Putting the face to the story


I imagine every mother could write a book or ten about their child. I know I could. This is my son Tim, who stopped in to my office to see me today. He hates having his photo taken, or so he says. I took many with my iPhone, and caught him struggling not to smile. He had very long hair when he woke up this morning and came to see me right after he had a stylist take a pair of shears to his head. One extreme to the other, and I have my handsome son back.

Since I wrote so much about Tim the other day, I figured I’d put a face to the story. He makes me proud.

I love my boy!


Too much to focus on, but not enough focus

I’ve got to figure out what Ward I now live in and research the aldermen running, because I am going to vote.

Oh dangit, that’s what I feared: the front tire is soft, really soft.

Did you hear that? Must be a race on Race St.

We all have our heads stuck up our arses. It’s our nature. No, it’s because we can’t hear much, see far or feel much. We’re really myopic.

It was really good to see my son. I’m still glowing about that.


What a Sunday this has been


Striking, isn’t it? The day started with this incredible sight, and it took my breath away. There was no choice but to stop a moment to lose myself in the wonder. A great truth was spoken, and the earth celebrated.

A tearfully frantic call woke me this morning, bright and early. A car was being towed for lack of proof of insurance. Frantic, sobbing, whining girlfriend. I’ve made the same mistake, drove around with things not quite up to date, so I knew what it would take to fix. Or, so I thought. It seems there’s a monthly quota to meet for ticket writing, and my son and his girlfriend were nabbed red-handed. The result wasn’t a slap on the wrist. No. It was a citation and an impound. Talk about overkill. The car was insured; there just wasn’t that little ol’ piece of paper to be shown. Even with the insurance company itself on the phone, there was no stopping that tow and impound – with a hefty price tag to go along with the experience.


Social networking: Out with the old, in with the new?


I got to thinkin’….

With Facebook touting 500,000,000 active users (Is that enough zeros?), is it positioning itself to replace the Social Security numbering system? We all have ID’s, so instead of a number, how about our Facebook profile address instead? It seems more user-friendly; but we won’t talk about the security issues. Then again, just how secure is the Social Security system? Out with the old, in with the new.

The buzzword-of-the-day, of course, is social networking. Funny how that works. We’ve always had social networking, we’ve always done it. We’re social animals at heart. No man is an island, so they say. But now it means setting up a Facebook account and friending a bunch of people that you’re not likely to encounter in your day-to-day life. You know, that part of life that entails eating, sleeping, going to work, paying bills, talking to people face-to-face, etc. Is that a good thing?

I haven’t decided yet.

From my own perspective, I’ve come up with a few pros and cons:


It’s simple, really…


…but it’s not easy. It takes a good, sharp knife to pare away the things that get in the way.

There’s a tendency to define value based on differences. When you get into a car, you expect the seat to feel a certain way, to line you up in the exact position you need to be in to drive. You expect the key to go into the ignition, and when turned, the car starts. You expect the car to start. You expect the wheels to turn the tires and move the car down the road. You expect the car to brake when you hit the one pedal, and go when your foot hits the other. You expect to guide the car safely along the roadways, and you expect everyone else will do the same.

But, what if someone else drove the car before you and moved the seat? What if the car doesn’t start when you turn the key? What if one of the tires went flat? What if nothing happened when you pressed on the accelerator – or the brakes? What if someone decided they weren’t going to obey that red light and plowed through the intersection?


We are all the same


OK, people. It’s time to dust those cobwebs out of your heads and think with me a bit here. I challenge you. I dare you. If you’re not up to it, just click on by and we’ll catch you later. OK?

Democrat, Republican, tea partier. Black, white, yellow, red, all of the above, none of the above. Young, old, young acting, old acting. Rich, poor, wish-you-were-rich, somewhere in the middle. Christian, Buddhist, Hindi, whatever.

Every single one of us, right here and right now, satisfies the biological definition of life: We eat, drink, breathe, reproduce and make waste, sometimes from both ends. We all have red blood, we all require oxygen and water, we all sleep, we all fart, and we all have needs and wants. There is not a single human being on this planet - that is alive - that does not fall into the same category.


Who’s smarter, him or me?


The line is drawn in the sand, the gauntlet drawn. It’s past “challenge” and into “battle” now. It’s a battle of the wits, the brains, the ingenuity.

This is Saki. He’s a mutt for all intents and purposes, but he has to be the smartest little dog I’ve ever known. He’s the one that has me going, and it’s something that has been going on for weeks now.

You see, I fenced in the back yard so that the dogs could all be outside while I’m at work (and as the landlord insists), and that project took quite a bit of doing in itself. With my son’s help, t-posts were driven, a gate put up and used, rusty, no-climb field fence was stretched to create a nice little outdoor haven for my dogs. It’s a secure haven, almost like a fortress. Except…

There is something more. I have proof.

It was wondrous. My eyes were big and my mouth an O. We saw it on TV, my cousin John and I, so we hunted around for the perfect branch with a Y for a fork and snapped it off the tree. It didn’t work for John, and as cynical as he was at such a tender age of 10 or so, that didn’t surprise me. So, I grabbed onto that stick and held those branches tight. I walked slowly and concentrated hard. Then, I felt it. That stick was pulling down, even against the good grip I had on it. A step or two closer to it’s intended target and I could feel the skin of my palms starting to stretch and pull, almost painfully. As hard as I held that stick, it still pulled itself down to point at some obscure spot on the ground. My mouth’s O could have been the start of “ouch” as much as it was the shape of wonder. John accused me of doing it, though only half-heartedly. He watched, but didn’t see my fingers move.