May 19, 2011
I witnessed something this morning that set this train of thoughts in motion. A co-worker got a call from her daughter in Texas letting her know that her son and daughter-in-law in Utah had just had their 4th child. The Texas daughter knew this because the son had posted it on Face Book... what?!?
I remember the wonderful phone calls my husband and I made from the hospital to our nearest and dearest when our children were born. I cannot imagine ever choosing a Face Book posting over that experience.
In Stephen King's Dark Tower series of novels he used a phrase with chilling effect like a dark mantra. " The world had moved on." He was speaking of profound, deep changes.
I get it that times change, with us or without us. Maybe I am an old fogy now because I find some of these changes alarming in the extreme and to my mind a sure and certain sign that American society (maybe the whole world's but I will only opine on what I witness in this country) is absolutely in its decline.
My daughter is currently dating a young man who often refers to his "exes" meaning past girlfriends in this case. He didn't strike me as all that experienced so I inquired a bit deeper about his exes to discover these were all relationships he had online playing a game called World of Warcraft, commonly referred to as WOW. He had only met one of these girls face to face and upon doing so immediately ended their "relationship' ( I can't resist this one... WOW!). I expressed some dismay that he thought of these online relationships as real romances which he clearly does; he thinks he has all these old girlfriends... what?!?
I love my computer. It is definitely a way to connect with people, but it is not the same as physically connecting. ( Can't believe I really feel the need to write the previous sentence, but I do.) I worry about my kid's generation and those to follow. They hold phones in their hands but instead of choosing to hear another person's voice, they text. My daughter's boyfriends past and present prefer texting to talking... what?!?
If I can't be with the love of my life to stare into his eyes while he tells me he loves me I at least want to hear his voice. My daughter assures me she would prefer talking over texting for romantic purposes, but the guys want to text. I am assured by all my young friends that this is commonplace not some aberration my daughter is experiencing.
It's cliche I guess that every generation thinks the next one is "going to Hell." Maybe the fact that I am an aging hippy from the "love" generation ( very hands on generation in every sense of those words) makes this all more disturbing than it really is, but I gotta say I don't think so. I do think the technological advances have been and will be a blessing and a curse. Not since the Industrial Revolution has "the world moved on" in such a dehumanizing and sinister way.
Here's what I think. Read (or reread) Brave New World and let me know what you think.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Good memories....
May 5, 2011
May 2 was the 10th anniversary of my husband, Phil's, death. I lit the yahrzeit candle and let the memories flow. This one kept coming to the surface.
About 15 years ago ( I can roughly peg it because my youngest daughter, now 22, has a clear memory of this event) a pair of barn swallows decided to build a nest on a PVC pipe that runs along the ceiling of our garage. No one was more thrilled about this than Phil who loved nature and country living and I think he even took it as a sign that nature approved of us plopping ourselves in her midst. We all watched the nest grow with interest.
Phil was beside himself as were our young girls when the eggs were finally laid, but tragedy struck when the eggs hatched. I came home from work one day to find a very distraught Phil and no nest on the pipe. It seemed that once the parents had to sit out on the edge of the nest to feed their babies the weight was too much and the nest slipped off the pipe and fell to the garage floor. Phil had come home to the fallen nest and crushed babies.
We thought that was an end to it, but within a day the parents were back, rebuilding the nest. Knowing this would only end the same, Phil knocked the start down. The parents began to rebuild. Phil knocked the start down again. This sequence of events had repeated themselves a few times and my husband, a man with the kindest of hearts who absolutely hated knocking the nascent nests down, was sad and frustrated.
But after a few days of this I came home one day to find my husband excited and smiling. He took me out to the garage and showed me a platform-like cradle he had built around the pipe to support the nest so it wouldn't fall again.The parents were already rebuilding their nest. The platform worked and we got to enjoy watching not one but two sets of babies go from egg to fledglings. Phil was ecstatic.
My husband has been gone for 10 years as I said, but the birds come back every spring. They build their nests in the cradle he designed for them. We watch with interest the two sets of babies grow and leave.
Here's what I think. Sometimes when our efforts are constantly frustrated we need to reevaluate our actions and look for other options. And... we are at our absolute best when we are truest to ourselves.
May 2 was the 10th anniversary of my husband, Phil's, death. I lit the yahrzeit candle and let the memories flow. This one kept coming to the surface.
About 15 years ago ( I can roughly peg it because my youngest daughter, now 22, has a clear memory of this event) a pair of barn swallows decided to build a nest on a PVC pipe that runs along the ceiling of our garage. No one was more thrilled about this than Phil who loved nature and country living and I think he even took it as a sign that nature approved of us plopping ourselves in her midst. We all watched the nest grow with interest.
Phil was beside himself as were our young girls when the eggs were finally laid, but tragedy struck when the eggs hatched. I came home from work one day to find a very distraught Phil and no nest on the pipe. It seemed that once the parents had to sit out on the edge of the nest to feed their babies the weight was too much and the nest slipped off the pipe and fell to the garage floor. Phil had come home to the fallen nest and crushed babies.
We thought that was an end to it, but within a day the parents were back, rebuilding the nest. Knowing this would only end the same, Phil knocked the start down. The parents began to rebuild. Phil knocked the start down again. This sequence of events had repeated themselves a few times and my husband, a man with the kindest of hearts who absolutely hated knocking the nascent nests down, was sad and frustrated.
But after a few days of this I came home one day to find my husband excited and smiling. He took me out to the garage and showed me a platform-like cradle he had built around the pipe to support the nest so it wouldn't fall again.The parents were already rebuilding their nest. The platform worked and we got to enjoy watching not one but two sets of babies go from egg to fledglings. Phil was ecstatic.
My husband has been gone for 10 years as I said, but the birds come back every spring. They build their nests in the cradle he designed for them. We watch with interest the two sets of babies grow and leave.
Here's what I think. Sometimes when our efforts are constantly frustrated we need to reevaluate our actions and look for other options. And... we are at our absolute best when we are truest to ourselves.
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