Capabilities

As I sat down to breakfast this morning, I gazed with not a little wonder at the plate before me. It held one of my faves: egg-in-the-hole. Yes, a piece of wheat bread with a hole ripped in the middle and a lovely egg resting inside the empty space. Atop it were leftover roasted autumn veggies, tiny potatoes and Brussel sprouts, a few pepper slices, some hunks of carrot... Can you picture it? And then, the crowning jewel atop the veg—a sardine.

Scrumptious, yes? Aren't you jealous?

If you aren't, I won't take it personally. If you'd told me 30 years ago that I'd look upon this as a desirable dish, I would have laughed. I couldn't imagine eating something so savory and unsweet at that point in my life. It was beyond comprehension. I still inhaled ice cream most days, drank sweet tea, scarfed down Ho-Hos for lunch. I distinctly recall my splurge in college being Hostess brand raspberry-coconut coated Zingers.

(Not to say I wouldn't still enjoy those on a daily basis today. I mean, come on—those things are amazing.)

But thanks to sugar issues, changing metabolic rates, middle age, and a more sedentary lifestyle, I was forced to become much more health-conscious in the past decade, and it's been good for me. I've become a better and more creative cook, I've learned much more about our food supply, I actively seeking homegrown and local options for the kitchen... And my palate has expanded exponentially. As it should, since I'm a reluctant grownup now.

I described my breakfast meal only to preface the point of this post—that being, we as humans have an incredible capacity for change through growth. Most of us are constantly changing, and often not by choice; sometimes, however, through limitations or fear of consequences, the changes make us better people.

I've gotten better at budgets because of times when we lacked. I've grown more active lately because of the adopted dog who needs activity. Would I have chosen to go through tight financial periods? Heck, no. It was rough. But I'm wiser now because of it, and I have more faith in God's provision. Would I have picked out a high-energy dog intentionally so I'd be forced to exercise? Good grief, no—I wasn't eyeballing the purse-fitting dogs or anything, but I would likely have gravitated to a couch-loving breed of small beast, and we would probably have grown chubbier together... God knew I didn't need more relaxation.

So, what's the point? I guess what I'm saying is it's increasingly clear to me that what initially looks like suffering or denial will, in most cases, end up being a doorway to a good place that I would never have discovered otherwise.

And the big picture? We have the ability to be altered. We are capable of falling into bad habits, but equally capable of teaching ourselves (or being forced to learn) new, better habits. Our beliefs can shift, our behaviors can change, we can improve. We don't have to let life happen to us.

Isn't that empowering?

Bright spots

To make up for the vitriolic ire of some of my recent posts, here are two really uplifting websites—both of them the brainchildren of kindhearted people. I'm so inspired when I see fellow humans choose to do something generous and thoughtful instead of taking the far easier path of selfishness and loathing.

(Once again, stupid Blogger is not allowing me to insert live links...!!?? Sorry about the inconvenience.)

I just read about this gal in the newspaper:

www.secretagentl.com

And this is one I've known about for awhile, thanks to a great blog I read sometimes (if you're a crafter, take note):

www.thetoysociety.blogspot.com

Hope they make your day better!

Two young men

The 2010 Vancouver Olympics have, at this point, left two deep impressions on my soul: The startlingly dangerous nature of many of the sports, and the lyrical beauty of the human body when it has been encouraged to express itself physically.

When I watched the opening ceremonies, I was really amazed by all of it; as creepy as I found Beijing's multitudes of simultaneous posings, I was enthralled by the use of technology and props used in 2010 to transport the viewer to the grandeur of Canada, to the mountains, to Vancouver itself, back in time and forward again. Above it all, both literally and in my opinion as well, there was an aerialist suspended by barely visible lines; he ran, and danced, and soared over blowing grasses to the perfect accompaniment of Joni Mitchell. I was absolutely transfixed by the grace and glory of that young fellow who "flew." I've looked for more information about the guy (Thomas Saulgrain,) have searched for a clip online, trying in vain to find the full segment; sadly, I've uncovered only bits and pieces amidst collections of musical highlights from that opening ceremony. I'll keep looking, because I really long to see him fly again. I want to hold onto that feeling that it's possible. I want to see his natural, fluid movements and see the wonder on his face. He was a spectacular performer; I wish I had that sort of presence in any area of my life. Sheer beauty.

And then. In stark, horrible contrast, there is that poor Georgian son who also flew, on an icy track, too icy most think, and he flew too fast. As much as the aerialist defied the limitations of the human body (albeit with fine, thin wires,) the memory of Nodar and that speeding sled hold us all firmly on this rough, terrestrial ball by reminding us of the fragility of life. His loss, his awful death, reminds us all of the delicate nature of even the most tuned, practiced, prepared body. A young man, practically a boy, he had family at home that he'd talked to the day before his passing. He began the last moments of his life looking down the length of his own prone form just before it betrayed him. Someone's child, someone's friend, someone's neighbor. Snatched away instantly. He, unlike that other boy, was not permitted to fly.

There they both are, stuck in my mind; one offers a respite from the horror of the other, yet the horror cannot be denied; it keeps me where I need to spend most of my days—planted on the ground, taking precautions, being careful. Perhaps it's because I spend so many of my days firmly grounded in reality that I cling with such steadfastness to that other young man, suspended over the golden grass, touching down only when he chooses.

Did I mention how much I liked the opening ceremony, at least what I was able to stay awake to see? Did I mention how bummed I was that my little boy couldn't even make it through the parade of nations and missed all the best parts? Even the big boy at my house missed the best parts for sleeping. A shame.

Stay warm, dream of soaring, and measure your risks with care.

Why I love second-hand

My most recent craigslist purchase was a small, skinny little stereo. (I have already confessed my addition to craigslist, as explained in agonizing detail here.) The stereo was quite cute, much smaller and simpler than my decade-old Aiwa system (although that Aiwa had much better speakers—3-ways, totally superior to the newbies). Anyway. The little stereo popped up one morning on my monitor, and I wrote the seller and expressed my admiration for the item. I was the first to respond, and so the next evening I found myself happily driving to the Strip District with my not-so-crisp $20 bill in my coat pocket.

(On a side note, my craigslist habit has actually served me quite well, in that it’s forced me to explore parts of the city I would otherwise avoid. That Strip District foray was certainly not my first trip to our fair city’s own market district, but it was my first venture onto Railroad Street in quite some time—and my first look at some swank little lofts in an old factory that’s been converted… There are some really interesting and inviting city-living options these days.)

Back to the stereo: the seller showed me that it worked great, played CDs with ease, and took up a fraction of the space consumed by Old Stereo. I bought it and carried it to my car, flush with success. And then when I got it home, and we’d plugged in all the parts and hooked up all the wires, we were perplexed to learn that it buzzed. There was a strange electrical background noise that sang out insistently behind the music and voices. How odd. Todd gave me that look—the “you know you got scammed” look that he reserves for my unapproved craigslist purchases. I bit my tongue and pretended not to notice the annoying sound. In truth, it seemed to become less noticeable the longer the stereo was on. And honestly? For $20? I didn’t mind too much. I had a forgiving heart about that little slim little stereo.

Fast forward a day or two, and the kid and I were turning on the radio, noting (not for the first time) that odd buzzing noise. Even Marcus could hear it clearly. I sat on the floor, looking for the perfect CD to play, and while I perused I punched some random buttons on the front of the stereo. Lo and behold, toggling off the backlight button—in addition to turning off the backlight behind the display—caused the buzzing to cease. Hmmph.

And then I recalled a note in the seller’s ad about the backlight not working. I’d forgotten.

And the mystery was solved. When you turned the stereo on, you could either switch off the backlight, or simply wait for a minute or two, and that buzzing sound would stop. Why did this not annoy me? Why was I not frustrated with such a noticeable and intrusive idiosyncrasy? Because the stereo was used; my expectations were lower. Because I knew even before purchase that the item in question, although appealing, was also not new, not perfect, and therefore prone to system weaknesses and perhaps even failures.

And then it hit me: That is why I love craigslist, why I love used things. My last big craigs purchase? Our current couch. It’s a nice, comfy piece, Ethan Allen, it’s good quality and reliable… but the pattern on the seat cushions is slightly faded from contact with too many backsides, I suppose. The piping on those edges is a bit worn and thinning. Why was I not angry when I noticed this, after we’d purchased the piece and cleaned it? Because I knew there was a chance of that sort of imperfection. I knew, going in, that because the piece had been out there in the world, it couldn’t be perfect. I was getting a deal, but the deal had a catch: used goods have flaws. And I don’t mind, because I know that going in.

I must try harder to remember that my craigslist philosophy applies to us humans, too. We are none of us flawless. We’re out there, used, abused, we’ve been sat on too many times, our backlights are a little bit tired and we groan when someone asks us to brighten up for too long. I must remember to expect less from people. In the same way that craigslist is filled with good deals that are imperfect, my world of human contact is filled with good souls who have scratches, and dents, and are faded.

But oh, have you seen the difference in them if someone loves them again and gives them a second chance? What a deal you will find sometimes, when you acknowledge potential shortcomings up front. I am hoping that others do that for me.

Confessions of an egocentric foodie

Here is a photo showing what my child does to grapes. He doesn’t eat them. He gnaws them. He mauls them. He ravages them, and then he leaves the sodden, damaged goods behind. Or, better yet, he offers them in their semi-destroyed state to me. As if. He does this to a number of foods, and honestly, it’s a step in the right direction—at least he’s interacting with the food. There are so many foods he won’t even touch. Slowly, ever so slowly, he’s expanding his edible repertoire, but M-A-N is it taking a long time.

And I try not to take this personally. But for some reason, I do. You see, I’m a foodie. I love food. I love to make food, to eat food, to read about food. I’m the annoying person at parties who’s always trying to get a recipe. I’m the one who then sends those recipes to disinterested people (at least I used to do this—I’ve kind of given up lately.) The person who constantly tries to tell you about different dishes, or foods that are healthy, easy to work with, low in carbs? Yep, that’s me. I’m even more obsessed now that I have to watch the glucose levels. And I struggle to understand it: How can this child, my offspring, not love food as I do?

I know, he’s just a toddler, they have no appreciation of fine cuisine. It’s typical. It’s a control issue. They hate change. Blah, blah, blah. I know. But he’s MY child!!! How can he not love food?

I guess this reveals a lot about not just my interests, but also my pushy personality. I’ve been accused in my life of being too forceful, of wanting everyone to like my way best. Perhaps that’s true; supposedly, this obnoxious trait runs in my family. I honestly don’t believe it for an instant. And besides, my way is best—people should be able to see that, right?! (I’m teasing, people. Come on.)

But seriously, when I think about it, we all get a little bit defensive if people don’t love what we love, be it lasagna, a band, the girl down the street, a character from a favorite movie... It’s silly, but I run into that sort of behavior from so many people that it must be a pretty common human shortcoming. You can go ahead and deny it if you want, but it’s a rare man or woman who can remain completely unemotional about the things he or she loves—especially when those things are openly held in low regard by someone else.

Still in denial? Think of something you really like. And think of someone who mocks that something, maybe to your face, maybe in a smugly subtle way. Can you say in truth that it doesn’t bother you at all? I can’t. Call me small; I’ll call me honest.

WWII and humanity

Have you been watching “The War” by Ken Burns on PBS? It premiered this week and it’s phenomenal. Depressing and sometimes horrifying, yes—but phenomenal nevertheless.

It’s got me thinking about humanity: the state of being human. We all are not just fallible but also able to fall, able to be physically hurt and emotionally traumatized—and susceptible to influence by everything we encounter. “The War” features so many heartbreaking stories, told by the survivors themselves, about their shock at the reality of war. One old gent told of being revolted by his first sight of dead German soldiers, men whose lives he had taken—because he understood for the first time that they were his age, just kids. He still choked up over it, this fellow in or near his 80s. It’s still that real and awful to him. Another man told of a midnight ambush, pitch black night, in which he heard an anonymous comrade get shot and then listened, annoyed, disgusted, and mostly exhausted, as the poor dying fellow groaned and called for his mother—for hours. That annoyed man learned the next morning that it had been his best friend who was shot and suffering—and who had finally died in the night. And that man’s face was so bleak as he recounted the story of his lost friend again, all these years later. He’d never gotten over it. He never will.

I think of the many ways that horrific events can alter a life, even if experienced as an adult. We are all so vulnerable, so impressionable. I ponder the deep impression that’s left on a child who experiences something terrible. I do believe that some folks carry a predilection for making bad choices—it’s not all nurture that forms a person—but it’s undeniable that our experiences shape us, good or bad. And no one gets through unscathed. I’ll bet you could go to Japan, or Germany, and find WWII survivors there who, just like our U.S. veterans, still feel revulsion at some of the things they saw—and did.

I don’t even know what I want to say about all this. I guess I’m just coming to the conclusion that human vulnerability unites us all. Whatever side you’re on, sometimes you’re just following orders, and often the results are tragic and haunting, even if what you did was right or necessary or justified. We all come into this world with promise, on equal footing, and we all leave it bruised and bloodied by the hurt and pain that we’ve received, and caused. Even Hitler was someone’s little boy once; I read somewhere he was an excellent student, conscientious and disciplined. I wonder when, exactly, he began to move with intent toward evil dictatorship and his plan to exterminate a people group. What could have caused that plan to form? What happened?

It all makes me sad. I’m sad that people turn bad. I’m sad that some kids have it so rough. I’m sad that wars ever have to happen. This is a fallen world, for certain; I’m very glad there’s a better world to come.

P.S. Don’t worry—I won’t be this heavy every time I post an entry. Something light next time. I promise!