On this, the first day of Lent for many-a-Christian, and probably the third month of broken New Years promises once again, I find myself asking a question. Is it better to give something up, as most people do, or to promise to do something? Of course, most people give up something trivial for Lent, such as their twice-a-week soda or once-a-week fast food fix. Who does that help? Does that really make you a good observer of your faith? Unless someone gives up an important, memorable fix (smoking, meat, their daily caffeine shop purchase so they can save up for whatnot), it doesn't really make you happier, healthier, or a better person.
But giving up something has a fine line - NO! Can I have that candy bar? No! Can I bite my nails? No! On the other hand, when you promise to do something, there's that little hitch of remembering. I promise to go to the gym three times a week... but I had to run the kids to PSR and the college hoops tournament is on tv so I'll go another night. I promise to keep my desk organized... or at least more than it was, for inspection twice a week.
Both options take dedication and perseverance, but which will show my dedication to my faith (or willpower) and make me a better person? I don't smoke, don't drink coffee, don't curse, and other than an instance here and there, I wouldn't notice if I cut out sweets or soda. Water is my daily drink of choice and besides the lazy fast food run, I try to eat healthy. I'm not addicted to internet games or my cell phone, and although I do find myself wasting time of them, it wouldn't hurt me if I wasn't on them - it might hurt my work to lose phone communication though, so that's not an option. I could benefit by losing a few pounds but after working 45 hour weeks, I have yet to find the right time to go to the gym. So what's a girl to do? What brings me the most joy? Spending time with Dick, Baby Girl, and family. Not giving them up.
I think my resolution will be to cut out shopping and fattening fast food. Of course, groceries and essentials are not included in there. But I think my bank account and waistline would both benefit from a reduction of non-essential purchases. I'm not necessarily a shopaholic, but I do enjoy a trip to the mall or a stroll across internet shopping sites. And, if I can throw in a little gym time instead, I'm sure my body won't complain.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Kids grow up way too damn fast
When was it okay for kids to swear in elementary school? Or to see your 13-year-old neice practically sitting on a 14-year-old boy while at the lunch table? Why is it okay for 5th grade girls to wear about as much fabric as a bathing suit in their daily routines? Other than on the Chinese gymnastics team, when did 10 become the new 15?
Kids are growing up way too damn fast! I support siblings helping care for thier younger brothers and sisters. That teaches them essential skills for their futures, and often can lead to profitable babysitting jobs. Besides, if they see how hard it is to keep a family running, maybe they'll keep their legs crossed for a few years longer. But when peewee sports become less about having fun and more about tournaments or the possible high-school scouts in the audience, we have a problem.
Perhaps its the internet and digital age. Kids don't have to sneak their parents' National Geographics to see a topless woman. Parents are giving their pre-teens cell phones and hooking up computers in their rooms before they even get their "big boy beds". Does that really help them? Are they kidding themselve by thinking it will make them smarter or they'll not rebel as much when they think you give them stuff?
And I guess I was at the front edge of this change-over. I learned about sex, AIDS, and that santa wasn't real in the same hour - Nick News was having a special on AIDS, and my mother thought I should know about santa before I got a dose of sex-ed. And I had my share of fun before I was married. But I still feel uncomfortable swearing, especially with my parents present.
When kids can no longer be kids, and start acting like adults before they hit puberty, where does the fun go? What happens to mental development when we can't imagine our fantasies anymore?
Kids are growing up way too damn fast! I support siblings helping care for thier younger brothers and sisters. That teaches them essential skills for their futures, and often can lead to profitable babysitting jobs. Besides, if they see how hard it is to keep a family running, maybe they'll keep their legs crossed for a few years longer. But when peewee sports become less about having fun and more about tournaments or the possible high-school scouts in the audience, we have a problem.
Perhaps its the internet and digital age. Kids don't have to sneak their parents' National Geographics to see a topless woman. Parents are giving their pre-teens cell phones and hooking up computers in their rooms before they even get their "big boy beds". Does that really help them? Are they kidding themselve by thinking it will make them smarter or they'll not rebel as much when they think you give them stuff?
And I guess I was at the front edge of this change-over. I learned about sex, AIDS, and that santa wasn't real in the same hour - Nick News was having a special on AIDS, and my mother thought I should know about santa before I got a dose of sex-ed. And I had my share of fun before I was married. But I still feel uncomfortable swearing, especially with my parents present.
When kids can no longer be kids, and start acting like adults before they hit puberty, where does the fun go? What happens to mental development when we can't imagine our fantasies anymore?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Paradise of Ice
There is just something about snow. It ages us and rejuvenates us at the same time. It makes us wish for the future and dream of the past. Perhaps what captivates me is it's the ability to cover up the world in a fresh white canvas. It evens out all the flaws and societal disturbances for a fresh new blanket waiting to be cut or molded.
And yet, snow brings the nostalgia out of those of us who sit back in the warmth of their dwellings and watch patiently as the flakes fall. It brings us back to a more nurturing time. We wait patiently, our cold noses and rosy cheeks pressed to the window as we try to inspect each individual snow flake before it melts from the warmed fog of our breath. We remember mother checking layer after layer of blush clothing and woolen undergarments until finally you feel like an astronaut getting to take those first steps onto a virgin canvas of ivory. There's nothing like the crisp wintry air in your lungs and the faint smell of a nearby fireplace. We crunch snowballs in our mittens and wait for unsuspecting "intruders" to our ivory fortress. We become Michelangelos of the frozen tundra while building snow creatures who, oddly enough, we put clothes on to keep warm. We grab every flat surface in our vicinity to see what creates the smoothest and fastest vehicle in our quest for terminal velocity. And we wait for hours watching the news to see that one important title that says we can stay in this wonderland one more day.
Of course, this rush of seasonal joy escapes all too quickly into puddles of slush and dread. And, as adults, we must take the new role of shoveler, worried parental inspector and gloomy weary icy-road traveler. But, oh to be that kid once again.
And yet, snow brings the nostalgia out of those of us who sit back in the warmth of their dwellings and watch patiently as the flakes fall. It brings us back to a more nurturing time. We wait patiently, our cold noses and rosy cheeks pressed to the window as we try to inspect each individual snow flake before it melts from the warmed fog of our breath. We remember mother checking layer after layer of blush clothing and woolen undergarments until finally you feel like an astronaut getting to take those first steps onto a virgin canvas of ivory. There's nothing like the crisp wintry air in your lungs and the faint smell of a nearby fireplace. We crunch snowballs in our mittens and wait for unsuspecting "intruders" to our ivory fortress. We become Michelangelos of the frozen tundra while building snow creatures who, oddly enough, we put clothes on to keep warm. We grab every flat surface in our vicinity to see what creates the smoothest and fastest vehicle in our quest for terminal velocity. And we wait for hours watching the news to see that one important title that says we can stay in this wonderland one more day.
Of course, this rush of seasonal joy escapes all too quickly into puddles of slush and dread. And, as adults, we must take the new role of shoveler, worried parental inspector and gloomy weary icy-road traveler. But, oh to be that kid once again.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Grazing on taboo grounds
Why is it that whenever we have a "home-grown terrorist," that person is depicted as a socially isolated loner or emotionally tormented person who suffers from mental illness, but when we have terrorists from other lands -- even those a stone's throw away -- they are organized criminals (or at least associated with some kind of organization, usually religious and/or political extremists) that are considered trained and calculated? Is there a difference between the two?
Is it because of race? Because of religion? Is it because we can "humanize" them by talking to neighbors/family/friends and show that he or she actually had a life? Or does it just make us feel better to tell ourselves and our kids that this person, though he or she may have lived in a suburb just like ours, is not the norm?
And where does the social norm play in these situations? There are many troubled citizens in today's cities. People are overly stressed and tired of the norm. People are tired of the paths their lives are taking, and want a way out. People are looking for their flock.
Because, like my Baby Girl will tell you as she sits guard watching over me, people are all sheep. We are all herd animals, associating ourselves with a clique or party or standard. Geek. Jock. Socialite. Gamer. It's easy to look back on school days and laugh at the social structures we set for ourselves. It's easy to say that in the real world -- with jobs and families and maturity -- we don't have time for those classifications. But ask the majority of U.S. citizens and they will quickly give you their political party, self-perceived economic class and prefered social habits. We may not stick to the labels or self-enforced dress codes we did in school (Acid-wash jeans? Mullets? Seriously?), but we surely will correct someone when they place us in the wrong classification.
Loner? Outcast? Bullied victim? Or just a lost sheep looking and listening for a flock. Listening is the key word there. When we don't fit in, we shut up and we listen. It's one of the first ways a new member of the flock finds it's mom. It listens. When it doesn't hear what it likes, it listens some more, and keeps listening till it finds a familiar voice. A tone that makes sense. And, unfortunately, there are a lot of radical and misleading wolves in sheep's clothing. Call it freedom of speech. Call it crying wolf too many times in a world of mass media. But these "tormented individuals," both from home and foreign lands, either find a flock to follow or die trying.
We might say it's easier to find a bad flock in some other pasture. We see organized meetings and marches on t.v. all the time. On the other hand, with our computers and radios and 600-channel cable feeds, maybe it's simply easier for lost sheep in America to find flocks without leaving the comfort of home. After all, the judging world they've grown to dislike is right outside the door.
Is it because of race? Because of religion? Is it because we can "humanize" them by talking to neighbors/family/friends and show that he or she actually had a life? Or does it just make us feel better to tell ourselves and our kids that this person, though he or she may have lived in a suburb just like ours, is not the norm?
And where does the social norm play in these situations? There are many troubled citizens in today's cities. People are overly stressed and tired of the norm. People are tired of the paths their lives are taking, and want a way out. People are looking for their flock.
Because, like my Baby Girl will tell you as she sits guard watching over me, people are all sheep. We are all herd animals, associating ourselves with a clique or party or standard. Geek. Jock. Socialite. Gamer. It's easy to look back on school days and laugh at the social structures we set for ourselves. It's easy to say that in the real world -- with jobs and families and maturity -- we don't have time for those classifications. But ask the majority of U.S. citizens and they will quickly give you their political party, self-perceived economic class and prefered social habits. We may not stick to the labels or self-enforced dress codes we did in school (Acid-wash jeans? Mullets? Seriously?), but we surely will correct someone when they place us in the wrong classification.
Loner? Outcast? Bullied victim? Or just a lost sheep looking and listening for a flock. Listening is the key word there. When we don't fit in, we shut up and we listen. It's one of the first ways a new member of the flock finds it's mom. It listens. When it doesn't hear what it likes, it listens some more, and keeps listening till it finds a familiar voice. A tone that makes sense. And, unfortunately, there are a lot of radical and misleading wolves in sheep's clothing. Call it freedom of speech. Call it crying wolf too many times in a world of mass media. But these "tormented individuals," both from home and foreign lands, either find a flock to follow or die trying.
We might say it's easier to find a bad flock in some other pasture. We see organized meetings and marches on t.v. all the time. On the other hand, with our computers and radios and 600-channel cable feeds, maybe it's simply easier for lost sheep in America to find flocks without leaving the comfort of home. After all, the judging world they've grown to dislike is right outside the door.
Friday, January 14, 2011
New year, same old purpose in life...
Everyone starts new blogs the same way. They introduce themselves, say how they hope to keep posts frequent, and try to act like the professional columnist they've never had an ounce of training to be. They also try to give their life (or at least their blog) some purpose.
I am Miss Derie. I have a busy life managing multiple projects at a relatively large company here in the Midwest and wrangling people as much as possible to get those projects done. My husband Dick has been unemployed for over a year now; his industry a casualty in this lovely economy we're living in. He's supposed to be looking for a new job, in between his computer games and video games and whatever else he can use to procrastinate.
And while he's "looking," I support the house. By the state of things, he's definitely not the Mister Mom type. Luckily the only child we have at the moment has four legs and a shaggy tail. Baby Girl has been with me longer than Dick, and listens better, but she's okay with him as long as he treats me well - well, something to do with treats... I've yet to put her loyalty to the test.
This blog's purpose, or lack thereof, should be evident by the title at the top of the page. It goes along with my life, I guess. No topic is out of bounds; although some -- life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness -- will likely reign supreme while my mind looks to find peace in a world of chaos and current events.
Do I promise to be amusing? No. Do I promise to write frequently? Hell no. Is any of the above knowledge based on fact? Well, time can only tell.
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