Send In The Clowns...

You know what ticks me off? OK, I'll tell you. These terrorist clowns. Clowns are wonderful. The world needs clowns. They are ambassadors of joy and levity and fun. They are the embodiment of good.

I get that Stephen King and Hollywood (and, OK, John Wayne Gacy didn’t help) did their parts to twist the beautiful clown persona into something dark and treacherous.  But, like all bad examples, they are the exceptions to the rule. 
 
For those who are unaware of the current news trend, for the last several months, creepy clowns have been popping up in unexpected places, displaying creepy behavior, scaring the hell out of children and parents and building into a bit of hysteria with more and more “sightings”.  I use quotes there because I’m willing to bet that most of these sightings are fear-induced illusions.

So today, I got a voice mail from my kid’s middle school principal, followed by an “assuring” email from the school board, letting us know just how aware our school administrators are of this threat and they promise that our students will be protected.  Seriously!?!  Clowns.

When civilians and police are killing each other in the streets, when nations are at war and children and their families are being displaced by battles in their homeland, when bigotry and hate speech is coming from every news outlet, I’m supposed to instill distrust of CLOWNS into my happy little girls?  Nope.  Not going to do it.

I’ve talked about this before, but I love clowns.  I love what they represent and, had I known that it was an option in my younger days, you can bet I’d have chosen the Ringling Brothers Clown college after high school.  It may be my one regret in life that I didn’t know it was possible.

Clowns have been around for thousands of years.  Historically, clowns, jesters, and comic entertainers have been welcomed for their ability to deliver satire, comic relief, and stress release during serious times.  Emperors and kings enlisted them to break ice during tense periods.  As the circus culture rose, clowns were vital to the show – not only to deliver lighthearted laughs - but as a distraction between acts.  Without the clowns, people in the audience would be forced to watch the poop cleanup after the elephant parade.  Think about that for a second.  If we have ever needed clowns, now is the time.

Look – I’m not pretending that some jerk didn’t put on makeup and a clown suit and terrorize people.  Then another jerk saw that and thought it was a great idea.  So now there’s a string of copycat jerks who are seeking their own moment of spotlight by scaring people.  That’s all real enough.  But jerks have been around since WAY before clowns were born.  Terrorists have existed forever, and that won’t ever change.  Here, in this moment in time, a band of terrorist assholes have chosen clown costumes as their uniforms of choice.  That doesn’t make them clowns.  It makes them terrorist assholes in clown suits.

Meanwhile, much scarier things are happening all around us.  There are steaming piles of elephant poop that need to be cleaned up.  That family up there on the tightrope is about to fall.  There’s a hole in the tent and it’s starting to rain.  Quick!  Send in the clowns!

I trust the lions take care of the jerks looking for trouble.

Apathy Is My Super Power...

Recently, I was part of a conversation about super powers.  Not the cool, comic book kind of powers like flying or invisibility that one wouldn’t mind having.  No.  This was a discussion about our innate powers that we use as a defense mechanism in life.  We all have them.  But what is mine?  My mother and I decided that we share Apathy as our super power.

That’s not exactly right, though.  Because “Apathy” implies that I don’t care.  Of course I CARE.  I just choose not to CARRY.  Totally different.

My friends at Miriam-Webster – and Mr. Roget, too -say that apathy is the feeling of not having much emotion or interest.  It’s insensitivity, indifference, disregard, coldness, and detachment.  None of those things really describe me. 

The thing is, I don’t see the point in lugging my own baggage around.  I sure don’t need to pick up anyone else’s.  That doesn’t mean I have no empathy.  It just means that if there’s anything I can do to help a situation, I do that.  Then I keep moving.  Sometimes, it’s clear that I have nothing helpful to offer the situation, so nothing is exactly what I offer.

I’ve written before about the Grief Train but it seems to have evolved over time.  Thanks to the prevalence of social media, people have a forum to display just how much they care.  Or, more to the point, how much MORE they care than the previous person.  I see it more and more and it just makes me cringe.  If a person is truly a friend, and they are having a difficult time, my instinct is to send loving thoughts and to contact them privately if that feels right.  Uninvited public and highly visible declarations of my concern twist the focus away from the person at the center of the situation on to me.  “Look how much I care!  Look how much more I care than everyone else!”

Obviously, I don’t have it all figured out.  My way isn’t the only way.  Public forums are useful in sharing news and messages and initiating further discussion on topics that benefit from dialogue.  I’m just not likely to jump into every conversation.  Likewise, in a room full of people, I’m as likely to stand in a corner and listen as I am to participate in whatever is going on.

I have absolutely been called “aloof” by people who don’t know me.  That’s fair, I guess.  I’ve been accused of being shy, of being snobby, of being sad, of being disconnected, of being any number of things that are counter to the person expected in whichever environment I’m in.

The other day, my 11 year old daughter was called into the guidance counselor’s office because some teacher sent an email expressing concern that she wasn’t happy.  Whaaaatt!?!  Anyone who knows this kid knows how far that is from reality.  But it seems that my girl has inherited her mom’s RBF.  (That’s “Resting Bitch Face” for those who don’t know.)  So this counselor asked her questions, there were no red flags, so she pushed and pushed until my daughter grasped at straws to pull out some very minor conflict from the previous school year to give this lady to get her off her back. 

I had to sit down with my kid and explain RBF to her and try to prepare her for a lifetime of “Smile!”, “Why so sad?”, “Cheer up!” and so on.  All because she keeps a bit of a poker face while observing new situations before deciding whether or not to dive in.

So, my unwillingness to attach myself to problems or situation that are not my own doesn’t mean I don’t care.  If a person is in my life – even if just for a fleeting moment – I care about their well-being.  I care about their happiness, health, comfort, and pain.  But that doesn’t mean I have to take it on myself.  First and foremost, I love.  I care.  I help when there’s something I can do.  And then I keep moving.

Does this mean my superpower is Apathy?  I don’t think so.  Maybe my real superpower is Cameo.  I can enter a scene, quietly perform my part, and exit stage left.  I think that's a pretty useful skill, too.

Analog In A Digital World...

The other day, my husband was cleaning his office and came up with a road atlas, asking if I thought we should keep it.  My heart screamed “Yes, maps are very important, keep it!” but my head said “We live in a world of GPS, wi-fi and Google Maps, we’ll never use that again.” so I had to go with the brain and let him release it to the recycle bin.  I had to walk away quickly before I changed my answer and grabbed it from his hands.  Then I retreated to my bedroom to salve my wounds with the real paper pages of a book from the library. 

I’m fighting a losing battle with the rest of the world but I’m not prepared to concede to defeat.  You see, I’m analog in a digital world.  Yes, I know that my family’s probably sick of hearing it and I realize that it’s pretty hypocritical of me to blog about this subject on electronic media, but there it is.  I recognize that there are definite perks to all this technology that surrounds me.  I appreciate many of the new-fangled abilities we have.  I just don’t want them to replace everything.

When I learned to drive, I swore I’d only ever choose a manual transmission because I felt like I was in control.  It only took a few years of Atlanta rush hour traffic to accept that maybe an automatic that allowed my clutch leg to rest wasn’t such a terrible thing.  The cell phone has proven itself to be a vital tool in daily communication and the fact that one can fit in my pocket is pretty sweet.  I absolutely appreciate my DVR’s ability to keep me caught up on favorite shows while fast-forwarding through commercials, and welcome the 4 million channels I have to choose. 

I’m not a total Luddite.  I just don’t adapt easily and I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.  I like cars that use real metal keys (that could be copied at the local hardware store) to open doors and start engines.  I listen to the radio over old-fashioned FM airwaves through the ionosphere and prefer CDs with cover art to mp3 files.  I like my landline telephone and old-fashioned answering machine that allows me to screen calls. I like newspapers and magazines.  I like actual mail.

When I bought my most recent new-to-me car, I was bothered that it came with an electronic key.  Sure, the automatic door opener thing is cool, but why can’t I have a regular key?  That car is now considered old and it’s hard to find a vehicle that requires keys at all.  All one needs is the ability to push a button.  At the doctor for a checkup recently, I was handed a computer tablet for check in.  What happened to the clipboards with pens attached to strings?!?  And why, when I go to the store, are my checkout options ONE over-crowded cashier lane or a dozen “check out your damn self” stations?

I know I had plenty of lazy, time-sucking activities as a kid.  That frog wasn’t going to get across the river and the planet was not going to be saved from alien invasion if I didn’t spend hours in front of the Atari!  I get it.  Video games can be fun.  What I don’t get is my kids’ obsession with watching OTHER people play video games on YouTube.   I don’t understand Music.ly.  I don’t really get the need for Kik and I’m really bothered by how few of my 11 year old’s friends know their own phone numbers and addresses.

I’m old.  I’m square.  I know.  I accept that.  And I accept that technology isn’t going away and I understand that it’s necessary to be flexible and adapt.  My grandmother did.  My mother did – she has an iphone, for crying out loud, and can text quickly while I’m still trying to find that screen on my phone! 

I truly do appreciate the amazing minds behind all of the technological wonders we have.  I absolutely recognize that many of the people I love wouldn’t have been here without modern miracles.  I’m grateful for the ability to communicate with so many people across so many miles and, without technology, there would be no place for me to vent about it.  Ah, sweet irony!

I can, and will adapt.  As much as I have to, anyway.  Meanwhile, I mourn the atlas, embrace the books, and hope that my kids will maintain at least a little bit of interest in the way things were and the way they can still sometimes be.

I’ll do what I can.  But I think I’ll always be analog in a digital world.

Analog In A Digital World...

The other day, my husband was cleaning his office and came up with a road atlas, asking if I thought we should keep it.  My heart screamed “Yes, maps are very important, keep it!” but my head said “We live in a world of GPS, wi-fi and Google Maps, we’ll never use that again.” so I had to go with the brain and let him release it to the recycle bin.  I had to walk away quickly before I changed my answer and grabbed it from his hands.  Then I retreated to my bedroom to salve my wounds with the real paper pages of a book from the library. 

I’m fighting a losing battle with the rest of the world but I’m not prepared to concede to defeat.  You see, I’m analog in a digital world.  Yes, I know that my family’s probably sick of hearing it and I realize that it’s pretty hypocritical of me to blog about this subject on electronic media, but there it is.  I recognize that there are definite perks to all this technology that surrounds me.  I appreciate many of the new-fangled abilities we have.  I just don’t want them to replace everything.

When I learned to drive, I swore I’d only ever choose a manual transmission because I felt like I was in control.  It only took a few years of Atlanta rush hour traffic to accept that maybe an automatic that allowed my clutch leg to rest wasn’t such a terrible thing.  The cell phone has proven itself to be a vital tool in daily communication and the fact that one can fit in my pocket is pretty sweet.  I absolutely appreciate my DVR’s ability to keep me caught up on favorite shows while fast-forwarding through commercials, and welcome the 4 million channels I have to choose. 

I’m not a total Luddite.  I just don’t adapt easily and I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.  I like cars that use real metal keys (that could be copied at the local hardware store) to open doors and start engines.  I listen to the radio over old-fashioned FM airwaves through the ionosphere and prefer CDs with cover art to mp3 files.  I like my landline telephone and actual answering machine that allows me to screen calls. I like newspapers and magazines.  I like actual mail.

When I bought my most recent new-to-me car, I was bothered that it came with an electronic key.  Sure, the automatic door opener thing is cool, but why can’t I have a regular key?  That car is now considered old and it’s hard to find a vehicle that requires keys at all.  All one needs is the ability to push a button.  At the doctor for a checkup recently, I was handed a computer tablet for check in.  What happened to the clipboards with pens attached to strings?!?  And why, when I go to the store, are my checkout options ONE over-crowded cashier lane or a dozen “check out your damn self” stations?

I know I had plenty of lazy, time-sucking activities as a kid.  That frog wasn’t going to get across the river and the planet was nit going to be saved from alien invasion if I didn’t spend hours in front of the Atari!  I get it.  Video games can be fun.  What I don’t get is my kids’ obsession with watching OTHER people play video games on YouTube.   I don’t understand Music.ly.  I don’t really get the need for Kik and I’m really bothered by how few of my 11 year old’s friends know their own phone numbers and addresses.

I’m old.  I’m square.  I know.  I accept that.  And I accept that technology isn’t going away and I understand that it’s necessary to be flexible and adapt.  My grandmother did.  My mother did – she has an iphone, for crying out loud, and can text quickly while I’m still trying to find that screen on my phone! 

I truly do appreciate the amazing minds behind all of the technological wonders we have.  I absolutely recognize that many of the people I love wouldn’t have been here without modern miracles.  I’m grateful for the ability to communicate with so many people across so many miles and, without technology, there would be no place for me to vent about it.  Ah, sweet irony!

I can, and will adapt.  As much as I have to, anyway.  Meanwhile, I mourn the atlas, embrace the books, and hope that my kids will maintain at least a little bit of interest in the way things were and the way they can still sometimes be.

I’ll do what I can.  But I think I’ll always be analog in a digital world.

Analog In A Digital World...

The other day, my husband was cleaning his office and came up with a road atlas, asking if I thought we should keep it.  My heart screamed “Yes, maps are very important, keep it!” but my head said “We live in a world of GPS, wi-fi and Google Maps, we’ll never use that again.” so I had to go with the brain and let him release it to the recycle bin.  I had to walk away quickly before I changed my answer and grabbed it from his hands.  Then I retreated to my bedroom to salve my wounds with the real paper pages of a book from the library. 

I’m fighting a losing battle with the rest of the world but I’m not prepared to concede to defeat.  You see, I’m analog in a digital world.  Yes, I know that my family’s probably sick of hearing it and I realize that it’s pretty hypocritical of me to blog about this subject on electronic media, but there it is.  I recognize that there are definite perks to all this technology that surrounds me.  I appreciate many of the new-fangled abilities we have.  I just don’t want them to replace everything.

When I learned to drive, I swore I’d only ever choose a manual transmission because I felt like I was in control.  It only took a few years of Atlanta rush hour traffic to accept that maybe an automatic that allowed my clutch leg to rest wasn’t such a terrible thing.  The cell phone has proven itself to be a vital tool in daily communication and the fact that one can fit in my pocket is pretty sweet.  I absolutely appreciate my DVR’s ability to keep me caught up on favorite shows while fast-forwarding through commercials, and welcome the 4 million channels I have to choose. 

I’m not a total Luddite.  I just don’t adapt easily and I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.  I like cars that use real metal keys (that could be copied at the local hardware store) to open doors and start engines.  I listen to the radio over old-fashioned FM airwaves through the ionosphere and prefer CDs with cover art to mp3 files.  I like my landline telephone and actual answering machine that allows me to screen calls. I like newspapers and magazines.  I like actual mail.

When I bought my most recent new-to-me car, I was bothered that it came with an electronic key.  Sure, the automatic door opener thing is cool, but why can’t I have a regular key?  That car is now considered old and it’s hard to find a vehicle that requires keys at all.  All one needs is the ability to push a button.  At the doctor for a checkup recently, I was handed a computer tablet for check in.  What happened to the clipboards with pens attached to strings?!?  And why, when I go to the store, are my checkout options ONE over-crowded cashier lane or a dozen “check out your damn self” stations?

I know I had plenty of lazy, time-sucking activities as a kid.  That frog wasn’t going to get across the river and the planet was nit going to be saved from alien invasion if I didn’t spend hours in front of the Atari!  I get it.  Video games can be fun.  What I don’t get is my kids’ obsession with watching OTHER people play video games on YouTube.   I don’t understand Music.ly.  I don’t really get the need for Kik and I’m really bothered by how few of my 11 year old’s friends know their own phone numbers and addresses.

I’m old.  I’m square.  I know.  I accept that.  And I accept that technology isn’t going away and I understand that it’s necessary to be flexible and adapt.  My grandmother did.  My mother did – she has an iphone, for crying out loud, and can text quickly while I’m still trying to find that screen on my phone! 

I truly do appreciate the amazing minds behind all of the technological wonders we have.  I absolutely recognize that many of the people I love wouldn’t have been here without modern miracles.  I’m grateful for the ability to communicate with so many people across so many miles and, without technology, there would be no place for me to vent about it.  Ah, sweet irony!

I can, and will adapt.  As much as I have to, anyway.  Meanwhile, I mourn the atlas, embrace the books, and hope that my kids will maintain at least a little bit of interest in the way things were and the way they can still sometimes be.

I’ll do what I can.  But I think I’ll always be analog in a digital world.

The People Who Live In My Head: Life's Like A Box of Puppies...

The People Who Live In My Head: Life's Like A Box of Puppies...: I’ve often described my life growing up with 8 siblings as being “like a box of puppies”.   I think that was – and is – still an accurate de...

Life's Like A Box of Puppies...

I’ve often described my life growing up with 8 siblings as being “like a box of puppies”.  I think that was – and is – still an accurate description.  The 9 of us all have very different personalities, but it’s clear that we’re from the same litter.

Just like a pack of puppies, there was a lot of activity in many different directions.  Sometimes one puppy would stray too far or annoy another puppy.  Each and every time, that deviant puppy would be barked at, nipped on the nose, and brought back into line by the other puppies.  The same was true for my brothers and sisters.  We may have spent days exploring and testing boundaries but we always came back to the box at the end of the day where we would nestle down, snuggling, sometimes laying on another puppy’s head, and sometime “borrowing” another puppy’s favorite toy.

All these years later, we’re off in our own boxes, some with our own litters, but when we come together, we revert to the puppies we’ve always been.  I never felt the need to foster too many friendships out in the world because I had everything I needed built right in.

I guess I always knew that we were a little different in terms of family size, but I was well into adulthood before I figured out that my siblings and I had something really unique and special in the way we relate to one another.  My mother often receives compliments about the way her “children” (we’re all middle aged at this point) interact.  We not only enjoy each other’s company, but we’re more likely to laugh than to argue.

I don’t know what the secret is.  My mother is a nice person, who raised nice people with the Golden Rule as her guide.  Maybe that’s all there was to it.  Maybe it was magic.  Whatever it is, I just didn’t know we were unusual until I watched other siblings interact.  I have definitely judged anyone I’m getting to know by the way they treat – or even talk about – their sibling(s).

When I became a mother, I did my best to lead by example in the way I treat others.  When I introduced a sibling to the mix, I made it very clear to my first daughter that this new little person will "maybe make you mad sometimes, and you may want her out of your stuff sometimes, but she will ultimately be all you truly have in life and that is a gift to be treasured".  I certainly didn’t expect miracles, but assumed that was just a good nugget of advice to tuck away for later in life.

My two girls are as different as night and day.  But you know what?  They’ve become their very own smaller box of puppies.  They bicker and complain about one another as you’d expect an 11 year old and (almost) 8 year old to do.  But at the end of the day, they come together in the box.  They have their own rooms but sleep together every chance they can.  They stay up too late, talking and giggling and plotting to take over the world.  They look out for one another not because they are expected to, but because it’s instinctual and they want to.

This has all happened right under my nose and I suppose I was aware of it, but it didn’t fully register until we had annual pediatrician appointments the other day.  I’ve been in the habit of scheduling them together every year for my own convenience.  I never gave it a second thought until the nurse asked if I wanted them in separate exam rooms.  I asked the girls.  They were very emphatic with their “No!” – they wanted to be together.  When the doctor was talking to the 8 year old, the 11 year old answered the questions.  And when it was the 11 year old’s turn to get a couple of shots, the 8 year old asked if she could sit on the table with her sister and hold her hand.

The nurse commented to the girls that it was so great that they were such good friends.  Then, this old school pediatrician, who has known both of my girls all their lives, just sat back and watched them together, then told me “Great job, Mom.  You’ve got a couple of best friends there and I don’t see that every day.”

What’s the point of this story?  I don’t know.  Maybe a bit of bragging, but maybe it's just to say that in these times of people lashing out at one another, it does a heart good to see love in action.  Knowing that, for now, at least (because God only knows what the teen years hold with these two), I’m doing something right gives me hope for the rest of the world.

This year, all of my puppies will be gathering at the beach to honor my mother’s birthday.  I can’t wait to climb back into the box, and I know there will be room for my two pups, too.  Maybe that’s the key to world peace:  more puppy boxes.