The Ying and Yang of Computer Technology

Computers: very much a mixed blessing. I mean, I love the idea, because it allows me to research and reach out into the world to learn new things and talk to all kinds of people. The computer allowed me to find out what was wrong with me in a society where doctors are either unavailable or content to tell patients it’s all in their head. Gluten. Simple. Don’t eat it. Thank you computer!

My old computer wouldn’t do all these things for me. I mean, I guess computer years are a lot like dog years. It was over ten years old. Not just old, but decrepit. It wouldn’t do Facebook or Twitter, wouldn’t even stay online for very long. I’d be going along, looking for things, and the computer would just.... I dunno... burp? And I’d suddenly be offline. Like an old man... when the burps and farts start, and the waistline starts to creep toward the armpits, it can no longer do the things it used to.

So I went out and got one of these newfangled laptops. Heh. Ok, I learned to type on an old Olivetti-Underwood manual typewriter. The school didn’t ever have to worry about the business equipment disappearing because even the captain of the football team couldn’t run off with one of those things. The keyboard has evolved over the years till it’s marginally different from the one I learned to type about 75 wpm on. Not only is it terribly flat, there are all kinds of keys I just don’t understand. I’m typing away, as I am now, and suddenly I’ll apparently tag a key I didn’t mean to. A little box will appear asking me if I really want to leave the page. I don’t, and this should be my chance to reverse the boo-boo, right? But no. It doesn’t wait for me to cancel. It’s gone. I’ve had the whole browser close on me. I have no idea what button I hit to do this. There’s all kinds of extraneous little buttons and symbols on this thing. And they do strange things. It took me months to discover how to turn off the É thing and get the ? back. I used to have to turn the whole thing off and start fresh. Came across it by accident. In fact “accident” seems to define my relationship with this newfangled thang.

I have to use a mouse, even though this came with one of the those built-in little finger pad thingies. I can’t use it, any more than I can wear a watch. I have a some sort of bizarre electrical field around me that makes things like that go wonky. Even just passing my hands over it has Twitter dancin', down, then up, then ZING, all around ~ dosie doe! So the bottom right hand corner of my newfangled ‘puter is already worn in spots from the mouse. I guess I should count myself lucky there was a place to plug it in. I had to go to lengths to get this thing to do dial-up. Hey, it’s not my fault there’s no better hook-up here. Primitive describes my living conditions a few different ways.

So, I have no problem with the concept of smaller, better computers. I mean, innovation is great and more compact works for me. But what are cookies and why are there some in my computer? Aren’t the crumbs bad for it? Why do I have to delete or enable them? And how do I do that? And Twitter.... oh Twitter. I thought that was something only birds could do. But my daughter showed me how and it was fine until some techy type who didn’t have enough to do decided it needed to be improved. The new Twitter is not the better Twitter. It’s slow... ponderously slow. I have to switch back to old Twitter to hold a conversation. It doesn’t tell me who retweeted my tweet so I can thank them. (The old Twitter does.) I can’t even check out new followers on the new one. Won’t even load. Simplicity was the very beauty of old Twitter, but they’ve “improved” it. {sigh}

The idea of Twitter was already a bit of a love/hate thing. I mean, I get it. Let’s keep our comments brief and to the point. It’s a mental exercise in brevity for sure, especially for someone who comes from the age of “why use 20 words to express a thought when 40 will do just as well.” Some people are really good at expressing both hilarity and profundity in 140 characters or less. I admire them. I’m still a little intimidated by this limitation, but I’m getting there. But please, make the new Twitter more like the old Twitter. Or here's a thought... call it an interesting experiment and forget it? Pull....eeeeze!

So yeah, I always say it, there are pros and cons to everything. Ying and Yang.. and computers. And one frustrated ol’ lady at the controls who's wondering what the heck will be next. Beware.

Extremism is Bad - Empathy, Good

Yesterday I tweeted “extremism is bad,” along with the words, “take the middle road.” It’s pretty unusual for me to tweet sweeping generalizations, but I felt pretty safe here, because of course, I had extremism such as Al Qaida and other religious and political extremism in mind. And I was advocating that we try harder to understand and empathize with one another, rather than taking extreme views that tend to drive us apart and even breed resentment, hate and violence. But of course, who could know that?

First I got a tweet from a young musician saying that extremism is fun. Ok. In this age of extreme sports and wild living, I can see what she means. I was young once. I remember that. Then I got a tweet from a SAHM who is homeschooling an autistic child, who may have misunderstood my intent and the exchange, and who also thinks her life is pretty extreme. Ok. Being a sometimes working, sometimes SAHM (stay at home mom) to an aspie whom I homeschooled, I can certainly understand where she is coming from too. Been there; done that.

Hmmm.... ok, how about All Generalizations are Bad? (This, of course, is satire. Think about it.) So ok, this is where the empathy comes in. I don’t think the young musician needs to change her response, even if it seems insensitive to some, because she’ll get there. Life has a knack of taking care of that youthful exuberance and light-hearted way of seeing all things. I'm for letting her enjoy it while she's young. The mom? Well, I fully understand the intense pressure cooker she’s living in, so I’ll cut her some slack too. This is called empathy. Something many of us could all use more of.

When I was a young woman, I had my fun and adventure too. I hitchhiked much of the way across Canada to see some of my country. I wanted to see how the other half lived, but I wasn’t attracted by the world’s richness, such as the Taj Mahal, castles, cathedrals or even Graceland. No, to learn more about the half that interested me, I travelled north on the Muskeg Express, a very old train with oil lamps on the walls between the windows, which opened, and the tracks visible when you raised the toilet seat. I visited several Metis settlements to take pictures and learn something about life and people. And I did, all of this and then some. I was right there with the residents when that crate of fruit came in on the train. Oh, it wasn’t the fruit we were anxious for... it was those little paper wrappers on it. Everyone wanted a share of those for the outhouse. Soft. I spent an evening in a smoke filled log cabin with an old man who's only defense against the bugs was a smudge fire. I listened, I photographed, I laughed and I learned. I wanted a photo of the train coming into the station, and I wanted it straight on. So there I was on the track as it pulled in, trying to focus my camera, when I suddenly realized I had a wide angle lens on there, and the train was much closer than it appeared through the viewfinder.

So yeah, I had my own extreme fun and adventure when I was young. When I think about it, I realize I'm probably lucky to even be here. Later, I became a mom to a beautiful baby girl who was eventually diagnosed with some challenges, so I’ve had those impossible days of extreme stress as a homeschooling mom too. Yeah, I know life can sometimes be extremely challenging.

Still, the kind of extremism I was referring to that’s so bad, that’s the hate and violence in our world. Perhaps the human age is unfolding as it must, but sometimes I just wish more people would learn compassion and empathy. But as I like to say, what good is a light without a dark to shine it on? And the middle road I spoke of? I guess in this instance, that's what empathy is.

You're Bringing What into the House? ~ The Christmas Tree

There were no written histories in the days where such customs as bringing tree boughs indoors began, so there’s a lot of speculation about the origin of the Christmas tree.

It is thought that early Pagans in the north brought evergreen boughs into their homes and decorated them at the Winter Solstice. Some tales suggest this was a superstitious thing... providing a home for the wood nymphs through the cold winter so they wouldn’t play tricks on them come summer and mess up hunting, growing, etc. Others say it was just part of the celebration acknowledging the seasons. The Yule log in the north and laurel wreaths in the south also came from this seasonal celebration. Also in the south (Rome), where Pagans celebrated Saturnalia, houses might be decorated with evergreen clippings.

Honestly, Pagans could be credited with inventing the concept of the wreath more than the Christmas tree. But some Pagans in the south of Europe did decorate living trees with bits of metal and replicas of their Pagan Gods. It was this practice that may have frightened some early Christians, so there was intense opposition to the Christmas tree, strangely, mostly in northern Europe, in centuries past. They were outlawed in England for some time. But Martin Luther, German founder of the Lutheran Church, found a way to make the Christmas tree a symbol of Christian celebration, and so Germans began to once again enjoy the smell of evergreen in their homes at the Yuletide... or Christ Mass, or Christmas.

Christian holidays tend to fall at the same times of the seasons as Pagan celebrations. Christmas fell at the same time as Saturnalia (Roman holiday) and is close to the Winter Solstice, for instance. Easter is named for the Pagan Goddess of Fertility, Eostre. She was the symbol of spring time, when the ewes were lambing, chickens and other birds were laying, rabbits multiplied with extra zeal, etc. It is these symbols that were carried over into Christian celebrations, which fall near the Spring Equinox. It is thought this was done to lure Pagans into Christian churches to hear the stories of Christ in an environment that wasn’t totally strange to them. Either that, or Christians were just copy-cats, eh?

Anyway, in Victorian times, Queen Vic married Prince Albert, a German, and Albert brought the Christmas tree to the English palace. Well, you can’t very well outlaw a custom in all the country when the head family is enjoying it, can you? So opposition to this Christmas custom slowly waned and Christmas trees enjoyed a resurgence in England as well. It was probably brought to North American by Hessiens (German soldiers) but there are many legends as to how the custom crossed the ocean and spread.

Segue to modern day: Christmas trees have seen many incarnations, from real trees, to plastic, to silvery foil and more. But the original custom of bringing an evergreen into the house for the holidays seems to remain a favourite. Occasionally some well-meaning environmental group, organization, publication... will object on environmental grounds. This is because, though they mean well, they haven’t informed themselves. There is no need to “save” real Christmas trees as if someone has schlepped into the boreal forest to cut them down. They haven’t. Christmas trees are grown on tree farms. They are an economically and environmentally viable, renewable crop resource that is actually good for the environment. I mean, fields upon fields of little evergreens can only be helping the Earth breathe.

Some people object to disposal methods when the holidays are over, but this is something that people need to address in their communities by being proactive in the political decisions being made in their community for waste management. There is NEVER any excuse to throw used Christmas trees in landfill. That’s just wrong. They are compostible, at the very least. If your community does not have a waste management strategy that deals responsibly with used Christmas trees... well, for one thing, you need to get more involved in your community and change that, but for another, you can ask a local farmer if they'll take trees to compost or you can compost your tree yourself, either by cutting or grinding it up and throwing it into your composter, or by putting it with your autumn leaves to compost. If you’re in a municipality that allows outdoor fires, just throw it into a corner of the yard till spring and there you go... fire wood. (Outdoors only... soft, sappy evergreen wood is not good for an indoor wood stove or chimney.) Or of course, if you're in a snowy region, you can always stand it up in a snow bank and hang orange peel in it for the birds until it falls apart of its own accord as Spring approaches. Then compost it. There are a number of responsible ways to deal with used Christmas trees.

Please, if you celebrate Solstice, Christmas or like holiday where an evergreen figures in, and unless you have allergies, buy a real tree ~ a better economic and environmental choice for a joyful holiday celebration.

Humanity is, of its own accord, a cosmic conundrum held together by sticky threads of irony

If 71% of the Earth’s surface is covered with water and humans are made up of roughly 70% water, why do we have to pay for it?

What fashion statement is a nudist making? And what do they do when it snows? I know you’re going to say they live in a snow-free climate, but... these days? Really?

Why is 53% considered a good voting turn out?

We can put people on the moon, so why can’t we park our cars straight without those little yellow lines?

Why do we insist that French fries are vegetables?

Why do we think we’re so important that we have to drive and talk on the phone both at the same time?

Why do we call any schnook who does a good deed a “good Samaritan” when the point of the original story was to show compassion for an enemy?

Why do we struggle to buy gifts for people who have everything?

We’ve been sent many teachers to guide us. They all had similar messages. Why do most of us think we have to pick just one and fight over it with those who pick another?

I know, religion and politics are off limits, but how does one talk about human irony without them? Just another sticky irony, eh? Or is it a conundrum?

Anyway~~
If you can, please give to those less fortunate this holiday season. If you’re one of those armchair philosophers who’s going to say this doesn’t really help anyone, kindness always helps. If you don't want to give, don't give. That's what freedom is all about. But don't look for validation from others. Just keep your excuses.

A box of food is a short-term help to those going through a temporary downturn in fortune. Non-perishable food items to a food bank in your community is a great way to reach out to others in need. And Gifts of Magic via Unicef, as well as Gifts of Hope via Plan, are longer-term international giving options for those who have everything.

There are many other worthy caring options in most communities as well, such as hospital funds, meals for the elderly and homeless, wildlife and animal shelters or programs, and more. Sharing the challenges along with the benefits is what community is really all about.

Happy xmasolstichanakwanzadan ... hehe. (Full credit to Jo Qatana for this amalgamation of seasonal holidays.) Have a safe, warm holiday season filled with love and many bright blessings.

It Isn't A Mouse At All!!

Hahahaha.... joke's on us! That little grey mouse we'd only caught glimpses of is actually a silver-grey mole!

And what a healthy coat he has! Well, I guess he should, since he's been living off salmon and free-range chicken cat food.

Last night we were sitting at the table solving all the world's problems when I noticed a grey nose sticking out from under the fridge. "There's the mouse," I said, with what I thought was a remarkable grasp of the obvious.

The slow, fat cat came over and took an interest, crouching into the pounce position. Then, here came the little critter out from under the kitchen counter toward the cat dishes. The cat did nothing. And I said, "hey... that's not a mouse. It's a mole."

To which Hubby replied, "yes it is. And apparently the cat is keeping it for a pet."

"We should call it Digger," I said, helpfully.

"I should get a REAL mouse trap," said Hubby. "And I like Driller better," he added. We watched the mole and the cat for awhile longer, then our daughter came into the room. We told her what was going on.

"I like Digger better," she said, adding her two cents.

"Sorry Dear," I said to Hubby. "You're out-voted."

"Again," he observed.

Meanwhile the mole came out to sniff at a bottle that was sitting on the floor near the sink. The cat watched it, but didn't seem to want to pounce. The mole ducked back under the counter unit and came out a minute later at the cat dishes again. It took another piece. All together it came out 4 or 5 times for a bit of dinner, but before it was done, the cat lost interest and just wandered away.

A mole. We have a mole named Digger living in our kitchen. I wonder what it's fate will be. Hubby was wondering if moles and mice co-exist. "Maybe," he pondered, "if we leave it alone, the mice will stay away."

Heh... my kitchen is turning into some sort of bizarre zoo. :p

The Cats, the Mouse and the Dust Bunny

Ok, so here’s the whole sordid story:

Awhile back we put in a new kitchen counter. At first Hubby and I thought we could do this ourselves. We were trying to change the taps and got stuck, so we put them back on. Or so we thought. But then there was this big bang and first one, then another geyser spewed forth from where the knobs used to be. (The knobs were now bouncing around in the kitchen.)

Our daughter heard all this from her room, said to herself, “oh my God, they’re plumbing!” and promptly hid under her covers.

Hubby and I decided we really ought to get help, so we called on a handy man type fella. Together he and hubby took out the old outfit and put in the new counter. While they were doing this they took out a few extra pipes that were just there, doin’ nothin’. This left holes in the floor under the new counter. We don’t have a basement. Underneath the kitchen is a crawl space. A crawl space into which tiny wildlife types generally move when the weather turns cold. You know, like mice for instance.

I thought everything was under control when they were putting in the counter. I went out to pick up a few things. I left the MEN to look after things. Which is to say, no one thought to plug up the holes in the kitchen floor from the extraneous pipes BEFORE putting in the new counter. Yep. So here come the li’l miceys with their tiny suitcases just as soon as that autumn breeze blows a little cold. Into the crawl space under the kitchen they squeeze. They look up.

Ok, excuse me a minute while I work on this WRITTEN INVITATION to the tiny creatures to move into the house proper. *sigh*

So we see evidence that there are mice in the kitchen. No, no... this will not do. We have cats. We have steel wool with which to plug those holes. Better late than never, right?

Longer story, shorter:
There are two cats. They sleep a lot. *yawn* You want us to catch what?? One cat just happens to be standing by her food dish when the mouse peeps out from under the counter. She takes a swipe at it. She misses; it scurries back under. She shrugs, scratches her ear, goes in search of a comfy place to flop.

Irony: the mouse seems to be thriving on little pieces of cat food. My life is fraught with little ironies.

It's a little grey mouse. He seems to be alone. Hubby plugged up the holes, apparently trapping the lone, adventuresome mouse on this side of the holes. (Mouse: “Hey! Who locked the doors??”) Hubby put out a “humane” trap. The mouse PLAYS with it. Like the guy who bungee jumps for kicks, this mouse routinely goes into the “humane” trap and wrestles around for awhile. He is NEVER in there when Hubby checks the trap.

There’s an elusive dust bunny under my couch. I’ve gone after it with a broom. I’ve gone after it with a duster. I’ve gone after it with a vacuum. It’s a dancing dust bunny and it dances around under there out the way of any weapon I bring to the battle. I wrestle with it. It wins.

So last night, I was sitting here, by the fire, using this computer, the cats were sleeping contentedly, the dog was snoring beside me, and I heard noises. It occurred to me that maybe the dust bunny was trying to catch the mouse. Now, you can say what you want, but I think they were actually dancing. I really do. While the fire crackled on one side of me and the animals all slept, the mouse and dust bunny were tripping the light fantastic in the dark corners of my wee house. I know it. *sigh*

This is Will

Handsome, freckle-faced, almost always smiling, talented, youthful. He’ll always be youthful. Will played the fiddle, piano, wind instruments. He loved music. Seems whatever instrument he attempted he could play. His talent was just natural. Will’s dad and uncle were in the army, so when his country became embroiled in a conflict, Will wanted to join the army too. Problem was, he was only 17. That was too young. But Will was determined, so he ran away and tried to join under an assumed name by lying about his age. He was caught, fortunately, and returned home.

But his mom was frightened. She worried about him running away again and maybe getting away with joining up under another name, and then, if something bad happened, she might never know what became of him. He really wanted to join up, so she signed her permission on the condition that he was admitted to the bugle corp, which was supposed to be kept behind the lines.

And so he went. Wounded in France, he was transferred to an army hospital in England. He was able to send a few letters to his mom with the help of the nurses there. The mayor of a city near his home heard about him and raised money to send his mom overseas to be with him. But even as she packed for the trip, she received news that Will had succumbed to his injuries.

I don’t like war. I guess no one really does, except maybe despots and power mongers. We now try to teach our kids that problems aren’t solved with violence. We discourage them from fighting for things in the school yard, in the back yard, or anywhere. We don’t even let Mom and Dad whack the kids anymore, because corporal discipline is no way to properly raise a child. Even the measured blow of a loving parent on the bum to make a point is a no-no.... because violence doesn’t solve anything. And yet, in amazingly hypocritical governmental policy for dealing with other countries and their policies, we still send young people to war to fight and die for political reasons.

Will died in the “war to end all wars,” or the first world war. He was a bugler with a Canadian drum and bugle corp and was wounded in the head with a piece of shrapnel in a small town in France. He was 17 and ½ years old when he died. He is buried in a military cemetery in England. If he had not been killed in a war, who knows what innovation to style, recording or instrumentation this young man might have contributed to the music industry? And perhaps if he’d had kids, one of them might have inherited his talent and made great strides in music too.

Will was my uncle. I never knew him. Hell, my mom, who was his sister, never knew him. I have his fiddle. On Remembrance Day (Veterans' Day in the U.S.) I will remember my Uncle Will who went overseas to help in the political struggle that was supposed to end conflict. And I will salute my dad, who probably died younger than he should have because he went overseas in the big war after that ~ for four years. I don’t like that we are so primitive as a species that we still have wars, but despite what we tell our children, we still do. So on November 11th I will pay homage to the sacrifices of the men and women who have given so much to preserve our freedoms. I do this not just because of their sacrifice, but because of ours. Yes, we have freedoms for which I am grateful. But I can’t help wondering how different, how much better, our world and our way of life might have been if all those vibrant, talented young people who gave their lives in conflict, hadn’t had to.

Imagine. Just imagine.