I love Christmas for all the wrong reasons. I love that it provides a chance to chat with neighbors over a plate of cookies or a holiday card. I love to see smiles and patience as the crowd waits together in line. I love the salespeople happy to sell me a gift that will make someone's day.
People are more open and friendly at this time of year. We laugh and look at each other. We pick up a stranger's toll across the bridge. We give sweet strangers holiday cards because they are lonesome and sad. Life transforms into pleasant connections as we race through days that are crammed with chores and decisions.
When does that happen otherwise? It's as if the holiday magically puts the world in a good mood. It melts away the worries and wishes for what we don't have, and we are left with the really good things we take for granted the rest of the year.
And so, in addition to the sweet, savory memories of my little boys with bright shining eyes full of wonder that will always mean Christmas, I yearn to make a habit of the me I become at this time of year.
Everyone worries about what lies ahead and we make New Year's resolutions ... and then we break them. So this year I've 'earmarked' an idea for 2011 ~ to live Christmassy all year long. Be more generous with time and energy, reach out to those in need, be more considerate and thoughtful. Make more of an effort to open my home and my heart.
I don't know about you, but it feels like the new year is already looking up.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 22, 2010
Shes baaaaack!
I was let go yesterday. And it was the happiest day of my life.
The family had been working together because of Mom's stroke, which is surprising with as many opinionated personalities that have no hesitation whatsoever sharing their ideas continuously. Ok, so we're loud.
It's been about 3 weeks and the family had to morph into an organized something or other if we wanted to monitor things. With 3 in one unit and 2 in another, we had no idea if we would be able to blend. But surprisingly we became a big, hairy brontosaurus loping along with a big smile and 10 brains. One of the brains took on the healthcare issues, another nutrition, another the legal stuff, comfort and encouragement, and so on down the line. Clumsy, but productive!
And then all of a sudden we were out of a job. Kicked to the curb.
In the last couple of days, it's as if a lightbulb was turned on in Mom's brain. The cobwebs have cleared in that supremely independent head of hers. She abruptly began participating in her own progress.
Yesterday, for instance, I arrived at 08:10 hours expecting to find her in her pajamas, reluctantly eating breakfast in her room. Like the day before. But what did I find? Nothing. She was MIA.
I felt a bit of panic after a speed walk through the diningroom and PT room and beauty parlor didn't turn her up. I checked all the exits in case she was making a run for it. And when I ended up where I began, in her room, she was waiting (impatiently) for the doctor and the physical therapy team to arrive.
Not only that. She had already groomed and dressed herself, walked down to the dining room in a walker, ordered and eaten breakfast and put on her face. (I had only managed to get dressed and have a cup of coffee in the same amount of time.) Hey lady, give us a chance to keep up!!
And then she proceeded to push her little bit of weight around! Tackle the world! Hurray for Mom!
I got the distinct impression by lunchtime she was thinking her family (me) was treading all over her newly reacquired territory, and so I packed up my marbles and went home. I smiled the whole way.
She's baaaaaaack!
The family had been working together because of Mom's stroke, which is surprising with as many opinionated personalities that have no hesitation whatsoever sharing their ideas continuously. Ok, so we're loud.
It's been about 3 weeks and the family had to morph into an organized something or other if we wanted to monitor things. With 3 in one unit and 2 in another, we had no idea if we would be able to blend. But surprisingly we became a big, hairy brontosaurus loping along with a big smile and 10 brains. One of the brains took on the healthcare issues, another nutrition, another the legal stuff, comfort and encouragement, and so on down the line. Clumsy, but productive!
And then all of a sudden we were out of a job. Kicked to the curb.
In the last couple of days, it's as if a lightbulb was turned on in Mom's brain. The cobwebs have cleared in that supremely independent head of hers. She abruptly began participating in her own progress.
Yesterday, for instance, I arrived at 08:10 hours expecting to find her in her pajamas, reluctantly eating breakfast in her room. Like the day before. But what did I find? Nothing. She was MIA.
I felt a bit of panic after a speed walk through the diningroom and PT room and beauty parlor didn't turn her up. I checked all the exits in case she was making a run for it. And when I ended up where I began, in her room, she was waiting (impatiently) for the doctor and the physical therapy team to arrive.
Not only that. She had already groomed and dressed herself, walked down to the dining room in a walker, ordered and eaten breakfast and put on her face. (I had only managed to get dressed and have a cup of coffee in the same amount of time.) Hey lady, give us a chance to keep up!!
And then she proceeded to push her little bit of weight around! Tackle the world! Hurray for Mom!
I got the distinct impression by lunchtime she was thinking her family (me) was treading all over her newly reacquired territory, and so I packed up my marbles and went home. I smiled the whole way.
She's baaaaaaack!
Grandma Hartje
This is for Jenn.
I'm not quite ready for bed and you were on my mind. Mostly I was thinking about everything that is changing in your life and how sad it is to say goodbye.
Maybe God made you the type of person who can adapt to anything that life throws at you so in times like these you have the strength to carry on. I know Grandma Hartje was a big part of your life, an inspiration, a joy, and a continuity link. She and your Grandpa have always been hugely important.
It is never enough time when we are grieving the loss, but those memories will keep them present in your hearts and more precious as time goes on. I marvel at your niece and nephew being able to really know their great grandparents and to be part of the stories of their lives. They will truly remember them and that is a gift.
I hope you and the family are sitting around the dinner table with some of that German beer you talk about, laughing at all the great stories about your grandma and grandpa. I hope you are looking through photo albums. And I hope the healing begins to soften the ache ... and you find your strength.
Funerals are tough but they do let others share how much your grandma touched their lives and help you see they share the loss and offer support. From this distance our voices are just a whisper, but we are wishing you well. Good luck today: it's almost over.
I'm not quite ready for bed and you were on my mind. Mostly I was thinking about everything that is changing in your life and how sad it is to say goodbye.
Maybe God made you the type of person who can adapt to anything that life throws at you so in times like these you have the strength to carry on. I know Grandma Hartje was a big part of your life, an inspiration, a joy, and a continuity link. She and your Grandpa have always been hugely important.
It is never enough time when we are grieving the loss, but those memories will keep them present in your hearts and more precious as time goes on. I marvel at your niece and nephew being able to really know their great grandparents and to be part of the stories of their lives. They will truly remember them and that is a gift.
I hope you and the family are sitting around the dinner table with some of that German beer you talk about, laughing at all the great stories about your grandma and grandpa. I hope you are looking through photo albums. And I hope the healing begins to soften the ache ... and you find your strength.
Funerals are tough but they do let others share how much your grandma touched their lives and help you see they share the loss and offer support. From this distance our voices are just a whisper, but we are wishing you well. Good luck today: it's almost over.
Dec 19, 2010
Moving Across States with Two Dogs
Hyperbole and a Half is an entertaining read. (Here's a preview ...)
Dec 18, 2010
Daniel Hannan to America: Get Off the Road to Serfdom and Actualize the American Ideal! | The Foundry: Conservative Policy News.
Patriots ~ this is a fascinating account of the principles of our democracy seen through the eyes of a conservative Parliamentary representative in England who explains magnificently what is really at stake.
Daniel Hannan to America: Get Off the Road to Serfdom and Actualize the American Ideal! The Foundry: Conservative Policy News.
Daniel Hannan to America: Get Off the Road to Serfdom and Actualize the American Ideal! The Foundry: Conservative Policy News.
Dec 16, 2010
Even from You
It's midnight and I need to get some sleep. I will be spending tomorrow and the next day with Mom and there are a lot of important things to attend to there. But thoughts pour out of my head so fast I can hardly lay down.
I've been thinking all day about the meaning of the term: being of sound mind. Does it mean we make lucid decisions that are always in our own best interests? Or does it mean we fully understand the issue and are deciding for ourselves?
I've been thinking about what it must be like to be suddenly hampered by illness and confined by a body. The frusteration must be immense. What does she think about when she lays facing the wall with her eyes open? Is she having day terrors where she imagines an indefinite future of alzheimer and stroke victim roommates?
Her world had already begun to collapse with failing eyes and ears, but she kept her spirits up with exercising her sharp mind, playing cards and staying active.
The fear factor is a major hurdle to taking back her life. Here we were rushing around trying to ensure her right to participate in decisions pertaining to her life and care, and we have overlooked the importance of safeguarding her fragile emotional state. There are a lot of ways to become a victim.
When my dad died a friend suggested I not make any major decisions for at least a year. That was really good advice. The shock and loss messes with our balance and it sometimes takes that long to find solid ground, like it did me. Mom has had a physical loss of her independence and is struggling to regain her footing. I don't want anything or anyone encouraging co-dependence.
And so to Mom's favorite Italian, we hope love means putting personal desires on hold for the sake of the other. What will this crisis reveal of what is in your heart when this is over? We have to be careful no one takes advantage of her vulnerablities.
We will be protective of everything and everyone for awhile, just to be sure.
I've been thinking all day about the meaning of the term: being of sound mind. Does it mean we make lucid decisions that are always in our own best interests? Or does it mean we fully understand the issue and are deciding for ourselves?
I've been thinking about what it must be like to be suddenly hampered by illness and confined by a body. The frusteration must be immense. What does she think about when she lays facing the wall with her eyes open? Is she having day terrors where she imagines an indefinite future of alzheimer and stroke victim roommates?
Her world had already begun to collapse with failing eyes and ears, but she kept her spirits up with exercising her sharp mind, playing cards and staying active.
The fear factor is a major hurdle to taking back her life. Here we were rushing around trying to ensure her right to participate in decisions pertaining to her life and care, and we have overlooked the importance of safeguarding her fragile emotional state. There are a lot of ways to become a victim.
When my dad died a friend suggested I not make any major decisions for at least a year. That was really good advice. The shock and loss messes with our balance and it sometimes takes that long to find solid ground, like it did me. Mom has had a physical loss of her independence and is struggling to regain her footing. I don't want anything or anyone encouraging co-dependence.
And so to Mom's favorite Italian, we hope love means putting personal desires on hold for the sake of the other. What will this crisis reveal of what is in your heart when this is over? We have to be careful no one takes advantage of her vulnerablities.
We will be protective of everything and everyone for awhile, just to be sure.
Dec 15, 2010
Listen with your Heart
It's amazing how much of any family crisis is about the poor housekeeping of other relationships. Parent to child, sister to sister, sibling to sibling. Working as a team for the common good is hard when everyone perceives the common good differently.
It's tricky, these family dynamics, and it is distracting. Maybe a little bit less distracting for me, who at the moment appreciates being on the second rung out and not the biological daughter. No shrapnel is flying my way, at least not yet.
Spending time in a skilled nursing facility makes me doubly committed to championing for the rights of the elderly, especially during health challenges. Our facility is fantastic, with loving-faced caregivers and instant responsiveness. The hallways are wide and brightly carpeted with beautifully appointed rooms with big windows. It is spotlessly clean and the food is ample and good.
A cockatiel sits at one end next to the beauty parlor and physical therapy room; and there is a library with reading machine and an aquarium just outside the spacious and comfortable diningroom. Her room is bright with poinsettas and cards, and a wallboard lists the family visit schedule and photos of her friends and grandkids.
This has been a learning circuit as one of her caregivers. First lesson: it's not just about making sure the bed is changed and medications are given. There is a myraid of ways to protect her interests in the life that is waiting for her on the outside. She has opinions and ideas about all of that. Only her family worries about those kinds of things. Only we know her well enough to know what it will take to lift her spirits and keep all of the layers nourished.
That's been the real work: pushing ourselves completely out of the picture to focus on her. I awoke unbelieveably exhausted. Can it really be only Wednesday morning?
She has good and bad days, and swings high on the one side with strong conversations and normal behaviors that are comforting: sitting up and reading her cards, teasing her visitors, smoothing the blankets and fussing with her hair. And when fatigue takes over, she withdraws into her own thoughts and is not very responsive. But she turns her head to listen, her eyes latching onto our faces and the discussion. She hears us, and she understands.
It is then that the weight of the world is on us to safeguard her rights. So much of her life involves that strong independent side. I take her hand, close my eyes and listen with my heart ~ what is it, Joy? I worry that if we do not work hard enough, that part of her life will slip away.
Today I rest and tomorrow am back on watch.
It's tricky, these family dynamics, and it is distracting. Maybe a little bit less distracting for me, who at the moment appreciates being on the second rung out and not the biological daughter. No shrapnel is flying my way, at least not yet.
Spending time in a skilled nursing facility makes me doubly committed to championing for the rights of the elderly, especially during health challenges. Our facility is fantastic, with loving-faced caregivers and instant responsiveness. The hallways are wide and brightly carpeted with beautifully appointed rooms with big windows. It is spotlessly clean and the food is ample and good.
A cockatiel sits at one end next to the beauty parlor and physical therapy room; and there is a library with reading machine and an aquarium just outside the spacious and comfortable diningroom. Her room is bright with poinsettas and cards, and a wallboard lists the family visit schedule and photos of her friends and grandkids.
This has been a learning circuit as one of her caregivers. First lesson: it's not just about making sure the bed is changed and medications are given. There is a myraid of ways to protect her interests in the life that is waiting for her on the outside. She has opinions and ideas about all of that. Only her family worries about those kinds of things. Only we know her well enough to know what it will take to lift her spirits and keep all of the layers nourished.
That's been the real work: pushing ourselves completely out of the picture to focus on her. I awoke unbelieveably exhausted. Can it really be only Wednesday morning?
She has good and bad days, and swings high on the one side with strong conversations and normal behaviors that are comforting: sitting up and reading her cards, teasing her visitors, smoothing the blankets and fussing with her hair. And when fatigue takes over, she withdraws into her own thoughts and is not very responsive. But she turns her head to listen, her eyes latching onto our faces and the discussion. She hears us, and she understands.
It is then that the weight of the world is on us to safeguard her rights. So much of her life involves that strong independent side. I take her hand, close my eyes and listen with my heart ~ what is it, Joy? I worry that if we do not work hard enough, that part of her life will slip away.
Today I rest and tomorrow am back on watch.
Dec 14, 2010
Recalculating
I was thinking about Garmin today on the drive home, how I have really come to rely on it. I slide in behind the wheel and although I'm making the physical decisions, pressing down on the accelerator, looking both ways, using my blinkers, Garmin is in charge.
I've struggled with this all of my life, even finding places I've repeatedly visited. I don't know the first thing about using the sun as a directional marker or which freeway goes where. We 'wanderers' keep a deep, dark secret, and that is we don't trust ourselves behind the wheel. We don't have that inner voice, that sense, or inkling, or whatever you want to call it. We know where we are and where we're headed and that's all.
When I lived in Phoenix, my dad recommended that I lay out a city map on the bed and helped me memorize the relationships of streets and landmarks. The strategy worked well, except when the destination is complicated, say across six cities and as many freeways. Overall, with lost-at-the-corner drivers, there needs to be trust in something more.
And that is how I came to rely so much on a GPS. I love how it adapts. It talks. It frets. It warns. It lets me detour to the outlets and afterwards recalculates how to get back on the road. If I know a shortcut, it will double check that the route we are on will take us where we want to go. There's been a couple of wild trips when GPS took me through unfamiliar territory, and as I scurried around the state, I had to learn how to follow. In other words, the tool only works if you trust, listen and act.
In a spiritual way, you can't build a relationship with God without a willingness to listen to listen. Sometimes the desire to take control and be willful is overpowering when I am lost, and there are too many times that I have. But when I ask for help and delegate all of life's fears to Him, He knows the direction and leads the way.
And so as I reflect on all the detours in life, with all its challenges and lessons, I can see it was ego, or fear, or just plain pig-headedness in the way of understanding this simple truth. All I would have had to do is trust Him to pick the route and then follow it. Recalculating...
I've struggled with this all of my life, even finding places I've repeatedly visited. I don't know the first thing about using the sun as a directional marker or which freeway goes where. We 'wanderers' keep a deep, dark secret, and that is we don't trust ourselves behind the wheel. We don't have that inner voice, that sense, or inkling, or whatever you want to call it. We know where we are and where we're headed and that's all.
When I lived in Phoenix, my dad recommended that I lay out a city map on the bed and helped me memorize the relationships of streets and landmarks. The strategy worked well, except when the destination is complicated, say across six cities and as many freeways. Overall, with lost-at-the-corner drivers, there needs to be trust in something more.
And that is how I came to rely so much on a GPS. I love how it adapts. It talks. It frets. It warns. It lets me detour to the outlets and afterwards recalculates how to get back on the road. If I know a shortcut, it will double check that the route we are on will take us where we want to go. There's been a couple of wild trips when GPS took me through unfamiliar territory, and as I scurried around the state, I had to learn how to follow. In other words, the tool only works if you trust, listen and act.
In a spiritual way, you can't build a relationship with God without a willingness to listen to listen. Sometimes the desire to take control and be willful is overpowering when I am lost, and there are too many times that I have. But when I ask for help and delegate all of life's fears to Him, He knows the direction and leads the way.
And so as I reflect on all the detours in life, with all its challenges and lessons, I can see it was ego, or fear, or just plain pig-headedness in the way of understanding this simple truth. All I would have had to do is trust Him to pick the route and then follow it. Recalculating...
Dec 13, 2010
Mother, May I?
I am watching the human behavior of change and shifting roles in a family entrenched with how it's always been. From just outside the limelight I see movement towards an authentic integration of my relationships with my steps (sister and brother).
Normally this might happen in baby steps, inching along the wall before wading in. But as with most crises, it thrusts life onto us when we are unprepared and a choice emerges from the awkward gap that forms.
We are all aware of how important it is (symbolically and otherwise) to leave space for reentry. But in the meantime someone's got to provide full coverage for the details of life that have been independently managed.
The difference between in- and inter- dependence is huge and the implications of it will weigh down our patient if we are not careful in how the transition is handled.
Mother, May I? Just for a while?
Normally this might happen in baby steps, inching along the wall before wading in. But as with most crises, it thrusts life onto us when we are unprepared and a choice emerges from the awkward gap that forms.
We are all aware of how important it is (symbolically and otherwise) to leave space for reentry. But in the meantime someone's got to provide full coverage for the details of life that have been independently managed.
The difference between in- and inter- dependence is huge and the implications of it will weigh down our patient if we are not careful in how the transition is handled.
Mother, May I? Just for a while?
Dec 12, 2010
Nothin' but Joy
It's been a full week, that's for sure. Family emergencies bring up all sorts of issues, and no matter how often we go through it we are not used to it. Thank God for small favors.
My (step) Mother and I have pet names for each other: she is wicked step mother and I am Cinderella, or Cindy. We picked that up the first Christmas after my dad passed, when she was down in the dumps. Somehow that became a catalyst for making our relationship parenthesis-free.
As you know Mom had a stroke on Monday and things looked mighty grim. She was unresponsive, confused, unable to speak, and doctors were unable to get a CT scan or an MRI to verify the stroke and damaged parts of her brain. She had a strong reaction to the sedative and it appeared we would remain in a holding pattern until the tests could conclusively determine what had happened. What to do? She could not be discharged until a diagnosis and therapy could not begin until she was discharged.
We prayed for mercy and guidance, and by Wednesday morning things had not improved. She didn't understand what had happened and we worried for additional setbacks. And then a young, clever neurologist came in with the philosophy that the tests were secondary to treatment. He ascertained by her behavior that a stroke was evident and wanted treatment to begin as soon as she could walk with assistance and marginally be able to eat. He took her off all sedatives and ... let it ride.
On Thursday morning Mom was sitting up in bed, having walked a little already, was coherently putting sentences together, feeding herself with assistance, and peppering her talk with her delightful sense of humor. It was a shocking improvement in just a few hours, and with great pleasure the doctor released her to the skilled nursing wing of the independent living community where she lives. Cards poured in; family hovered and friends, too -- so much so we needed to turn some away.
I was in Shasta when the news came ~ and just before heading home was at a railroad crossing with lights flashing and arms down, waiting for a train that never came. It's Dad, I mused, and his warmth filled my heart to overflowing to be on my way. (I always keep promises.)
I believe in miracles, little shiny glimmers of spiritual filaments of God's perseverence and love. I believe they are everywhere, but we don't always notice because we are distracted and busy. In quiet times of worry, when we sit still in ourselves, they shine brightly and clearly ... a faithful binding of gratefulness and hope and strength to shoulder the challenges ahead. And sometimes we get a little reprieve.
Like now. When the doctors finally got a decent CT scan, they could find no damage from the stroke anywhere. No dementia. Her memory appears intact. For us that means she is on the mend ... and that fills our hearts with gladness and thanksgiving ~!
My (step) Mother and I have pet names for each other: she is wicked step mother and I am Cinderella, or Cindy. We picked that up the first Christmas after my dad passed, when she was down in the dumps. Somehow that became a catalyst for making our relationship parenthesis-free.
As you know Mom had a stroke on Monday and things looked mighty grim. She was unresponsive, confused, unable to speak, and doctors were unable to get a CT scan or an MRI to verify the stroke and damaged parts of her brain. She had a strong reaction to the sedative and it appeared we would remain in a holding pattern until the tests could conclusively determine what had happened. What to do? She could not be discharged until a diagnosis and therapy could not begin until she was discharged.
We prayed for mercy and guidance, and by Wednesday morning things had not improved. She didn't understand what had happened and we worried for additional setbacks. And then a young, clever neurologist came in with the philosophy that the tests were secondary to treatment. He ascertained by her behavior that a stroke was evident and wanted treatment to begin as soon as she could walk with assistance and marginally be able to eat. He took her off all sedatives and ... let it ride.
On Thursday morning Mom was sitting up in bed, having walked a little already, was coherently putting sentences together, feeding herself with assistance, and peppering her talk with her delightful sense of humor. It was a shocking improvement in just a few hours, and with great pleasure the doctor released her to the skilled nursing wing of the independent living community where she lives. Cards poured in; family hovered and friends, too -- so much so we needed to turn some away.
I was in Shasta when the news came ~ and just before heading home was at a railroad crossing with lights flashing and arms down, waiting for a train that never came. It's Dad, I mused, and his warmth filled my heart to overflowing to be on my way. (I always keep promises.)
I believe in miracles, little shiny glimmers of spiritual filaments of God's perseverence and love. I believe they are everywhere, but we don't always notice because we are distracted and busy. In quiet times of worry, when we sit still in ourselves, they shine brightly and clearly ... a faithful binding of gratefulness and hope and strength to shoulder the challenges ahead. And sometimes we get a little reprieve.
Like now. When the doctors finally got a decent CT scan, they could find no damage from the stroke anywhere. No dementia. Her memory appears intact. For us that means she is on the mend ... and that fills our hearts with gladness and thanksgiving ~!
Dec 8, 2010
'XO'
It's no secret, except to those in denial (me, half the time), that boomers are nudging towards the head of the line with this age thing. Life feels forever in our 20s until we are offered discounts on food and movies, and we look at each other and laugh.
The downside of being in the pre-elderly set means our elders are showing some serious wear. Mom and dad are gone now and most of their friends. My terrifically wonderful aunt and uncle are slowing down but mostly they've existed in a perpetual state of suspended animation, timeless but with gray hair. For my (step)mom Joy, too. Oh, her hearing isn't good, or her eyes, but she is sharp as a whip.
Life has become appreciably fun lately, maybe more precious as we ourselves creep along, or maybe because that long timeline isn't as long as we thought. Recently we began routine visits to carve out time together and it's been nothing short of wonderful.
The long drive is easy, and along the way I listen to music and news. We do errands together sometimes, or go to her favorite restaurant for lunch, hang with Tony, do some little task that make her life better, talking a blue streak all the while, hugging and reminiscing and laughing.
This past weekend all 105 lbs of her with that upbeat sense of style and keen active mind suffered what appears to be a stroke. She seems generally able to understand and recognize us, but she is unable to speak. Just like that.
The strides in therapies to help stroke victims regain a lot of their former selves will be important to us now. And maybe after the assessment tests and evaluations, her strong spirit will charge down that road. But until then, I hope you will join me in a healing prayer.
xo, wsm
The downside of being in the pre-elderly set means our elders are showing some serious wear. Mom and dad are gone now and most of their friends. My terrifically wonderful aunt and uncle are slowing down but mostly they've existed in a perpetual state of suspended animation, timeless but with gray hair. For my (step)mom Joy, too. Oh, her hearing isn't good, or her eyes, but she is sharp as a whip.
Life has become appreciably fun lately, maybe more precious as we ourselves creep along, or maybe because that long timeline isn't as long as we thought. Recently we began routine visits to carve out time together and it's been nothing short of wonderful.
The long drive is easy, and along the way I listen to music and news. We do errands together sometimes, or go to her favorite restaurant for lunch, hang with Tony, do some little task that make her life better, talking a blue streak all the while, hugging and reminiscing and laughing.
This past weekend all 105 lbs of her with that upbeat sense of style and keen active mind suffered what appears to be a stroke. She seems generally able to understand and recognize us, but she is unable to speak. Just like that.
The strides in therapies to help stroke victims regain a lot of their former selves will be important to us now. And maybe after the assessment tests and evaluations, her strong spirit will charge down that road. But until then, I hope you will join me in a healing prayer.
xo, wsm
Dec 3, 2010
Be the Ball
Airport security is a real mess and it's captured the news with the intrusive body scans and pat-downs in some airports. I think everyone understands the vulnerability of a country dependent on travel - ground and air - and the wounds of 911 are plenty fresh. A country's back can't always be to the wall.
In May of this year we took the chunnel from London to Paris, and upon arrival just walked into the terminal and out onto the street. There were no checkpoints, no customs, nothing. But to leave France? Everything I owned was gone through with a fine tooth comb including a pat-down. I nearly missed the flight. It was a misguided attempt at security and actually made me feel less safe.
Check out our homeland security. Our borders are a sieve. Not all airports uniformly scan and search. Nothing to speak of security-wise at train and bus terminals. Until last week freight from other countries wasn't too concerning until bomb dry-runs made it to their target destinations.
I'm not trying to say we should not take reasonable measures to ensure public safety. I'm saying this new policy will not do that. As one article pointed out ... "One terrorist puts a bomb in his shoes that doesn't work. Forever after, all shoes must be checked for millions of people? Terrorists plan an aborted attack using a gel. Forever after all liquids and gels must be banned and thus seized from millions of people?"
Point taken. Terrorists are smart and adaptable. If our security is not cutting edge you can bet it has already been anticipated and bypassed. What we need is a bold, innovative and adaptable approach. A policy that blankets every checkpoint into and out of the country, with quick and efficient scanning methods and the unilateral power to detain suspicious or concerning travelers.
These are serious times and random searches are stupid and expensive. Instead let's try a logical and reasonable probable cause baseline, like...
'We reserve the right to detain and search ANYONE at any port of call, coming or going, who by their actions, words, appearance, travel itinerary or body language arouses suspicion. Suspicious travelers, their travel companions and possessions will be searched and scrutinized to ensure safe travel for all.'
Now that's reasonable and appropriate measures in action. And sometime in the future if the 83 year old great grandmother of 12 with swollen ankles is suspicious, I say haul her off to the search and seizure room! But don't put her through it just because she happens to be the 14th traveler in line.
In May of this year we took the chunnel from London to Paris, and upon arrival just walked into the terminal and out onto the street. There were no checkpoints, no customs, nothing. But to leave France? Everything I owned was gone through with a fine tooth comb including a pat-down. I nearly missed the flight. It was a misguided attempt at security and actually made me feel less safe.
Check out our homeland security. Our borders are a sieve. Not all airports uniformly scan and search. Nothing to speak of security-wise at train and bus terminals. Until last week freight from other countries wasn't too concerning until bomb dry-runs made it to their target destinations.
I'm not trying to say we should not take reasonable measures to ensure public safety. I'm saying this new policy will not do that. As one article pointed out ... "One terrorist puts a bomb in his shoes that doesn't work. Forever after, all shoes must be checked for millions of people? Terrorists plan an aborted attack using a gel. Forever after all liquids and gels must be banned and thus seized from millions of people?"
Point taken. Terrorists are smart and adaptable. If our security is not cutting edge you can bet it has already been anticipated and bypassed. What we need is a bold, innovative and adaptable approach. A policy that blankets every checkpoint into and out of the country, with quick and efficient scanning methods and the unilateral power to detain suspicious or concerning travelers.
These are serious times and random searches are stupid and expensive. Instead let's try a logical and reasonable probable cause baseline, like...
'We reserve the right to detain and search ANYONE at any port of call, coming or going, who by their actions, words, appearance, travel itinerary or body language arouses suspicion. Suspicious travelers, their travel companions and possessions will be searched and scrutinized to ensure safe travel for all.'
Now that's reasonable and appropriate measures in action. And sometime in the future if the 83 year old great grandmother of 12 with swollen ankles is suspicious, I say haul her off to the search and seizure room! But don't put her through it just because she happens to be the 14th traveler in line.
Dec 2, 2010
Jenni-Lyn
It is with irony that I admit not to like technology much, even when it encourages me to write and has obvious educational value. Overall it seems to be causing more social harm than good. But there are exceptions.
I have some friends (and family) who aren't good at long distance, rarely write or call, but when we get together time just melts away and we are back at the kitchen table with the blue checkerboard curtains. On fb, I can see them, wish their wishes, pray their prayers. It is a very efficient way to keep in touch with the unit and at the same time the superficiality of it bugs me.
MoBs (mothers of boys) are fairly ignored during the claim-staking years when our sons become men, at least for a while. Breaking away is important, and I encourage leadership and self-sufficiency in them, but I still miss them. And the subtle, voyeuristic atmosphere of fb is ideal to keep up with life without erecting a landing site.
When Aiyana became sick, a facebook page and blog collected prayers and shared her life stories. And in no time at all love was pouring in from strangers as well as friends. We collected it like rainwater and it strengthened Aiyana and flowed into her sisters and brothers and parents. It gave comfort as we laid her to rest knowing that she touched so many lives.
I never really thought about how it feels for strangers to connect with someone they don't know and what prompts them to leave powerful and loving messages after being able to see through just the statistic of just another sick eight year old kid with a beautiful smile. But now I do.
I recently became involved with a fb page for Jenni-Lyn Watson, a lovely 20 yr old dance major (ballerina) from Mercyhurst College in Pennsylvania who vanished Nov 19th while at home in New York for Thanksgiving break. By all accounts, she was a wonderful caring friend and daughter, with no wild dangerous behaviors or hidden dark side. Just a regular girl from a good home who vanished one day.
A fb page appeared within hours of her disappearance, to pass the word in the hopes of finding her. Within days there were 26,568 fb'ers who were praying and searching for her, learning about her, including me. I learned what her special gifts were, what a joy she was to everyone who knew her.
I now see the electronic media can be a powerful connective tissue for communities to support families in crisis and help with families disconnected by distance and time. And more than ever I know it is never wasted when you care about one another and reach out, even if it is over a keyboard, and when the end of the story is tragic and sad.
RIP, Jenni-Lyn.
I have some friends (and family) who aren't good at long distance, rarely write or call, but when we get together time just melts away and we are back at the kitchen table with the blue checkerboard curtains. On fb, I can see them, wish their wishes, pray their prayers. It is a very efficient way to keep in touch with the unit and at the same time the superficiality of it bugs me.
MoBs (mothers of boys) are fairly ignored during the claim-staking years when our sons become men, at least for a while. Breaking away is important, and I encourage leadership and self-sufficiency in them, but I still miss them. And the subtle, voyeuristic atmosphere of fb is ideal to keep up with life without erecting a landing site.
When Aiyana became sick, a facebook page and blog collected prayers and shared her life stories. And in no time at all love was pouring in from strangers as well as friends. We collected it like rainwater and it strengthened Aiyana and flowed into her sisters and brothers and parents. It gave comfort as we laid her to rest knowing that she touched so many lives.
I never really thought about how it feels for strangers to connect with someone they don't know and what prompts them to leave powerful and loving messages after being able to see through just the statistic of just another sick eight year old kid with a beautiful smile. But now I do.
A fb page appeared within hours of her disappearance, to pass the word in the hopes of finding her. Within days there were 26,568 fb'ers who were praying and searching for her, learning about her, including me. I learned what her special gifts were, what a joy she was to everyone who knew her.
I now see the electronic media can be a powerful connective tissue for communities to support families in crisis and help with families disconnected by distance and time. And more than ever I know it is never wasted when you care about one another and reach out, even if it is over a keyboard, and when the end of the story is tragic and sad.
RIP, Jenni-Lyn.
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