Terrorism

I would like to personally thank the media for dubbing the Christmas day bomber the Underwear Bomber.

First let me say I feel for the passengers and crew of the flight, thank God for the malfunction that foiled his plans and the brave people who subdued him, and praise God that it ended the way it did.

But. If the purpose of terrorism is to terrify people then those plans have been foiled by the Underwear Bomber. I can't say it without laughing. My kids can't say it without laughing. My husband can't say it at all because he's laughing. Laughing is pretty far from terror on the emotion spectrum. I realize that this incident is serious, measures need to be taken to promote safety, that is no laughing matter. My message to the terrorists, wouldbes, and wannabes is:

EPIC FAIL! I am laughing at you!

USB Pet Rock from ThinkGeek

I love my pet rock. We're hanging out right now. It's the best pet ever.

Reflections on Family

Family is a rocky road. Sometimes you are blessed with a great one, sometimes you have to find your own. For me family is an amazing collection of people that God has cobbled together through birth and serendipity.

I love my biological family which is like a puzzle with several pieces missing. Those pieces have been lost in moves, chewed up by dogs, hidden out of spite, or accidentally thrown away. The gaps have been slowly filled over time by people brought into my life through marriages, common interests, difficult experiences, and what sometimes looks like dumb luck. The new pieces fit so nicely where I needed them to that it isn't possible that all of them were brought to me by accident.

There is so much beauty in the puzzle that is my family. The pieces are different colors, came from different families and yet they fit so perfectly.

Serenity, Courage, Wisdom

I felt like writing today but can't concentrate on anything with the excitement of Christmas and the mush my brain is from pounding out work last week.

My cure is writing personal stuff, so here it is.

This year has been a long, strange trip, but I have kept trucking. Silly I know but you expect nothing less of me. The strangeness has been that so many "bad" things have happened, but my family has weathered and come through united and happy. The economy stinks and the world is cranky but I am not most of the time.

I said a while back that I was looking for the wisdom to know the difference. I was referring to the Serenity Prayer.

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference"

At the end of last year I was praying for serenity and received it. I finally learned to accept and submit to the fact that there are things in this universe that are far outside of my control and I learned to let go. After that it was easy for me to find the courage to change the things I could. Much harder was the wisdom to know the difference. I have been blessed with friends who have advised me on discernment and judgement. They have listened to me, guided me, and let me vent when I needed to. It's been like my personal 3 step program. Every day I have to work toward serenity, courage, and wisdom. Some days I don't find them all, but I know that tomorrow will be a new day. Breathe and accept and pray. Tomorrow is another chance to find these things and on very special days I get to share these things with others. Be their sponsor and support. Help them discern and give them courage. That has been the greatest blessing.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

The Gilded Sword

It strange to think in this age of information that there was a time when pens were scarce. Valuable tools belonging only to the rich literate. The poor might have pencils or quills, but a true mechanical pen was only for the wealthy. You don’t often hear of writers who grew up in poverty before Mr. Bic created true human equality with his disposable pens. Most in “poor” authors I know of were actually middle class authors whose parents lived beyond their means. One couldn’t move through the social classes easily. Either into them or out of them. The pen is the key to movement between them.
How many times in my life have I found myself in a department store or office supply store staring through the glass case, wondering who can afford to spend $100 on a pen? Surely never I. Perhaps 100 years ago I would have stood at a shop window and wondered the same thing. What an enormous sum. Yet 100 years ago I wouldn’t have had my extravagant $5 Pilot to fall back on. I would have been pen-less. So I find myself staring into a brightly lit glass box. A cage that is meant to keep me out. A wall between myself and the upper class.
The glass ceiling has been broken. We as women try to climb through it and are still trying to find our footing, but who notices the glass walls? Who notices that the glass walls separate the proletariat from the aristocracy. The glass walls that keep us from the gold pens. The glass walls at Macy’s that protect the face paint of the rich from the grimy hands of the social climber. The glass walls that enclose the showrooms full of the vehicles that set the successful apart from the unsuccessful at just a glance.
These symbols of success take on a glow when removed from their boxes and put to their purpose. The glow attracts us, sets apart the user. It lets us know where we stand. I have always wanted that glow. In some base, primal part of my soul I long for that glow. My egalitarian consciousness abhors it. I put those things in their proper place. And yet I find myself staring into those glass boxes. Time falls away as I wonder if I shall ever have that glorious writing instrument that I covet.

A Whine For Help

I feel like I have been complaining a lot lately. When I really look at it, try to find the reason I keep coming to one thing. I can't ask for help. So I complain.

Maybe I am hoping someone will just offer me the advice or help I am looking for. I will whine and some kind person will magically provide the prefect solution to my problem. It has happened. One day I whined on Facebook about wanting a soda and the world's best neighbor showed up at my door with a soda.

As connected as we are these days we seem to remain isolated. The problem obviously is not access. We are now more connected than ever, never mind the fragility with which those electrons hold us together. In my case at least the disconnect has to do with the idea that seeking help is a sign of weakness. If a person asks for help, whether it is physical or emotion then people will know they have weaknesses, and what they are. That makes one vulnerable. If you are open to help you are also open to hurt.

I know that this is ridiculous, but when has ridiculousness ever stopped me from doing anything. We all have our weaknesses. It could be ice cream, or the inability to say no. It could be that money stresses us out or that we are unable to submit to the responsibility of the life we have created. Maybe those are my weaknesses and I have to speak in the hypothetical to keep them at a distance.

Everyday I chip away a little bit of what I don't need. Today I don't need to be seen as a strong person (not that any of you think I am). I am a whole person with strengths and faults. You all knew that, but now I am ok with knowing that you know it.

The Venn Diagram

Sometimes I feel like I am living in a Venn diagram. My sons are two circles whose worlds overlap in the middle and that is where I am. Circle A and Circle B seem unaware of each other, except to notice that the other circle has some claim on me. I am so busy in the middle that the parts that aren't overlapping are completely neglected.

So there I sit in the middle of the Circles. We are all crying for completely different reasons. I have no idea what those reasons are, they are outside of the circle, so I can't attend to them now.