Neverland

It's late in the evening, here on our last day in Walt Disney World, a place that (depending on your point of view) is a magical place of wonder and adventure, or an overpriced piece of capitalist consumerism.   In fact, there is truth in both perspectives. 

And while I rarely write politically here at the Byline, my thoughts tonight are straying into that realm, because as I sit here in my lovely hotel room, having spent the past three days wandering through amusement parks in this artifical neverland, I find myself wondering if we're all burying our heads in the sand.

America has spent the past five years at war.  I hate war.  I've always hated war.  When my son was born 28 years ago, I remember thinking (as they wheeled me out of the delivery room) that I could never let him go to war.  And yet, thousands of mothers of sons and daughters are doing just that - and sometimes their children are not coming home. 

Our economy is in the worst crisis I can remember in my lifetime.  Homes all over my neighborhood have been lost to foreclosure.  Businesses are failing left and right.  People in my state are surviving only because they have credit cards to pay for groceries, gas, and medications.

Medical care is in crisis, as people continue to live longer and longer, and do not have the means to pay for the health care they need. 

Since the time of the Great Depression, has America ever been in such dire straits? 

And yet, my family (and quite a few other families, to judge by the crowds in the park today) are able to take lovely vacations in places where we're encourgaed to forget all our troubles, put our cares behind us, and "dream a million dreams."

I'm all for dreaming - I think dreams are necessary and vital.  But are we dreaming too much?  Are we living in our own little "neverland," so accustomed to America always coming out on top that we're turning a blind eye to the serious dilemmas we face? Shouldn't we be applying some old fashioned elbow grease to the difficulties that plague this nation, and finding a way to fix the disasters that have developed in this country over the past eight years? 

After a few days in the magical world of Disney, I always find myself more than ready to return home to the nitty gritty of my every day life.  While I can marvel at those "imagineers" who created this place, and as nice as it is to escape from the "real world" of work and domestic responsibility,  I feel a craving to return to those normal routines, the day to day reality of life.

Whomever we elect in November has to bear the awesome responsibility of taking on a country in crisis.  The next leader of this nation must be someone with dreams and with imagination, but also someone highly intelligent and firmly grounded in common sense.

We just can't live in Neverland any longer.

The Annual Disney Excursion

The title of this post has been usurped from my son's blog, but since he is (a very important) part of the aforementioned Annual Disney Escursion, I don't think he'll mind.  You see, we're all off to Orlando tomorrow - we're flying south,  Brian and Nantana are driving northeast, and we'll be meeting in Disney World sometime in the late afternoon. We've been having Disney Excursions since 1988 -and we've had a lot of them.  After our first trip, when Brian was eight, we became so enamored of the place, we started going at least once a year.  We learned more about the ins and outs of Disney World than some of the employees -knew all the little tricks about where to stand get the best view of parades, the secret entrances to rides, the best places to eat...before long we felt as if we owned the place. 

In 1996, we decided to purchase our own little bit of Disney World - the Disney Vacation Club, an allotted number of points each year to be used at any of the Disney Resorts world wide.  It's all paid for now, and we own this bit of Disney magic until 2045.  So come what may, we're entitled to our Annual Disney Excursion for quite a few more years.  In 2045, I expect someone (a great-grandchild perhaps??) will be pushing me around the Magic Kingdom in a wheelchair.

We've had some wonderful times there, as a family, as couples (Jim and I alone, and Brian and Nantana have enjoyed mini-vacations on their own, since they live within a comfortable three hours drive away).  We've taken friends at varying times through the years.  When Brian was in 8th grade, we took him, and his best friend for a week and basically turned the boys loose - they had their own room and free rein in the parks and arcade.   Of course, during his teenage years, he was typically blase about the whole thing, and for about three years or so, Jim and I went on the Annual Disney Adventure alone (which was fun in its own way :)

Amazingly enough, Brian ended up attending college in Winter Park, Florida, just 30 minutes from the gates of Disney World.  We had annual park passes, and I have some wonderful memories of just driving over to Epcot for an afternoon of lunch, wandering, and people watching.  Once, I really splurged, and went for tea at the Grand Floridian Hotel.  All by myself.

And now, here we are once again, embarking on a Disney Adventure.  It's become a time to relax, revisit some good times from the past, and plan for more memory making times in the future.  And we're all looking forward to the time in years to come when there will be a new generation to introduce to the Disney Magic. 

So, I'll see you all when I return -rested, rejuvenated, and proudly wearing my mouse ears.  

Sunday Scribblings-Experiment

I have to admit, I'm not much for experimenting.  I prefer to have some clear knowledge of outcomes before I try anything new - it's my inner control freak at work.  And the nature of experimentation is completely antithetical to that premise (wow, was I channeling a scientist with that statement?) However, two years ago (to this day, in fact) I tried a rather bold experiment.  You see, it was my birthday - my 50th birthday - and I was quite an unhappy girl.  In contrast to my life at 30 and even 40, my life at 50 seemed so stagnant and dull.  I was treading water, following along in the same well worn rut,  just like an old grey mare.

So I decided to get out my pencils and start writing.  You see, I've always loved writing, and I used to do quite a bit of it - I even had some stories and essays published once upon a time.  But for many years I had been involved in other things - raising a child, running a home, working, playing music - and writing fell by the wayside.

But instead of picking up pen and paper, I sat down at my laptop and clicked onto Blogger.  Why not do my writing at the computer? I thought.   I could actually create my own literary kingdom, a private "newspaper," where I could "publish" without being subjected to the whims of unfriendly editors.

And so, on March 9, 2006, Becca's Byline was born - a birthday present to myself, an experimental foray into the world of cyber publishing.

Two years and 480 posts later, I'm convinced it was the best present I've ever given myself.   Not only have I met scads of interesting, intelligent, creative people, whose words have inspired me in every possible way, I have fallen in love with writing all over again.  I've written more in the past two years than I would have dreamed possible - why, I've even written two novels!   I feel more intelligent, creative, thoughtful, and insightful than at any other time in my life.   So as I continue into this second half of my century here on earth, I do so with an increased sense of excitement and satisfaction derived from this marvelous foray into the world of writing.

 And to think it all began with a little experiment...

links to more experiments are shared here

Icy Spots

We are betwixt snowstorms here once again, in this most vicious of midwestern winters, another several inches expected tonight, for which a place will have to be made on top of the residual heaps left by the snowplow on Monday. Sigh.

But I walked the dogs today (oh, such joy in their wagging tails!), for luckily the path in our community park gets cleaned very quickly since the local police use it to patrol.  Though I'm sorry there is a need for that particular activity, the blessing is that the walk is always cleared of snow and ice.

We marched briskly around the one mile track, clear sailing all the way, which was fortunate because Magic and Molly were at full tilt the entire time, and I found myself nearly jogging to keep up (the knees will pay for that later).   But just as we rounded the final bend to the parking lot - WHOA!- ice, big time, first a silvery slick puddle, followed by a stretch of deep, frozen ruts.

Slowing down, I crept gingerly across, stepping off the path into a snowbank to avoid that miniature skating rink.  I've fallen once on ice, breaking my right elbow, and believe me, a broken right arm is just not the thing for someone who makes her living operating one type of keyboard or another.  So having been burned, so to speak, by ice in the past, I'm fearful of it.

Of course that icy patch is so like life in general, isn't it?  You're sailing along, enjoying the movement and breeze, when suddenly you're pulled up short - by illness, sadness, family or work difficulties-an icy patch in the road.  Cautiously, we made our way through that small rough spot, the dogs sensing my reluctance and slowing down accordingly.  I focused my attention on each step, careful to maintain my balance.  We reached the car without incident, our joy in the walk not marred in the least.

May all my travels along life's roads be as deftly navigated.

Wishing you clear sailing on your life's pathway...

Monday Musings (late on Sunday)

This morning, on our way to Phoneix' Sky Harbor Airport ( and isn't that a perfect name for an airport?), I remarked that the next mountains I saw would not be those hazy purplish ones surrounding me on the horizon, but the huge grey slush and snow mountains piled beside the roadways and in corners of parking lots.  Sure enough, there they were as soon as we stepped out of the airport, at least 10 feet high and craggy, blackened with grime and carbon exhaust, flanking each corner of the parking lot. Each time I travel in winter, and return from whatever sunny place I've been lucky enough to escape to, I'm struck anew by the contrast in lifestyles between those of us in the wintry climes, and those who live (or at least winter) in places where the weather is always warm.  It's the difference between the ridiculous and the sublime...this morning, I left the majestic, sun filled desert and, in a matter of a few hours, was thrust back into a world of leaden skies, pitted roadways, and snow covered heaps. 

Sigh (of sadness).

As you may have guessed, we thoroughly enjoyed our four days in Scottsdale - after all, what's not to like about sunshine and 78 degrees?  It's very different than Florida, and although I was fascinated with the mountains and the desert plants, I admit to missing the greenery and flowers that are so abundant in the tropics.  But I learned tons of things - about the Saguaro (sa-whar-o) and Cholla (choy-a) cactus, about Frank Lloyd Wright, about fabulous bronze art (Dave McGary), about the best place to have lunch (Elements, at Sanctuary) and dinner (T. Cooks at the Royal Palms) - and in spite of all the "learning" managed to find time for a glide down the Lazy River in an inner tube at the Desert Ridge Hotel. 

Sigh (of satisfaction).

But now it's Monday - or almost at any rate.  My Monday is shaping up like this  - a three hour rehearsal with Classical Bells (substituting for my friend Millie, who has another week in Scottsdale, the lucky girl), followed by an hour rehearsal at the high school (in preparation for District Choral Festival on Thursday), followed by a couple of hours at my office in an attempt to make ready for the week ahead.

Sigh (of  foreboding).

And while I'm trying hard not to complain, I know the rest of this week will be a very stark contrast to the past four days of reading, relaxing, eating, drinking, and most of all, laughing, with two very good friends. 

Of course, no one can "relax" forever.  Truthfully, I often feel guilty about all the "relaxing" I've been able to do this winter.  I guess it's the Puritan in me, or those Scotch Presbyterian ancestors of mine with their darn work ethic.  I've been able to have so many lovely mini-vacations this year, four or five days away from work and winter, and even though I know I work hard and do my best job all year round, I still feel guilty and undeserving about having all this time off.

Why is that?   I have always considered myself as someone with good sense of self esteem, someone who thinks "she's worth it" when it comes to life's pleasures.  But I am prone to anxiety and guilt about the possibility of shirking my responsibilities, fearing any small loss of the reputation I have built for myself over the years.  

So if the Byline is quiet this week, you'll know I'm working harder than ever to make up for all the fun I've been having.

Sigh.

So how about you?  Do you ever feel guilty about having "too much fun"?  Is it even possible to have "too much fun?"

And how is your week shaping up?