Change is the Only Constant

My friend Jeff broached an interesting question today: “Let's talk about change; it happens every day. Some people welcome it, while others try to keep it from happening with every fiber of their being.  Therefore, the question today is, change, is it good or bad?”

Change.  Some people abhor this word.  To them maybe it means that they must leave their cozy comfort zone, finally leave behind their security blankets.   Maybe to some people it means unnecessary work.  I, however, believe in change.  As humans, we are a historically evolutionary, revolutionary, ever-changing society of beings.  Being able to adapt to our fluctuating environment is one of the reasons why Homo sapiens continue to dominate (sometimes not in good ways) the species of this earth. 

And yet, change is not just about evolution and adaptation, processes which happen over hundreds or thousands of years.  Change can be as small as using skim milk in your coffee instead of half and half.  Sure, at first you wonder how you will ever be able to drink that cup.  But then the change begins to grow on you, and you realize that you are saving loads of calories each day.  And then more changes come when you can fit into your skinny jeans again. On the other hand, change can be something large and important, like beginning a new career, or going back to work after being a stay-at-home mom for four years.  You are a little frightened about the change, and you question your abilities and your choices.  You fear how it will affect you, your children, and your family.  But you also wait in anticipation for the call.  Even though there is uncertainness, you are ready to take the plunge and see what happens.  It could be great, it could be bad, but how do you know if you don’t jump? 

Change propels civilization, and without it, societies would not exist.  They thrive on revolution and transformation.  Our country was built on these ideas, notions of freedom and independence, beliefs of unity and commonality, and the desperate need for individuality and sovereignty.  The forefathers (and mothers) of this country fought for change, and through their sacrifices and diligent determination, they achieved what they set out to do.  They persevered through ridicule, persecution, prosecution, imprisonment, and execution, for that one word…change.  It is a powerful, awe-inspiring word.  There are revolutions being fought all over the world at this very moment; some with weapons, some with words and protests, and some with silence, all in the name of change.

In the end, change always wins the battle, whether you accept the outcome or not.  If you can embrace change without fear, you’ve already won.  But as humans, we always question our status quo to ensure our prosperity.  It is okay to question with trepidation.  It prevents us from being reckless and irresponsible (hopefully), and guarantees our triumph over natural selection.

“There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction.” ---Winston Churchill

“Change is the essence of life.  Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.”--Unknown

Through My Son's Eyes

Christmas is that special time of year where we are able to live through our children.  We make the necessary preparations to welcome Santa into our house.  We make special cookies and notes for him, and we open the flue to the chimney so that he can slide down with ease.  We laugh out loud when little boys and girls turn on the inflatable snow globe and boogey down to the music.  For a couple of days a year, we are able to believe in the magic of Christmas, and hear the bells on Santa’s sleigh.  I know that some of today’s “new-age” parents don’t believe in telling kids the story of Santa Clause and his multinational corporation located at the North Pole.  Why?  Why can’t we just let kids be kids?  Today’s young generation is already being robbed of their imaginations through cell phones and video games.  Why take away the glorious story of Santa and his elfin unions who make toys for all the boys and girls of the world?  Do you really think it is going to do that much harm to your kids if you tell them this one lie?  Kids are growing up way to fast these days, and I want my children to hold onto their childhoods as long as possible.  There still will be plenty of time to grow up.

Unfortunately, kids do grow up so fast.  One of my children is thirteen and had given up on the idea of Santa Clause a few years back.  However, I think secretly she’s grateful for the fact that she’s the big sister, and that she still gets to pretend that Santa is real.  She participates in making the cookie plate and glass of milk for Santa.  She still makes out her Santa list and helps my son with his.  She enjoys the stories and seeing her little brother’s eyes widen with excitement on Christmas morning when he sees all of the presents under the tree.  The two of them anticipate with glee when the wee waking hours of the morning shine through their windows and they get to gang up on Mom and Dad, innocently sleeping after a full night of present prep.  Unbeknownst to them, however, Mommy and Daddy are usually feigning sleep because they are too excited also.  The excitement in our house is contagious, and it usually affects any living being a two acre radius, including the dog, who proceeds to break into the presents before anyone else has a chance.

Through my son’s eyes, we enjoy the Christmas season and all its splendor.  On Christmas Eve, we will welcome Santa into our house and oblige him to eat his fill of cookies and milk.  He will fill the stockings and pile the presents under the tree.  He will be careful not to wake a little boy who decides to camp out in his doorway so to catch a glimpse of Santa.  He will cover him gently and pat his head, instilling sweet dreams of toys and wrapping paper in his sleeping mind.  If we remember to listen carefully, we’ll be able to hear the bells on his sleigh as the reindeer leap into the cold night air to visit the next house who will hopefully welcome them as we have, with open hearts.

The Mother

The Mother

She awakens with the dawn, in the warmth of the sun.

Her children rouse and begin their routines, of hunting, gathering, nurturing, feeding.

She sways in the gentle breezes, She watches the shadows.

She covets the cubs and gathers the flocks.

She moves as the sun moves, watching and waiting.

Yet, sometimes She cries, cries for Her wounds.

She gives of Her body and Her soul, yet they take and never return.

She heals with the tides, and Her arms always open wide.

But as She’s abused, Her wrath grows ever stronger.

She calls the Winds and whispers to the Fires.

She tries to warn those who would injure Her soul.

Yet they continue their brutal and greedy actions.

She is boundless as the universe in Her love and Her loyalty, but every spirit has a threshold.

Someday She will reclaim her gifts, with all of the rage and fury within.

And She will be reborn once again.

Commercialization of Civilization

This year I feel like Charlie Brown in the Christmas special we all used to watch as those many moons ago.  Everything is commercialized.  Everything.  Even religion and church are commercialized; things that were once held sacred.  Their teachings are being exploited for profit.  If you don’t believe me, turn on the television on a Sunday morning, and while surfing past the hundreds of infomercials, you’ll see the countless number of holy rollers, claiming their sovereignty. 

But in addition to the obnoxiousness we have to endure on television, we encounter it everywhere.  Everyone has their hands out, even the billionaires, because a $120 million a year salary just isn’t enough.  Look at sports.  I like watching sports just as much as the next person.  I like football, baseball, and I’m a novice hockey fan.  But who the hell is worth $120 million just to play a sport? Now instead of Comiskey Field, it is called U.S. Cellular Field.  Jerseys and uniforms are plastered with logos and slogans of sports drinks and warehouse stores.  Do you think the old timers, like Mickey Mantle, Joe DiMaggio, and Ted Williams cared about how much they earned in a contract, or worried about remembering to thank their sponsors when they won the MVP or Gold Gloves?  They were proud to be American heroes, during a time in our country when we were desperately seeking heroes.  Spectator sports are an enormous commercial outfit, which rakes in money hand over fist.  But for some reason, one league or another are constantly on strike or lockout because of contract negotiations. 

However, I’m not just going to single out the athletes.  This goes for all of the greedy slobs that make millions every year and still cry out for more.  There are the fat oil and automobile bigwigs who can’t get out of their own way.  Corrupt politicians with their back-alley deals, costing the consumers and the tax payers billions of dollars to satiate their gluttonous appetites.  And this just doesn’t happen in our own country, but all over the world.

How did I get onto this subject, you ask?  While I was in England, I visited the Holy Tor, and wanted to visit the Chalice Well.  The legend of the Chalice Well begins when Joseph of Arimathea, who after the crucifixion of Christ, took the cup from the last supper and collected the blood of Christ as he hung on the cross.  In his later years, Joseph travelled to Britannia to settle with the monks who sought sanctuary in the peaceful hills of Somerset.  He hid the chalice and the blood within a sacred well guarded by the Druid sisters.  Both Druid and Christian beheld Joseph as a brother and friend, and he died in their company many years later at the foot of the Holy Tor.  The Chalice well still remains, where today many people believe that its waters hold healing properties, blessed by the Mother and blessed by Jesus Christ.  Now, in order to visit this holy place, you must pay admission, or you will not be allowed access.  They claim that they use the money to maintain the property.  Yet, the well has been there for at least 2500 years.  It’s been fine all that time without a maintenance crew, but now suddenly it needs one.  Even though I ached to see it and to touch its waters, I refused to be a part of the commercialism of that holy place.  My own little personal protest, I guess. 

The Stones and the Hill

As most of you already know, I just got back from a short vacation in the United Kingdom.  I use the term “vacation” loosely, because I think we were busier during those five days than when we are at home.  But we are not the type of people who like to lounge in a hotel room, especially when there is so much to see. 

My voyage began at Providence’s T.F. Green Airport, a nice, small airport.  Without a hitch, I was off to Philadelphia International.  Even though we were delayed going out of Providence, we ended up landing in Philly three minutes ahead of schedule.  I made it to my connecting gate, got a bite to eat, and sat for a while until boarding time.  In that stretch, our plane was changed from an Airbus A330 to a 767.  I like the A330’s because they have the onboard entertainment built into the backs of every seat.  The 767 has nothing, therefore it was quite a boring flight.  I read for a little, and slept a little.  Finally we started our descent into Heathrow.  Over the next half hour, I was tortured by extreme pain in my right ear, followed by a rupture of my eardrum about ten minutes before we landed.  Great…now I’m finally in the UK and I can’t hear out of one of my ears.  We disembarked, and started the extremely long journey to UK Border Control.  After 20 minutes of brisk walking, (so about a mile), I came to the Border Control line, which took about another 20 minutes.  Finally I was officially allowed into the country, and made my way to my husband who was waiting for me at the entrance to the terminal.  By this time, I’m totally wired, even though I’ve been awake for about 20 hours.  We found the car and made our way out of Heathrow, and onto the M25 towards Salisbury and Glastonbury. 

About an hour later, we arrive just outside of Salisbury and see Stonehenge up ahead in the distance.  This is awesome, because I’ve only ever seen it in pictures and now I’m here in person!!  I really didn’t understand the immensity of the monoliths until seeing them in person.  It’s amazing to think how the original people who built this monument hauled these enormous stones from twenty miles away, and somehow erected them into the temple seen now.  I was a little disappointed that we were charged £8.00 per person, or about $13.00, to see this national monument, but I guess everything nowadays is commercialized.  The walkway around the monument actually ended in a gift shop, kind of like the rides at Disney World.  Oh well.

Now we move on to Glastonbury.  I’ve always wanted to climb the Tor at Glastonbury.  Maybe because I’m a child of the myths, or I just love the folklore of the place.  For most people, whether Druid or Christian, this is a pilgrimage.  For the Druid, the Tor marked one of the ancient shrines to the Mother Goddess, where She alighted to earth during the sacred celebrations.  To Christians, the Sacred Well (or Chalice Well) at the base of the Tor was where Joseph of Arimathea brought a vial of Christ’s blood after His crucifixion, and hid it within the walls of the well.  To either faith, or to a random visitor, the Tor is beautiful place.  The climb up is unforgiving, and it’s not for the weak-hearted.  It doesn’t look that bad from the base, but once you start climbing, you realize that you were sadly mistaken.  It took us about 25 minutes from the base to Saint Michael’s tower at the top, stopping to rest several times along the way.  Once at the top, you have a 360° view of the plains below, and you can see about 50 miles in all directions on a clear day (which we were lucky enough to have).  After walking around the top and trying to avoid the Goddess dancers (which, thank the heavens, were clothed), we decided to start the climb down, which is a little easier, but still hard on the knees.  The wind is amazing; it blows about 40 miles per hour on the walk up and the walk down, but its calm at the top.

By this time, it’s about four in the afternoon, and I’m starting to feel the jet lag.  We make our way back to the car and begin the drive back to Heathrow where our hotel is for the next two nights.  That particular trip is a little hazy for me, because I think I fell asleep for a while.  We had dinner at the hotel restaurant because I think both of us were too beat to find somewhere else.  Having been up for about 36 hours, I was ready for bed, I didn’t care where or how…I just needed sleep.  We stayed at the Jurys Inn at Heathrow, which is a really nice hotel, and not expensive at all.  I recommend it to anyone travelling to London.

So that, in a nutshell, is Day One and Day Two (which is kind of the same day, since I never went to sleep between the two). 

First Day Woes and Foes

Dear Schools,

I know it’s been a confusing start-of-the-year and we’ve already burned up our makeup days for the hurricane aftermath.  I know that you’ve had to change scheduling several times.  But I also am aware that the start of school usually occurs around the same time every year, and regardless of the weather conditions or other catastrophes, please, PLEASE, send parents a list of requirements before the first day? 

Yesterday was my daughter’s first day of eighth grade.  Two weeks ago, we went school supply shopping, which was last -minute considering that we started school seven days later than scheduled.  We waited until the last minute because we thought that maybe her teachers would send a list of requirements needed.  Such a list never came.  So we decided that we would do what we did last year, a large binder with notebooks and folders for every subject, the usual pencils and correcting pens, and a calculator.  Anything that was needed after could be purchased, as minimally as we thought it would be.

My daughter got off the bus and proceeded to give me an extensive list of required items, making the $80 worth of supplies I already purchased obsolete before they could even be used.  Hopefully, she will be able to use them next year in high school otherwise all that money is wasted. 

I understand that teachers have a specific method of teaching and organization.  I am willing to cooperate fully.  HOWEVER, do not wait until after the school supplies are purchased to tell me what I need to buy.  Now tonight, in between hair-cuts and groceries, cooking dinner and doing laundry, I have to drag my ass back to Staples to purchase more crap.  Next time, please send a list of items needed before school starts.  As I said before, you know that school starts around the same time every year.  It doesn’t come as a surprise.  It will make life easier for me, my children and my wallet.

Thank you,

Frustrated mother

Why Should I Even Have to Say It?

My husband and I find ourselves laughing more and more at the stupid things that we say sometimes to our kids.  I’m talking about the “Don’t” statements…those that are trying to save the children either from getting sick, getting hurt, or getting into trouble.  Every day, we seem to add another odd one to the mix.

The newest one that can be heard on most days is “Don’t put your tongue on that!”  Now if someone was just listening, and not seeing what we see, that statement might seem a little inappropriate.  However, this is shouted when our son, Michael, attempts to lick the side of the pool.  Why does he lick the pool?  I have no idea why, and I don’t think Michael does either.  Maybe he’s trying to be a puppy, maybe he’s trying to taste things, or maybe he’s a little nutty. 

And while we’re on the subject of tongues, “Don’t lick the windows” is another popular admonishment heard often in our house.  Again, I have no idea why my son likes to lick windows.  My dog also enjoys this pastime.  Maybe this is a popular hobby with children…although I don’t remember ever licking windows when I was bored.

This morning, Michael came into our room and told us a story.  He said that he went potty all by himself, and he scrubbed his hands because they were all dirty from getting his bouncy ball out of the toilet. ??  Apparently, after a lengthy interrogation, we surmised that he was holding his new bouncy ball while he was going to the bathroom, and when he got up (he still sits to go pee), he dropped his bouncy ball in the toilet.  He reached in to get it out, and he washed his hands, but never washed the bouncy ball.  I am reminded of many years ago, when my daughter (four at the time), told us that her princess figurines fell into the potty.  To both children we had to ask, “Did you mean to put them in there, or was it a mistake.”  And both children replied, “It was a stake.” 

Another one that was heard today, “Don’t jump in the puddles.”  I think every parent who ever had small children knows this one.  Children, especially ones with brand new shoes, are magnetically drawn to puddles, and the deeper the puddles, the stronger the affinity between child and puddle.  Even as an adult, I even from time to time have to step in a puddle…sometimes you don’t have a choice.  But I usually try to avoid taking a running leap and landing two footed in the deepest part of the puddle.  If this was an Olympic sport, my children most likely would have received gold medals.  My teenager has stopped puddle-ducking; it is beyond her station now.  But the little one, I think, was actually born a duck.

Of course, the phrase “Don’t do that!” is probably the most frequently heard.  This phrase can and will apply to the simplest thing or to the oddest behavior.  For instance, trying to smell your toes at the dinner table.  Or perhaps streaking naked through the house after bath time.  I tell my husband not to do those all the time.  Just joking, honey, I know these are only directed towards Michael.  I was just seeing if you were reading…HAHA!