Both Sides

Does anyone remember this song?  (I used to have a book of "pop songs" that included this one, I have no idea who recorded it).

Moons and Junes and Ferris Wheels
Dizzy Dancing way you feel
As ev'ry fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care don't let it show
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love, at all.

I had a lovely chat last night with Ms. O'Dilius.  Between us we pretty much solved the problems of the world, and I hope she saved a transcript because mine was deleted when my computer crashed.  And it crashed at a really bad moment.  I was in the process of describing ups and downs of marriage, and had only made it through the downs, so she never got to hear about the ups.

Tim and I have been married since December of 1988.  We are in our 14th year.  To some people that probably seems like forever, and to others, it must seem like nothing.  There have been different times of our life together when I've felt both verses of the song I quoted.  Times when we are so in love that the world is just a beautiful place simply because we both happen to be in it at the same time.  Other times when I look at him and think, "I don't know you at all."

We were married for six years before our son Michael was born.  People had started asking, "When are you going to start your family?"  I always thought that was a strange question.  My family was begun in the moment that we said "I will."  (Maybe someday I'll post our wedding vows - we didn't do the traditional promises.)  Tim and I were a family for six years before we added a child to our home.  The child didn't make us a family.  We welcomed him into the family that we had already made together.

Parenting has been at the same time the most rewarding and the most frustrating experience of my life.  There are days when I'm afraid that they will never grow up, like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, I'll awaken every morning to the same day I lived yesterday.  I'll have the same laundry, the same vacuuming, the same reading lesson, the same spill during lunch, and snack, and supper, and . . . There are other days when I think they are growing up so fast that it scares me.  How on earth will I ever get them to understand the things they need to know before they open their wings and fly on their own.

I love my sons.  I love my husband.  It would not be honest or fair to them to report those relationships through a rosy glow that distorts the truth of who we all are together.  They love me enough to tell me "Mom, you are really crabby today, maybe you need a time out?"  And I love them enough to say, "If you suggest one more time that your Mother is crabby, I'm going to sell you to gypsies!"

When I married Tim, I meant it to last until death do us part.  And I'm pretty sure there have been times when we both secretly petitioned the Good Lord so speed up the waiting process.  But, at the end of the day.  There is no one else in the world who knows me like he does.  He loves me, makes me laugh, and holds me close to his heart.  And God in His wisdom hasn't given either of us a terminal illness (yet).

Natasha - We have to talk - seriously, girl.  I've been reading the Camille Paglia book - Sexual Personae (Review due a week from today.)  Oh, my, this woman never met a cigar that was just a cigar!

It's Thursday - Where did the week go?  I have the Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde review open for comments (please check the reviews section to the lower left.)  I'm knee deep in laundry in spite of the fact that I just did a boat load of it day before yesterday.  What's up with this little boy who changes clothes three and four times a day?

I don't know what I'm going to do with Tucker.  He worries me.  I keep my toenails painted in the summer.  Bright red.  I think they look better in my sandals with paint on them.  Tucker has been admiring my toes.  A lot.  This morning he wanted me to paint his toenails.  I don't think I'm ready to explain that one yet.  Tim would probably survive the shock.  But we are taking the kids to see their grandparents next Monday, and I don't think that Pappa Joe is ready for his little macho man to waltz through the door wearing Soho Rose on his toes.

This whole gender thing is really bothering me lately.  How do you raise boys in this day and age to be fully human without exposing them to ridicule?  I want to buy dolls for the boys.  They have been playing house lately.  Michael plays the traditional father - off to work everyday with a briefcase.  Tucker has gone for the more contemporary version of Dad.  He follows the Dad from the PBS show Authur.  He's a caterer and stays home baking all day.  I love watching them and occassionally they invite me to play along.  I don't think it would hurt them to have their own family of dolls they could boss around and use for role play. 

I have dolls.  That's all the SIMS are - dolls on computer.  Maybe that's the ticket.  I could let them play SIMS.  -  But that would mean giving them compute time . . . Nah, I'd rather buy them a couple sets of Little People Families - and let them have at it.

I haven't written anything about my Sims lately.  That's not because I haven't been playing.  The Simdilius family is at a critical crossroads.  Roberto has found gainful employment as a medical technician.  Natasha has been working steadily with the police as a psychic.  She has located criminals and lost children, but she's begun to get restless.  She's thought of having a baby, but she isn't sure she wants to be tied down.  For certain, her job isn't challenging her the way she needs to be challenged in order to feel fulfilled.  Being a psychic is like making a living having blue eyes as far as she's concerned.  There's nothing to it but just being herself. 

What kind of career path would really suit her?  I'm puzzling over this.  I'll start having her read the want ads and see if anything appeals to her.  I'm a little disappointed that Maxis hasn't introduced expanded career options since the livin large expansion pack - that was about $100 of expansions ago.  Seems like they could add SOMETHING new. 

Little Terri Verrette is now a Senator.  And Little Tim Verrette is an International Spy.  Little Fugitive is a movie star and her husband is the chief of police.  Little Maureen, a teacher, just broke up with her boyfriend.  Little Wormy is a scientist guy and isn't much fun at parties.  Mary is a Weathergirl on the 6:00 news and her husband is an astronaut.  Their daughter is just a party girl and is causing her parents to lose sleep.

No, not all my characters are also people on Xanga.  But in my first neighborhood, I put in my friends and family and they are gradually all coming to Xanga as well.  I love my SIMS module.  if they irritate me in real life, I can just let their spouse/significant other buy a voodoo doll and torture their little Sim-Self.    Okay, no one in my game currently has a voodoo doll in the house, but I like to think that the option is there.

I just don't think that playing dolls would hurt the boys, unless the neighbors found out . . . (If you haven't heard about my neighbors - you HAVE to check out my husband's site today.)

Happy Wednesday to All

Well, we've had another stormy afternoon in Indiana.  The grass is smirking at me through the front window.  It knows that I can't mow when it's wet, and it hasn't been completely dry in weeks. 

Remember a few weeks ago when I was talking about whether or not it's paranoid to unplug everything in a storm?  In the storm we had a couple days ago, I unplugged everything except my really cool, fairly expensive phone that's less than a year old.  Lightning came through the line and fried that baby.    I can't decide if it makes me happy to know I was right - or sad that I lost my really cool phone.  You know, being right carries a lot of weight in terms of my happiness quotient.

Have you ever thought about the word happiness?  It's not a word we stop and look up often in the dictionary.  We know what it means.  It's a pleasant emotional state, right?  When I look in my dictionary there is a sequence of words on that page. 

hap - chance, luck, a chance occurence
haphazard - done or chosen at random
hapless - unlucky
happen - to occur (by chance or otherwise)
happenstance - a think that occurs by chance
happy - feeling or showing pleasure or contentment
happy-go-lucky - taking events cheerfully as they happen

It doesn't make much sense to say that all humans have an inalienable right to pursue happiness if happiness merely refers to a feeling.  Why stress pursuit of happiness as a right above the pursuit of other emotional states?  Why didn't the Declation of Independence say that we all have the right to pursue achievement, success, contentment, inspiration, ecstacy, bliss, enthusiasm, rapture . . .

I think for the same reason that Abraham Lincoln said that "most people are as happy as they decide to be."  Happiness is a pleasant emotional state that results from the circumstances of our life.  We all have the inalienable right to arrange our circumstances to the best of our ability to maximize the probability that we will experience pleasure as a result.

Did you know that there was some debate among the forefathers regarding the phrase "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness"?  They were fairly well split for a time with the other side wishing to have it read "life, liberty, and property."  They understood property rights to be inextricably linked to happiness.  Ownership, title, stewardship, control of our surroundings - maximizes our chance at happiness.

So where am I going with this?  I was thinking about my own happiness of course.  I have control of a great many "servants,"  I am a happy woman when they are all busy working for me.  My happiness in part depends on my own diligent supervision of these "servants."  I play a game called  "how many "servants" I can boss before 9:00 AM".  My day tends to go well if I can boss my washer, my dryer, my wheat grinder, coffee maker, oven, vacuum cleaner and dishwasher early in the morning.  If I do my part of the pursuit of happiness, then the happenings of my day tend to fall in line and I experience pleasure.

What do you do in the pursuit of happiness?

Does anyone else feel sluggish and tired after the holiday weekend?  We didn't do anything strenuous and I'm still having a hard time getting started this morning.  The kids had their breakfast, brushed their teeth, and got dressed - then I was worn out!  So I'm taking the easy way this morning.  They are sitting in front of the television watching the Fantasia 2000 DVD while I do my morning chores.

(Ignore the little man behind the curtain - I'm NOT playing on Xanga!  I'm doing chores!  See look!  Okay, don't look, you're right, I'm still wearing pajamas so how industrious could I be anyway!)

I'm thinking about personality this morning.  It's been a while since I read personality theory of any type, so I may be surfing the web for information.  Reading The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has made me wonder about multiple personality disorder.  So I'll be back later.  For now I'm off to Google.com. 

I am so doing chores!  Listen, that's the sound of the washer in the background.  What do you mean it sounds like the air conditioning fan motor?  Are you suggesting that I would LIE on Xanga. 

Summer Sunrise

Memorial Weekend officially begins the summer season.  Oh, I know that the calendar shows summer solstice almost a month away, and that the Fall Equinox doesn't happen until late September, but around here summer goes from Memorial Day to Labor Day.

Remember those essays we all used to dread?  "What I did on my summer vacation?"  Do teachers still asign those in these days of educational enlightenment?  When I was a child summer days were magical.  We spent a lot of time at the lake, camping and waterskiing.  I rode my bike all over town.  And at least once a week, I paid a visit to the coolest place in town - the library.  I don't know what it was about the librarians in my hometown, but they kept the interior atmosphere at a stable 55 degrees all through the summer.  To open the door was to be blown inside as the summer heat rushed into that cool vacuum.

The Hot Spring County library sponsored a summer reading program.  Kids were supposed to have their parents make a list of the books that we read and turn it in at the end of the summer.  Whoever read the most books got some kind of recognition or another.  The first summer that I knew about this program I eagerly signed up.  I read my books and my Mom initialed beside the titles on my list.  Three or four pages of neatly lettered entries by the end of the summer. 

I turned in my papers with my books.  And waited to see how my list compared to the other kids in the program.  When the winners names were posted, mine wasn't among them.  But when I looked at the numbers of books these other kids had read, none of them had turned in even half so many as I had.  I didn't understand, so I asked my Mom to find out what had happened.  Was my paper lost?

It turned out that the librarians had disqualified me because they thought that there was no way I had actually read all those books.  Either my Mom had read them to me, or I had just gone through the stacks choosing titles at random so I'd have something to add to my list.  That was the only year I officially participated in the summer reading program. 

Several weeks ago I asked for suggestions from you friends in compiling my summer reading list.  I received many more suggestions than even I could incorporate into one summer.  Some of the books you recommended I've already read, and some of them I've put on my wish list for next Fall.  The finished list is posted to the left.  Each Thursday between now and Labor Day, I'll post an entry on the book of the week in my review section.  I hope that there will be something on the list that you are planning to (or have) read for yourself and you'll participate by commenting on the review.  I believe the list reflects the diversity and depth of this Xanga circle and I'm excited about this summer's reading.

I've jumped the gun today by opening the discussion on the first book, The Strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson.  That's because the thickest book of the summer is scheduled for next week. 

It's a Man Thing

Several years ago I read a book about the process of boys growing into men.  There was a lot of discussion about the loss of "rites of passage" in our culture.  Older cultures had elaborate rites to mark the passage from child to man.  One of the things that struck me about the specifics of the ritual was the utter exclusion of Mom from the process.  In some cultures the child is "stolen" away from Mom as the first step of the ritual.

I've had at the back of my mind that when Michael reached the age of about 30, he and Tim could go off together, have a beer, tell a couple jokes, maybe even pretend to fish or some such other manly activity - and the deed would be done.  My baby would officially be a man.

But, they don't ask Mom to determine the time and the age of readiness for a good reason.  I'm more aware of my own UNreadiness than I am of the signs of maturity that are appearing in my son.

Michael has always been slow to test his limits.  We had to strongly encourage him to crawl, walk, and run.  He had to be coaxed down the slide with Daddy holding both hands.  He didn't speak until he was almost 4 (but has since made up for the early silence.)  Last year, he was hesitant about going on the carousel ride so I rode standing beside him.

This year, he wanted to ride the Hellevator.  This ride is an 11 story tower.  Riders are raised to the top, then dropped.  They free fall 10 stories before the airbrakes kick in and cushion their landing.  Tim and I like the more exciting rides.  We love roller coasters and the like.  Last year I waited with the babies while Tim rode this one.  He talked about it for weeks as been the scariest ride he'd ever been on. 

They waited in line for 45 minutes.  Then Tim and Michael took their seats next to each other.  The car rose - the car fell.  Tim staggered off the ride with shaky knees.  Michael said, "Mom!  That was amazing!"  He also rode his first real coaster, and he rode with me on my personal favorite - the Enterprise.  He sat beside me and watched Tucker on the kiddie rides that Michael is now too tall for.  With perfect seriousness he said, "Mom, the babies are cute, but they have no idea how much more fun they will have when they get tall enough to be really scared."

Tim and Michael before the ride.

Going up.

Waiting for the drop.

Watching the babies with a new perspective.

Homeschool Families

Homeschool families don't get many breaks.  Even though we pay taxes to support education, we pay out-of-pocket for the costs of educating our own children while we live on one income.  I'm not complaining.  We all make choices in life, and I think that the things we've given up in order to focus on our kids are small change compared to the benefits we enjoy.

Once a year, we get a break.  I don't know why they decided to do it, but Six Flags Kentucky Kingdom sponsors Homeschool Day.  They provide a CD Rom with lessons on physics and mathematics of roller coasters, and they reduce the price of their tickets to $10 per person.  (Regular price $34.99).  Tomorrow is Homeschool Day.

Ever felt like Singin the Blues?  Go IMMEDIATELY to this blog and prop him, baby.  Cause his woman done sat on his computer and it ain't a pretty site.

My allergies have settled their obnoxious selves down and I'm back to myself again for better or worse. 

I've been thinking lately about how it is that we exchange ideas and share thoughts.  There is a metaphor for discussion "the marketplace of ideas" which speaks of different ideas "competing" among themselves.  Presumably the idea which the most people "buy" is the idea with the most merit.  So there is discussion of access to the "marketplace of ideas" and complaint by those who feel their position isn't granted an "even playing field."

But is it true that ideas must necessarily be in competition with one another?  Very few of the ideas on the table claim to be the exhaustive truth of the situation.  Would we not be better served to speak of a "melting pot" of ideas?  Why could we not view it as the process of sifting and combining what works in each idea?  Maybe a genetic metaphor.  We could then speak of targeting the genegerm in the idea that we wanted to keep while avoiding the parts of an idea that have failed to persuade us.

Last night a friend of mine very graciously answered a lot of questions that I had about the process of debate.  I had been thinking that a possible way to avoid messy and nasty emotionalism in the exchange of ideas was to stick to forms and structures by which each side would put forth a idea and then listen to the other side with intent to understand the opposing view and make modifications where the exchange demonstrated weaknesses in the original position.

One of the things that my friend pointed out, is that in an actual debate there is always a panel of judges.  It isn't up to the competitors to modify their position.  The forms of debate do not produce a "truth."  They merely settle which side has presented a better case.  Bummer.  Well, that ends one line of thinking.  Because the arena where it gets nastiest is one in which two friends have a different idea.  And although on one level I think it would be kind of fun to wave a magic wand and produce a jury to vote a final decision, in real life we don't have that option.  So what to do when two people have reached a point about which they cannot agree and they are sinking into nastiness?

Is it possible to agree to disagree?

Should we just say well, this is a topic we cannot discuss?

I'm thinking of an old Jewish story.  (They poke a lot of fun at themselves for their tendency toward contentiousness throughout the Mishnah and Talmud.)  In this story two rabbis are engaged in a bitter debate.  Finally, they agree to ask God to settle it.  They each pray and lo and behold God speaks and says "Rabbi A is correct."  To which Rabbi B replies "Well, that's two against one."

I think it comes down to where you place your value.  Is your primary value in being right?  Or are you going for understanding?  I believe that it's possible for a person to understand me without agreeing with me.  I can love and affirm a person with whom I don't agree unilaterally.  And really isn't that the bottom line in any relationship?  I don't even agree with MYSELF all of the time!  How should I expect to have a relationship with another person if I think that the test of friendship is agreement with my ideas?

Beyond agreement there is respect.  I may not agree with what you say, but I can still place value on your perspective.  I can affirm your integrity and experience even if I have reached a different conclusion than you have.

A relationship can survive disagreement.  All relationships are an exercise in negotiating our way through our various disagreements.  I don't know how to proceed with a relationship that lacks this quality of respect. 

I've been deliberately vague about details of my various arguments and relationships where this essay might apply.  Because I have concluded that this issue is broader than a particular disagreement I might have with one particular person.  I'm re-evaluating myself today.  I'm wondering whether I extend the respect that my relationships must be founded upon, or if I demand it without reciprocating in kind.

I've said for a long time that if I weren't a Christian, I'd be a Buddhist.  Not only do I identify with a lot of Buddhist philosophy of life, but their holiest adherents get to wear comfortable robes and are almost expected to have a round belly.  Then again there is a lot to be said for the Judaic emphasis on the home and family.  I could go on.  But I think I'll go and work on my relationship with my kids.  I don't agree with the choice they are making at this moment.  (They are punching each other.)  But, perhaps I can admire their honesty and willingness to take action even as I hope to redirect these strengths into an alternative expression.

Peace be upon you.

I'm supposed to be at a Church Council meeting tonight.  But, I'm not there.  I'm in fact not much anywhere.  Tim mowed our yard on Saturday.  Usually when any mowing gets done, I at least help.  I like to mow.  I like riding around and around on that dark green craftsman machine tossing bits and pieces of diced vegetation out alongside my path.  It's fun.  There are no kids involved.  There's very little thinking that goes into the process, just ride around and around and don't hit any big rocks. 

Since I wasn't doing the mowing on Saturday, I didn't take any [extra] allergy medicine.  Big mistake.  My eyes are swollen, red, and leaking.  My sinuses are congested beyond all reason.  I have a headache.  Today I'm doped up on Benadryl which is serving to make the world pass before my eyes in a bleary fog.  And I'm not much fun.

Thank you for the kind comments on the music file that I had on my page for the past 24 hours.  I decided to take it down because I know that it slows the page and many people don't appreciate the assault on their ears.  I know there were some of you who didn't hear it at all.  I'm not sure why that is.  I was using a realaudio plugin and it may be that you need to update your version of realaudio to hear it.

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A Rerun for Summer - This was one of the first posts I made on Xange last Summer when I was searching for my "voice."  It was fun for me to look back in the archive and find this one.  I realize reading through this how differently I approach writing here now as opposed to those back-in-the-beginning days.

Perfume

Breathe.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Do you smell that?   It's the scent of grass.  Does grass have a color in your nose?  Sometimes it provokes me to sneeze.   Sometimes it is a sweet sharp melon scent that sings out "Summer is Here."

When I think of perfume, the first scent that rises in my memory is grass.  It isn't exotic or heavy.  No undertone of musk or floral note.  There isn't any chemical enticement manufactured by a cosmetic giant that comes close to the smell of grass for raw sensuality.

Grass is clean.  It's earthy and soft, prickly and pliable.  Grass must be cut before the strongest scent escapes into the air.  Broken blades bleed out perfume.

"Let our voices rise like incense, let them be as sweet perfume."  When I sing these words in prayer, I think of grass.  I live my life day in and day out, breathing in and breathing out the holy air around me.  How does the air that passes through my body perfume the nostrils of God?

Most of the time I breathe without noticing.  Sometimes the words of my mouth are sharp and bitter, complaining and crass.  They flavor the air around me with a stench that magnifies itself with each inhale and exhale.  Other times my words are kind and encouraging, soft and hopeful.  Then they infuse the atmosphere with the smell of life.

The most special times are the quiet ones.  When I'm alone in the darkness of the early morning.  I watch Venus blinking and fading in the sunrise and my sleepy eyes drift half shut.   The prayer of my soul breathes out incense before the Almighty.  The air of Heaven smells like grass.