Don't hate me because I'm beautiful

That's what this doe is saying to you. It's not her fault she's so darned pretty.

(Anyone else remember those cheesy 80s commercials, with the incomparably lovely Kelly LeBrock speaking those exact words to the camera? I tried not to hate her... and then I found out she was married to Steven "Ponyboy" Seagal. Nothing to envy there.)

I couldn't get this doe's face exactly right... I finally had to just walk away. I hate that, but sometimes it's either walk or start over—and there was no way that I was starting over.

Happy weekend!

Married to Mr. Rogers

I love Mr. Rogers. I grew up with him in our living room, and then he came back to visit regularly when my son was very small. He's a gem, that Mr. Rogers, a real national treasure.

He's actually an ordained Presbyterian minister who chose to share God's unconditional love through the medium of television. Mr. Rogers' gentle affirmations, exaggerated character voices, and deceptively simple musical compositions live in the minds of countless people in this country and well beyond.

He's awesome.

But I never thought I'd connect him to my marriage.

And then my husband bought these shoes.

I like the shoes a lot. They closely resemble a pair of my own shoes. And a pair of my son's shoes, as well. They're the ultimate spring and early summer footwear: comfortable, casual but not sloppy, fun without being too faddish. I am actually the one who found them in the store and recommended them to my hus.

I didn't realize how much this particular look connotes Fred Rogers' style until I began to trip over these canvas beauties around my own home. Each time I spy them under a dresser or tossed aside by the back door, laces wandering loosely, I think of Mr. Rogers. I have half a mind to find a cardigan sweater of some woodland color, perhaps a vintage style with wide blocks of vertical color on the front, and present it to my guy for Father's Day.

Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won't you be my husband?

No blessing for you!!! *

There are a lot of weird phrases and behaviors that have been ingrained in us since childhood. Some such traditions help pave the way for courteous interaction; it has even been said that "good manners are the glue of our society," or something similar to that. Yet there exist a few archaic, misguided cultural morés that simply don't make sense.

The act of pronouncing "God bless you" after someone near you sneezes, for example. Doing just a few minutes' worth of research turns up limitless possible reasons why English-speaking cultures do this, but not a one of them still holds water. When someone sneezes, do any of us honestly believe that the sneeze is a vulnerable millisecond upon which the soul is more exposed to evil spirits? Is there a one among us who truly thinks the heart stops while the sneeze happens? No one is sneezing as a pre-cursor to the plague any longer; why do we all still bless each other as if the sneezer were at death's door?

The thing that makes me pause most of all is the fact that nearly everyone uses this phrase, or its secular third cousin, the shorter version of "Bless you." People who don't utter the word blessing in any other context are sure to trip over the next person in order to bless a complete stranger after his face has contorted and blown droplets nearby. Why?

We have decided in our home to oust this phony proprietary phrase. We're not saying it anymore. Instead, it's the burden of the sneezer to pardon him or herself after sneezing. After all, sneezing is actually rather disgusting, often resulting in flying spittle, snotty nose, and a loud shout whilst all that nastiness is expelled. In my family, it's more often a volley of sneezes. Yeeeeeuch.

I invite you to join us in the "No Blessing for You" campaign. It's easy. Simply say nothing when someone near you sneezes. It's okay. The sneezer likely does not have the plague, nor did his heart stop. And I hate to break it to you all, but evil spirits are all around, all the time—not just when you sneeze.

Blessings are good, when intentional and heartfelt. Praying for blessing for people is even better. But not when they spit on me.


*If you're a fan of the 90s sit-com Seinfeld, then you know the Soup Nazi—the crazy foreign fellow who makes stupendous soup but serves or withholds it as he sees fit. This title is a nod to that episode. The "glue of society" comment is another Seinfeld moment--Kramer said it.)

Balance in a world of agonies

I've been reading a book I borrowed from my dad: My War by Andy Rooney. Yes, the same Andy Rooney who's on 60 Minutes, or used to be—I haven't seen that show in ages so I'm uncertain as to whether Andy still offers his curmudgeonly commentaries there. Anyway, it's an interesting, sometimes funny, often brutal and upsetting account of Andy's time as a war correspondent during WWII.

A first-hand account of what someone sees during bloody wartime makes for some pretty awful stories. I wouldn't say the book is fun to read, because it's not. Parts of it are fun, parts are entertaining (his opinionated reports on George Patton and Ernest Hemingway are downright laughable), and parts of it are stomach-turning because they include factual accounts of death scenes I couldn't imagine in my worst nightmare.

Why am I reading this book? Well, I need to know more about American history, for one thing; I seem to be the member of my family most lacking in general historical knowledge. For another, I like Andy Rooney's style; I admire his succinct and sometimes caustic delivery. Lastly, I live in such an innocent little suburban bubble that I feel the need to expose myself to reality. Unpleasant, messy reality.

That sort of reality doesn't exist only in the past, as you well know. It's all around us. You can't turn on the news without hearing of death and destruction, fire and floods, murders and terrorists. Our world is a scary place. I can tune out and live in my bubble, but in order to exist in our culture, I have to expose myself to news coverage at least somewhat, especially if I want to know when the snowstorm is coming.

I guess if we want to live a balanced life, we need a little bit of both worlds: the dangerous place all around us versus the good place where most of us are blessed to be regularly. I read a book like the Andy Rooney account, and then I read an easier, happier, more escapist novel that gives me a little boost. Recently, I re-read The Secret Garden. That's a feel-good kind of story, and pretty much the antithesis of a war memoir.

I try to take the same approach to daily media consumption. Do I need to know that there are people in the world who are capable of burying a child alive? Is it necessary to hear that another drug deal went bad and someone was shot in the face? Must I be advised of a deadly dog attack, see pictures of a vandalized cemetary, or know the details of a little boy's drowning in a septic tank?

I don't know. I certainly don't want this information. Yet neither do I want to live so blissfully and ignorantly that I'm unaware of the fallen world around me. If I don't hear the bad news, perhaps the video of a soldier's homecoming won't touch me as deeply. If I'm never reminded of the evil that surrounds us, perhaps I'll forget to teach my child wariness of odd strangers or unfamiliar dogs. If I don't read the stories of tremendous casualties during combat, I might never truly appreciate a serviceman's duty done well, or the scars that service leaves.

We have to find balance. We have to be careful, because what you put in your mind stays there. If you fill it with gore, violence, and hatred, it will consume you. Likewise, if you fill it with mindlessness, with too many new cars and fashion and man-made fluff, it's probable you'll lose touch with real priorities. Lord knows it's easy to do that, with our silly, selfish, overly-comfortable lifestyles. It's important to read the comics; it's also important to read the headlines, the features stories.

I filter everything that comes into my world—books, papers, magazines, television, movies. You can't take something out once it lives in your mind. Be selective. Be perceptive. If something feels disturbing and wrong, walk away. I will forever be haunted by a taped 911 cell phone conversation I heard on a news show years ago: the last words of a woman who'd mistakenly driven off a bridge and into water, where she foolishly called 911 for help instead of getting out of the car immediately... That's a phone conversation I never wanted to hear, and it will never be out of my head.

Balance is difficult to achieve. I don't think I'll ever get it exactly right. I'm trying. Meantime, we watched It's a Wonderful Life the other night; it was nice to go there, and take a break from liberating the French countryside.

(Sorry—this is about as far from a light, Christmas-y post as you can get. But hey, Christmas is still almost two weeks away! Plenty of time left to be jolly! Now, where are those jingle bells!?)

A little insulation, not just in winter

I don't watch the news. I haven't watched it for a long time now.

This is partly because I have a small child who sees all and who asks many questions. I am not eager to expose him to all the horrific events in the world. We do discuss the events of the world on a simplified surface level; he knows that a few years ago, some confused, angry men flew planes into buildings and hurt and killed many people. He doesn't understand it any better than I do. He knows that very recently, there was an earthquake far away and that it, too, hurt and killed people. He doesn't grasp how many; how could he? I don't even grasp how many. He knows that there are lots of fires on the news, and police cars, and robberies. He likes the flashing lights, and that usually distracts him sufficiently and he asks no questions about those things.

But he doesn't need to know yet that children are raped and beaten, starved even. He will have his entire life to learn about the cruelties that people impose on each other, not just on smaller ones but on other adults, too. He can go many more years without realizing that any object in the hands of an evil person can become a weapon. He doesn't need to know that sometimes, people take each other's lives. That sometimes the fire on TV has been intentionally set—that sometimes, it is set on the back of another human being. There is no need for such information to enter his impressionable, imaginative mind.

I don't want to shield him from reality. I suppose I just want to delay it a bit, until he's better able to handle it. (And when would that be, I wonder?) It doesn't help that all the local newscasts—and the national news broadcasts and weekly news magazines and semi-fictional police shows to boot—all of them delight in violence and gruesome detail and the apparent viewers that such gore rakes in. When they're all competing to see which one can shock the most, we are the losers. And as long as ratings rule the airwaves, I will continue to keep the box off far more than on.

I feel out of touch sometimes, but happily so. I read the news online, I skim the more conservative local newspaper on Sundays, and I listen to the radio sometimes; for now, those outlets will have to suffice. I don't know if I'll ever be a regular viewer again. It just doesn't fit too well with the mindset I'm striving to achieve. I know all those awful things occur; I won't insulate myself so much that I forget how fallen we really are. But I refuse to wallow in it, either. Our grown-up minds are no less impressionable and imaginative than my child's, after all.

..Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.
-Philippians 4:8

Reality TV at its worst

I was thinking about this whole fiasco in congress (a.k.a. the spendulus bill), and all the big changes in the White House—you know, closing prisons, releasing terror suspects, frightening the tax-paying populace into compliance, and best of all, "Obama Time" (otherwise known as tardiness)—and I wondered what all the world must be thinking. I mean, I know they have other things on their minds, like wildfires, and fuel shortages, and gun violence rising in the wake of no-guns laws... which is probably why they're all the more delighted to watch the silly goings on here in the good ol' USA.

Think about it: U.S. features on the evening news must be one of the best reality shows ever, if you don't live in the States. Look at those senators bickering amongst themselves, fighting for power by sneaking things onto bills. Watch the newest rock star and his well-dressed family strut their stuff. See how the huge companies that flourished are folding now? Serves them right. And those CEOs, still making millions in bonuses alone, stuttering when their leer jet is discovered behind some curtain? Yeah, well, that's how it is on TV. Oh wait, this is really real.

Does that reality show thought make you cringe? It does me. It's starting to feel like the U.S. is the popular, attractive, athletic kid in high school that everyone liked, and admired, and secretly envied... and then when that kid screwed up—gained too much weight, or failed a class, or was caught misbehaving somewhere—he or she fell from grace. And a lot of those people who shook their heads and said "what a shame" were really, underneath, chuckling evilly. Because people are cruel, aren't they? They may pretend to think it tragic, but often they're hiding a smirk behind a carefully placed hand. Don Henley said it best: "People love it when you lose; they love dirty laundry."

These days, it feels like we're that kid. We're flabby. We've failed at some things. And our respectability? Sadly lacking. Just look at our leaders. I'm still not ashamed to be an American, because I know we're not all represented by the boobs on the news, but I'm not sleeping so well when I imagine what we look like to the rest of the world.

P.S. Just discovered a site, and boy I'm learning a lot. Take a peek, if you'd like—right here.