock, because of course, they now have a family history of melanoma. Where my kids' lives are concerned, I cannot afford to play dumb, and neither can they.

I have always framed this experience for myself as being lucky, because it could have been bad, if I hadn't gotten it removed when I did. I refer to it as baby cells, just developing, no big deal. I never use the word cancer, really it was just a spot that could have been bad, if I had waited.

Of course, for the first year, I returned for checks every three months, then the following few years it was every six, to be certain that it didn't return, either to that spot, or somewhere else. Melanoma is one cancer that is at high risk for returning, and they are very careful in follow up treatments to be certain that it has not recurred. In between visits, I watch every mole on my skin, and any time there is something new or different, I keep an eye on it, and my doctor will see it next time I'm in her office, just in case.

There is disagreement among the experts about whether dysplastic nevi actually turn into melanoma, or whether melanoma is itself the spot from the first day. All I know is that I had a spot that caused a small problem, and because I paid attention, I am here today to tell you about my experience.

Why am I suddenly telling the world something I have been reluctant to admit even to myself? It is a fair question, and the answer is two fold.

The first answer is the quick and easy one - early detection saves lives. I am here today because I noticed something unusual and acted on it. It is critical to be aware of our own bodies, and to notice changes. You should never be afraid to talk to your doctor about anything that has changed, or seems different, or feels funny about your own body, because that is how lives are saved.

But that desire to warn people, alone, has not been enough to bring me out of my insulated shell. I am selfish enough to want to control my experience, and the desire for privacy has trumped everything else until now.

Last night, I reluctantly attended an event at my daughter's high school. Relay For Life is an annual fundraiser sponsored by the American Cancer Society, and I have always carefully avoided it. One of the things they do at this event is to honor cancer survivors. Given my attitude, that is a little awkward for me, so I have never been a part of it.

However, last night's event was co-chaired by my daughter. She found out at the last moment that there were very few survivors planning to attend, and she was trying to think of more people to invite that they could honor. She called out to me to ask me who I could think of, when suddenly, she stopped and said, "YOU are a cancer survivor. YOU can come and be honored."

If you had hit me with a brick in the middle of my forehead I could not have been more gobsmacked.

It was not an aha moment for me, it was a moment of panic, as I tried to back away from her words. I thought of all the people I know who have survived a real battle with cancer, and volunteered to contact everyone I know to see if there were more people that would be willing to attend and claim that status with pride.

She was disgusted with me. Even as I was carefully explaining to her and her boyfriend that I was not, in any way, a cancer survivor, she rather brutally reminded me that I have had melanoma, and that is cancer.

That is the thing about one's own children. They are not afraid to cut through the carefully constructed illusion and just throw the truth down on the table in front of you. Well, mine aren't, anyway.

I went to bed, having reluctantly agreed that I would think about it, and we didn't talk about it much more. I did agree to attend, not because I felt like I deserved to, but because she needed survivors. I qualified on a technicality, and I wanted to help her out.

When I arrived for the dinner, I received a T-shirt. I looked around at some of the people wearing the shirts, and was shocked to see the number of kids in purple. Cancer is an equal opportunity scourge, and that dinner was a good reminder of how far we are from eliminating it.

After the dinner, attended by a few people including one of my best friends who has survived her own battle, we all gathered for a picture. I put on the T-shirt without really looking at it, but I still didn't get the message that was meant for me.

Then we went into the gym for a short program. That program has changed my view of both my own attitude, and what it means to be a survivor.

During that program, I heard a woman talk about her battle with breast cancer. She is alive today because she was persistent, because she refused to take no for an answer, because she knew, when everyone else told her otherwise, that something was wrong, and she kept on searching until they had the right answer for her.

That woman is my template for what it means to be a survivor. She shouldn't even be here right now, and she has defied the odds. It is inspiring to be in the presence of people with such courage, and humbling, as well. When she called on the other survivors there to step out onto the floor to be recognized, I felt unworthy, like a fraud.

Following her talk, the survivors started the relay by taking a victory lap around the gym. It was a moment that changed my perception, because I had in front of me two people in purple T-shirts, and for the first time I read the message on the back.

"Happy Birthday is a victory song."

That is the message of survival, and it spoke straight to my heart. I am here today because of early detection, fluke though it may have been, and that is my story of survival. Each person who has battled cancer has their own story, and my story doesn't diminish anyone else's, nor does theirs diminish mine.

On the contrary, my story is the storybook ending, the hoped for outcome, for every person who has had that dreaded moment of hearing the word cancer applied to them. In fact, I would wish for every single person, and their loved ones, the happy ending that I was lucky enough to enjoy.

I was aware of my body because I got the message long ago that early detection is important, and now it is my turn to pass that lesson along to others. I will soon celebrate my 50th birthday because someone else taught me that early detection is the key, and everything went right for me. My story could have turned out differently, but for the warning that I needed to be aware of my body and what it was telling me.

It has been more than ten years since cancer gave me a passing blow, and in the eyes of the medical actuaries, I am back to square one - as if I had never had a cancer cell invade my body, and my mind. But if I am honest with myself, it has changed me indelibly. You cannot brush up against cancer and be untouched, no matter how fortunate you are, or how easily you got through it.

I worry about my kids using sunblock, and I wear sunblock religiously myself, where I otherwise probably would never have thought about it.

I don't go out in the heat of the day, and I don't want anyone else out there, either, because it is too much risk, and nothing is worth that.

I avoid situations in which I could get burned again, because I cannot afford even one blister any more.

I do a mole self-check every single month. Whenever I find something different or unusual or changed, I make an appointment to be seen by a doctor immediately instead of just brushing it off and pretending it doesn't worry me. I am aware of the signs of melanoma in a way that most people aren't, and I am constantly on the lookout for the next suspicious spot.

I make sure that my doctor keeps an eye on my moles each year at my annual physical, just to be sure that I haven't missed anything.

Although I don't dwell on it, I am never far from awareness that my life could have turned out differently, and I have deep gratitude that I was lucky when it really mattered.

Today, I am going to add one more change to the list because of attending that dinner last night. I am going to remind people whenever I can that early detection is the key to long term cancer survival. The earlier you find it, the more likely you are to beat it. It's that simple, and I am living proof.

On my next birthday, and every one thereafter, I will celebrate my survival with my family and friends. When they sing Happy Birthday, I will hear it in a new way. I will embrace the victory that I have experienced, and I will have a new appreciation for the life that I have been given.

In the meantime, I am going to frame a ruler and hang it on my wall as a reminder to everyone who comes in my door that early detection is one key to survival. And I'm going to take the inch I've been given and fight for the whole mile. Life is a gift to be shared, and I celebrate the living.

I want to pass that life saving gift to you, as well - early detection could save your life. Be self-aware, and don't be afraid to ask your doctor about anything that worries you. Schedule your annual physical today, and do the testing your doctor recommends, even though it seems like a waste of time, or you don't want to. Early detection saves lives, and next time it could be you.

Here is a website to learn about the early warning signs of melanoma, complete with pictures. http://www.skincancer.org/Melanoma/Warning-Signs.html

Happy birthday to Mom, Tootsie, Becky, Denise and every other cancer survivor out there. Today is the best day to celebrate your victory, and I cherish each day you have won.

I wish you an inch. It's up to you to run the mile.

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.