Sunday Scribblings-Two Cents Worth

I've never been one to spout my opinions on any subject, generally preferring to keep them to myself on the theory that no one really cares what I think anyway so why waste my breath. But since Meg and Laini have invited us to step onto the soapbox, I'll take this opportunity to pass along my two cents on a few subjects:

1. People just really need to learn to get along better, be more respectful of other's needs and differences, and learn to (occasionally at least) turn the other cheek. This goes for foreign governments and religious leaders all the way to the cashier in the grocery store and the mechanic who changes your oil;
2. People also need to take more responsibility for their own actions. Is it really McDonald's fault that you spill hot coffee in your lap when you're driving? Is it really Walt Disney World's fault that your child was "traumatized" when he accidentally saw a Donald Duck character taking off his head? Let's stop trying to blame someone else for everything that goes wrong;
3. I've probably mentioned this before, because this is something that I will voice an opinion about. Life is too complicated these days. There are too many choices in everything from radio stations to cereal to feminine protection. I end up standing in the grocery aisle searching up and down for the version of each product that I like. Sometimes, I get so overwhelmed that I just give up, my desire for the darn thing completely gone! I mean, besides regular Oreo cookies, there are Double Stuff, Vanilla, Uh-Oh's, mint, peanut butter, fudge, and let's not forget low fat and low carb! And all these products and services that were supposed to make life easier sometimes just make it more difficult. A particular case in point is the automated prescription re-order service at my pharmacy. The other day it took me seven minutes standing on the phone following robotic voice commands just to order one measly prescription;
4. As a result of life's complicated-ness, we're a society that's always in a hurry, always rushing to the next appointment, activity, shopping center, or playdate. I've heard they make personal planners and PDA's geared to the elementary age child - now that's just wrong!
5. Which brings me to my last, but not least, item - the "adult-izing" of children. I don't like seeing little girl's dressed like Brittany Spears, and wearing makeup at the age of 10. I worry about too many little boys who are zoned out for hours in front of violent TV shows and computer games. I pity children who are scheduled in organized activities every minute of their day, so they don't have time to just play. It's hard for parents to buck this system - if every one else's kid really is doing it, how can you say no without making a misfit of your own child?

There, that's my pennies worth for today! To read what other's have to say, go here.

Checking In

For the past couple of weeks, Greenish Lady has been treating us to lovely posts she calls her weekly check in, a technique that she began as part of The Artist's Way, a course in "discovering your creative self." In this program, you use the Check In to monitor your progress toward achieving creative goals. I've actually just started working my way through The Artist's Way book, and I wish I could say this has been a productive week for me creatively, but alas, I cannot. In fact, I feel less creative this week than I have in quite some time, and I'm wondering why. A major requirement of this course is "The Morning Pages," three pages of free writing, preferably done first thing every morning. These pages are meant to be a cathartic, stream of consciousness "brain drain," which will free your minds of the things blocking your creativity. I latched on to this exercise quite happily, and have completed it nearly effortlessly for 13 of the past 14 mornings. I'm actually amazed at the way words flow out of my pen onto the page of the brand new spiral notebook - it's almost as if there is a direct feed from my brain to the paper, and I'm not consciously even thinking about what's coming out on the page. According to the rules of the practice, you aren't supposed to re-read what you've written (and it's a good thing, because I'm writing so fast my handwriting is virtually illegible). So I was hopeful that the clogged drain of my creative plumbing was getting nicely cleared out.

Not so. I'm beginning to think that I'm using up all my ideas in the morning pages! The words and images that usually flood my mind when I'm driving, or walking, or sitting on the porch, making me grab for my Moleskine (or a napkin or the back of a grocery receipt) have been nowhere to be found. My mind feels like an empty, foggy Tupperware container, one whose really good contents have been consumed, so it's been tossed in the sink.

No, that isn't quite true. My mind doesn't feel empty at all, and perhaps that's the problem. For the past week, my mind has been consumed with minutiae of all kinds - catching up on lots of boring office work, preparing for some home improvement projects, involving several trips to places like Home Depot, dealing with repairmen for my mom's central air conditioning which is on the fritz (and our weather is in the 90's), trying to schedule appointments for my annual medical check up and tests, and last, but certainly not least, worried about finding a home for a little dog one of my friend's told me about.

I feel really frustrated with my life lately. I had hoped that I would feel less pressured during the summer. But it seems that life is just as harried and rushed as it was from September to June.

In a sidebar quote in The Artist's Way, Brenda Uland writes: "Imagination needs moodling - long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling, and puttering." Maybe it's a cop-out to say that my creativity is suffering because I don't have enought "moodling" time. But if I'm being honest in my Check In this week, I feel like my creativity has "checked out."

Goings On

This has been a Monday (on a Tuesday) kind of day. Having spent the past few days (including yesterday, the real Monday) at our home in Florida, there's always kind of a frantic catching up to do in order to re-enter normal life here in Michigan. I feel the need to clear my head, and this seems like the place to do it. So here what's been "going on":

• First of all, I'm on borrowed time here because I left my laptop's power cord is on the floor under my desk in Florida! So I was forced to make an emergency call to my son, admit that I was stupid, and beg him to go to my house and mail it to me tomorrow - overnight pony express as fast as they can get it here no matter what it costs- mail!
• In addition to that call, I had a long phone message on my answer machine from a co-worker who was bitterly complaining about a report she was working on and telling me that I (as "head of the department") was going to have to do something about it as soon as possible. GADS!! I hate it when I have to be the "in charge" person and actually talk to someone about something they've done wrong. I can hardly wait to go to work tomorrow!
• I also had to run out and do emergency shopping because I had another message on my answer machine inviting me to a suprise birthday party tomorrow night for a good friend. The shopping was a little frantic, but the party will be a good time;
• And as my mind veers toward the positive, I will note (happily!) that when I went to the gym just before I left for Florida last week, I got weighed and measured and had lost one of the several pesky inches I've been determined to ditch before the end of summer. I think I have blogging to thank for part of that, because all the time I spend reading and writing here has distracted me from snacking! Another benefit to being a blogger!
• And speaking of blogs, if you're a regular visitor here, you may notice my masthead has been spiffed up quite nicely. That is thanks to my son, who is a professional webmaster, so sprucing up my little banner was an elementary exercise for him. However, this particular banner is meaningful to me for several reasons. When I was a very small girl, about 3 or 4 years old, I learned to type on a manual typewriter just like the one in the photo. We had an upstairs attic with an old desk right by a tiny window, and I can clearly remember sitting up there pounding away on those stiff little keys, typing up my own newspaper stories. For a long time (until I got distracted by music) being a journalist was my big dream, and throughout my youth I created lots of my own "newspapers", as well as writing for my school papers. So, this blog is just the latest edition in a long line of Becca's Bylines. Special thanks to my very creative son, who is also a mighty fine writer, for capturing just what I was looking for :)
• Well, that's what's been happening. I'm behind on lots of thing here at home - laundry, mail, bills, practising, exercising, not to mention this week's haiku for One Deep Breath...oh my. Un oh - I think my battery is about to run out. Maybe I'll just go have a snack...

Sunday Scribblings-Thief!

"Those are the sweetest puppies!" my mother in law exclaimed, patting our Molly's tiny head. "What are their names?" "Magic and Molly," I replied patiently. It was the third time she had asked that question in the 20 minutes that we'd been at her apartment. And undoubtedly she would ask me several more times before the visit was over. My mother in law, along with a very large percentage of other elderly people, was robbed a few years ago. Actually, the thief is still living somewhere in her brain, robbing her of her memory every minute of every day.

And who or what is this terrible felon - is it the aging process, a lack of anti-oxidant's or an excess of cholesterol? Is it because her arteries have clogged or her brain has shrunk? Is it just terrible bad luck or a genetic tendency?

Medical science will trot out all of these explanations, never able to provide definitive answers. My mother in law has not been formally diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease - her doctor calls it senile dementia, which has many of the same devastating practical effects. She is no longer able to drive, or live alone, or pay her bills, or be responsible for her own medications or daily schedule. She needs to be reminded to eat, bathe, and get dressed. When we go to visit, she seems to recognize us, but we're always too afraid to ask her if she knows our names, fearful that her blank look and panicked attempt to remember them would be too painful for her and for us to bear.

It's as if this dastardly thief entered her head while she was sleeping and keeps poking holes in her brain, allowing her logical thought processes and memories to slowly seep out like sand through the mesh of a fine sieve. By the time we realized he was there, it was too late to apprehend him with the usual weapons of medication and therapy. He has taken up permanent residence and will not be ousted.

Early on in this process, my mother in law was aware that something was wrong. "My head feels funny," she would say repeatedly. When pressed to be more specific, all she could say was that "it felt like something was missing." And something was-her memories of her past life as a wife and mother, a professional woman, a person who played pinochle several times a week, and went to church with her friend every Sunday.

This disease frightens me beyond all others, probably because my mind is so important to me. The thought of losing my memories of my parents and children, my past accomplishments, my skills, my awareness of words and what they mean, or music and how to play it - it's like the worst horror movie imaginable. I would take any precaution I could to keep this horrendous thief away from my door. But this one requires more than a good deadbolt lock, and I don't think anyone really knows what the best deterrent is.

Oddly enough, this disease has had one positive effect on my mother in law. Always a rather worried and pessimistic person, she has become very relaxed and seems perpetually content. She seems to have no worries or concerns, and is perfectly satisfied with the simplest of entertainments. Like our visits with Magic and Molly.

"Those are just the sweetest dogs!" she exclaims over and over. "What did you say their names were?"

My Life Path (according to bloglines.com!)

Your Life Path Number is 6

Your purpose in life is to help othersYou are very compassionate, and you offer comfort to those around you.It pains you to see other people hurting, and you do all in your power to help them.You take on responsibility, and don't mind personal sacrifice. You are the ultimate giver. In love, you offer warmth and protection to your partner. You often give too much of yourself, and you rarely put your own needs first.Emotions tend to rule your decisions too much, especially when it comes to love.And while taking care of people is great, make sure to give them room to grow on their own.

What Is Your Life Path Number?

I'm not a superstitious person. I don't avoid black cats or 13th floors, and have no compunction about walking under ladders. I laugh off Tarot card readings and tea leaves, and smile indulgently at fortune cookies. But lately I've been doing some of these mindless little internet quizzes, like "What city do you belong in?" and "Who's your perfect lover?" And it's been a bit spooky just how close to home some of them have been. Like this one, for instance. One of my blog buddies just did this, and I thought her "life path" description was very appropos in some areas. So just for giggles, I gave it a try. As soon as that first line popped up - "Your purpose in life is to help others"- well, I knew it had me. As I read each succeeding description, I was squirming in my chair, and by the end, when I was warned that, while taking care of people was great, I should be sure to give them room to grow on their own, I just about jumped up and ran screaming from the room.

I am indeed a caretaker, a fixer, even a martyr. I will give up my time, my money, my talents - whoever needs a piece of me always gets it and more besides. Now this may sound noble and laudable, but it's actually a little pathetic. Because in the long run all that obsessive caretaking can make me feel used up and taken for granted. And sometimes it does smother the people it's aiming to help. My husband and son could likely attest to the fact that sometimes (to paraphrase a popular song) "love is more than enough."

But the world is so full of needy people - and I don't just mean the homeless man who apparently lives behind the dumpster at the gas station on the corner. There's the elderly lady next door who is so unsteady on her feet that it's dangerous for her to shuffle to the curb with garbage bags. And the really talented girl at school who can't afford college since her mother lost her job due to complications from congestive heart failure. There are all kinds of people who need me, including and most especially, members of my family.

The big question is where does the giving stop? It's a perennial problem for women, since we are so often raised to be nurturing and compliant. In the long run, if we give unto others until there is nothing left for ourselves, what good have we done? We are nothing more than an empty, often angry, vessel.

My 90 year old aunt, a very vital, involved, and outgoing woman, told me she had recently stopped serving on one of the committee's at her church. She said that she often ended up doing all the work herself and was going home from meetings feeling angry and bitter. She said "I just figured if I wasn't getting a blessing from what I was doing, than nobody else was either."

I think that pretty much sums it up.