The Responsibility of Freedom

Eons ago, when I first got my driving license and started out in my little blue Chevy Nova, eager to exercise this new found freedom to navigate the wide world all on my own, my parents sat me down for a little talk on responsibility. "Freedom to come and go as you please is  exciting," they granted, "but with this newfound freedom of yours comes a responsibility - and not just the responsibility of driving safely and carefully.   Part of your responsibility, now that you're able to be going places and doing things on your own, is being aware of your family's feelings and keeping us informed about your plans and your whereabouts.  It's not that we're trying to control you, or prevent you from doing things you might want to to.  It's just that we care about you being safe, and we also need to know how your activities impact the rest of the family.  Don't keep us waiting dinner for you if you're planning on eating out with your friends.  Call first and let us know.  If you're running late, call and let us know.  It's simple courtesy.  Being mindful of other's feelings is one of the most important responsibilities that come with freedom."

Lately, with all the debate about building a mosque near Ground Zero, I've been recalling that discussion.  I consider myself a proponent of religious freedom, and believe with all my heart that people living peaceably here in America should be allowed to freely practice their faith, whatever it might be.  It might sound overly simplified, but it seems to me that the whole concept of building a mosque in that particular place has a lot to do with the idea my parents were talking to me about lo those many years ago.

"Being mindful of other's feelings is one of the most important responsibilities that come with freedom."

So many people have such strong feelings about Ground Zero, feelings that it is a sacred place, that it's a reminder of a terrible wrong wreaked upon our nation and on totally innocent individuals.  It seems as if building a mosque anywhere near there, especially one as large as the one being proposed, is a bit like rubbing salt into that wound.  Are there not other suitable locations in New York City?  Why must this particular building be constructed in this particular place?

The situation is obviously very complicated, and I'm sure my homespun philosophy is hardly the answer to what has become a huge dilemma.  Still, perhaps it's a concept worth pondering.  Sometimes consideration and compromise can go a long way toward making peace.

And that's definitely a concept worth working for.

The Ides of August

True to the dire connotations of this phrase (thanks to Will Shakespeare), I always start feeling restless and edgy about the middle of August.  This year is certainly no different, and probably worse than most because I'm so completely fed up with the heat and humidity that has plagued us here in the midwest all summer.  As my husband keeps telling me, we might as well be in Florida.   Yes we might, except for the one hundred and one reasons we have to be here.  But that's another story.

My irritation with August usually stems from being bored.  If you know me, you'll know that's a word I rarely use.  I always have so many projects simmering on the burners of my little brain, and usually never enough time to pick and choose which one to work on.  But in August, my impetus to begin any of those projects simply disappears.  I wander around the house (in which I've become a virtual prisoner thanks to the aforementioned heat and humidity) exasperated with myself, which quickly turns into exasperation with everyone else around me.

So August is an edgy month for me.   I'm prickly in the heat, like the dried edges of the lawn that look ready to burst into flame given the barest spark. I haven't seen any of my friends in too long, work is slow and rather dull, I'm tired of coddling the flowers in the garden.  I'm irritated with the world in general, particularly with the news media who have jumped on the bandwagon of "stalled economic recovery," doing their best to sway public opinion practically insuring it will happen, and taking away some of the hopeful optimism that was starting to spread through the country.

I'm ready for the cool winds of  change to blow through.

How about you?   Are you more restless at certain times of year than others?

Cafe Writing: Summertime Calling

No other season - except perhaps Christmas - can call forth my inner child like the summer season.  Whether it's the long hours of daylight, the sense of freedom from the daily grind, the notion that it's acceptable to loll around reading for an hour after lunch, or just the vestiges of childhood's inner calendar which associates warm, sunny days with being young, foolish, and free - summer is the season when I find myself yearning to be young again. I've found that connecting with one's inner child becomes more difficult with each passing year.  No surprise, I suppose, because our childhood selves retreat further and further into the shadows of our experience.  Particularly for those of us without young children anywhere in the family, it's easy to sink into the cynical stodginess that seems to grow like an arrant weed in the garden of our middle-aged mind.  Thank goodness for our dogs, who demand that we spend at least a certain amount of time jumping around with and acting silly - playing, in other words. 

Perhaps that's the thing about summer which most summons my inner child.  It makes me want to play - to ride my bike, to throw a ball around, to run through the sprinkler.  To abandon the serious, workaday world, and just revel in the sunshine and freedom.  Summertime not only gives us permission to play, it practically demands that we do, rather like my two little dogs who are perpetually child-like  in so many ways.

August is half gone already, and with it will go that heady sense of freedom summer brings. 

I believe I hear my inner child calling now - time to go out and play.

For this month's Cafe Writing  Option 3: Pick 3 words.

Lazy, Hazy

If I could have had a video camera mounted to my cap just now, I'd treat you all to some lovely, peaceful scenes of my neighborhood flying past as I whirred by on my 10 speed.  I've been bike riding a lot this summer, and usually I set off first thing in the morning, but today being Saturday we all slept in a little late, so the bike ride was postponed until dusk. For some reason the neighborhood looks different at sundown than it does at sunrise.  A little rougher, a little less safe.  Don't know if it's the thought of impending darkness, or just that there are more clumps of people hanging around (i.e. teenagers with baggy pants, cell phones, and dogs), or the fact that I took a left turn out of the driveway instead of my usual right.  Anyway, I felt a small inkling of discomfort tonight, made more intense by the fact that I left my own cell phone at home.  Reminder to self: Start riding with cell phone and/0r some ID. 

Once I crossed over Six Mile road, the main east/west thoroughfare that bisects my travels, and headed toward my usual ride through Lola Valley Park and over into Western County Club territory, I felt a bit more at ease.  There are some lovely homes sprinkled throughout this area, homes circa 1960-1970, each one slightly different, most of them with nicely manicured lawns and bounteous, colorful flower beds. 

I've written about this before, but I like the fact that there's history here.  Oh, nothing like the history you might find in small New England towns, and certainly not the history in European countries.  But for an American suburb, there's some legs in this township.  After all, it was the mid 1850's when the first settlers paddled their canoe down the very river I pedal past on my daily bike rides.

A blogger friend and I were talking a bit about that earlier today, discussing choices of cities.  She chose her current city over another one close by because it seemed "more seasoned."  I can understand that completely...our town is quite well seasoned, and after living in Naples, which is certainly a more esthetically beautiful place but pretty devoid of history, I know exactly what she means.

But I'm kind of afraid for my town.  More than "kind of," actually.  It's been hit hard by the economy, and there have been a lot of homes lost in foreclosure.  There is a different socio-economic feel to the city here, lots of empty businesses that haven't recovered.  Property values are low, the lowest in a long time, and not likely to rise significantly any time soon, if ever.

So I add that to my list of worries about where to go and what to do.  I've lived here almost my entire life, which is rare enough.  I'd like to think I could live here for a long time to come, or at least until I have to move because I need more assistance with living. 

But make no mistake - the longer I stay, the more that's going to hurt, in every possible way.  As the song goes, "you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."

There are the thoughts that flash through my mind as I pedal full tilt up and down the neatly paved roads, the wind in my face, cool breeze in my hair, and the weight of history on my shoulders.

Feathering the Nest

My thoughts have been turning to decorating lately.  It's been close to 15 years since any major changes to the decor have been done around here.    Though I love the idea of having a new look to the old place, I'm a major procrastinator when it comes to actually doing anything about it.  But  I've been having lots of fun cyber shopping at the CSN Stores, with over 200 online stores where you can find everything from cookware to cribs, from dining room sets to dog beds.  I'm really excited about the opportunity to review one of the products from the  CSN stores.  There are so many things I need, and so many great things to choose from ~ who knows what I'll pick! 

I'll keep you posted.