Art, and life

I finished this painting last week, but couldn't post it because of the operating system issues we were having. (We're still having them, but since they have not yet directly affected my husband's life, they are not yet being addressed. Sigh.) (Yes, I realize I should probably try to address them myself. I wish I had more than a misguided clue.)

So. I love female cardinals, and this little gal was so alert. She looked sort of like a gossip, not necessarily a mean-spirited type, but the bird who simply loves to share news of the neighborhood. Our pal Tom takes the best photos; this image was inspired from one of his beautiful works. It's for sale in the Etsy shop.

In unrelated news, my little guy is getting big. Filling out, solid limbs, visible muscle definition in legs now... It's freaking me out. As most parents do in times such as these, I suppose, I am recalling with fondness and nostalgia (and teary eyes) memories from his very early childhood.

One thing that we talk about frequently is the boy's discovery that most people have more than one eye. We were teaching him body parts, pointing to nose, mouth, ears, and eyes. We'd point to the feature, say the name, do it again, ask him to repeat us--you know the drill. At one point, after we'd done this several times in as many days, my sweet child was showing his new awareness to his father. "Daddee, eye." He pointed to his dad's eyeball, bringing the stubby finger close but not poking him (sometimes that happened). Then all of a sudden, the kid looked in amazement at my husband's entire face, and apparently it was the first holistic study he'd done. He said, with awe and amazement, "Daddee, two eyes!"

We still laugh about it to this day.

Satan's favorite playground

You probably know I'm not a fan of Facebook. You know I find many of today's techie, gimmicky communication tools to be annoying, low-quality methods of keeping in touch with people you may or may not give a rat's behind about. I don't think any of you would be surprised to hear me say these things (or read my online rants about them—of which there have been at least a couple, like here and here).

But Satan's playground? Come on, Mel. Facebook's not so bad. It's harmless fun. It's just a place to "talk" to people, and a nice way to find people you've lost contact with, and a funny platform for keeping everyone informed about your every last trip, event, conversation, zit, or intestinal illness.

Right?

Wrong.

There's a reason you didn't keep in touch with many of those people. Or, in the case of some folks' amassed online "friends," there's a reason you were never really friends with those people to begin with. Maybe the reason was that you grew apart; maybe you and that person were only acquaintances when you crossed paths, and now you remain acquaintances with a more friendly title but no more intimacy than before. Perhaps you never knew the person at all, and he/she is a psycho-freak who is stalking you. Or it's possible, just barely possible, that you and this person haven't seen or talked to each other for over a decade because there's no reason to do so and it's just too much trouble to search for a phone number or write a letter.

What's feeding my spew? Well, let me tell you: one of Todd's ex-girlfriends sent him a friendly little note via Facebook. First to strike up conversation, and then to try to dredge up the distant past...as in, the time when they were dating. She happens to have befriended a family member of his, so she's fully aware that he's married, knows he has a child, and yet she sent these little messages along into cyberspace. To top it off? She is also married. To a service man, or so she says, who may or may not be serving his country overseas at this time. She is also a parent.

I ask you: what good can come of such a contact?

I have never been able to remain friends with any past boyfriends. It didn't seem kosher, or one of us started dating someone else and there were jealousy issues to consider, or one of us had been dumped and there were broken hearts added to the mix. I don't wish those boys and men any suffering (okay, maybe I do wish harm to one or two), but I also don't see the point in pretending to be friends with these people whom I once cared for but no longer think about. We're not in that place anymore, we've moved on, the feelings are no longer the same. No good can come of it.

But along comes modern technology, and suddenly you can keep tabs—semi-public tabs, no less—on everyone and anyone you ever wondered about in a passing moment. Everyone you ever had a sentimental thought about, especially after a fight with your spouse. Everyone you might still carry a torch for. And not only can you keep tabs: you can reach out and "poke" them! You can even communicate without your significant other knowing! You can send them private messages. You can, so easily, resurrect things that should have been left buried deep in the ground. It's like the Pet Sematary of the internet. And I have to think that Satan loves it. I'm not even touching on the insults and cheap shots that are exchanged there, nor the lascivious details that normally shy people share in that setting; I'm not mentioning the boldness of rude comments and inappropriate images, not venturing into the weird, predatory meetings that are often spawned there. I'm just hitting on the marriages that this subtly destructive tool has likely undermined.

I'm happy to report Todd is off Facebook. I stand by my statement: No good can come of it. Don't look for us there.

P.S. Am I a hypocrite, since I blog? I can keep this forum a bit more private, I think. And I'm not using it to reach any old boyfriends. Thoughts?

The wi-fi facade

Hello, folks. Yes, I've been MIA once again. Sickness has descended on our humble home and has made its miserable way through each and every family member. Yet, we have not entirely succumbed, work has continued, life has continued, school tomorrow will continue, and life goes on. Cough, cough, snot, snot, HONK. (That last honk was me blowing my nose.)

So, I know I'm really old when the whole "wi-fi" train has left me behind at the station. Wi-fi in your house? Yes, that makes some sense. You can check various fronts from the comfort of your couch, or from the handy-dandy kitchen office that really swank, huge homes feature (which we lack here). You can be working online while your kids are playing games with kids in other countries. It's all good.

But wi-fi at coffee shops? At bagel stores? Why? I am flummoxed. I know it's cool. I know it's hip. I know that people shouldn't feel confined to office spaces anymore. How limiting. How very 90s. Still, I fear that performing online work tasks at Panera is doing to work what talking on cell phones at all hours in all places has done to the quality of telephone communications. (Hint: REDUCING QUALITY SIGNIFICANTLY.)

Work is work. It takes space most of the time. It takes quiet sometimes. It takes thought-space, ponder room, concentration. It takes a place where you can have a conversation with a person and not be concerned about the undisciplined brat sitting at the next table, throwing a fit over butter instead of jelly. It takes a "professional" atmosphere (do those still exist?!), as it should.

Yes, I visited Panera Bread recently. And yes, I wondered once again how much meaningful work could honestly be performed in such a setting. There are workers taking calls, typing on their laptops, spreading various papers all around them, looking terribly important. Come on, you couldn't do this in your hotel room, if you're traveling? In your own bedroom, if you are self-employed? How much work can honestly be accomplished in such a public, noisy, unregulated environment?

So, yes, I'm old. Yes, I don't take my laptop to a coffee shop to do work. I don't even have a laptop. So call me names. Laugh at me. You know what? When I have real work to do, I get it done. Fast. Efficiently. In a purposeful and focused manner. And no one on a work-related call with me ever has to wonder who is screaming in the background, or why my office features an out-of-control milk steamer.

Thoughts? I know I'm a dinosaur... I can take it.

Bright hope for tomorrow

Well, hello! We're still here. Still unemployed, no miracles yet, but perhaps around the next corner? Because miracles happen every day, don't they. I need to hold tight to that truth.

It's been a busy week. A family member, neighbor, and friend's daughter were all in the hospital (one is home now, thank goodness--and another expected to return home tomorrow) so that added some distraction, as did the holiday, plus the fact that suddenly my husband is home and we're tripping over each other much of the day. And fighting over the computer. Did I mention we have only one computer? Yup. We have another, which was brand new about 15 years ago; it has remained in its giant black zipper case even though I long for a second machine. I suspect that archaic machine will not fulfill my longing.

Other than that, and the ridiculously cold weather, everything is fine. Really. I love Christmas in July. I adore wearing sweatshirts on Independence Day. Isn't that normal? I'll bet our ancestors wore heavy overcoats and shawls as they shivered their way to the first American celebrations, right? Sure they did.

Honestly, we're pretty good, all things considered. In spite of it all, we are richly blessed. I hate the waiting, the not-knowing, but I suppose my very hatred of it should tell me that's an area where I need work. And I've actually gotten back on the horse and sent some resumes into the abyss of a dismal workforce. Again, miracles happen every day. They do.

So, that's why I haven't been around. Just a few short weeks ago, I was mentally composing a blog entry that would explain how I needed to take a break so I could dig in and actually write the great American novel I've been toting in my head for a couple of decades now... and suddenly, I'm barely able to filch a minute or two between the massive two-person job search to even drop a "hello, I'm still alive" post. Sad, isn't it?

Yet, we have enough for today. That's all we need. I saw on the side of a church van these words: "Jesus--strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow." A line from one of my favorite all-time hymns, "Great Is Thy Faithfulness." I've been singing that one frequently of late. And happily, He has been faithful, just as the song says.

You can sing it with me, if you'd like. It's practically guaranteed to give you a warm feeling in your heart. At least it does me.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father;
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;
As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be.

Refrain
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Summer and winter and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Refrain

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Refrain

Technoslaves

When I was a kid, there were two ways for regular people to talk to each other: in person and by telephone. This absence of options made parting with someone either a) sweet sorrow, or b) relief. Sorrowful partings were usually followed by a brief communication hiatus and then more contact, typically via telephone. And the relieved partings? They were followed by a lightness of heart, the knowledge that your duty was temporarily done, and further contact with that person was unlikely for at least awhile.

Along the way, cordless phones emerged, and the power of unfettered technology intrigued gizmo lovers everywhere. Those who could, did purchase the first ridiculously expensive cell phones as soon as they were available—huge, awkward contraptions especially when compared to their corded counterparts. But as people used and adjusted to them, distrust and fear of the new gadgets subsided, and the phones themselves became smaller and cuter. Then their techie accomplices, accessories and “improvements” came on board to form an army of accessibility: Blackberries and Bluetooth, IM and ipods, texting and twitter, and internet and photos via cell. Suddenly, I am capable of blogging from my phone. (Well, not from my phone—I don’t have enough bells and whistles on the equipment itself or my plan. But I could if I so choose to upgrade!) I could send messages during a movie or a meeting—I could check email as I simultaneously picnic in a meadow. I could tell people exactly what I’m doing every minute of my life. I could broadcast myself sleeping. And I could watch and listen and blab blab blab with the rest of the world while everyone else does the same thing.

The question is this: Why would I want that? I bought my first cell phone in order to get rid of my more expensive landline. My initial and enduring attraction with email and the web is still the same today as it was at the beginning: I can use it at my own convenience, in my own time, and it doesn’t necessitate face-to-face encounters. I haven’t been labeled as introverted for nothing; I need my space. Why would I want to take advantage of all these tools when they take away my precious space?

Always accessible. Incessantly in touch. No mystery remains. All this technology and its popularity directly reflects the “out there for all to see” tone of our society. Reality TV? Tell-all gossip channels and magazines? Tattletale biographies? Online surgeries? Even the increasingly revealing, often unflattering fashions of the day highlight the fact that we are a culture that hides nothing—including ourselves. What's so bad about privacy? I like it. And why is it a tragedy to find yourself in a dead zone? Being unreachable gives me a sense of that old relief I used to feel when I happily wrapped up a telephone call that was sucking the life from me.

I guess that’s why I feel more and more like an interloper in this world: because there are plenty of times when I want, and need, to hide. I think I’ll just stick to email and the blog; they should serve me well. If you want to comment here, that’s great—and if you want to talk, just give me a real, old-fashioned telephone call or stop by: those are still the best means of chatting most of the time.