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Watching clouds dance

05/23/2011 By Robin Grosland 5 Comments

I haven’t been feeling well lately.  As a result, I have not left my house much.  It’s tough to be out and about when you don’t feel well.

But today I went outside.  It was a beautiful, warm day and I needed it.  I needed to feel the air and sun.  I needed to feel free.  I needed to feel small in comparison to all that surrounded me.

I had planned to read, but my vision was blurry due to a headache.  So instead I moved my chair to the lawn and just lay down.  And I breathed.  Deeply.  I haven’t done that much lately.

And I looked into the sky.  It was a brilliant blue sky.  Clear and solid.  Except for one small white cloud.  Fluffy with a few wispy edges.

As I watched this cloud I noticed it was changing.  The edges were curling.  It was tumbling across the sky.  I watched it work its way south, diminishing as it went.  I was sad to see it leaving.

But then I noticed another one following it.  Where had this one come from?  It wasn’t there a minute ago.  I watched as it too tumbled, only it grew as it did.  It reminded me of the time I worked a cotton candy machine.  As I spun the cone and twirled it around the machine the cotton candy became thicker, building on itself.  That’s what this cloud did.  For a while.  And then it started to disperse as well.

I looked at the spot it had come from and noticed another one forming.  I watched as it grew and changed and disappeared.  I watched as cloud after cloud appeared, seemingly from nothing, over the same spot on the mountain.  I watched as each of them took their turn dancing across the sky trying to catch the others.  And each vanished.

It was beautiful.

And that’s all I did.  For about an hour.  As the world passed me by.

I had so many other things to do.  So many productive and important things.  But were these things more important than watching clouds?  Nope.  Not today.  Today this was what I needed to do.  I needed to sit.  I needed to breathe.  I needed to let everything else go and watch the clouds dance.

Those other things will wait.  They will still be there when the clouds are gone.  Today I needed to feed my soul.  And I did.  I feasted on clouds.  And it was very satisfying.

Photo courtesy of Pixomar.  Provided by FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Read more from Robin at The Mess that is My Life.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion, Spirituality Tagged With: , , , , , ,

In Defense of H-town

05/16/2011 By ChristianneSanchez 4 Comments

I have a friend who likes to compare his fabulous life in Austin to other cities. Usually, Houston is his target. And it’s not just him. I’ve lived in Houston for nearly four years now, and if there’s one thing I often hear from people, it’s how much Houston sucks. It’s irritating and I’m tired of it.

The following things exist, whether we like it or not: traffic, bad weather, crime, potholes and people with bad attitudes. I suppose more of these things exist in Houston. I believe it’s also a perception for some people. These people just hear about these things and complain about them. They haven’t actually lived it. (And by the way, living in a distant suburb 20 miles away and commuting every day is not the same thing as living in Houston.)

But even if I’m wrong about perception, and there are more “bad” things in Houston, why focus on them? The more you focus on the negative, the more of it you’re going to get. The more you focus on the positive, the more of it you’re going to get.

I like nothing better than to read Facebook status updates that are positive. I’d rather not read that: you are sick, you hate the airport, you got the wrong order at the drive-through, you’re sick of traveling, blah blah blah. I don’t care. Tell me something good.

And if you’re going to tell me something good, please don’t negate it by comparing it to something else. You don’t need to one-up the people who aren’t sharing in your particular brand of goodness. Your goodness and their goodness can co-exist.

Houston is a big city. I love that. It means there is an eclectic mix of people, food, drinks, culture, events and fun. When I worked downtown, I felt such energy there. It reminded me of Manhattan—another place I’ve lived and loved.

Austin is a fabulous place to live. Don’t get me wrong. It’s my hometown. It’s the place I went to college and the home of my beloved Longhorn football. It’s where most of the people I love most in this world live. It’s liberal and there are beautiful hills and beautiful lakes. But just because Austin is wonderful, it doesn’t mean that Houston can’t be wonderful too.

The bottom line is this: Houston. Is. Not. A. Terrible. Place. To. Live. If you live there and you think so, move. If you don’t live there and you think so, don’t tell me about it. I’m too busy enjoying my life to listen.

Photo is property of the author. Visit Christianne’s personal site here.

Filed Under: Opinion

Politics *shudder*

05/09/2011 By Robin Grosland 8 Comments

I understand that politics are a necessary evil, like gynecologists.  But it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.

I remember my high school U.S. History class with Mr. C.  The U.S. Constitution was definitely the most intense section.  He felt strongly that we should not enter the world without a knowledge of our rights and responsibilities.  We pulled the constitution apart in that class, not arguing positions, just learning what it said.  I learned how the three branches of government are supposed to work together, how different people are elected, and so much more.  When it came time for testing, it was enough to make some people cry.  About 14 pages of fill-in-the-blank and essay.  We reviewed for two class periods in preparation.  We had to write word for word the oath of the President of the United States and the Preamble.  It was awesome!

I registered to vote as soon as I was 18.  I voted by absentee ballot my first eligible election.  I was in a political science class and was busy on election day doing exit polling for that class.   I was excited about politics; I was young and naive.  I imagined two good men (it was the late 80s; hadn’t seen lots of women in politics yet) running against each other, trying to do what they thought best.  I imagined a respectable contest of presentation and preferences.

That was a long time ago.

Today I see it differently.  I see so much deal making, palm greasing, and back stabbing.  I understand that sometimes you have to cut a deal to make something happen.  I’m okay with that.  Give a little to get a little.  Take the bill that’s less than perfect to get a step closer to what you’re going for.

But politics is so visceral today.  People get so angry with those of opposing opinions.  Blocking bills and appointments just to get more leverage.  Anything to win even if it means coming away with nothing.  Always running for something.  Always worried about public approval.  They spend so much time trying to keep everyone happy that they get paralyzed.  They go into politics hoping to change things only to find out that you play the game or you go home.

They argue their points vociferously.  With great volume and energy.  Rarely listening to each other.  And frequently in anger.  This is the part I really don’t like.  I do not like the arguing.  I do not like the anger and disdain with which politicians or their representatives so often treat each other.  I do not like it when politicians demonize their opponent rather than making their point.

And I do not like the way close friends or family members become enemies, shouting at each other, because they don’t agree.  Politics can be discussed passionately AND with respect.  It just doesn’t happen enough.

And so, while I have strong feelings politically, I generally don’t talk about them unless I am asked.  And sometimes not even then.  I do not feel a desire to convince others to agree with me.  I do not intend to defend my political positions to anyone.  I will use my vote as I see fit and let my vote speak for me.

If someone wants to have an open discussion with both of us honestly seeking to understand each other, I’m in.  If someone just wants to make their points, prove their own superiority, count me out.  I know my rights; I have the right to remain silent.

Image by digitalart.  Provided by FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Read more from Robin at The Mess that is My Life.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion, Politics Tagged With: , , ,

Are You Who You Want to Be?

05/03/2011 By JulieOrdonez 2 Comments

“So why don’t you? Why don’t you just do it already? I mean, what’s stopping you?”

When my then boyfriend (now husband) and I drove down to grab some dinner one night a few years back I remember he and I struck up a conversation about his interest in the medical field. When I first met him he was on his way toward that path, and he had ambitions and dreams of endless nights of studying, long, caffeinated on-call hours, and the intense pressures that come with a career in the medical field, to be gratified later by the immense sense of love and humanity that comes with helping to save the lives of others. Over the next few years afterward however, he got off course, and so when he and I began discussing this again at this point in time, and I sensed how he obviously hadn’t given up his dream, I uttered those words above to him: Why NOT? I asked. What’s stopping you?

Flash forward to the present. He’s now in the field he always dreamt of, doing what he loves. And while I’m beyond proud of him for taking that dream and running with it, I couldn’t help but sit and wonder about myself. Sure, I’d accomplished a lot in my fairly young life. But I wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be just yet. And why was I not there? Good question.

There are things called fear. Failure. Guilt. Rejection. Doubt. Anxiety. All these emotions that created barriers within myself that stopped me from being where I wanted to be. Things that stop all of us, at one point or another, from what doing what we need to do to be/do/see what we want from life.

“I want to lose the weight, but I just can’t seem to stick to it…”

“I want to fix my marriage, but it’s going to take a lot…”

“I want to go back to school, get my degree, but you know, it’s gonna be hard….”

“If I could do it over again, I would have done something different…it’s too late for that now..…”

“I’ve tried so many other times, and am still in the same place, so what’s the point anymore? “

For me, I had aspirations of everything from wanting to work for a magazine to being a better Christian, a better wife and mom, traveling the world, to losing those last few pounds of baby weight. It’s not that I didn’t think I could do these things; I knew I could;  it was actually taking those steps, taking that deep breath, and the actual diving in that scared me. It’s that fear of the unknown, the having to trust that everything would be alright and letting that control go, that sense of uncertainty that comes with trying something new that stopped me from going for it full force. I’d attempted to go for it multiple times before, only to have the voices of doubt invade my thoughts and erase my confidence, thus stopping me in my tracks.

Sitting in my living room today, having watched the events of this evening unfold and hearing Obama speak of how Bin Laden was dead, several thoughts and emotions ran through me: first, obviously, the great sense of pride I have for our military and our country, of course. Then, I thought of all the other events of the last few years, the war, the massive earthquakes in Japan, Haiti, Chile, the chaos and uncertainty that already exists in our world and the uncertainty that is everyday life, and just how unbelievably precious each and every single breath we take really and truly is. And how trivial our doubts and fears in actuality are in comparison.

Enough. I thought to myself. Just do it. I looked at my husband and said, completely out of context, “That’s it!” After a bewildered look from him, I explained myself. If I sit around and wait for life to happen for me, it never will. Life is precious, it’s a gift, you do what you will with it. You want something? Go get it.  I can work to change things in my own life. I can live the life I was meant to live, I will and deserve to achieve what I want from it. I can think back on that little girl who used to scribble short stories in her notebook, dreaming up her future life and what it would be, and know that I can say to her I did it,mama. I did it.

Laugh more, love more, let stress and insignificance go, focus on what matters and to hell with what doesn’t. Live more.

To quote one of my favorite songs by the band Switchfoot:

“This is your life. Are you who you want to be?”

 

Read more from SJM’s personal blog here.

Image found here.

 

Filed Under: Humor, Motivate, Nostalgia, Opinion, Spirituality

Now What?

05/02/2011 By JoAshline 8 Comments

Osama Bin Laden Killed by US Military

I find out about it over a late barbecue dinner, the family gathered at the table, and though I want to verify the news myself by immediately turning on CNN,  my mothering instincts kick in and I realize that my seven and nine year old should not be exposed to what are sure to be emotional and detailed segments.

So I wait.

After dinner, once the boys are asleep in their beds, I come into my room and allow myself to be bombarded by images of celebration, victory, and patriotism.

Somewhere in the middle of all that joy,  I begin to remember the fateful day that changed the way we would conduct our lives forever, the day our country stood still and our hearts raced with fear, the day the impossible became possible and we could not escape the horrific images of airplanes and fire and death, our minds and souls scarred forever by an evil we would never understand.

It occurs to me, as I listen to the newscasters dissect the details of this story, that my own children will never know a life that was not affected by what happened that fateful September day.  Their existence will always and forever be influenced by the successful act of violence by a madman, and I am saddened that they will never know what it was like before we were forced to fear and loathe the unknown. Before we suspected strangers and next door neighbors of being able to carry out the kind of terrorist acts we had up until that point only experienced on the movie screen.

I watch as people celebrate in the streets, flags draped around their shoulders as they jump up and down singing the National Anthem.  I do not jump with them, though not from a lack of relief that there is one less lunatic plotting against innocent lives.

No, I’m not jumping up and down because I know that this is far from over.  In fact, I’m quite certain that it never will be over.  How do you truly extinguish evil of this magnitude?

And though I know tonight is supposed to be a night of celebration and hope,

I can’t help but remember the destruction this man created and left behind,

and, more importantly, I can’t help but wonder

who’s going to take his place.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion, Parenting, Politics

Bittersweet

04/26/2011 By MichelleS 19 Comments

"Grandfather clip art"My grandfather is slowly dying. I should be upset. The nature of the relationship should dictate that I should be grief-stricken. Unfortunately, I cannot seem to muster the grief and sympathy that the situation warrants.

You see, my grandfather was a miserable man, and my memories of him are anything but happy. He was the scary grandfather who intimidated my brother and me as kids. As an adult, he infuriated me with his arcane beliefs and misogynistic tendencies. He never got over the fact that my father’s family, many generations ago, came from Poland. As part of the master race with his “pure” German blood, he looked down on everyone, and he never truly accepted my dad as his son-in-law. In fact, he almost barred my mother from marrying him.

I grew up with stories about those damn Polacks, those drunk Irishmen, those idiotic blacks, and other horrifying racial epithets. He refused to let my mother go to the college of her choice because he felt it was too Communist in nature. He also refused to let her get contacts or buy a pair of jeans. Seriously, Grandpa? She could wear slacks but not jeans?

As a kid, he looked down on me for reading all the time and yet forbade my brother and me from watching TV while we visited. If we were too loud, he got mad. If we were too quiet, he got mad. If we dared to ask questions of our parents or, heaven forbid, other adults, he grew so upset he could barely speak. His belief that women are not equal to men was as apparent to me as his dislike of anyone other than German Catholics. The family joke is that he fought for the wrong side during World War II.

So, as he sits in the hospital fighting his congestive heart failure, I struggle with what I should be feeling and what I am feeling. I want to feel sad, but feel guilty that I cannot. Rather, I almost feel relief that this miserable man who was filled with so much hate and distrust will finally find peace. It’s the most sympathetic feeling I can muster for someone who never enjoyed life.

Michelle can also be found on her blog, That’s What She Read.

Filed Under: MISC, Nostalgia, Opinion Tagged With: , , , ,

Let’s talk about adrenaline

04/06/2011 By Robin Grosland 7 Comments

Adrenaline is a good thing.  Its purpose is to keep us safe.  It gives us that kick start we need to escape dangerous situations.  Nature protecting us from the big, bad world.

But what about when adrenaline isn’t our friend?  What about when it’s the attacker?  When it makes us feel unsafe?

I’m talking about panic attacks.  I’m talking about being held hostage by the chemistry within your own body.  I’m talking about being okay one second and so totally not the next.

I have traumatic experiences in my past.  Because of these I struggle with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  And part of that is panic attacks.  When something happens that is similar to what happened in the past, which is called a trigger, all of the emotions from that time come flooding back. 

Suddenly I am filled with fear.  I am on the verge of tears.  I have an overwhelming desire to run, to get away, to hide.  I am so scared.  I have to get away.  My life is in danger. 

Only it’s not.  I am in a safe place, with safe people.  There is no danger.  But my mind and body think there is.  My mind makes a connection between what happened before and what’s happening now and tries to protect me.  It sends signals to my body that there is danger.  And the body’s response to danger is adrenaline.

So suddenly, out of nowhere, I am afraid.  And I often don’t even know what triggered it.  Sometimes I can figure it out and other times I can’t.  It took me years to even recognize it as PTSD.  Years of sudden, overwhelming, unexplained fear before I understood that I was safe even when my body didn’t know it.

Knowledge helps.  Understanding that it’s simply a chemical rush and that it will pass in 10-20 minutes has helped.  I do deep breathing exercises.  I try refocusing.  I talk myself through it, explaining the physiological process.

But those 10-20 minutes are so much longer than you think.  It’s like staring at a gun and waiting to die.  Knowing there is nothing I can do but hope and wait.

And that’s if I recognize it for what it is.  Sometimes I don’t.  Sometimes I melt down.  Sometimes I pace or shake my arms trying to release some of the energy.  I want to climb out of my own body.  No one can come near me without making it worse, without seeming like a threat.  If someone touches me while I’m triggered it gets ugly.

Trust me when I tell you that this makes for difficult relationships.  My husband has learned to ask me if I’ve been triggered when I start pulling away and snapping at him.  My kids just don’t get it.  And I hate that everyone around me feels rejected because I run away from them.

While my recognition and coping skills have improved, I’ve been told by my therapist that it’s likely to be a part of my life forever.  My past experiences will always be a part of me.  There is always the possibility that something will remind me.  The panic attacks will diminish but may never go away entirely.

But these episodes are of shorter duration than they used to be.  It’s unusual for me to stay triggered for several days like I used to.  Usually my body recovers in about 20 minutes.  There is some residual emotion and tension, but nothing like the past.

There are so many people who struggle with the same thing.  So many people who are still victims of their own bodies.  I speak so that they will understand that there is hope.  They can get better.  They can feel safe again.  They have the power within them to find their way through.

Photo by Maggie Smith.  Courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Read more from Robin here.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Taking a hard look in the mirror

03/29/2011 By MichelleS 5 Comments

It isn’t easy to doImage: Mirror Reflection. The resulting introspection can leave one emotionally drained, a complete shell of one’s previous self. Yet, if we do not do this periodically, how are we to grow? How are we to learn?

Yet, what happens when you take a look and do not like what you see? When you have that moment of clarity where you realize that everything you had supposed was someone else’s fault was really your own? Even worse, what happens when the behavior being analyzed happened at work? When you realize that you were reacting in a manner that is not who you want to be or in a way that you ever thought possible? When you realize that your standing in your boss’ eyes has been permanently damaged by your actions, even if you discover that they were easily explained? Even worse, what if you realize that your astonishing behavior is a direct result of your fractured, mistrusting relationship with your boss?

How do you recover from this? How do you build your self-esteem back up to a point where you are not filled with self-doubt? How do you repair a relationship that was damaged from the very beginning but made worse by your subsequent behaviors since the relationship started? Is support by Human Resources and your boss’ boss enough to help you stand up and brush yourself off from the lengthy fall your ego just took? Is the damage too great to overcome?

All I have figured out to do is to reflect, stay quiet and hyper-vigilant. I brought this on myself with my inability to see how my actions were harming me. I just hope that the support from HR is enough to help me guide through the whitewater into which I steered myself. It is going to be a bumpy ride out of this mess. I just hope I have enough strength left to get through it.

Filed Under: Biz, MISC, Opinion Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

The tease of spring

03/28/2011 By Robin Grosland 4 Comments

It’s spring!  No, it’s not.  It’s spring!  No, it’s not.  It’s spring!

But is it really?

According to the calendar, yes, it’s finally spring.  And for all those who eagerly anticipate her arrival it’s a day to rejoice.  The long, cold, dark winter is finally over.

But we all know that spring’s arrival doesn’t come like the flipping of a switch; one day it’s cold and the next day it’s warm for good.  Spring is a tease.  She knows we are waiting.  She knows the power she holds over our minds and bodies.  So she teases us.

Usually sometime in late February we have a glorious spring day (yes, I know it’s not really spring; I’m talking about perception here).  Maybe we have two or three in a row.  It feels so good to be warm.  Everything thaws.  Maybe we take the opportunity to get something done in the yard, a little winter clean up.  We walk around like we are in control because we don’t even need a jacket.  Some brave souls even venture to try shorts.

Then we are slammed with another snow storm!  Cold and more cold.  Back to the coat instead of the sweater.  Back inside.

But spring is not done with her little dance, so a few weeks later we get another false spring. She is totally toying with us and our emotions, but we give in and succumb to her lure.  We buy it.  We revel in it.  For a few days.

And then it hits again.  It seems like this storm is worse.  It’s like winter knows his time is almost past, so he has to give us one more big show.

But it is truly spring’s turn on the stage.  So she gets to decide when to push him off.  She’s here again.  But will she stay?

There’s a rule in my area that it’s not really safe to trust spring until after Memorial Day, at least not if you are a gardener.  There is still a good chance of another freeze.

But for now, I’ll take it.  I’ll trust her.  I’ll welcome her.  I’ll sit in my sun-warmed car and let her melt my bones.  I’ll throw on a light jacket or sweater and sit out on my lawn chair and read in the sun.  I’ll watch the daffodils push their way out of the ground to offer her their worship.

And if she fools me again, I’ll be okay.  Because it’s only a matter of time.  While she likes to tease, spring is too much the diva to give up the stage for long.  She’ll be back soon and she’ll put on a fabulous show.

And I’ll be watching.

Photo by Simon Howden.  Provided by FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Read more from Robin here.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion Tagged With: , , , ,

Are You Closed-Minded?

03/14/2011 By TexanMama 5 Comments

I’ve heard snippets here and there online about people being closed-minded or narrow-minded.

What, exactly, does that mean?

Does being closed minded mean that a person is not open to other views as being right, that only their own point of view could be the possible answer to a question or solution to a problem?

Does being narrow minded mean that someone rejects anyone who does not conform to their definition of “right” or “moral” or “appropriate”?

Uh-oh.

Do you think smoking is wrong? If you do, does that make you closed-minded? Even though it has been proven that smoking is hazardous to a person’s health, don’t they have the right to do whatever they want to with their own body?

What do you think about people who curse around young children? Would that be considered inappropriate? And if so, who exactly put that standard in place?

These are just a couple of examples, but here’s my point: it’s really popular nowadays for folks to stand up and say, “I hate people who can’t be open minded.” But wait, by hating someone who has different views than you… aren’t you being closed-minded to THOSE people? This is especially true for a lot of hot-button societal issues.

Like, for example, people who dress their dogs in costumes. I mean REALLY what is WRONG with those people???

No, seriously, think about it: I’m not targeting YOU per se, dear blog reader. I’m just saying, it gets really easy to fling rotten fruit at people we don’t like, all in the name of standing up for what we believe in. But if what we believe in is acceptance of everyone equally, that includes people who don’t agree with the rotten-fruit-flinger.

Just a thought.

Gretchen, aka Texan Mama, spends her days finding rogue singleton socks and tending to the 6 other people in her family who wear those socks. In her spare time she enjoys blogging, photography, and an occasional nap. Read more over at Who Put Me In Charge of These People???

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion

Charlie Sheen and My Grandmother

03/03/2011 By Sheryl Stein 9 Comments

Dear, dear Charlie Sheen.  Watching you implode before the public eye like a supernova hellbent on destroying itself and anything in its path has been riveting, I admit. To be sure, I don’t think I can keep track of the various news stories that have splashed across the screen in the past few weeks. Something about prostitutes, drugs, alcohol, allegedly threatening violence to various ex-wives, having your children removed from your care, stopping production of your sitcom… all you’re missing is a link somehow to the middle east and you’ll hit some sort of perfect storm of newsworthiness.

And your words,  your nonsensical, inflammatory language. They’ve been captured by numerous television and radio outlets, all falling over themselves to have you on in order to boost their ratings. People love to watch a car crash, and you, my friend, are an explosion tantamount to a fiery Indy 500 moment coupled with an atomic bomb. Several web developers have created sites which do different things with your random quotables, all in the name of grabbing their 15 minutes on your back.

It all has made me think of my grandmother.

I never really knew my grandmother, you should understand; she died when I was 11. My direct memories of her involved brief Sunday night phone calls where we talked about Lawrence Welk, trips to Nathan’s for hotdog lunches, and a painting of a rose she made for me which I treasure to this day. I never went inside her Long Island apartment; it was part of a residence filled with the newly-liberated, completely unsupported mentally ill of 1970s New York, intermingled with a lot of elderly people. It was far too scary a place for me, a little girl. I often wonder what it must have been like for her.

My grandmother was, in the parlance of the day, manic-depressive. She endured shock treatments throughout her life as well as many other treatments probably unfathomable to people nowadays. There were points in my father’s and my aunt’s lives where they were sent off to live with aunts and cousins while my grandmother was getting help. How frightened she must have been, and what was worse — the illness or the cure? Back then, mental illness was not only unacceptable, it was stigmatized. You were somehow a defective specimen of humanity. Dignity never entered into the picture.

But my gram attempted a life of dignity in between these times. It couldn’t have been easy, losing her husband pretty early on in all of this. And sure, there was the day when she went out and, apropos of nothing, put money down on a house.  I don’t ever remember her babysitting my brothers and me the way my other grandparents did. My gram was not a regular fixture physically near me; she was like a star I wished upon, but not for myself: for her.

And as I watch Charlie Sheen catastrophically exploding through the cosmos, I’m wishing on him. I’m hoping someone out there will stop him on this path toward self-destruction.  I pray that someone is helping him to harness that light for something better, stronger, and more positive for himself and for his family.

Blazes are not always glorious in my book.

Visit Sheryl’s personal site here.

Image: suphakit73 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Filed Under: Entertainment, MISC, Motivate, Opinion, Spirituality

Not a Francophile

03/01/2011 By Kate Geiselman 8 Comments

I love the Oscars.  I grew up watching them with my mom.  Well before I was old enough to see or understand most of the nominated films, I loved the glitz and glam, the montages of eras gone by, the tributes to the Hollywood legends who’d died that year.  Even in my thirties, when I was too surrounded by babies and too broke to go to first-run movies, I would brave sleep deprivation and my husband’s eye rolling to watch until the bitter end.  It would never have occurred to me not to.

As a somewhat blind devotee, I’ve been an apologist for plenty of boring hosts over the years.  I may have been the only person on the planet who didn’t notice how bad David Letterman was.  It was the Oscars.   I couldn’t not love it.

So last night, I snuggled up on the couch with my whole family and settled in for a night of snarking about dresses and cheering for underdogs.  The opening montage with the much-ballyhooed fresh-faced hosts, Anne Hathaway and James Franco, was clever enough.  But when Franco came out shooting video with his iPhone, I should have known that things had nowhere to go but downhill.

I am not a crabby old traditionalist.  I appreciate the fact that the Academy is trying to woo younger viewers.  I was game for a change in format.  I think both of the young hosts are talented, and I wanted to like them.  But really, James Franco?  Did it have to be all about you?

I get that he is the talk of the town, a Renaissance Man who writes fiction and  gets his PhD and acts and paints and experiments in performance art. But apparently, he was so busy shooting video and Tweeting backstage and making everything very postmodern and ironically detached, he couldn’t be bothered to be entertaining. I think Annie was just overcompensating, poor thing.  She came across as silly and cloying and trying too hard, but I can hardly blame her.  I think I knew how she felt.

I had a boyfriend in college who was Mr. Cool.  He was good looking and aloof and shunned anything remotely trendy.  Why he wanted anything to do with me (trendy sorority girl, good student, former show choir member, slightly gawky) I’m not sure.  But watching poor Annie Hathaway with the reluctant (or vacant?  or absent?) Franco on her arm, I was reminded of the handful of times I took Mr. Cool to a sorority function, or to a family event, or well, basically any time when we weren’t alone together or with  friends of his choosing.  He’d be rude to my friends or make snide comments about the event or whatever, and I’d get exhausted trying to apologize for him and make everyone see what a great guy he was.  (This begs the question why, if he was so great, he acted like such a jerk, but as every young gal with a Bad Boyfriend knows “he was different with me.”  The grownup me cringes.  I digress.)

Anyway, I’m sure Mr. Franco is talented.  Perhaps I should blame the producers for selecting someone so ill-suited to the task.  The fact that Billy Crystal, a 94- year-old stroke victim, and a digital Bob Hope were the highlights of the show pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?  Still, I find that I’m slightly irritated with Franco anyway.

What I loved about the Oscars when I was a kid was that it celebrated everything great about movie making.  I would watch actors accept their awards and imagine doing the same one day.  Last night, I watched with my 15-year-old daughter, who is just back from her first trip to New York and completely in love with the theater.  I wonder if she imagined the same.  Say what you will about Academy politics and Hollywood cynicism and promotional campaigns and whether the most deserving “art” wins.  The Oscars, at their best, are a lovely fantasy, and they honor good work.  For Franco to make the evening about anything other than the honorees was colossally self-indulgent.  On Oscar night, I’m not interested in performance art or sly meta commentary that blurs the lines between audience and host, breaks the fourth wall, blah blah blah.  I just want to be entertained.  For the first time in my Oscar viewing years, I wasn’t.  But then maybe I’m just grumpy because I stayed up too late, True Grit didn’t get a single award, and not even Annette Benning could stem the Portman tidal wave.  Sigh.

Filed Under: Entertainment, Humor, MISC, Nostalgia, Opinion Tagged With: , , ,

I’m in love!

02/16/2011 By Robin Grosland 9 Comments

I am in love — that uncontrollable, undeniable, can’t concentrate, obsessed, just-want-to-be-with-them, always-thinking-of-them kind of love.

And *sh* don’t tell, but I’m not talking about my husband. 

(Okay, kind of.)

I’m talking about people.  People of all shapes and sizes.  All personality types.  All colors.  All walks of life.  The more, the better.

And I know that the phrase “in love” is generally used to describe romantic love but, with the English language being so imprecise, I’ve got to use what I’ve got.  And saying that I love people just doesn’t cut it.  It’s not powerful enough.

I am in awe of them.  I want to bask in their presence.  I want to soak up whatever it is that’s emanating from their souls.

I don’t get star-struck in the traditional sense.  I have no desire to meet famous people just because they are famous.  But there are people who come into my life, people who sometimes don’t even know I’m watching them, that floor me.

And there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason as to why I admire them.  Sometimes they have been through hard times and come out stronger and better.  Sometimes they are in the middle of hard times and are willing to show their pain.  And sometimes they make a comment that exhibits a depth of character that I didn’t know was there.

Sometimes it’s their mind.  They talk about things on a different level and invite me to come along.  They challenge me to be more; and I want to.

Sometimes it’s in their voice.  They speak with tenderness and a reverence that reminds me that I am from a higher place.  That there are angels with me.

Sometimes it’s their smile.  It’s not just a beautiful smile.  It’s warm and inviting.  It’s like hot chocolate.  Some people have a hot chocolate smile that they share with those they meet in this cold winter world.

Sometimes it’s in their handshake, as they look deep into your eyes and their eyes say that you are wonderful.  They’ve seen your soul and wholeheartedly approve.

Sometimes it’s in their hug.  A hug that gives and receives at the same time.  It makes you feel powerful.  It makes you feel humble.  It makes you feel you are more than before.

And sometimes it’s in watching how they interact with others.  It’s amazing what you can learn about a person just by watching them.

Those who inspire me the most, who give the most to me, are those whose souls are open.  They are secure in themselves spirit and body and want to share and grow together.  And they aren’t frightened if I openly love and admire them.

They are everywhere.  People who have seemed so two-dimensional for years suddenly blossom into three dimensions and beyond.  Flowers that radiate unimaginable colors.  Colors that warm and soothe and welcome.

Maybe they always were and I just didn’t see it before.  Or maybe it just took a while for them to find their wings and soar.

And you’re probably one of them.  Today, may you blossom and soar!

Photo courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net Admin.

Read more from Robin here.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion Tagged With: , ,

What they didn’t tell you about sex (but should have)

02/02/2011 By Robin Grosland 7 Comments

Do you remember when you and your parents had THE TALK?  You know, the one parents and teens dread in equal amounts?

If you’re anything like me the answer is no.  Not because I don’t have a good memory but because it never happened. 

My parents are conservative.  Not a little conservative, ultra-conservative.  Remember the two set of parents from My Big Fat Greek Wedding?  My parents are not the fun ones.

I’m pretty sure if any of us kids had ever asked my parents if they’d had sex they would have said no; even though they are the parents of four children.

This created some problems for me.  Some vacancies in my knowledge.

I got lots of answers from friends.  Lots from teen magazines.  Some from movies.  And some from boys.

But there was one area that never got covered.  There was information I desperately wish I’d had before I had any sexual experience.

I do not want my children to have the same problem.  We have been open and direct (and hopefully appropriate).  We answer questions.  We initiate discussions.  And we share information.

As each of my children comes of age this is what I tell them.

Sex is not something base.  It is not ugly.  It is not bad.  It is not dirty.  It is important.  And not just for procreation.

Sexuality is a vital part of human nature; it’s part of who we are.  Who we are meant to be.  And it is an important part of a couple’s relationship.

Sex is not something you owe someone.  Not anyone.  Not when you are dating.  Not when you are a couple.  Not when you are married.  Not because they spent a lot of money on you.  Not because it’s the next step.  Not because it’s your job as a spouse.  Not because it’s what they want. 

Sex is giving yourself to another person.  If it is taken from you or you give it unwillingly it will affect you negatively; I believe it will injure your soul.  It’s more than physical.  It’s more than mechanical.  It’s psychological.  It’s spiritual.  It’s a part of you. 

Sex should never be demanded.  It should never be coerced through force, manipulation, or guilt.  Persuasion, maybe sometimes.  Coercion, never.

Sex can be an incredible thing.  It is the ultimate physical bonding, becoming one.  When two people choose to be intimate in this way, it can be a spiritual experience.  It is powerful.

But like all power, it must be used wisely or it can be dangerous.  It must be respected.  Because it is a part of you.

And you are worth it.

Photo by Dynamite Imagery.  Provided by FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Read more from Robin here.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion, Parenting, Spirituality Tagged With: , , , ,

Another reason to hate Stephanie Meyer

01/28/2011 By Robin Grosland 6 Comments

As if you needed another reason.  As if the swooning teen girls (and far too many of their mothers) were not reason enough.  As if rewriting the myth of vampires to suit her needs was not enough.  As if the fact that her shallow and salacious writing gets compared to — I’m so ashamed to even say this — Harry Potter with all its depth and development and, um, intelligence was not enough.

May I just say that even with all of that, I think there is a more important reason to feel disdain and loathing for the woman (or maybe it’s her people, but still her fault).

She and the Twilight franchise have completely and unabashedly hijacked the red-black-white color scheme.

These used to be classy colors.  Colors you wear to a formal ball.  Colors of a contemporary wedding reception.  Even really hot lingerie.

But not now.  Now red-black-white means vampires.  Mainly one vampire trying not to eat his girlfriend, the love of his life.

“When he looks at me with those eyes, and I know he wants to kill me but won’t, that’s how I know he loves me.”

Come on!  Really?  This is love?

I’m not going into a full rant about Twilight here.  There’s just not enough time or exclamation points for my true feelings.

But I will not surrender red-black-white to her.  I will not let those colors make me see the black cover, pale hands, and red apple (as in forbidden fruit — duh).

When I see those colors I am determined that I will see Victoria’s Secret on Valentine’s Day.  And I will feel good about it.  Take that, Stephanie!

***

Author’s note:

I have felt guilty since the moment I wrote this.  It’s been bugging me.  So I thought I should repent and say how very sorry I am.

In a moment of hyperbole, I implied that I hate Stephanie Meyer.  I do not.  I have never met her.  I am sure she is a very nice person.  A very nice, 14-year old girl stuck in a woman’s body, with a serious unfulfilled bad-boy fantasy, and in need of lots of therapy.  I apologize for judging her the way I did.  It was unfair.

There.  I feel so much better.

Photo by Clare Bloomfield.  Provided by FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Read more from Robin here.

Filed Under: Entertainment, Humor, Opinion Tagged With: , , , ,

Wanting.

01/26/2011 By Meg Stivison 8 Comments

My new job has me traveling between Los Angeles and Manhattan. It’s new to me, but I kind of love the speed of the cities and the bicoastal life.  I love the Manhattan sarcasm and the West Coast enthusiasm, I love the shimmering mix of old money and bleeding edge tech startups.

But LA and New York make me want. That’s not a transitive verb here, I don’t have something in particular in mind to want.

I just want everything. I look around, and I want better clothes, shinier hair, straighter teeth. I want a newer phone, with more apps, too, the paid ones that run smoothly and integrate perfectly, and the underground indie apps that I discover before anyone else.  I want eyeliner, in attention-grabbing, rule-breaking bright green and lavender, but also in the smoky grey that always looks so good on models.

I want the new Cosmo in the airport, I want every book in the Strand. I want cupcakes, I want a Starbucks cup constantly in my hand, but I want to be thinner. I want to be someone healthly and health-conscious, but mostly I just want pinot grigio and black-and-white cookies. I want a manicure with square-tip nails and dark cranberry polish, but I don’t want to hold my hands carefully afterwards.

I want to be pretty, but I want you to take me seriously. I want to break ground, rock a man’s job in consumer tech, but always be a girl. I want to set my own rules, but I want someone to tell me I’m doing the right thing.

I see, and I want. I just want everything. Is that too much to ask?

Meg Stivison blogs on life, videogames and wanting more at SimpsonsParadox.com

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion, Style

Classroom Noise

01/25/2011 By Laurie LaGrone 10 Comments

My cousin stopped by recently for a rare visit. The last time she broke bread with my family she was an elementary school teacher. Over breakfast we talked about her life in those days, and how it has changed. My father, who is one of the more direct and outspoken people I have ever known, brought up a time when my parents stopped by her classroom when they were in her part of the world.

“I hated your classroom,” Dad told my cousin. As I mentioned, Dad is direct and holds little back. “It’s not just your classroom — all elementary school classrooms seem to be like that,” he went on.

“What was wrong with it?” my cousin wanted to know.

“There was so much stuff all over the walls that you couldn’t even see the walls!” Dad answered. “It’s the same in Laurie’s kids’ classrooms,” he went on. “When I’ve gone there for Grandparents’ Day, every inch of space is covered in the kids’ projects, art, charts, posters — it’s too much. It wasn’t like that when I was in school,” he finished. “There was a blackboard and a calendar, and that was about it.”

I’ve been mulling this over for a few days. So much has been written about ever-increasing stimuli vying for our kids’ attention: video games; loud, bright and fast TV commercials and programs (and movies); electronic distractions of all kinds — even our cultural habit of multitasking. What about all of the bright stuff hanging on the walls of my daughters’ school classroom? Does it distract them from their lessons?

When I imagine a place where I can be my most intellectually productive, where it’s easy to focus my concentration, I picture muted colors, no clutter and minimal distractions. No windows, no media, no loud sounds. It seems I’m picturing a library. And yet, the ambiance of an American elementary school classroom is exactly the opposite that of a library. I wonder if we have gone down the wrong path.

I realize that I am an adult and my ideal learning environment may be very different from that of a child. Today’s classroom environments strive to inspire, stimulate, promote creative expression, and make learning fun, and it’s safe to say the environments do those things. But look at the two photos at the top of this essay and compare: the one on the left is a Japanese elementary school classroom, and the one on the right is American. The Japanese classroom reminds me of a library, and the American classroom feels like a carnival. Since I haven’t heard of anyone decrying the state of the Japanese education system, it does make me wonder.

I wonder if classrooms are not not just stimulating but truly overstimulating our kids’ senses.

Laurie spends an exorbitant amount of time at Fooleryland, her blog.

(Japanese classroom photo via ajari on Wikimedia Commons)

Filed Under: Opinion Tagged With: , , , , ,

My prayers are with you

01/24/2011 By Robin Grosland 12 Comments

My prayers are with you.

I wonder what you think when I say that.  Do you think I am a nut?  Do you appreciate my concern?  Do you shrug it off as meaningless and go on with your day?

I am a religious person.  I believe in God.  I pray and ask for His blessing to be upon those who are struggling, in whatever way.  I believe in the power of prayer.  I also believe in the power of people sharing their hearts and concerns.  Caring for others. When I offer my prayers for someone it is out of caring and concern.

However, I have recently found out that some people find it offensive if prayers are offered in their behalf.

I do not understand.  If someone of another religion prayed for me I would be grateful for their efforts even if I disagreed with their religious choices.  If someone who isn’t religious said they would keep me in their heart I would appreciate it.  I do not understand taking offense at someone offering support in the way that is meaningful to them.

I am afraid I have probably violated others’ feelings on this many times over.  I do not limit my prayers to people I know or people of my religion.  Often, as I read a news story, I find myself stopping to offer a prayer.  I pray for the families of those who have been killed.  I pray for the doctor who is performing a difficult surgical procedure.  I pray for the law enforcement officers that they might be protected and guided in their efforts.  And I wonder how many would be offended that I prayed for them. 

If someone asked me to not pray for them I wouldn’t.  I would respect their wishes.  But when those wishes are not known would they still find it offensive that I offered a prayer in their behalf?

And if it is offensive to some does that mean that I shouldn’t do it?  I sometimes think we have gone overboard trying to keep everyone happy.  There are some people who are just so easily offended.  Do I need to change the way I practice my beliefs to protect their feelings?  Should I change who I am so that they are more comfortable?

We still seem to struggle with religious differences.  People get angry when someone disagrees with them about whether God exists and what He is like if He does.  Or even if God is a he.  People seem to feel threatened that someone is challenging their beliefs.  I wonder if taking offense at my offered prayer is related to that.

I am not writing this to push religion or prayer.  I am seeking to understand.  Because I have tried to figure it out and I just don’t get it.

Photo by africa.  Provided by FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Read more from Robin here.

Filed Under: MISC, Opinion, Spirituality Tagged With: , , , ,

Fine, I Admit It. Twitter is Making Me Dumb.

01/14/2011 By Rima Tessman 11 Comments

A friend and I were chilling around the kitchen island gossiping one night when she threw me a curve ball and said:

“So, how much do you think you live through your online persona?”

Because I have the attention span of a gnat, I was able to quickly switch gears and say:

“What?”

“You know,” my friend continued. “How much do you think the Internet influences how you act in real life? Can you still be present in a moment without thinking about blogging, Tweeting, or Facebooking it?”

“Of course!” I lied.

But she wasn’t done with me yet. “I have started monitoring your online activities,” my friend continued, “To make sure you don’t confuse your online presence with your actual life.”

“What do you mean, ‘monitoring my online activities’? You have a tap on my computer?”

“I’ve been checking in on your Twitter stream,” my non-tweeting friend explained. “I’m watching you.”

Great, I thought, drawing my iPhone protectively towards my chest. The last thing I need is my oldest friend calling me out on my illustrious, imagined, and carefully crafted online existence.

“Well, I’m going to have to ask you to stop that.” I said. “How am I supposed to post pictures of myself in the J. Crew dressing room if I know Big Brother is judging me on the other side?”

“That’s exactly my point.”

“I’m gonna block you,” I said.

But my friend continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “You’re in danger of viewing yourself as the reality star of your own cyber world. I just want to make sure you are living in the moment, and not through a digital lens.”

I was loath to admit that she had a point. As much as I believe that my life has been enriched by social media, I recognize the danger in immersing myself too much in the online world. I see the irony of isolation through interconnectedness. I’d rather text or email you than call you up to chat. I’m guilty of being half-present during compelling moments because I’m already thinking about how they will translate in print. And sometimes I wonder if my personality has changed to match the one I have online.

My friend droned on about how, through time immemorial, great moments of innovation have been borne out of solitary reflection, a stilling of the mind. “But no one is having eureka moments anymore,” she said. “Because they’re too busy Facebooking, Tweeting, and watching YouTube videos to have an original thought. It’s a sad state of affairs, and it’s only going to get worse.”

At first I argued that social networking can – and does – ignite the creative spark. That I engage in quiet reflection when I’m in the shower, and that I’m often bored out of my gourd.

“As a matter of fact,” I told my friend, “I totally zoned out during the last five minutes of your speech. Can you repeat it for me, please?”

Later, I reluctantly asked myself: Have I really had any true epiphanies on Facebook or Twitter? Has anything I’ve read there prompted contemplative thought? When is the last time I did absolutely nothing at all? Is my chronic writer’s block related to the amount of time I spend online?

The answers were bothersome, so I quickly directed my attention somewhere else.

It’s good have a friend who isn’t afraid of telling me things I don’t always want to hear. Because she had a point, of course. And I will be sure to remind her of it the next time I catch her playing with her Blackberry during choir practice. She sits right next to me in the soprano section, so I’ll probably just send her a text.

Read more from Rima at her personal site here.

Filed Under: Humor, Opinion, Tech

Who needs a sub?

01/13/2011 By Robin Grosland 3 Comments

A few weeks ago I was at my daughter’s basketball scrimmage.  Even though it was a scrimmage, they were playing hard.  The girls were getting winded, and there were a couple on the bench eager to get in.  The coach asked, “Who needs a sub?”

I was sitting right behind him and answered, “I do.”

He didn’t hear me.  And he didn’t have a sub for me anyway.  But it got me thinking — wouldn’t it be nice if life were a little more like sports?

There would be subs.  That alone makes it worth it.  After being up until 4:30am with sick and crying kids, what mother wouldn’t love a substitute mother to take over and get everyone up and off to school in the morning so she could recover?

There would be a clear definition of the goals.  In sports you work to score more points (less in golf) than your opponent.  But sometimes in life we work and work only to find out that we were working toward the wrong goal.  We thought we were headed in the right direction, but somewhere along the line we got lost.

There are also clearly defined rules.  Every sport has its rules and a governing body to set and enforce those rules.  Life can be vague.  Moral dilemmas occur in which we’re just not sure what the proper choice is.

You always know who your opponent is.  In football or basketball, you know who not to throw the ball to — their clothes are a different color than yours.  You know that they are working against your better interests.  Unfortunately, life isn’t always so clear about this.  Sometimes you spend a long time relying on and trusting another person only to have them turn on you and stab you in the back when it’s to their advantage.

Conversely, you have a team, you know who they are, and you are working toward the same goal.  When you are in heavy coverage, you can pass to someone else.  Sometimes in life we don’t have a very strong team.  Or we aren’t all playing the same game.

In sports you have a coach.  You have someone who is more experienced who can teach you and guide you.  Someone who can tell you what you’re doing wrong and how to fix it.  And who can direct others to help you.

You have fans.  There are people watching who are hoping you do well.  They are cheering for you.  They share your disappointment when things don’t go well.

Okay, it’s a loose comparison.  And I know you are going to say that some of these things are available in life if we’d only take advantage of them.  A spouse, friend, grandparent = a sub.  The law, police officers, judges, God = rules and a governing body.  A mentor, a parent, a grandparent, God = a coach.  Your interpretation will vary depending on your personal feelings and beliefs.

So if these things are available, do we take advantage of them?  Would your life be better if you thought of it as a sport and looked for these elements and opportunities?

I imagine it would.  I don’t think it would solve everything, but perception is important and every little bit helps.

What I want is my own personal commentator; and every time I accomplish something difficult I want him to shout, “GOOOOOOOOOOOAL!”

Photo by Salvatore Vuono. Provided by FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Read more from Robin here.

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