What's In a Picture?

There are some things that I never feel the need to do.  One of those things is changing my picture on Facebook or my blog.  Call it laziness, call it what you will, since I started my Facebook account and my blog, my picture has remained the same.  At this point in time it is not an accurate representation of who I am.  But do I actually need an up to date picture, one taken 5 hours ago, to let people know that I still look relatively the same, that I haven't gotten into a fight, or that I didn't get plastic surgery done?  Don't get me wrong, I have thought about changing my profile picture on both Facebook and this blog, however, I never get motivated enough to have my wife take another picture of me, load it onto the computer, and then change it out online.  I know, the whole process would probably take about 5 minutes max if I really set my mind to it, I just don't care enough to do so.  In light of my not changing my picture, (which by the way is 7 years old), I thought I might describe what my face looks like now versus what it did 7 years ago.  So all in all, my face hasn't really changed, my weight has remained relatively the same, if not dropping a few pounds, so whatever roundness there is in my cheeks is still there, but maybe slightly slimmed down.  That is, if you could see my cheeks.  I have been working on growing a beard and moustache for the past 4 months.  Now, before you go all nutty thinking that my beard must be down to the collar of my shirt by now, I must tell you that in my family, it takes a very long time to grow facial hair.  What I have on my face now would probably take an ordinary man about 3-4 weeks to grow, and I have been at it 4 months.  So, despite the full dark beard and blond moustache (which I find kind of funny myself), the hair on top of my head rarely grows beyond a half inch long now.  You see, while my hair is really curly, I have noticed it starting to thin at the typical spot near the rear, top of my head.  With that area thinning, long curly hair doesn't really look so good anymore, and on top of it, it takes too much work for my liking.  Hence, I have really short hair on top of my head and a full beard/moustache on my face.  Despite those two differences from the profile picture I have, nothing much else has changed.  And just to throw it out there, the beard will not be permanent, just a winter thing, and before I shave everything off, I do plan on sporting the handlebar moustache for a week or two. 

I personally find it much more entertaining to try and paint a picture of what someone looks like from their description rather than just looking at a picture and seeing what they look like.  Its almost like reading a book where you are forced to use your imagination to construct a world full of people that you will never see, only read about.  I am sure that one day I will change my profile pics, but it won't be today, or tomorrow, or even within the next month most likely.  All this talk of pictures partly stems from my witnessing the changing profile pictures of friends on Facebook, sometimes as often as once a week, sometimes once a month, but I think everyone that I am friends with have changed their profile pictures at least once.  I'm not saying that changing profile pictures is a bad thing, I just don't get the desire to change profile pics more often than you get a hair cut.  It just doesn't make sense to me.  Everyone still knows what you look like and if they wanted to see a different picture of you, they would ask.  At least I would presume that they would ask.  I don't want to make it seem like I abhor pictures and the taking of them, rather, I see pictures more as a way of remembering events and those you lived through the events with.  When we use pictures to define who we are, it seems a little superficial to me.  As if changing a profile picture every day will make someone think differently of you or portray you in a different light (so I guess it could depending on what the picture is of, but still...).  For me, pictures, especially of friends and family, are a more personal affair.  I enjoy looking back at pictures that I have taken or have had taken while skiing with friends, at family picnics or gatherings, at parties for family, milestones, etc.  Here is the thing though, I don't think the whole world needs to see those pictures as well.  They are personal to me and I harbor my own feelings about those pictures.  I don't need some random person commenting on them and making me think differently about the pictures than I otherwise would.  But, as I have mentioned before, I am a little old fashioned at heart, especially when it comes to pictures of my family, friends, and loved ones. 

On a different note, I think that pictures taken artistically should be shared, should be disseminated to a wide audience, if for nothing else than to potentially inspire them.  Pictures have a way of bringing out emotions and feelings in people, especially if they are well taken.  What could be better than inspiring someone with a picture you took?  Taking good pictures is a gift and one that should be shared, however, I personally draw the line when it comes to my family and friends.  Those are personal to me and shall remain so.  Even with my son, there are no pictures of him online anywhere.  If a friend or family member wants to see pictures, they email me and I respond with attached pictures of my son.  He will not be shared with the world like a discardable file on a flash drive.  But hey, that's just my opinion.  I love nothing more than going back to my parents picture albums, (you know those heavy books about three inches thick that people used to put pictures in with different captions as to what happened) flipping through the myriad pages, and seeing myself slowly grow from a little rascal, into a young man, and then into an adult.  Even to see the changes in my parents and the rest of my family over time is fascinating.  Its funny when you look at a picture sometimes and an event or trip you thought you forgot about comes flooding back in all the intricate detail.   Pictures have a way of helping us remember, of bringing back to life events and milestones we thought were dead and gone.  Yet I still don't think that we should necessarily share every bit of our lives capture in a picture with the rest of the world.  Do you think pictures, especially those of family should be kept more personal or broadcast to the world?  What do pictures mean to you?

Humans Vs. Marketing

As I was driving yesterday, I heard a commercial by AT&T that annoyed the hell out of me.  I had heard it before, but for some reason, yesterday it struck a nerve and in doing so, got me thinking.  The commercial was something about their improved wi-fi capability, the ability to stream live TV or movies to a smart phone or iPad, and as a result of all of this, parents could keep their kids occupied with movies or TV so they didn't have to watch them as closely.  First off, I have a problem with this because I abhor the fact that so many parents these days rely on technology to babysit their children.  All they have to do is hand their child a iPhone, iPad, or some other "smart" device and boom, they are entertained for hours either with games, shows, or movies.  There seem to be fewer and fewer parents who actually let their children explore the world around them, tinker with objects actually develop their brains, and learn how to occupy themselves without an electronic device.  So that is my first and foremost problem, but my thinking yesterday veered down a tangential road about how we got to this present predicament as I see it.  Was it parents using electronic devices to occupy their children that drove companies such as AT&T to market their products as "babysitters"?  Or contrarily, was it companies such as AT&T marketing their products and services as "babysitters" that drove parents to begin using electronic devices as such?  I frankly don't remember back to when "smart" phones first came onto the market and what commercials were being run about them.  My gut instinct would be to say that it was a parent or two that saw the potential "babysitting" services that could be had by handing their child a smart phone or other device and once that caught on in the parenting world, the marketing followed suit.  However, I wouldn't put it past any company to have come up with the idea and begun the marketing campaign to place a smart phone in every child's hand, if only temporarily to save the parents some time. 

I've written about technology and children before, but it seems to be reaching a whole new level of absurdness in my mind.  At what point do parents teach children to disconnect from technology in order to connect with themselves on a deeper level?  I know there are some parents out there who are taking the tough road and keeping electronic devices out of their children's hands, but there are many more who feed into the marketing frenzy and the hype about having time to themselves while their children are occupied with technology.  My wife and I are part of the group of parents that keep electronic devices away from their children.  Our son has never seen the TV on or held a smart phone or other electronic device.  And he probably won't for quite some time yet.  When I talk to older parents in their 50's and 60's about our son, one of the questions I always get asked is my feelings on technology, smart phones, and how they come into play with our son.  Most are surprised when I say that he has never seen or held one.  It is a rarity these days for a child not to have seen an electronic device much less used one.  When we are bombarded incessantly by the media and commercials advertising the benefits of occupying our children with electronic devices, I can see how parents give in, go with the flow and mimic all the other parents out there.  It goes beyond placing these devices in the hands of our children though.  A big part of the problem that we face is that many parents are glued to their smart phones as if they wouldn't know what to do if the phone was actually detached from their hand or head.  What kind of example are we setting for our children when they see us perpetually looking at our phones, texting, checking email, not paying attention to them or the rest of the world?  I have seen too many parents on my drives in the morning waiting with their children for the bus and not once paying attention to their child.  Instead, they are glued to whatever is happening on their phone, oblivious to the world around them.  For my part, I try to never use my phone in front of my son, not because he shouldn't see me use it, but because he deserves my attention when he is around.  I feel that getting my attention is more important than anything happening on my phone, the Internet, or on some social media site.  I know, I am anomaly, but that's the way I am. 

Perhaps a more important question than which came first, the parent or the marketer, is how much influence does marketing actually have in selling products and services to parents?  I am sure that marketing has a much bigger impact than I would like to believe it does.  For one, marketing, regardless of how creative it gets, rarely influences me to buy one product over another or even entertain a product I know I will never use.  Yet, companies pour millions of dollars into marketing because on some level, it does work and does influence people to buy products.  If there weren't a tangible return on companies investment in marketing, they wouldn't spend so much getting all creative in how they sell their products.  I think to a certain extent, marketing plays to American's ideals that we need the newest gadget, the latest clothing line, the best and most improved learning product for our children.  They know that we listen to what is coming out, what we "need" to get, and as a result, create commercials that push us just that little bit more so we actually buy their product.  Its a big game in my mind.  How best can companies spend their marketing money and get the biggest return, i.e. the most people to buy their product.  When it comes to children, they are often pawns used in marketing to play on parent's desires for either more time, a better educational experience for their children, or the next latest gadget to entertain.  I don't play their game.  My son has his pots and pans, his cardboard house to play in, his "real" books, his stackable cups, dump truck, and a few other toys that keep him perfectly entertained without any electronic interference.  It just goes to show you that children don't "need" electronic devices to be entertained, they just need attentive parents and simple toys.  The rest should come from their imagination.  Let children develop a sense of self instead of developing a sense for technology.  Technology will be there when they get older and I guarantee they will pick it up quick enough.  For me, no technology for our son, at least for a number of years.  When he gets older, that's a different story, but he isn't even two yet, so for now, we keep it simple.  What are your feelings on parenting, technology, and children?

Loving Old Houses

There is something about any old house that is enormously attractive to me.  I can't pin point one specific thing about an old house that draws me to it, rather, it is a slew of characteristics that suck me in, tickle my fancy, and make me want to either move in, or work in that house.  I'm currently working in an old house, one that was built either in the late 1800's or early 1900's, I don't know specifically.  While there are many more hazards that are encountered with an old house from lead paint to horsehair plaster to rusty nails and more, there is also a unique beauty to be found, one that can't be seen in any newer house.  Sure, newer houses can be built really well and look really nice, but many of them, even the multi-million dollar houses, don't have the history that comes with an older house.  This house I'm currently working on needs a lot of tender loving care.  There has been a lot of settling over the years leading the plaster to crack and flake, the floors to all sag towards the middle of the house, and for doors to not fit quite right in their frames.  Yet part of my love of old houses has to do with seeing the flaws and seeing what can be done to bring the house back to looking like new.  Some may claim that trying to make an old house like new diminishes the character, takes something away from the house, yet its not the look of the walls that add the character, its the feeling you get when walking through an old house.  The knowledge that someone a hundred years ago walked the same floors that I am walking now, ran down the stairs that are still standing (albeit a little crooked), and raised families in the living room that a family still gathers in today.  To consider the history of such a place, the dents in the floor possibly made from a toy being dropped 70 years ago, is to take a quick trip back in time to a different era.  The biggest thing that has changed over the years in houses is the quality with which they are built.  A hundred years ago, while there were flaws with the way things were done, houses were built to last.  The lumber used was from old growth forests; sturdier, harder, and more resistant to the stresses of the environment.  Today, we tend to use softer woods that flex more, expand and contract more, leading to quicker settling and issues arising sooner than in an older house.  And while plaster is rarely used these days in houses (a combination of difficulty, time consumption, and price), it is still a better product when done correctly over Sheetrock.  Don't get me wrong, Sheetrock is a fantastic product, but plaster beats it out any day in my mind. 

But back to my love of old houses.  The one I am working on has a feel about it that just draws you in, whether you want to call it good karma, mojo, or good history.  A year ago I painted the exterior of the house and while potentially hazardous, it was one of my favorite jobs that I have done.  As I peeled away the layers of paint coating the exterior of the house, it was almost as if I was trekking back in time through all the previous colors, back to the day the house was built and the shingles that were once new.  All things considered, the shingles buried under perhaps 25 layers of paint were in better condition than some of the shingles I could buy at the store today.  I'd like to think that I brought the house back fairly close to what it looked like when it was built.  I obviously couldn't make it perfect as there is no perfection to be had when renovating old houses, but it was pretty damn close.  To look at the house now is to see it as it was a hundred years ago.  All this talk makes me think about my house and the history that my house possesses.  The original part of my house was built in the 1850's and it was a barn that was moved to the current location and turned into a one room house.  From there, the homeowners over the years expanded backwards first, and then to the side.  If you go down into the basement under my living room, the original room, there are tree trunks supporting the floor.  Talk about character.  The sill plates on the sides (what the house essentially rests on directly above the foundation) are not 2x10's or 2x12's as you will find now, rather, they are 8x8 beams, solid as a rock and unlikely to shift or move any time soon.  When we started redoing our kitchen last year, we found newspapers used as insulation in the floor, fully intact, and capable of being read from the 1920's.  It was like stepping back in history.  Even the telephone numbers at the top of the newspapers were different.  Instead of the 7 digit numbers we have now (10 if you include the area code), they simply read Chicago 2008, that was the number.  We even found a periodical that was in full color, probably one of the first to be run in color at that time.  The list goes on as to the unique finds that were made just in my house. 

For me, I don't know if I could ever truly live in a house built after 1980.  Even though that would still make the house 30 years old, I crave the houses that have been around a century or more.  I can't describe it except to say that I feel something stir inside me when I see a well built old house, a feeling that I never get in a newer house, despite the charm that a homeowner might have put into it.  Even though my current house is small, about 1200 square feet, I don't know if I will ever be able to move away from it.  If we do eventually move, I have my conditions upon which we can move.  The first being that we can not sell our house.  There are two main reasons for that, the first being that I have put too much work into the house, making it my own, to want to get rid of it, and the second being that the previous owner started building a bomb shelter and at some point I would like to see it finished.  The second condition that would need to be met if we moved is that the house we move into would have to be an older house, at minimum 80 years old.  So I am fairly certain that we will not be moving any time soon, both because of my conditions and also due to financial reasons.  All of that simply means that I can continue to work on my house, slowly transforming it, bringing new vitality to it while maintaining the character that came with the house when we bought it.  Unfortunately, when walls do have to come down, they will be replaced with Sheetrock because plaster is not one of my forte's.  I have a love affair with old houses, their character, their spirit, their unique ability to surprise and welcome.  What about you?  Would you prefer living in an older house or a newer one?

Recommended Reading

One of the few things I requested for Christmas was a few books that I had seen in the New York Times Book Review.  I had seen a number that looked good, but instead chose to ask for only 2 or 3 that drew my attention and felt like I should read them.  In any case, one of the books that I requested and received for Christmas was "Beyond the Beautiful Forevers" by Katherine Boo.  Normally I prefer fiction over non-fiction for no other reason than I find fiction to be generally better written and more captivating.  I know there are well written non-fiction books out there, I just haven't read many of them.  Well, I took a turn away from my norm in reading the book by Mrs. Boo which happens to be billed as narrative non-fiction.  It was a well crafted book that took me on a journey just as my favorite fiction book would have.  I haven't read a good book like that, just for myself, in a long time.  While I used to be an avid reader when I was younger, I have lately found it harder to carve the time out my schedule to simply sit down with a book and read for enjoyment.  I have found little bits of time here and there though, mostly in the mornings either while in the bathroom on the weekdays or on the weekends lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee before my family wakes up.  In any case, a book that would have taken me about a week to read years ago took me a month to finish now.  In fact, I just finished it this morning.  It got to the point where I didn't care how delayed my morning would be, I just had to finish reading the book.  As such I am running late this morning, but so be it.  It was well worth the delay in order to finish reading this book.  But enough about my reading, my finishing reading, and the books that I got for Christmas.  I highly recommend this book to anyone, either readers of fiction or non-fiction, as I am sure it will pull you in as it did me.

This book is based on 3 years of research done by Mrs. Boo in a relatively small Mumbai slum in India.  While poverty can be found anywhere in the world, there seems to be a greater contrast between the poor and the rich in India, the conditions that they survive in, and the meager life they create for themselves.  Its a portrait of lives and the way they live that is largely foreign to us in the West.  There is very little that we can look to as a comparison for the squalor that is their lives.  This book, "Beyond the Beautiful Forevers", brings the reader up close and personal to life in the slums.  We get vivid images of the tiny "houses", some as small as 60 square feet, that accommodate sometimes a whole family.  While the conditions they live in are far from what most of us reading the book would consider adequate, their struggles are to survive, the improve their lot in life, and to move themselves up the ladder of life is something that we can all relate to.  In addition to getting a vivid picture of the conditions they live in, we also see an incredibly corrupt society that seems hell bent on keeping them where they are despite reassurances to the contrary.   For us living in "developed" societies to see such a view of life drives home just how far we all need to go in terms of equality and helping those in need.  While we may not have the enormous slums depicted in this book, we still play host to immense poverty and forlorn conditions that exist just beyond our doorstep.  There are very few cities, if any, that don't contain some level of poverty, that don't contain inhumane conditions, and can be considered capable of catering to every need of every person.  Enter the disparity between the rich and the poor.  It seems the rich keep getting richer and the poor stay the same.  So it goes in every society, but through the eyes of this book, it seems more distinct and relevant in societies that are seeking to "develop" themselves and create a more equal playing field for everyone. 

I found this book to be excellently written, more akin to fiction than the non-fiction it actually is.  The portrayal of the characters is real and believable and the book as a whole sucks you in, begging you not to put it down, but to finish it in its entirety.  There are not many books that I would go to such lengths to write about, but this is definitely one of them.  I am a little skeptical about my next read as it is almost three times as long and translated from Chinese into English.  We shall see how that one goes.  But for now, I simply recommend picking up a copy of Katherine Boo's "Beyond the Beautiful Forevers", making yourself a pot of coffee, and sitting down in a comfy chair to enjoy a good read, despite the depressing conditions it depicts and forces you to face. 

Dementia Diaries

Yesterday afternoon I went to go see my grandmother, Baba, at her long term care facility, or as she has taken to calling it, her home.  Its been about three weeks since I last got to go down and see her as I wanted to wait for all the germs that have been floating around my house to politely let themselves out the back door for the rest of the year (hopefully).  The last thing I needed to do was carry some germs with me down to Baba's home and get her sick.  So yesterday I resumed my weekly trip, a half hour drive to spend an hour with Baba, and a hope that she would remember who I was.  Well, she did.  I don't think she remembered my name until I told her, but she immediately knew that I was her grandson without telling her.  Of course, the first words out of her mouth were, "I don't recognize you," followed immediately by her telling everyone around her that I was her grandson, nice and loud to make sure that they understood.  When I arrived, I found her finishing dinner in the dining room and helping another lady eat her food.  Despite her failing mental capacity, she still has a deep seated desire to help others.  She looked a little ornery, complained that the food was late, but as soon as we made it back to her room, she perked up and her spirits lifted.  We proceeded to talk for an hour or so, mostly me telling her about my life, what I do for work, where I live, who my wife is, and all about my son (who she still remembered easily).  There is more and more that she can't remember, even simple things like the fact that I am married.  At one point, when talking about my son, she asked who the mother was.  I reminded her that I was married and that my wife gave birth to our son.  There were a lot of other things that she forgot.  Even simple things like what she watched on TV earlier in the day was lost to her.  There is less and less that she is capable of holding on to despite her best efforts to do so.  Over this past weekend she fell and bumped her head, nothing serious, but enough to warrant a trip to the hospital where my parents went and stayed with her for a few hours.  Three days later and she didn't remember that my mother went to see her at the hospital.  The one thing that is still there is her personality.  That at least, is the bright side of all of this, and the fact that she is still happy to have visitors come and see her, even if she doesn't always remember who they are. 

Dementia is a weird, depressing disease.  I get little snippets of what its like from Baba, and I can honestly say I hope this never happens to another one of my family members.  She has said, "Its like hell, sometimes I don't even know who I am or what I am doing.  Sometimes nothing comes, its there, but I just don't know."  To me it seems like this current stage she is going through, one in which memories become more and more distant entities that are incapable of being grasped, is incredibly frustrating to her.  Sometimes even specific words to describe things elude her and she substitutes either Russian or Spanish words in their place.  Its as if her brain is slowly drifting away, the connections beginning to disintegrate and disappear despite her best efforts to keep them intact.  She knows what is happening to her and she can't do anything about it.  To me, its akin to a person lying paralyzed on a hospital bed with everything they need just out of reach.  There are fuzzy pictures of family, friends, events, and milestones hanging all around the bed, a plethora of them in random discombobulated order.  Occasionally one will fall off its thin filament holding it in place and drift past the face staring at them in bed.  For that one instant clarity resumes, the picture comes into focus, and a memory is revived, for a little while at least, until the picture disappears and takes its place in the back of the bunch.  The pictures are in constant motion, moving forward and backward, sideways, downwards and upwards, confusing the order in which things happen so that nothing is ever the same.  Even the concrete pictures, those cemented in from early childhood by a concrete cast begin to crumble and fade away.  Any effort to bring the pictures closer usually fails and the lady in the bed, Baba, is left wondering about life, about her family, about everything.  Her life now consists of a daily routine, a present day slide show that she lives through, as soon as a slide pops on the screen and then disappears, its gone, only sometimes drifting up towards the ceiling and attaching itself to the plethora of memories already there.  How do we maintain these connections to what we know, to what we love, to who we are?  If I knew, I would categorically organize all the pictures and let them show on an never ending loop for Baba, yet I can't.

I mentioned at one point yesterday how I can't wait to teach my son how to climb trees, just like she did when I was three years old.  She surprised me when she asked if I remember the branch of the tree and how I used to sit there.  I of course remember quite vividly the tree, a Japanese red maple, a small tree back then which I am sure has grown into a much larger, much more formidable climbing tree.  I asked if she remembered the red leaves and the gray bark and she said yes.  A few months ago when I asked her if she remembered teaching me how to climb trees she had no clue that she ever did that.  Yet yesterday it seemed that picture that was floating near the back recesses of her mind came into focus for a little bit, enough for her to share her memory with me and how I used to love climbing that tree.  For her current mental capacity, diminished as it is, she still has at least a small grasp on reality and some memories.  It comes and goes, certain pictures coming into focus while others retreat into the fog, and more often than not, the ones that retreat into the fog don't return.  She couldn't remember that I had a brother, or much else, but she knew my son and she remembered the tree she taught me to climb.  For me, that is enough.  Even if she doesn't remember any of that, I hope at least her personality remains so that she is open to me telling her about her life and what I remember about it.  Nothing lasts forever and I know that eventually she probably won't even remember her name, if she still does, but for now, I will take what I can get. 

F is for Father, I mean Flexibility

If I have learned nothing else over the past three weeks, I have at least learned that the most important part of being a father is being flexible.  I am sure that flexibility will play an even bigger role as our son gets older.  Currently, flexibility is playing a role due to our son's incessant teething.  Having a nose that has been running like a faucet and a nagging cough that won't go away, we decided to bring him back in to see our pediatrician to make sure nothing serious was going on.  The good news; its just another cold, his lungs are clear, and it will eventually go away.  The bad news and the cause; after getting 8 of his sixteen baby teeth in his first year on this planet, our son decided that January of 2013, this month, would be when his last 8 teeth would start coming in, almost all at the same time.  They are in different stages of breaking through the gums, some are almost fully in, others are just breaking through, and a few more are just beneath the surface.  The main thing is, they are all there and they are all taking their toll on him.  I for one can't imagine what it must be like to have that many teeth breaking through at one time.  Yet, for all the pain he must be going through, he has yet to truly throw a screaming fit or act out in any way that signals he is in pain.  For the most part, he is suffering quietly, tears occasionally rolling down his little cheeks when it is really bad, but the majority of the time he just acts his normal self.  The only times he doesn't act normally is when the teething causes a spike in his temperature, which it did again yesterday for the third time in three weeks.  It almost seems routine at this point, a low grade fever, once a week, and a kink thrown in our schedule.  Yet, that kink is one that I would welcome any day as it means either my wife or I get to comfort our son as he deals with the fever and pain.  The only good side of these fevers is that they don't last long, perhaps half a day, and then our little man starts to get back to normal.   I think even he is getting used to them as yesterday he slept away pretty much the whole day. 

So I must make accede a certain point here; while F is for father and flexibility, it also fits with the mother, just perhaps not in the beginning letter kind of way.  Yesterday was perhaps our biggest test to see how flexible both my wife and I really are.  Both of us were obviously planning on going to work when we got up in the morning, however, once we got our son out of bed, saw he wasn't feeling well, and discovered he had a temp of 101, it became decision time.  Who had to go to work, how was our day going to go, what were our options?  Well, it all came down to us playing tag team yesterday.  My wife had to into work as she had to listen to end of semester presentations by her students, and while I didn't need to go to work, I wanted to get at least something done yesterday.  So first off, I stayed home for a couple of hours while my wife went to work.  She had a break late morning with 2 prep periods and as such was able to come home so I could go to work for a couple of hours.  I was home by lunch so she could get back to finish out the school day.  And finally, after she came home in the afternoon, I headed back out to get more work done till about dinner time.  It was a crazy day, but it worked out really well, and there was no added stress outside of worrying about our son.  While I am glad that I am flexible and able to roll with the punches so to speak, I am also immensely glad that my wife is also flexible.  The only factor that made our crazy day work yesterday was that I was working relatively close to home, about the same distance as my wife works from home.  All told, our commute yesterday was about 10 minutes one way.  If I had been working any farther from home, I would have just stayed home the whole day with our son. 

As I mentioned before, pretty much all our son did yesterday was sleep.  After he got up in the morning and started to fall back asleep while nursing, we didn't even bother feeding him breakfast.  Instead, we just put him back upstairs in his crib.  He fell right asleep and slept for a good two hours.  Once I got him up from that brief stint of sleep and got him some water, he fell right back asleep on my chest till my wife got home.  We swapped spots on the couch, our son now laying on her, and he fell back asleep till I got home at lunch time.  He had a few bites of food in between his sleeping, but it wasn't until after lunch time that he actually at something substantial.  And then, you guessed it, he fell back asleep on my chest.  Even in the afternoon when he was starting to feel better, he didn't really have the energy to do much.  At one point, I put him down on the floor, he walked to the center of our living room, and then walked back and climbed up into my arms where he just lay, resting.  The rest did him well, though, and he was looking and acting much better when I left for work the second time.  We have yet to see what this morning will bring in terms of demeanor and pain level.  Hopefully he is back to his normal teething self and not the feverish teething self.  Whatever the case may be, the only thing we as parents can really do is to comfort him and hold him while he gets through this.  The good side of all this teething, once these last 8 are in, the worst will be over with.  For his sake, and ours, I hope the fever side of the teething is done with.  I don't like seeing our son look lethargic and sickly when there is nothing I can do.  I would like to take the pain away from him, make it my own, but I can't.  I just give him extra kisses instead.  Oh well, our son is a trooper and I only hope the teething pain is now on its slow way out. 

Planned Obsolescence

I am sure that most of us have all heard of "planned obsolescence", the plan that company's and manufacturer's have in place whereby a given product will only last a given amount of time or will only be useful for a given amount of time before a new product needs to be bought.  Well, let me tell you, I am not a big fan of planned obsolescence.  A large part of me wants to go back 20 years to a time when things were made a little better, when you didn't have to worry about a relatively new product breaking down.  Why am I writing about this today?  Well, late last week our flat screen TV broke, or at least, something went seriously wrong.  As my wife and I were watching a show, the picture spontaneously disappeared, while the sound continued.  No matter what we tried, nothing worked.  We called the company, and wouldn't you know, the warranty had expired.  I think my wife was actually more upset than I was about the whole ordeal.  I was frustrated, don't get me wrong, especially since we had only bought the TV three years ago, but I didn't get that upset.  After all, its a TV, not a refrigerator, furnace, or water heater, any of which would require immediate replacement.  A TV is luxury, not a necessity.  But I digress.  This TV from Vizio, a company I will not buy again from, is not essentially obsolete.  When my wife called Vizio, they gave us the name of a local repair company that would be able to fix our TV.  We called them and upon hearing the price started laughing.  They wanted $357 dollars to fix the TV.  Three years ago we paid about $750 for the TV, brand new, and today we could buy spend $450 to buy a bigger and better TV.  Fixing it, unless the price is a hundred dollars or less, is a pointless proposition, especially when it is not guaranteed past 90 days.  Unfortunately, this is becoming the way of the world, products being made with less attention to quality and more attention speed and a quick turn around in consumer spending. 

This is why I wish I could go back 20 years.  When I was in my freshman year of college, I bought a used TV with a few friends for our dorm room.  It was relatively large for that time, but more importantly, it was already for years old when I bought it.  That would place it as having been made in 1996.  That TV from college lasted until we bought our new flat screen TV that lasted only 3 years.  Old, box TV; 14 years of life.  I guess it bothers me more that we spent the money we did for what was supposedly a good product and three years later are left with a piece of crap.  I know it is probably something simple and stupid that needs fixing, and as such we will attempt to figure out how to fix it ourselves.  If we can't fix it ourselves and can't find someone else to fix it for under $100 dollars, it will get recycled.  Yet, if we have to go down that route and rid ourselves of a 3 year old TV, I am going to make sure that no one can fix it and profit off of it by reselling it.  To ensure that it can't be fixed by someone else (if it comes down to it), I will take my drill and make it look like a sieve.  It is what is.  We luckily had a friend who was getting rid of an older TV, and ironically asked the day our TV broke if I wanted it.  I said I would have to check with my wife, but as soon as ours broke that evening, it was a no brainer.  Things always work out for the best somehow. 

Planned obsolescence goes beyond TVs though, it goes to almost every other product out there.  Unless you pay an arm and a leg for a product, chances are it won't last.  Even if you do pay an arm and a leg for something, there is no guarantee anymore.  We had a similar issue with our coffee/espresso maker a few years back.  It seems to me that as time moves forward, I want to go back more and more, if for nothing else than the quality of products that were made 20-30 years ago.  If you want to find the really good products, nothing beats those made in the 1950's or earlier when things were built to last, not to disintegrate and become useless in a short period of time.  Oh well, there is no time capsule yet to bring us back in time, if only to buy products from back then and bring them to the future.  (That would be pretty cool if we could do that though)  For now, we must simply deal with planned obsolescence and its effect on our wallets.  One good thing about it is that it forces the consumer to become more educated about what they are buying.  At least that is my hope.  At least for now, our 42" flat screen TV has kicked the bucket and we are now watching a little 23".  Its a drastic change, but one that I am not overly upset about.  Life goes on and I don't even consider this to be one of my problems or issues.  My only hope is that no one else has to deal with something like this in the near future. 

Nature Calling

Yesterday was one of those days that I could have spent entirely outdoors, hiking through the woods on a meandering forest trail, letting my mind wander surrounded by crisp clean air, silence, and the rhythmic crunch of boots on dried leaves.  I didn't spend the entire day outside, though, despite my deep yearning to do so.  As it was the weekend, I spent the majority of the day inside with my family; my wife, my son, and my parents who came to visit for a few hours in the afternoon.  Gone are the days where I can just pick up, get in my Jeep with the dogs, and head into the woods for a few hours.  I get those deep, resonating pangs of yearning for the outdoors, but these days they seem more muted than they did before I was a father.  Either they are more muted, or I am better able to gently move them aside because there is also a deep yearning to spend time with my wife and son.  Still, yesterday was about as close to perfect as you can get for a day in the middle of January.  What would normally be a bitterly cold, bleak day with a good wind blowing turned out instead to be a day that reached the upper 40's and almost felt like spring.  I say almost because there was still a quiet bite to the air, not quite cold, yet definitely not warm enough for a T-shirt and shorts.  As I think back to yesterday, I can't quite put my finger on what made it so appealing.  It could have been the clean air peppered with a slight breeze or the blazing sun making it feel slightly warmer than it actually was.  I even thought I smelled spring in the air, just a hint, but enough to make me pause before coming indoors, close my eyes and take a deep breath, and hold it for a few seconds letting the smell of freshenss linger.  There are no buds or leaves on the trees, no colorful flowers bursting forth from their winter slumber; in fact, there was very little to indicate that it would be a spring day except for the feel of it.  To many, nature looks bleak in the winter; dormant, depressed, sleeping, muted.  To me, winter holds a different kind of beauty; a stark, ethereal, dramatic beauty.  Every season puts its own unique spin on nature.  We can not look at any one season in relation to the others, rather, we must take each one for what it has to offer. 

I have always loved winter.  Ever since I was little, there was something about winter that touched me deeply.  I never thought about it much when I was younger, I just enjoyed it then.  Now, though, as time has passed and I can look at things with a little more perspective, I am better able to identify what draws me outside in the freezing cold.  Part of that draw is the cold.  I am a lover of cold weather, in fact, the colder it is, the more likely I am to head out into the woods.  Walking through a forest in 20 degree weather is amazing to me.  If you stop and listen in the middle of the woods, you can hear the trees talking, stiff branches rubbing against one another, the gentle creak of a 60 year old oak as it shifts slightly in the breeze, the occasional echoing call of hawk searching for its prey.  The breeze picks up and the trees start singing, whistling softly as the wind flows unimpeded through their canopy.  Moving on, I am left alone in the woods, the trees singing around me, my boots crunching through dead leaves and snow offering the only rhythm to their off tempo serenade.  Shadows with thin bony fingers reach for me, grasp at my own shadow only to slither through, waiting for their next phantom victim to come along.  Even the streams are silenced by a thin veil of ice like a faucet turned low to keep the pipes from freezing.  Some would say there is no color in the winter, nothing to indicate life or vitality.  I would beg to differ.  To me, the sun is more brilliant in the winter than any other season, its colors more vibrant through the crisp air, not tempered by humidity and haze.  The snow creats offers a blank canvas for the sun to paint its every changing masterpiece on, reflecting the hues so often lost in spring, summer, and fall.  In winter, we can truly see the colors through the trees, their vibrancy a stark contrast to the sterile whites and browns that abound.  Winter offers views like any other time, an ability to see farther than any other time, the view unimpeded by leaves and other interference, just the trunks of trees and their crowns like inverted root balls reaching for the sky.  There is rhythm and order if you choose to find it, chaotic maybe, but it is there.  Some may say I am crazy for loving winter and its landscape the way I do.  I say people are crazy for not loving it. 

Yet for now, memories of the forest landscapes, frozen waterfalls, and ornately painted snow will have to suffice.  While the grandeur of it still beckons me outside, there is much more beauty for me in spending time with my wife and son.  If there had been time, we probably would have gone into the woods as a family, however, this weekend we did not.  There will be plenty of time for hiking with my family, maybe next weekend will offer us a chance to head into the woods.  We have been taking our son hiking since he was a month old.  Back then he was a lump of breathing flesh, now he can start to see the world around him and take it all in.  All I want to do is present to him the forest and let him make of it what he will.  I will of course show him everything I can, explain what things are, but it will be up to him to formulate his own opinion on it.  I simply want to plant the seed of exploration and let it flourish within him.  When he is a little older and we go hiking, I will have no problem stopping for hours if necessary to play by a lake or stream, or even to go exploring the boulders of a hillside, their nooks and crannies hiding untold treasures of age old pirates and smugglers.  We shall see what happens in time.  All I know is that I am excited this year to see what my son does in the woods, to see what his interests are, to be there to encourage and to explain.  I am sure he will teach me many things that I have forgotten, will teach me how to see the small things that together make up the big picture.  I want to see the world as he does and I am sure he will bring me down to his level.  He will teach me, I hope, to take my eyes off the clouds for a minute and look at the life on the ground.  And then, once he teaches me that, I will teach him how to climb a tree, for nothing is better than getting up into the limbs of a behemoth and viewing the world from a squirrels perspective.  Well, there are better things than that, but I will definitely show him how to climb trees and I will be up there with him, looking down on the world together. 

Flying Time

Over the past week, I have finally begun to realize just how quickly time passes when you have a child.  You will hear every parents speak of it, how one day their child was in diapers and the next they were dropping them off at college.  While I obviously don't have that level of perspective as yet, I do have a little over 15 months of being a father under my belt and already I can't believe how quickly our son is growing up.  Just a year ago he was three months old, essentially a living lump of flesh the flailed around, and as the saying goes, ate, slept and pooped.  That was about it.  The transformation, in pretty much everything from his facial features, to his personality, to his knowledge of the world, has been incredible to watch.  Its funny now to look back at pictures of our son as a newborn and ask ourselves, "Is that really our son?"  His face has just grown and developed so much he almost doesn't look like the same baby.  Now of course he is running around, wanting to know what everything is, and slowly (actually sometimes quickly) absorbing the world around him, processing it, and learning from it.   His quirkiness is perhaps my favorite part of our son.  Its hard to pin down the exact action or facial feature that makes him unique and quirky because he has so many.  His latest little bit of quirkiness to show through is absolutely hilarious.  He now loves to go shirtless around the house with his winter hat on.  I don't know why, but he will randomly start lifting up his shirt, looking frustrated, till we take it off.  He then proceeds to find his winter hat, try to put it on himself and when that doesn't work, comes to either my wife or I to have it put on.  It is by far one of the cutest things he has done to date. 

Perhaps the most amazing part, especially now, is seeing how quickly he learns things.  Currently, I believe he is entering his climbing phase where he just wants to try and climb everything from our stove, to us, to kitchen cabinets...pretty much anything.  He is getting much stronger as well, now being able to hold his own suspended weight with his arms.  I have a feeling it won't be long till we find him in all sorts of odd places that he has managed to climb.  For now, we will not rush him into that.  My favorite part now is that he knows how to give us a kiss.  Granted, it is an open mouthed kiss as it seems many little kids first learn how to do it, but it is such a good feeling to ask him for a kiss and have him give us one.  There are times he doesn't want to and instead of giving us a kiss, he giggles and turns away.  That is what keeps me grounded when I feel like life is getting out of hand.  All I have to do is think of our son and nothing else seems to matter.  In any case, today I must cut my post short and get my morning in high gear.  Till Monday, enjoy the weekend and hug your loved ones. 

Going Hornless

Yesterday morning I woke up to a nice winter wonderland, a thin coating of snow laid gently like a blanket over a small child.  Then it turned to sleet, and then to rain.  It was still nice to look at, just not so nice to drive in with a work van.  Luckily I have my little four wheel drive Jeep Wrangler to get me around in inclement weather.  Especially in the snow, it out performs my van a thousand to one, plus, it is much better on conserving gas.  If it weren't for the fact that the majority of the time I need ladders and a plethora of supplies, I would take my Jeep everywhere.  So as I was driving around yesterday, getting cut off by idiotic drivers who felt the need to drive as if it was sunny and 75 degrees out, I came upon a small blessing that up until that point, I had never considered.  But before I continue, let me back track a few weeks to the last snow storm we had.  During that last snow storm, my wife and I went down to see my parents and on the way back had to deal with, you guessed it, idiotic drivers in the snow.  At one point while driving, there was a car of teenage drivers on my right who decided that the perfect time to change lanes would be right as I pulled up next to them.  No turn signal, no indication of changing lanes, they just slowly started drifting over.  I went to honk my horn and very faint sound, one you might expect from a dying duck hooked up to an oxygen tank would make, issued forth.  I went to honk the horn again hoping it was an anomaly and the same thing happened.  At the time I was a little frustrated and pissed off as I like to utilize my car horn to notify people when they are being stupid and could potentially involve me in an accident.  I let it go, not thinking too much of it and, quite frankly, forgetting about the dead horn that resided in my Jeep, waiting for me to fix it.  Well, after yesterday, part of me wants me to leave it broken, dead, a relic of the Jeep that used to be (for the record, my Jeep is now 18 years old and still running fairly well, despite the lack of a horn.)

So lets jump forward again to yesterday as I was driving around, being pestered by idiotic drivers.  (I'm sorry, I just can't stop calling them idiotic, its just what they are).  I was stopped at a red light with one car in front of me.  I could see, even from behind, that he was involved with some activity on his cell phone (now illegal to do in CT).  Well, the light turned green, the rest of the cars waiting around us started to move while the gentleman in front of me remained ensconced in his cell phone, oblivious to the changing color of the light.  As I was about to depress the horn placed conveniently in the center of the steering wheel, I remembered that it didn't work.  A quick burst of frustration quickly dissipated leaving me thinking instead.  Why was I in such a rush to get this guy moving?  It was nasty out, the roads a little slick, and rushing anywhere could be a bad thing.  Instead of getting all ticked off that the guy wasn't moving, I just waited patiently till he did (which luckily didn't take too long).  That little sliver of patience that slipped in got me thinking even more about the ultimate use of a horn.  First and foremost, a car horn is used to notify people that they are doing something stupid and could potentially cause an accident.   Alternately, and it seems more prevalent these days that someone would choose this latter option, a horn is used in anger either to get someone to move out of the way that is going slow in front of you, or to try and exact some sort of feeble vengeance for a perceived wrong enacted upon a driver.  I have used the latter option myself more than I have used the preceding one.  That first blast of the horn in anger does nothing to relieve me of any anger directed towards the other driver.  In fact, I think it sometimes ramps up the anger to the next level, not satisfying in its own right we seek to find an alternate means of venting our frustration and anger.  Enter road rage.  If we ever move past the mere honk of the horn and perhaps the often times accompanying hand gesture, we can start to act stupid ourselves, getting extremely close to the car and driver we are angry at, perhaps swerving, and for some, the stalking for miles on end till the other driver gets frantic and exits the roadway.  I myself rarely get involved in road rage, just the angry honk of the horn. 

I think that part of why the horn drives some to road rage (yes I know this is perhaps a tenuous connection at best) is the obnoxious sound of the horn going off, grating on your nerves, a cacophonous disruption to what might otherwise be a peaceful drive.  I understand the need for the horn to be obnoxious.  For those that utilize it to alert someone to their own stupidity or prevent an accident, the sound does wonders.  Despite that, it is still incredibly annoying to hear.  Whenever I hear a car horn while driving, it always makes me look around to see if I am the recipient of the noise.  Perhaps if they replaced the obnoxious horn sound with something more melodious, people would not use it in anger as much or if they did, it might even have a calming effect, make them laugh, and snap them out of their anger and frustration.  I know we will never go that route, but it is interesting to think of a world where car horns sounded like a flock of finches.  This is for sure, it would definitely make for a more interesting commute in the morning.  So what am I actually getting at with this whole theorizing on car horns, their meaning, and their sound?  Essentially, I don't think I am going to fix the horn on my Jeep.  Instead, it will force me to be more patient on the roads, consider those around me and what they are doing more, and just let the little annoyances that pepper any commute on the roadways to dissipate without bothering me.  I am sure I will still get those small pangs of anger and frustration, but when I go to honk the horn and realize it doesn't work, I will just sit back, take a deep breath, and remember to enjoy the ride and not let someone else ruin a perfectly good day.  If you want to try this yourself, its as easy as pulling a fuse in your car.  The unfortunate part is that sometimes the horn is tied into other electrical devices and pulling a fuse that controls the horn could disable some other necessary function.  In any case, I suggest giving it a whirl. 

Two Options in Life

The first few weeks of this new year have not been the best by most standards.  Sickness has made its way through my family, clients who wanted work done ended up spending too much on Christmas to have me work now, I've accidentally deleted important information from a flash drive, my van has needed more work done.   The list goes on.  Yet, unlike past years when a series of events such as this would have had a much more detrimental effect on my overall disposition, I haven't let the events get to me.  Perhaps its a sign that I am maturing or altering my views of how events affect me, perhaps its just that I am more positive than I was in the past.  Previously, I most likely would have gone into multiple fits, complained to any who would listen about my various predicaments, and been an overall bear to live with; ornery and miserable.  I think a part of what has changed is that I now realize how in almost all cases, things could be worse.  The sickness that came and went in our house could have been more than just the common cold, we could have all gotten the flue and been bed ridden for a week.  In the case of work being put off till later, people could have chosen not to do the work at all, and luckily, I still have work, just not as much of it right now.  I could have crashed my whole computer instead of just accidentally deleting valuable information off of my flash drive.  And to top it all off, and this I know could have been worse, my van could have had a serious break down as I brought it in just before the tensioner pulley on the engine completely gave way.  I actually consider myself lucky to not have had things worse so far.  I choose to look past the little hiccups in life and try to remain focused on what needs to get done.  Frankly, there are much more important things that need my attention than the little disruptions that could potentially send me into a depressing spiral downwards.  I have my son who needs me to be attentive to him, show him that things are OK, and remain happy and positive around him.  I still have chores that need to get done.  I can't simply wallow in my misery and feel sorry for myself that things are happening for the worse.  Its just not conducive to getting things done.

I must say though, that despite my remaining mostly positive and not letting things affect me the way they would have in the past, I do get bothered when I hear others complaining about insignificant events in their lives.  There are times when I would like nothing more than to put them in their place, explain my life to them for a few minutes, and see if they still complain about their lives afterwards.  I never do this, however, because it doesn't accomplish anything.  Nothing will be gained on my end by trying to outdo their woeful complaints with my own, except perhaps a little self gratification.  But I don't look for self gratification.  If anything, self gratification is only temporarily fulfilling and in the end leaves one with a sense of emptiness.  On top of that, who am I to say that someone else's complaints aren't justified.  Just because I don't necessarily agree with their complaining about various events in their lives doesn't mean that they shouldn't complain or don't have a right to complain.  What I try to do instead is empathize with them, view the situation from their point of view and maybe, just maybe, they have it worse than I do.  I'm not one to judge on any scale who has it worse than anyone else, myself included.  We all have issues we deal with, some bigger than others, and we never know how truly bad someone has it unless we try and view their situation from their eyes.  Still, despite the fact that we never know how bad others have it, I still don't much appreciate hearing others complaining about their issues.  I am of the mindset that the more we complain about something, the less we are actually able to move past it.  Every issue that arises offers us the possibility of learning from it and consequently moving past it. 

So what are our two options in life?  Well, the first option is to let issues affect us in such a way that we get paralyzed, stuck, and depressed; leaving us feeling incapable of moving forward in any meaningful way.  The second option is to look at the issues in our life and figure out the best way of learning from them and moving past them, deciding ultimately that they will not have a lasting effect on our lives.  In essence, we can be negative about the things that affect us or positive.  I choose to be positive most of the time.  That's not to say that I don't get the occasional pang of doubt or depression, I just choose to ignore those little pangs and move past them to whatever I need to do next.  In my mind, life is to short to dwell on the little issues that occasionally get in the way and could potentially disrupt our lives.  If we dwell on all the insignificant issues that come along, we will forget to look at the larger picture, the beauty that is occurring all around us despite what is occurring in our lives.  Often times that beauty around us could provide enough impetus to propel us forward and towards more meaningful and positive interactions with others.   In some ways I feel sorry for those that complain incessantly about the predicaments in their lives that make it seem like life is a grim fairy tale in which they are the main depressed character.  Life throws us curve balls all the time.  It is up to us how we deal with those curve balls.  We can either stand in the same place and get hit head on every single time or we could learn to step to the side and perhaps only take a glancing blow.  How do you deal with those issues that pop up in your life?  Do you let it affect you in a negative way or are you capable of looking past the issue, learning from it, and making your life better because of it?

Understanding Pediatricians

Over the last couple of weeks I have come to a greater understanding of why pediatricians act the way they do, doling out medications, quickly recommending treatments, and running as many tests as possible to find out exactly what is wrong with a child.  Let me set the record straight before I go any further, our son has not had any tests done, medication prescribed, or treatments recommended.  Rather, he was checked out after his first fever spike and we were told two things; a) he is teething and b) he has a cold.  The only recommendation our pediatrician had was to buy some elderberry extract (which helps boost the immune system) and add it to his daily diet.  That was it.  Part of me wanted to know what else we could do as parents.  I think that every parent has those lingering questions, "Did I do enough", "What else could I do", "Why isn't he acting normally"?  As a parent watching your child go through a simple cold with a fever that doesn't even get above 102, it is still tough to see the different lethargic behavior.  Over the past two weeks, essentially 2 Fridays in a row, our son has spiked a fever to just under 102 degrees, the magic number over which indicates a virus of some sort taking hold in the body.  Naturally, watching our son become lethargic and wanting nothing more than to lay on our chests and sleep was disconcerting to put it mildly.  There is a guttural instinct to "do something" to make everything better.  Yet, with teething and a cold, there is not much you can do.  The best remedy is in fact to let the little body of a child fight it off, build up their immunity naturally, and come out better for the experience.  That last part is the hardest to see while a child is going through it, "better for the experience".  Yet, without medication, without any outside form of intervention (besides adding some elderberry extract, which I might add tastes pretty good), the body actually heals quicker.  Our son's cold was gone within a couple days, and as for his parents, my wife and I, our colds lasted quite a bit longer.  He still is dealing with three more teeth coming in, two molars and something else.  I know I wouldn't want to be going through that and I am pretty sure that the reason we don't remember the first few years of our life (despite the logical explanation that its due to a lack of speech and connection with words and images) is because of that pain we go through.  Yet, despite what our son has gone through over the past couple weeks, he is essentially back to his normal, super active self. 

So the "ah-ha" moment in regards to pediatricians didn't come till our son spiked his second fever in two weeks, low grade and short lived, but still, a fever spike.  I had to pick him up from day care early due to him spiking the fever during the day and becoming really lethargic around the other children.  The ladies watching him were pretty concerned even though I assured them that it was just teething, which it turned out to be.  When my wife got home from work and saw our son sleeping askew on my body, she wondered if we should call our pediatrician.  We both thought really hard about making the call, I think knowing instinctively what she would say, yet in the end decided that since it was Friday, it would be our only real chance to get a hold of her without calling her emergency contact number.  Sure enough, when she called back she told us exactly what we thought she would, he is fine, the fever isn't high enough to be worried about, and essentially just give him lots of extra hugs and kisses.  That is where I think most parents, including us at the time, want pediatricians to just jump on the wagon and start prescribing medication, recommending possible tests that could be done and what not.  There is a deep seated need within any parent I believe to want a child to get better immediately, to not have to suffer through pain or a fever, and to make a quick return to normal.  Therein lies the issue though.  In order for the quickest return to normal, sometimes doing nothing is best.  Fevers are present for a reason, to fight off something that the body perceives as a threat.  In the case of our son, the pain or presence of teeth breaking through the skin was enough to spike his fever just in case something was wrong.  Nothing was, it was just a sign of his body functioning perfectly normal.  A lot of pediatricians I believe would have recommended Tylenol for the pain, a decongestant for his nose that is running like a faucet, and something for the cough that is a result of snot dripping down the back of his throat.  I get why pediatricians prescribe as much medications as they do and run to tests as a first method of finding out what is wrong, its to placate the parents (in addition to receiving "stimulus" money from the drug manufacturers).  If a pediatrician can placate the parents and create a sense that the medications they prescribe are actually working, then they are creating a steady stream of revenue for themselves in the future.  In addition, they are wholly satisfying their clients by going to any means necessary to "cure" or "heal" their child. 

Desiring a more natural method of raising our son before he was even born, we knew our experience would be different than most.  It wasn't until these past few weeks that I realized just how different it would be.  There was a big part of me that wanted our pediatrician to go the extra mile and give us all the options of what we could do.  Yet, there wasn't much we could do.  Its a tough place to be in, yet as our son gets back to normal, I would have it no other way.  There is nothing I would do differently over the past few weeks.  We gave our son extra hugs and kisses (and of course elderberry extract) and he is back to normal despite his runny nose and cough from the teething.  To see the body work its magic, fighting off colds and symptoms of possible viruses is not easy, yet in the end to see our son be perfectly fine is an amazing feeling.  What makes it even better is knowing that he got through it all with no medication and no chemical or alien substances injected or forced down his through to make him "feel" better.  Every one of us has dealt with some sort of sickness and come through the other side no worse than before.  There are obviously times when a serious illness requires some sort of intervention, but for the most part, everything our body encounters can be dealt with by the body.  Our bodies are amazing pieces of machinery if you will.  They know how to act when dealing with pain or illness and our best bet is let our body heal itself.  I know that next time our son deals with something, we won't be as quick to rush and call the doctor.  I am sure we will call at some point, if for nothing else than to be reassured that we are doing everything we need to be doing, however I don't think we will freak out as much.  To sum it up, I am glad we found the pediatrician we did, a doctor who is non-intrusive, chooses natural over chemical, and is there to say, "just give him extra hugs and kisses because that is all he needs right now; that and rest of course."

Zero Dark Thirty, A Travesty

So today I have an issue that I need to talk about.  To be quite honest, it has been bothering me ever since I first saw the commercial on TV for it, and if you couldn't guess by the title of my post today, it has to do with the movie "Zero Dark Thirty".  For those of you who don't know what this movie is about, it essentially follows the hunt for and killing of Osama bin Laden.  I am going to try not to touch on my disdain for the killing of this man, however he may be viewed by those around the world.  Most will call him a terrorist, I will simply call him a man, for that is what he was.  There have been much worse people who have walked the face of the earth than him, yet it seems that he has galvanized a large portion of at least the U.S. population into placing him in the same realm as the devil.  Be that as it may, I have a bigger issue with this movie and the way it is being portrayed in the previews and commercials for it.  The one line that irks me beyond belief is the one that says it is "a film that defines a decade".  Excuse me?  A film to define a decade.  By saying that, the producers and marketers are essentially saying that nothing more important happened over the past ten years than the hunt for and the killing of this one man.  I personally haven't defined my life by following every tidbit of information that comes out in reference to our hunt for this man, especially when it came to killing him.  I think that anyone who has defined their life in such a way is a sad excuse for a human being.  Yet, if you look at the reaction of many people after finding out that bin Laden was killed, you might actually think that this movie, a portrayal of real and tangible actions by our disturbed government,  actually does define the past decade.   I personally found the jubilant celebrations, gathering in the streets, and over zealous excitement upon finding out about his murder, to be quite disturbing.  We wonder what is wrong with this country, why we resort to guns and violence to solve our issues, yet do we have to look any farther than this movie for part of the answer?  I don't think so.   What I am about to say next will most likely anger many a veteran and active service person, but those marines that killed Osama bin Laden and most of who afterwards died in a helicopter, got what they deserved.  

 

I am angry about this movie, not just because it portrays the a military mission designed for one purpose, to kill one man, but because it also shows how creatively dead Hollywood has become.  Every year there are fewer and fewer creatively done movies put out by Hollywood.  The only ones that are notable in my mind are the ones done by independent film makers at this point.  Hollywood has become a bastion of copy, replicate, and renew.  We need look no farther than the multitude of musicals that have been turned into movies as evidence.  Yet this movie, Zero Dark Thirty, which I will never see, perhaps does define what our culture is all about; vengeance, death, and violence.  And we wonder why children choose violence to resolve issues over meaningful conversation.  If we keep on teaching them that the only way to make things right is to follow the Draconian code of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, than we will continue to sink farther back towards the dark ages.  As much as I would love for this movie to tank, to lose money and dwindle into the dark recesses of our minds, I know it won't.  There are too many people out there who were elated at the news of Osama bin Laden's death to have this movie tank.  The theaters will be packed with people, watching a manhunt for one person, a manhunt that took ten years and billions of dollars of our taxpayer money, just to satiate an inner desire to see someone die.  Its appalling to me, really.  Instead of continuing on this track today, one of anger and despair at the path our country is taking, I will end my blog post sooner than usual.  All I ask today is, why did we as a nation decide to make it our decade long mission to hunt and kill one man?  Wouldn't it have been more beneficial to take all that money and invest it in our country, invest it in our schools, invest it in any activity more meaningful than killing?  Finally, are you planning on seeing this movie?  And if you do, why are going to see it?  Is it because it actually looks like a well made movie or because you want to watch someone get murdered? 

Sunset Readiness

It is probably close to a month ago now that I was working near the shore in Milford and upon nearing sunset, I decided to head down to the beach to see what the sky would hold for me.  Arriving in the parking lot of Gulf Beach, I parked facing a little bay, a line of houses faded into the distance across the water, many still covered in plywood from the Hurricane Sandy that blew through a month before that.  Above and beyond the houses, the waning sun was creeping slowly towards its evening slumber.  Judging from the clouds infiltrating the sky, pockets of deep blue visible through their failure to completely cast a hue of gray over dusk, I thought that when the sun hit the right spot they would come alive with variant grades of orange, deep pink, and purple.  I waited and waited, but the colors I anticipated bursting into the sky briefly before the world plunged into its night time darkness never came.  The sun shone brilliantly through a little sliver in the clouds, the oranges and reds stunningly beautiful, but as for the clouds being painted, I never got my chance.  I wasn't disappointed, OK, maybe a little because I have come to a point where I can decipher with about 50% accuracy when a sunset will be brilliant or not, but for me it wasn't the end of the world.  I was prepared for an awe inspiring moment, but the sun was not ready to deliver one to me.  Fast forward about three weeks. 

I was driving home from work, the sun more slowly than three weeks previously edging towards the horizon.  As I was driving through the hills and valleys of lower interior Connecticut, I couldn't pinpoint where the sun was or actually see it anymore.  All I could see was the sky slowly deepening, embracing the coming night in all its darkness, and what seemed like a patchwork quilt of gray hovering almost motionless in the sky.  I didn't think much of the sky, or the clouds for that matter, but as I got closer and closer to home, the edges of the clouds began to take on a slight pinkish orange hue, lines of color defining an otherwise bland and uneventful bank of clouds.  I drove a little faster, the gas pedal reaching for the floor.  I wanted to see the sky in all its glory even though I knew deep down that I would only get a moment to appreciate it in all its splendor.  Driving up the road to my house, it happened, that moment when dusk briefly turns back to day, the clouds in one last hurrah absorbing and reflecting the sun's last moments before plunging the world into temporary paralysis.  The clouds, not filling the whole sky but rather seeming to gather and mill around my neighborhood, took on such brilliant colors I was left momentarily breathless.  The edges were adorned with regal yellowish orange which upon reaching towards the tail end of the clouds morphed into a pink so deep and brilliant that all the houses beneath looked like that had been sprayed in that same color.  I stared upwards in between furtive glances at the road and the cars in front of me, hoping that no idiot driver would slam on his/her brakes.  I absorbed it all, the subtly changing colors, the clouds inching along like a snail trailing its way through thick sand, and pasted it in my memory for future glimpses and reflections. 

These two experiences, juxtaposed as they were in my mind, taught me that I need to be ready for the sunset on its terms, not mine.  As much as we can plan to capture a brilliant sunset either on film or in our minds, we truly never know what nature has on its dinner plate for us.  I remember when I was in photography school and spent many hours on the shore hoping to capture that perfect sunset or sunrise.  Half the time I would stand there for hours in the cold, waiting and waiting, never hitting the shutter release because nothing really happened.  The sun would rise beyond the clouds and the world would turn from dark gray to light gray.  Occasionally I would snap a picture even though I knew it would not meet my standards.  Yet other times I would be snapping photos endless for hours, every inch the sun rose or set bringing new and fantastic colors to the sky.  There was one time when the whole sky seemed to be caught in a golden fire, looking as if God had taken a gallon of gold and slowly let it spill over everything.  We just never know what we will see or when we will see it.  We could prepare endlessly and end up with nothing or we could be totally unprepared and end up with brilliance.  Have you ever been caught unaware by nature's brilliance?  Have you ever been ready for it and not have it arrive?  Maybe we all would do well to be in perpetual state of readiness, never knowing what might happen or what will make its known to us. 

Two Days of Fog

As I sit here staring at my computer screen this morning, willing the fog that is fumigating my brain to dissipate with much expediency, I realize I've got nothing.  No active thoughts are presenting themselves and any tendril of thought that I see slips silently through my grasp, getting lost in the fog of sickness, never to be seen again.  On that note, I go now to stumble around the house in my pajamas, wondering where I am going and what I am doing.  That's right, sickness is upon me and I must still rest. 

Full Circle Sickness

We can debate forever who brought the common cold into our house last week, but one thing is for sure, it has moved beyond my wife and son and recently made its home within me.  I thought this time I might be able to escape its grasp as I stayed fairly healthy during the early days of its presence within my wife and son, but lo and behold, I was wrong.  My son, who while still sick is doing much better now, was the first to fall victim to the cold.  Next came my wife a day or so later, and of course, despite my best efforts, it hit my like a freight train barrelling down a mountain without brakes yesterday.  It has to be one of the worst feelings (granted there are many worse feelings out there, but for the sake of argument and the fact that I am under the weather right now, I will stick to my claim) when your body starts to show signs of getting sick.  For me, it started with a knot in one of my shoulder muscles yesterday morning.  I knew impulsively that something was amiss, but wasn't entirely sure at the time what it was.  Throughout the morning, that knot slowly moved into the left side of my neck, burrowing itself in, creating a tension that wouldn't dissipate, and after that it was a steady downward trek for me into the aches and pains of a common cold.  The first sign I had that I was sick, although I still sincerely hoped it was only paint fumes that were doing it, was a deep rumbling cough emanating from my chest that felt like phlegm needed some releasing.  That feeling remained for some time, in fact there is still a lingering trace of that chest congestion, however, later in the afternoon, around 4, my body said "Dude, its time to get some rest, your sick."  How did I know this?  Because all energy and life seemed to leave me.  When I walked in the door from work, a quick stop before going to pick up our son from daycare, my wife (who was home sick both Monday and yesterday) asked, "What's wrong with you?"  Normally I would have taken offense to that question, but I simply responded, "I'm not feeling so well."  And thus began my cold.  Yesterday evening was a very early one, chicken/beef soup for dinner at about 6:45 followed soon after by my falling asleep on the couch and finally making it up to bed around 7:30. 

Some people would recommend taking medication for the cold.  I, however, have not taken any form of medication over the past three years and don't plan on starting now.  The only thing medication will do is alleviate the symptoms, not actually cure me, and make me feel like I am back to normal when I know that I am really not.  I could take medication, don't get me wrong, its not like I have an allergic reaction to it, I would just rather be in tune with what is going on in my body so I know when I can get back to normal activity than be drugged up, feel like normal, and inevitably prolong the cold due to my rushing back to work.  In all honesty, the cold that I have isn't that bad yet and I know if I take a day off from work today, rest and take it easy, I should be able to get back to work tomorrow.  While my cold won't be completely gone, the worst will have passed.  Even if I am not back to normal tomorrow, which I hope I am, at least I will be in tune with what the sickness is doing to me rather than be drugged up and have no clue.  The symptoms of a cold are there for a reason.  A runny nose drains toxins that have lodged in your sinuses.  A cough is there to eradicate post nasal drip and anything accumulating in the lungs.  And the aches and pains come from your body working overtime to rid itself of the cold.  Rather than take medication, I will inundate myself with fluids, water mostly, but certainly lots of herbal tea, and definitely some elderberry extract which helps boost your immune system.  That and my normal intake of vitamins will do more to get my body back to normal than any medication will.  Some will still argue with me about why it is necessary to feel like crap, but I am a staunch hold out now to a more natural recovery from sickness.  The only other remedy I will seek out is an adjustment from my chiropractor.  I felt my spine and neck go out of alignment yesterday (one of the benefits of being medication free is knowing when some part of your body goes off kilter) and I know that getting everything back into alignment will aid my body in fighting the cold.  How?  Simply put, when my spine and neck are back in alignment, my brain will be able to send the proper signals to help parts of my body fight off the cold.  Nothing fancy, just allowing my body to heal itself naturally. 

Having less energy than usual, I am ending my blog today a little shorter than usual.  I need to get my wife and son out the door and then I will be going back to sleep on a couch for a few hours.  Oh well, hopefully tomorrow will be better for me and I can get back to work.  For now, I am going to embrace my cold and let it run its course.  It sucks, especially since its been over a year since I have had a cold, but such is life. 

I'm Not Normal

The word "normal" is used to describe many different aspects of people, society, and anything else that could possibly fall under the auspices of "normal".  I have been told many times, my wife amongst those who have said as such, that I am not normal.  You know what, I'm glad that people don't consider me normal and I embrace my non-normalcy.   In fact, whenever my wife tells my that I am not "normal", or as she more often refers to me as weird or strange, I ask why it took so long for her to figure it out.  (Just for the record, I love my wife and love the fact that she can tell me that I am weird, strange, and not normal to my face.  I don't think that there has been a single point in my life where I have actually been normal.  Granted, there were times during my teenage years where I strove for a sense of normalcy in my life; to fit in if you will amongst the crowds, however those times were fraught with a sense of disillusionment and of deception mostly to myself.  Instead of seeking out those who would accept me in all my eccentricities, I instead during that time chose to portray myself as one of the masses, as someone who was just like everyone else.  What I failed to see at that time, but now see much more clearly is that those whose admiration or acceptance I sought were those that embraced themselves and their uniqueness.  I guess that's part of going through your teenage years though, you either recognize who you are and embrace it, or you strive for the status quo, to blend in, to disappear, to be one like everyone else.  Luckily for me, or at least I consider it lucky, those years of striving towards normalcy didn't last too long.  The people I associate with now on a regular basis or people who are not normal.  I don't think I have one close friend that I would consider "normal".  Now, while I painted a picture of normal in reference to what I strove for in high school, that does not fully encompass what "normal" is.  In this day and age, it seems that there is an excessive use of the word normal when it comes to almost every facet of every day life.  People are expected to act normally, to be normal when associating with others, to not exceed the boundaries of what we are capable of dealing with. 

I would even go so far as to say that no one is actually "normal".  The more we strive to create a society in which everyone is "normal", the more we will create a society that seeks to eradicate individuality, innovation, and self expression.  Think about it, what is your reaction to someone who is walking down the street dressed flamboyantly or seeming to dance down the street?  Many of us would shy away, cast glances that would indicate our skepticism about that person, or even move to the far side of the sidewalk.  While the way we dress and act in public is merely one mode of self expression, to me it paints a very clear picture of how people act when faced with the unknown, the eccentric, the strange.  Those people may embody those descriptors, but to me, those people while perhaps eccentric, are also entirely unique individuals who choose to embrace who they are instead of covering themselves with a veil of "normalcy".  We can throw around the word "normal" and seek to make our society full of more "normal" individuals, but we can not deny the fact that almost everyone who walks down the street is a unique individual, who while not expressing their individuality in the way they dress per se, still has a unique personality that is different from everyone else.  The degree to which we express our individuality varies from person to person, but no one is normal.  So why then, do people shy away from the abnormal when they are not normal themselves.  To me, it is easier to shy away from the abnormal than to seek to understand it, to accept if you will the fact that abnormal most times merely means unique.  We as humans want people to fit into our little ideal of what is acceptable and understandable.  We approach others through our own lens, our own individuality, and if other's don't fit within our lens, we move on or dismiss them.  What we must come to realize is that everyone has their own lens through which they view the world.  People may try and twist their lens to more closely mimic the lens of others, but the two lenses will never completely overlap.  There will always be discrepancies in the way we view others, however, there is another option.  We can put down our lens and simply look out on the world with acceptance.  Yet this means putting ourselves aside and allowing others to view us in a similar light, naked and unobstructed by disguises.

Its not always easy to let go of who we are to view others innocently and without judgement.  We often times hold our lens so close that it becomes part of who we are, and when it does we sometimes fail to see those and the world around us for what they and it truly.  The more we keep our lenses up and attached to us, the more we forget that the world around us is filled with abnormalities, eccentricities, and uniqueness.  I strive to never put my lens up, to never view others through my own vision of what I think the world should look like and actually view the world and those in it as they are.  What does that concretely mean?  It means putting all judgement on hold or even to go so far as to abolish our judgement of others.  Everyone is different, yet the moment we judge them as weird or abnormal without truly "knowing" them, that is the moment we create a distance between us and put up a wall that prevents us from ever knowing who they truly are.  If we enter into anything with a preliminary judgement, we essentially enter closed off and unable to truly understand either the situation or the person.  If we are to judge, which I believe we should try never to do, we should reserve judgement for after any interaction.  At least by holding off judgement we can at least remain partially open to others and their abnormalities.  If we abolish judgement altogether we can then truly understand or at least seek to understand others through our openness and curiosity.  Curiosity is a much better companion to life than judgement.  For myself, I try to never judge as I hate to be judged by others.  I have dealt with other's judgement of me too often to want to pass it along to others.  More often than not I am curious about what makes people do what they do, act the way they act, and essentially be the person they are.  How can I judge others when I don't fully understand myself?  I know I am not normal.  I have my eccentricities which present themselves randomly.  I have my unique vision of the world that is continually developing and changing.  Yet I doubt if I will ever completely understand myself.  As long as I seek to learn who I am and who other's are in the most honest fashion possible, without judgement, then at least I can create a life for myself that is whole, unique, and void of any skepticism or uncertainty.  Perhaps I will continue this line of thought later, perhaps I won't, but let is suffice to say today that I'm not normal and I hope that you don't consider yourself normal either.  Normal is perhaps the worst thing we can be and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone, especially those reading this today.