This is Madness

I'm sure you're familiar with the term kindred spirits.  It's often used to describe like-minded people who come in contact with one another.  Likewise, I'm sure you're familiar with the term mind reader, as well.  So, here's my question.  If someone is stating my thoughts on a topic, are they reading my mind or are they just a kindred spirit – one who has had such a similar experience as mine so that it appears as though they are reading my mind?  And what if the person stating those thoughts did so in a magazine article that I would read well after it was initially written?  In that instance, I don't see how 'mind reader' could really apply.  But how can it be that another person would know so well such personal thoughts?  Wasn't I the only one who felt this way?  As is so often the answer to that question, guess not.

 

Under the "Life Lessons" section of Real Simple's March issue, author Elizabeth Berg wrote a piece titled "Beautiful, in Every Single Way."  Remember that Real Simple is written for women.  Dealing with body parts that bedevil us, she wrote specifically about her long time insecurity regarding her 'problem area.'  I'm sure as you read that you immediately thought of your problem area, that's what I did.  The thing is her area and my area, well... it's the same area – the belly, or as she called it, the pooch.  UGH!  

 

Pooch?  When not speaking of puppy dogs, is this even really a word? Pooch?  I don't know, it sounds a little too marsupial for me.  Sac?  No, that's not right.  Disgusting wad of fat?  More to the point, but I guess we'll stick with pooch. 

 

So, it doesn't take a genius to read between these lines.  I have a personal pooch problem.  (gotta love alliteration).  I was so moved by her article – see, misery really does love company – and how I related to what she wrote, I felt compelled to share my own thoughts on the fatty roll that's plagued me for years.    

 

Ms. Berg wrote that when she notices a woman with a similar figure, she imagines mentally high-fiving her.  I can affirm the sense of kinship, although I never felt like hand slapping a fellow afflicted.  My mental response has always been an image of a tender empathetic hug.  Either way, we both understand what life is like for women with this unfortunate body type. 

 

Her belly history began around 8 years old.  I was about 10.  I was swimming with a friend who suggested I may want to wear a one-piece swim suit.  Huh?  As my friend gestured to her flat stomach, I looked at mine – it jiggled over the top of my bikini bottoms.  It was the first time I even noticed my belly.  It was the last time I wore a two-piece.  Ten is too young an age to be introduced to the term adipose tissue (my mom was a nurse).  In many ways that was the end of my innocence.

 

As I matured, my legs grew more than my body.  At 5'-7", my inseam is nearly 3 feet.  Although people always say, "Oh, what nice long legs you have," what they don't realize is that being short-waisted makes the belly problem that much worse.  In fact, it's probably the main reason for the belly problem in the first place.  But a little height, long legs and thin arms do help to mask the bane of my existence.

 

In the article, the author wrote of an intimate bath she had taken with a boyfriend while in her 20s.  The parallels were unbelievable.  When I was in my 20s, I had an experience similar to her bathtub episode.  After a romantic interlude, as I laid in the arms of the love of my life (or so I thought), while he gently caressed my arm, he said, "You know, if it wasn't for your belly, you'd have a perfect body."  He wasn't being malicious, just matter-of-fact.  Can you imagine?  I think I responded meekly with, "Oh, um, thanks… I guess."

 

Originally from the East coast, I've lived in Scottsdale, AZ for 8 years now.  I don't even notice it anymore, but when I first moved here, it seemed as if there was a physical correction center on every street corner – you know, plastic surgery facilities, medi-spas and cosmetic dentistry, you name it, it's here. If one is plagued by physical imperfection or a… deformity, this is the place to be if you want to get it taken care of.  The interesting thing is that the inundation of "we can fix you" places had just the opposite effect for me.  I was appalled at the barrage of messages (primarily geared toward women, I'm sure) saying that we weren't good enough.  That's madness.  We're fine.  We're all just fine.

 

Until this article, I sort of lost touch with all my belly-induced self-loathing.  It was almost bizarre reading her words.  How could this be?  How could this woman know my feelings and experiences, especially about something so personal?  Amazing.  Or is it?  Maybe we're not so different after all.  I don't think it matters if we're talking about arms, thighs, butts or bellies.  We all have something that bothers us.  But it's never really about what's on the outside, is it?  Elizabeth learned that by things she saw with a friend of hers and her mom.  She loves them for who they are – their issues have no impact on how she feels about them – and it's that realization that brought her to terms with her own issue. I get that.

 

I'm 47 now and, boy, my little 10-year-old self had no idea what was in store.  Hair grays, skin gets loose and triceps flap – and it's no big deal, not really.  I can't say that I'm happy about it, but it is okay because, after all, we're all just fine.

 

From the sisterhood,

 

~ M.

 

 

It's a Many-Splendored Thing...

At least according to Old Blue Eyes it is – and he's right, it is. I'm taking about love, of course.

February is a time when we're inundated with sparkly hearts and diaper-clad creatures beckoning the purchase of flowers and chocolate to help us demonstrate our love for others. Almost simultaneously, as the last few Christmas items get marked down 75% or more, out come the Valentine's Day decorations. I suppose we have the card companies to thank; but I feel, like the holiday, the word itself has been a little overplayed.

Love, as most people know, is commonly defined as a "strong affection or liking for someone or something." True enough… concise… right to the point. I don't think anyone would argue with that definition – I wouldn't. So, why is it, then, it often seems trite when the word is used? Maybe it's just simply because we use it all the time for everything.

Mick Jagger loved living. He found it easy to do. I'm sure there are those who'd beg to differ, but that's a different story. My sister Laura loved that song. I think it's alright, I guess – doesn't really do much for me. And that's the point. Love is different for everyone.

There are songs that we love

And movies and books

Some love to dine out

While some love to cook

Some love food spicy

Some tart or sweet

Others love veggies

Still others love meat

Some love things salty

Others love sweet

Some love the cold

And some love the heat

There are those who love puzzles

And those who love games

Some love watching TV

Some read when it rains

Some love sports

In fact, many do

They love the game

And the players, too

Some love to exercise

Some love to relax

Some love trivia

Supported by facts

Some love to window shop

Some love to buy

Some love the train

And some love to fly

Some love to travel

Some love to stay home

Some love to text

Some talk on the phone

Some love their pets

While some love their toys

Some love the quiet

And some love the noise

Some love poetry

Others love prose

Some love the daisy

And some love the rose

Love's different for everyone

That's plain to see

It's different for you

And it's different for me

There's conditional love

That comes with its strings

But it's untethered love

That's the best of all things

Love makes you sing

And love makes you dance

Let love fill your heart

Let's give love a chance

True love's all that matters

In the grand scheme of things

There's a difference it makes

In the joy that it brings

So let's be kind

And love one another

Father, mother

Sister, brother

What you've done in the end

Whether big, whether small

If not for love

It won't matter at all

Hoping it matters,

~ M.

Tergiversate

As some of you may know, tergiversate was the 2011 Word of the Year.  For those who didn't know, it was – at least according to Dictionary.com, anyway.  Not familiar with the word that won the top spot, I had to look it up.  It's a verb.  Ter-JIV-er-sate: to repeatedly change one's attitude or opinions (i.e. flip-flopping).  Given what's going on in the political world today, it seems apropos.  I believe one of the runners-up in this annual word contest was austerity, by the way.  See what I mean?  Apropos. 

 

Politicians are always accused of saying one thing and doing another, changing their positions – flip-flopping, as it were – or, dare I say, tergiversating.  There, I said it.  (You know, I never thought I'd actually use this word.)  Are they really flip-flopping, though? Or, is it more likely that over time their positions naturally change?  If you believe in a candidate and support their views – which may be different from those previously held – then they've evolved; but if you don't, they're spineless flip-floppers with no convictions.  Personally, I tend to support the former half of this statement.

 

Let's look at some issues.  How about Global Warming.  Even the die-hard Global Warming enthusiasts have softened somewhat on this issue – don't they call it Climate Change now?  That aside, when this first came up, you could see the potential merit.  We'd been polluting the land and water, jets have been contaminating the skies and we've been to outer space where we've left behind debris (yes, we've littered on the moon!).  None of this is good – common sense would tell you that.  So you can see how someone could quickly get on board the go-green-and-take-care-of-the-environment train.  And while good stewardship of the planet and recycling materials just makes sense, I still don't totally buy the whole Green initiative.  Take electric cars.  (Chevy Volt anyone?)  As one comedian once said, "Where do you think electricity comes from, jelly beans?"  There's a bigger agenda behind Green Technology.  If this were a crime-themed plot (and I'm not saying it's not), the detectives would be following the money trail.  Maybe we should worry less about those who've changed their position on the severity of this issue and look to see who's actually driving this train.

 

How about this dicey topic. Roe vs. Wade.  (Gasp)  This is a big one, I know. I will tell you when I was younger, I considered myself Pro Choice – which is not to say that I was pro abortion.  I just felt that a woman should have the right to make that decision for herself and the federal government shouldn't have a say.  For me, it was about taking away a right we currently had – it's always hard to take back – and I bought into the brainwashing or… the glossing over of the real issue.  See, when this is discussed, it's often spoken of as a condition.  The condition, of course, is pregnancy.  Should a woman have the right to terminate her present condition, pregnancy?  I don't know how much support this issue would have if the question was, "Should a woman have the right to kill a baby?"  This is the point Pro Lifers have been trying to make for years.  I know this raises all sorts of questions on when is it actually a baby, and I don't have the answer to that; what I do know is that since abortion is legal and, therefore, a viable option to those who find themselves with an unwanted pregnancy (see, condition again – no mention of baby), it's been completely abused.  Do you know that according to Planned Parenthood statistics (parenthood - anyone see the irony here?) they typically abort over 300,000 babies a year?  This figure does not include abortions done at private institutions.  And what's worse (as if it could get any worse) is that the tax-payers (you and me) help pay for it.  Yeah, Planned Parenthood is subsidized with our tax money and that is just wrong.  Why should the federal government be involved in this otherwise personal situation?  The fact of the matter is this program makes it too easy for irresponsible people to have irresponsible sex and act irresponsibly thereafter.  Abortion is not a quick fix.  If it were illegal, would we have women wildly horseback riding and jumping out of trees hoping to induce miscarriages?  Maybe, but the one sure thing is that the number of terminated pregnancies would drop dramatically if abortion wasn't so readily available.  So what's my position now that I'm a little older?  I can't really be Pro Choice anymore since that is, in essence, pro abortion, so I'm Pro Life.  If that makes me a flip-flopper, so be it.

 

On a lighter note, let's look at the issue of spending.  My father always told me to put away some of my paycheck each week into a savings account.  "Make paying yourself the same as paying a creditor," he'd say.  I didn't listen.  Youth, as they say, is wasted on the young.  When you're in your 20s and the money is flowing (or in Congress with a surplus) and there's not only clothes, but shoes to be had, who puts money away for a rainy day?  Back in the 80s no one paid heed to the term fiscal responsibility.  Again, with a little age comes wisdom.  I am not irresponsible with money now.  I do not spend it frivolously.  I live well within my means – in fact, I may actually be living below my means.  I wish I had been more responsible with my money sooner.  What's important, though, is that I am responsible now.  I recognized the error of my ways and made the necessary changes for my future.  Did I cut back on some things?  Yes, of course.  Am I better off today because of it? Absolutely.  Does that mean my attitude regarding spending has changed?  Hey, if the shoe fits…

 

Changes of opinions are not necessarily flip-flops.  Many of them are based on continuing education, maturity and growth.  Years ago, one of my favorite bands began to change their style.  Sometime around Abacab or shortly thereafter, Genesis went down more of a 'pop' path than they had been known for.  When asked about this, Phil Collins said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "As you grow, you don't read the same types of books, do you?  See the same types of movies?  Or even eat the same foods?  So why should we play the same type of music?"  Their change in style saddened me at the time, but he has a point, doesn't he?  Why shouldn't we change our minds, attitudes and opinions on things as we grow?  It's natural.  Think about this, if we didn't, we'd all still be playing with LEGOs and eating Pez.

 

Ever-evolving,

~ M.

 

 

Traditions

I had a sixth grade teacher who once asked our class why we had traditions.  At 11 years of age, I think many of us asked her what she even meant by traditions.  She was talking about holidays, rituals and customs, of course.  Mrs. Dickerson posed that question long ago and here I am, 36 years later, still contemplating it.    

 

I suppose in December it's not surprising to think about Christmas – in terms of holiday traditions that is.  For most of us, there's a routine we typically follow this time of year:  cards are written, we make (and eat) lots of tasty treats, homes get decorated.  We write our lists – and check them twice – ensuring we don't miss a single thing. 

 

I've mentioned before that I'm an organized, list making person and – if I may digress for a moment – as many know, I've long employed the use of Post-It notes to aid me in my organizational strategy (see www.otga.blogspot.com 5-23-10 Craig Wilson).  I rely on those little yellow squares to keep my mind calm and clutter free.  With everything that Christmas entails aside, these past few weeks have been busy ones for me and, as such, I had Post-It notes coming out my ears.  I had mini lists organizing what I needed for: my Dad's birthday party, my sister-in-law's birthday party, my impending house guests, my Thanksgiving contributions, and last, but certainly not least, the snack bag for our upcoming trip to Disney.  I'm already a single woman with two cats; did I really need to be that lady, too?  You know, the one with Post-It notes tacked all over the place?  What would be next, hoarding?  No, I'm not a hoarder.  I'm too neat and tidy to be in jeopardy of that, but the lists… (insert eye roll, add Oy vey).  To gain control over a burgeoning compulsive behavior problem, I pulled them all off the front of my fridge and stacked them in their chronological order of importance and placed them discreetly along side my grocery list.  Okay, disorder averted, back to traditions.

 

I mail Christmas cards out right after Thanksgiving.  In many of the cards I receive back, "Yours was the first one I got this year," is written in as a P.S. For these folks, that kicks off their holidays – "Oh, her card is here, 'tis the season!" 

 

I make peanut brittle each year for a few people who tell me Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without it – and, naturally, that's why I do it.  I'd rather be a contributing part of their experience than one who diminishes it somehow by not having the crunchy confection for them. 

 

And, of course, the biggie – I decorate my house the very same day I put away the autumn decorations.  No better example for the passing of time than to box up what's past and prep for what's coming.  I set up the village and put all the knick-knacks in their designated places. 

 

When my family comes over, it's always my nephew who marvels at all the decorations.  "I turned the lights on in the village," he says with glee.  "They were waiting for you," I say in reply.  Already knowing the answer, he lightheartedly asks, "Are there Nestle Crunch jingle bells in the snowman jar?"  Amused, I just respond with a simple, "Yes."  After all, that's why they're there – I know he's going to ask.  "Oh, I love this guy," he says as he tumbles the small Santa shaker that's enthralled him for years.  Taking it all in, I smile and say, "I know you do." 

 

His joy has become part of my tradition and even when he's older, when he may no longer light the town, or want a chocolate jingle bell (although this isn't likely) or shake the little Santa snow globe, I'll remember his childhood enthusiasm and cherish the memories attached to those things. 

 

Griffin's nearing the age I was when Mrs. Dickerson posed that question: Why do we have traditions?  The answer is too deep for a child to really understand.  We have them because they anchor us to who we are, our past and what's important to us.  It's why nostalgia tugs at our heart strings – traditions are the ties that bind.

 

Merry Christmas,

~ M.   

 

 

The New Dating Game

Have I been out of the dating field so long that they've completely altered the whole arena without me even knowing?  I'm talking about 'style' dates.  Are you familiar with these things, you know, dates with a theme… dates du jour, if you will? 

 

Here's one type:  Prankster dates.  Example:  Pretend to be a couple looking to buy a new car, maybe.  Doesn't that sound like fun - totally yanking the chain of someone else trying to earn a living?  Or why stop there? Why not pretend to be a married couple who needs to put an aging parent in a home?  Together you can tour assisted living facilities and giggle behind the backs of those showing you around.  Oh, what fun!  They say prankster dates do bring out your playful side.  

 

Another one is the 'Best Of' dates.  Examples may include trying to find the best ice cream parlor in town or, say, the best microbrewery.  In these instances, while getting to know not only each other, but a particular town, couples can eat themselves into oblivion or drink themselves into oblivion – the best of both worlds – either way, I think chances are good each will end up vomiting – and, really, what better way to get to know someone than when they're at their worst?

 

Or how about this: Scavenger Hunt dates.  This is apparently the adult version of that childhood classic I Spy with my Little Eye.  Example:  "Would you like to go to the boardwalk and see how many people we can spot wearing hats?"  I don't think I need to add any additional commentary on this one, do you?  Seriously, could you imagine being asked out on a date like this?  I mean if you're already in a relationship and happen to be out taking a walk and decide to throw in something like… like… nope, not even then, forget it.  What would follow a date like this, you know, assuming the relationship progressed?  "Say, honey, how about a road trip?  Let's see which of us can find a license plate from Alaska first."  Unless you're dating a seven-year-old, I'd say this indicates your search for Mr. Right (or Mrs.) is far from over.    

 

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the Errand Date.  Pretty much self-explanatory, and again, picture you're not in a relationship with this person, you're being asked out on a date.  "Say, if you're not doing anything this weekend, the hull of my boat needs refinishing…"  It's not a euphemism.  The theory behind this one is that tedious chores become fun dates.  Could you imagine?  Think about it, yard work, grocery shopping, house cleaning, ooh, laundry – you know, with this line of thinking the fun is nearly limitless – and why not get to know someone by sorting through their dirty laundry?  This is what seems to interest people nowadays, anyway. 

 

I don't know.  It's probably just me (it usually is), but does anyone ever just do dinner and a movie anymore?  Maybe this sort of date could regain its popularity if it had a trendy name?  What do you think about The Retro Date?  Call me old-fashioned, but I kind of like the sound of that.

 

~ M.

 

 

Creepy-Crawlies

October is the perfect month for Halloween – the days are shorter, the air is crisp and there's a slight howling to the sound of the nighttime wind.  Leaves blow around and trees look dead.  Throw a full moon in there and you have all the makings for a full-on creep fest. 

 

Halloween, as it's become, is a far cry from its Festival of the Dead origins.  I don't believe that spirits rise and wreak havoc on this day, as some do; no, for me, I think of Halloween as a day for kids to dress up in costumes and amass a lot of candy.  Still, with that said – and even though it's just one day – I think all the associated autumn decorations can add a certain degree of spookiness to the entire month of October.  A spookiness that could make someone a little jumpy, maybe… especially if that someone is me – someone who gets creeped out by little things like those fake spider rings that kids like to leave lying around.  And, if I don't care for fake spiders, you can bet I'm not that fond of the real ones.  Now listen, spiders outside – even tarantulas – don't really bother me, but in my house, that's a different story.

 

My blood ran cold and my heart skipped a beat as my breath caught in my throat one night when I came in late and found a spider the size of a plum clinging to my kitchen wall up where it meets the ceiling.  As I stood there, frozen in fear, I couldn't imagine what I was going to do.  My ceilings are 12'-0' high.  I knew I couldn't leave it there.  What if it wandered off?  Where might it go?  Where might it lay eggs?  These are just a few of the things that went through my mind as my heartbeat picked up speed and I began to perspire.  I mulled over my options:  call my brother for help, no; spray with Raid thereby saturating my wall and ceiling, no; could I leave it there, no – definitely not.  I knew what had to be done and I was the one who was going to have to do it.

 

I steeled my resolve and got the necessary supplies – namely, a telescoping duster and what I call my scorpion killer, which is really just a Swiffer sweeper wrapped in paper towel.  (That's a story for a different day.)  The plan was to stand on a stool and using the fully extended duster fling the eight-legged wonder to the floor after which I'd hop down and exterminate this poor in-the-wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time creature with the use of my previously prepared squisher Swiffer. 

 

Here's where my plan went awry.  Standing on the stool, I had to stretch over my hutch to reach this thing and as the duster grazed one or two of the legs, it didn't fling him – as I had hoped – but merely knocked him off his perch.  I nearly fell off my own perch as the spider wafted down the wall and fell behind the hutch.  I quickly grabbed the Swiffer and got on my knees to locate the fallen threat on the floor beneath the hutch.  The problem was he wasn't there.  Oh my. 

 

I was in a full body sweat at this point.  Where did it go?  Placing my cheek to the wall, I strained to look into the ½" space behind the hutch.  Ugh, there he was, clinging to the back of the hutch, hanging on like… like… well, like Spiderman.  Now what was I going to do?  That hutch weighs a ton and it was too close to the wall to get anything behind it.  It's amazing what a little adrenaline can do.  I managed to move it about an inch and half, and still, my adversary held fast.  This was becoming a battle of the wills. 

 

I once again grabbed the extended duster.  I swooshed it along the back of the hutch.  I missed.  I swooshed again.  Success!  He dropped to the floor.  I grabbed the Swiffer and pushed it back and forth under the hutch until the paper towel revealed the tell-tale wet spot of a spider that once was.  With legs loosely strewn about, I had squished him into oblivion.  It was horrible, but I did what I had to do.  Many of our spiders are poisonous and I couldn't just leave it there. 

 

I don't advocate killing

It's certainly not thrilling

But when the fear is bone-chilling

You've got to be willing

 

They'll creep and they'll crawl

And they'll cling to your wall

With eight legs in all

They're not likely to fall

 

Some are tan, some are brown, some are black

All will send chills up your back

You cannot cut any slack

You must give them a whack

 

You simply can't risk being bitten

These are lethal spiders, not kittens

For 'kill or be killed,' it is written

So, adios, Spidey – good riddens

 

 ~ M (the exterminator) 

 

 

Unplug and Get Connected

I subscribe to Real Simple.  For those not familiar with this magazine, it often contains bits of wisdom, useful advice and general suggestions to make your life easier – in fact, that's its tag line: Real Simple ~ life made easier.  It typically features product comparisons, frugal repurposing ideas and organizational strategies, not to mention quick-and-easy dinner recipes – all things designed to help you manage your life.  But one of the other things it has that I enjoy is 'the simple list' – a monthly dose of entertaining trivia tidbits, as it were.

 

In the September issue, the list included this little gem: "53% of 16 to 22-year-olds around the world would rather give up their sense of smell than their favorite personal technology device."  Did you catch that?  53%.  This statistic was derived from research culled by McCann Worldgroup.  Could that really be true?  53%?  That's over half.  Sadly, I guess it is.  Don't these people realize that without a sense of smell, there isn't a sense of taste? 

 

Hey, if I could digress for a moment – and I can – perhaps this could be an answer to the burgeoning obesity problem, you know, if there was actually a way to cut off one's sense of smell… I mean, why eat if you can't taste anything, other than for fuel, of course, and let's face it, people pushing high triple digits aren't eating just for fuel so… I think I could be on to something here.      

 

Anyway, back to my point (yes, I have a point).  People shouldn't be that attached to electronic devices that they'd be willing to compromise a basic bodily function.  I think attached is the key word, and it reminds me of something I read once from The USA Today's Craig Wilson.

 

In one of his columns he talked about sitting on his porch watching people pass by.  All were occupied with one device or another – Bluetooth, iPod, Blackberry – people just strolling along talking, toe-tapping, texting and tweeting, with unseen entities, not engaged in the immediate world around them. He said it was a while before he spotted one "sad sack" walking by with only his own thoughts for amusement.  I can't remember now for sure, but I think he, like me, identified with the sad sack. 

 

I think there's something disengaging about being plugged in all the time.  It's not real living – not really. 

 

I had a conversation recently with a fellow hiker about a similar topic:  Is texting real communication?  My opinion is no.  Our discussion got a little heated as she ardently defended that it was.  She's obviously a big texter – and texting is fine, it certainly has its place – but I held fast to my opinion.   Think about it.  You get a long-awaited promotion, achieve a life-long goal, get engaged, have a baby, whatever the case may be, do you text this news?  Got it! Did it! Gonna do it! Done it!  Maybe it's just me, but that seems a little dry.  Or, how about the flipside, when the news is not so good?  Say you lose your job, or your health, or worse, a loved one.  What do you do then? Send out an email blast?  Got fired.  It's cancer.  They died.  No, I say in these moments, you need to reach out, if not face-to-face, at least voice-to-voice, and connect with another human being.

 

It's like I told my niece, who has hundreds, if not thousands, of Facebook friends, this type of communication is simply not real – and I couldn't resist pointing out that her Facebook friends aren't real either.  She disagreed, of course.  She's only 11, and I didn't want to scare her, but that didn't stop me from pointing out that 'Katey' in Boise was not only not a real friend but could potentially be a 47-year-old deranged man sitting in some basement somewhere.  When she asked why a grown man would pretend to be a young girl I told her to ask her father.  The point I was trying to make was that she doesn't truly know who these people are.  It is not real! 

 

Attention all Facebookers, Ben Johnson once said, "True happiness consists not in the multitude of friends, but in the worth and choice."  I don't know who Ben Johnson is – I got that quote from a daily inspirational calendar – but he seems pretty wise to me.

 

We shouldn't go through life with glazed-over computer eyes, with a residual ringing hum in our ears and cramped fingers.  We should be engaged in living in the real world with real people making true connections – so, turn off the computer, pull out the earbuds and put down the device.  Hey, here's an idea, why not go out and take a walk with friend, and who knows, maybe stop along the way and smell the roses – while you still can!

 

~ M.