“The function of muscle is to pull and not to push, except in the case of the genitals and the tongue.” Leonardo da Vinci

So there we were, sitting on the bed late at night.  My husband looked me deep in the eyes and said "You do me first and then I'll take care of you."

I bit my lower lip.  "Okay.  Let me get the stuff and I'll rub it in for you."  Reaching for the tube of magical ointment that has been a staple in our bedroom for several years now, I carefully popped the cap and squeezed a generous dose out on my hand.  Soon there were moans and groans and things were being rubbed until they felt good- really good!  This is a nightly routine in my house.

I am of course talking about rubbing down aching muscles with BenGay.  What did you think I was talking about?

At times like this I'm reminded of my Great-Great Uncle Albert.  My Grandmother's Uncle and Aunt lived in a trailer next door to my grandparent's house.  I would visit occasionally in the hopes of getting a piece of candy or a pudding cup.  There was a very distinct smell when you entered their home.  It was a mix of menthol and vitamins.  My Great-Great Uncle was a firm believer in the powers of natural medicine, and apparently menthol rub was the most powerful thing there was.  It must have worked well for him, because he hung around for quite a long time.

I didn't understand why they practically marinated in the stuff... until I hit forty.  Now I see a vibrating adjustable bed as a necessity, rather than a luxury.  I make decisions on what to have for dinner by whether it will give me heartburn (or even worse, gas).  I actually find myself struggling to stay up to see the end of late night television and waking up earlier every morning....whether I need to or not. Such are the burdens of old age.

I know, I yammer on and on about getting old.  Well, to quote a wise old sage, "I've never been this old before."

Getting older is something we all do, if were lucky.  Some of us are just better at doing it than others. The reality of not being twenty-something is a little hard to come to grips with at times.  One of those times is when I remind myself of my Great-Great Uncle.  Where ever you are Uncle Albert, I hope they have plenty of  BenGay!

It is easy to get a thousand prescriptions but hard to get one single remedy. ~Chinese Proverb

When I was a child, they banned the advertising of cigarettes on television.  Hard liquor had long been under a self ban from the boob tube, although beer and wine commercials could be seen during evening programing.  In the beginning of this century, television reviewed their alcohol policy and decided the money to be gained far outweighed any moral implications.  Cigarette ads still aren't shown on television, but there is something even worse spreading like a virus on the advertising airwaves.

I am talking about direct to consumer advertising of name brand prescription drugs.  I challenge you to watch one hour of commercial television and not be bombarded by any number of ads for boner-pills, downers, and uppers.  But they aren't called that.  They have the much more clinical names like erectile dysfunction, sleep aids, and anti-depression medication. All of them urge the listeners to ask their doctor specifically for this or that drug by name.

I know... there are legitimate diseases out there and an educated consumer should be involved with their physical health and well being.  But these commercials are not out there to educate you.  They are there to scare you  and make you paranoid.  "Do you open and close your eyes constantly.  You could be suffering from DES, or Dry Eye Syndrome.  Studies show that nearly everyone will suffer from this and not even be aware of it.  But with this new pill taken twice daily, you will never have to worry about that ever again.  Ask your doctor..."

Listening to the possible side effects can be even scarier.  I think I'd rather have the disease than the cure.  But that's just it.  These aren't cures, they are coping mechanisms and symptom covers.  One can take so many DTCA (direct to consumer advertised) medications, that they forget what their initial problem was.  You may start out with just a general feeling of blah, but the pill you take for that makes you nauseous so you take another pill...which gives you the jitters, so you take another pill but it makes you angry so there is yet another pill to take to mellow you out....which was your complaint in the first place!

Maybe what I'm really mad about is the fact that so many people believe they can make life better if they swallow a pill.  Addiction to prescription drugs seems to be on the rise.  Add to that the fact that most pharmaceutical companies aren't as interested in helping their fellow man as increasing their profit margins.  We are once again besieged by snake oil salesman....but these guys have a wider audience thanks to television.

Gone are the days of Jonas Salk, the doctor credited with bringing the Polio epidemic to an end.  He chose not to profit off of his discovery.  It was more important to help others than to take advantage of their pain and suffering.  I doubt his portrait hangs in GlaxoSmithKline or CIALIS®'s front office.

A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort. ~Herm Albright

I have a friend who makes a habit of finding the "beauty-full" things in her life.  She isn't a tranquil soul sitting isolated on a rock while contemplating the sound of one hand clapping.  She is a single mother, much put upon middle manager, and the type who plays Russian Roulette with her finances.  Her car breaks down, car keys get lost, and someone always puts the empty milk jug back in the fridge.  She has the same frustrations we all do....difference is she doesn't let them pile up on her.

She takes the problems as they come but doesn't allow them to take up residence.  When the car sputters and stops working, she doesn't tear out her hair and burst into tears.  Instead she welcomes the kind stranger who stops along the side of the road to offer assistance.  She welcomes the trip to the miracle working mechanic who puts things right in the machine and allows her to pay out the cost.  She reveals in the love and concern given by her offspring who come to her aide.

Man, is that annoying.

Oh, don't get me wrong.  She is no saint.  She can be self-indulgent, self-critical, and selfish when it comes to chocolate ice cream.  She can cuss like a sailor and likes to tell dirty jokes just to see you blush.  Occasionally important things get put on a back burner until she has to no other choice but to deal with them.  She can throw up so many romantic roadblocks that only the truly valiant can surmount them...and even then there is a fire breathing dragon to contend with because she has been hurt before.

But even with those foibles, she is an optimist.  She looks for something good even as she prepares herself for the bad.  In a sea of overwhelming demands and problems, she finds an island of hope.  I admire that.  She knows that no matter what path she has to walk down, no matter how dark or rocky it may be, there is a destination.  And she finds joy as she walks it, despite the stones in her shoes or the blisters on her feet.

I think I shall try to annoy some people today too.

There are three stages of a man's life: He believes in Santa Claus, he doesn't believe in Santa Claus, he is Santa Claus. ~Author Unknown

Here I am about to get sappy again.

It is Father's Day and I want to do a little bragging about mine. He is an artist, musician, mechanic, woodworker, and once upon a time Santa.  To me he has always been a source of inspiration.

He started out wanting to be an artist and went to college to learn more about it.  That's where he fell in love with more than just art. He met and married my mom and, as such things happen, soon had a daughter added to his list of things to worry about.

Despite working several jobs to help support his family, he never lost sight of his dreams.  He continued to paint and even found some time to join a band.  Music and art continued to fight for my father's attention....though I never had to.

He even joined my mother in a few Community Theater productions.  Acting didn't take as strong a hold on him as it did me, but if you look in the background of The Tree of Life, you just might see him milling around.  The greatest acting role he ever undertook, though, was that of Santa.  He was Santa for many children in our little town....and he loved it! 

Now he spends most of his energy on making and playing flutes.  He still dabbles in art, but it ebbs and flows according to his mood.  Through it all, he has been there for me....inspiring me and giving me wings to fly with. 

Thank You Dad!

Link to my father's music

link to my father's art

link to my father's poetry

It is foolish to tear one's hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by baldness. ~Cicero

Times are tough...but I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.  It seems life has no shortage of pits to fall in. 

I have been tight rope walking over those pits for years now.  Sometimes I've slipped and dangled by my fingertips; sometimes I had to retie the rope before it frayed and dropped me into the chasm below.

But there are also beautiful parasols that help me maintain my balance.  Occasionally there will be snippets of carnival music and cheers from the crowd offering encouragement.  And all the time I continue putting one foot in front of the other as I keep my eye on the goal at the end of the rope...firm ground.

I have friends who 'talk' to me about the good times that are long gone.  Back before the wars and the deficit and the lay offs.  A time back when we were all younger and full of hope and our future was so bright we had to wear shades.  They lament their current life and it frustrates me to no end to listen to them.  They forget the problems of their youth and refuse to acknowledge the good in their present. 

Yes, there are a ton of issues we need to deal with today.  I can't help but share in the stress of my friends who no longer have jobs or homes, or have ever increasing bills but ever decreasing income, or especially those who are touched by the terrible loss that war brings.  These problems are real, but giving up or wallowing in self pity does not fix these problems. 

We have to keep walking the tight rope.  Keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Our problems are just minor tremors in the rope.  You may have to step over a knot or two on your path...but that just means someone walked this same rope before you.  If they got to the other side then so can you.  I'll be there to cheer you on.

"My real hair color is kind of a dark blonde. Now I just have mood hair." ~ Julia Roberts

I plan to grow old gracefully.  No botox or nips and tucks for me.  I imagine wrinkles are like the stars on a generals uniform, it shows years of service and experience.  I have visions of myself in old age with long, flowing, silver hair rocking contentedly as the sun sets. No vainly chasing youth for me.

That being said....I recently dyed my greying hair.  I didn't do it to look younger.  I actually like the streaks of silver along my crown.  But I hadn't done anything color-wise with my hair for over a  year, and had a definite two tone effect going on.  Since I couldn't bring myself to commit to a drastic hair cut that would trim the previous color away and leave just the natural gray dappled color, I chose to take the dye highway. 

It was actually part of my Mother's Day celebration.  I took a little time to work on some of the beauty maintenance that I so often ignore.  At the urging of my husband, I chose a deep burgundy color (black cherry to be exact).  I'm naturally a dark brunette and thought a dark hint of red would be both fun and not too far from what nature actually gave me. 

When the time came I locked myself away in the bathroom, dawned the rubber gloves that come in the kit and mixed the potion like some mad scientist.  The color in the little squeeze bottle hadn't quite developed yet and was still a creamy white as I began.  Impatiently I started at the front, knowing that the gray hair surrounding my face would be the most resistant to the new color.  When I've colored my hair in the past, this actually translated into one stop color and highlights.  I was excited at the prospect.

As I worked the magic elixir through my hair, the color began to emerge.  It started as a lite pink tinge.  'Interesting' is the thought that bounced around in my head.  But pink is the start of red, right?.  As time progressed, so did the hue.  It deepened, not to the crimson or ruby color of my dreams but to a dark plum....as in purple.

After I washed it and dried it there was no denying it.  I had dark brown hair with definite purple highlights.  In my eyes I was on the verge of looking like Mrs. Slocombe from the British comedy "Are you Being Served".  If you've ever dyed your hair, you know you aren't suppose to double process it too quickly.  I couldn't dye it again with out risking damage to the hair.  This meant that I was stuck for a day or two as is.   So off to work I went the next day.

Of course I got noticed, but I was surprised at how many compliments I got on it.  Genuine compliments.  I went to the grocery store and the gentleman who sweeps the floors actually came up to me and gave me a little hug, telling me I looked twenty years younger.  On three separate occasions twenty-something year-olds made positive comments on my hair saying, with a slight bit of awe in their voices, how they liked the color. 

Appearently, I'm hip!  Who knew? 

It's been a week now, and I'm growing used to it.  I occasionally get a shock when I look in the mirror.  My husband tells me I look beautiful, but still sniggers slightly when I'm in full sunlight.  When it comes down to it, it really doesn't matter what color my hair is. 

Bleach blonde or raven black, streaked with gray or multi-hued, it doesn't change who I am.  Before, I was more youthful than my gray hair attested to... and I'm not as rave-enabled as my current purple hair might suggest.  Nothing has changed.  Perhaps I might try to correct the color to a more natural tint.  But who knows, I might add pink and blue to my highlights. Outward appearances do not effect who we are inside.

There are two lasting bequests we can give our children: One is roots. The other is wings.-Hodding Carter, Jr.

Many times I've looked back upon my life and wondered how I got here, how I got to be the person that I am.  The humorous answer might be "I took a left turn at Albuquerque".  But in all honesty, thanks in large part to the efforts of my mother, I am who I am. She did a great job.

Our earliest memories are almost always of our mother.  She is the one who sang us to back to sleep when nightmares awoke us.  She kissed our boo-boos and bandaged our wounds.  She nourished us with food and thought.  She was our first teacher, doctor, and cheering section.

Through good times and bad, my mother was there.  Even when I was a know-it-all teenager who questioned not only her intelligence, but her sanity as well.  I remember butting heads on a few occasions.  Not over life altering subjects but over silly mundane things like cleaning my room.  On the big things, I rarely questioned my mother's wisdom.  But I wouldn't let her know that, lest it go to her head.

Her mother, my grandmother, had seven children. A notable an formidable task even back in the fifties and sixties.  Despite the chaos inherent ingrowing up in such a large family, my mother always has a calmness about her.  Maybe that is why I'm an only child, she wanted to maintain that calmness.  Even in the trying times I seldom heard her raise her voice in anger.  Frustration...definitely, but seldom anger.

Especially now that I am a mother myself, I am thankful for the  lessons she taught me.  She taught me by example how to be a loving mother, an independent woman, and a caring human being.  I have the strength to withstand my son's oncoming teen years because I know she survived mine.  I put the extra work into my marriage because hers has lasted forty-one years.  My life template is based in her examples.

Realizing how important and special your mother is comes as quite a shock when you become an adult.  You come to realize that the old lady actually knew what she was talking about.  We all eventually come to grips with the understanding that our mother's were once just like us..and that we are destined to become like them.  And that is not such a bad thing after all!

Happy Mother's Day! 
 

To all the Mothers and "not the Momma"s out there....Thank You for what you do!

Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect. ~Chief Seattle, 1855

April 22nd is Earth Day.

For those of you who aren't sure what that means, here is some information.  April 22, 1970 was for many the birth of a movement.  It was on that day that 20 million Americans took to the streets to demonstrate and protest our treatment of the environment.  It wasn't just a bunch of "stinky hippies", the movement is actually credited to Gaylord Nelson, then a U.S. Senator from Wisconsin.

"The ultimate test of man's conscience may be his willingness to sacrifice something today for future generations whose words of thanks will not be heard."
~ Gaylord Nelson, former governor of Wisconsin.

While I by no means would consider myself an environmental activist, I do try to lessen my impact upon this our Mother Earth.  I take reusable cloth bags to the grocery store....when I remember.  I turn off the facet when I brush my teeth.  We have switched out many of our old incandescent light bulbs for compact fluorescent lights (CFLs).  We have consciously chosen to purchase our electricity from sources that utilize renewable resources such as wind and solar.


Nothing big, I know.  But it all adds up.  Drip by drop we try to refill what we have taken.  

  

"I really wonder what gives us the right to wreck this poor planet of ours."
~ Kurt Vonnegut Jr. 

By shopping locally, I reduce the amount of fossil fuel needed to power my car which, besides being beneficial to my wallet, also reduces the carbon emissions and reduces the pollution in the air. This has the benefit of not only making the air we breath cleaner, but of helping to take the ambient temperature of the atmosphere down so water doesn't evaporate so quickly, making clouds that trap the heat like a blanket.  Which means I don't have to run my air conditioner quite as often.  That's the theory at least.

Many of my, shall we call them more right leaning friends, think this is an exercise in futility.  The amount of energy I don't use or pollution I prevent is so minimal as to be non-existent.  They say that "Global Warming" is a myth.  They point to the major winter storms and say, "Global warming?  Then why is it so cold?"  They say that the earth just does this, goes through cycles of weather extremes and to say it is man made is arrogant and egotistical.  

For 200 years we've been conquering Nature.  Now we're beating it to death.  ~Tom McMillan, quoted in Francesca Lyman, The Greenhouse Trap, 1990

  

To them I say, "Well yeah, it is a cycle the earth goes through.  But man is pedaling the bike faster than Mother Nature would."

Only when the last tree has died and the last river been poisoned and the last fish been caught will we realize we cannot eat money.  ~Cree Indian Proverb 

The arrogance really lies in thinking that what I do only effects me.  That if I choose to pour my old oil into the river, as long as I do so it floats away from me I'm fine.  There is no problem in taking the largest piece of the pie, or all of the pie.  Someone else can wash the dish and make another if they want some...this one is mine!  If I get cold, I'll just pull more of the blanket to my side of the bed and everyone else can shiver.  

I urge you to take some time this Earth Day to think about the environment.  Take a deep breath, walk barefoot in the grass, listen to the birds, bite into an apple, watch children playing in the park.  Now think of life with out these things.  What can you do to make this world a better place...one that everyone and everything can live in?  It doesn't have to be big.  Little things add up.  If everyone did just a little, the empact could be amazing.  

Every day is Earth Day.
~ Anonymous

 Be good to your Mother!

I own none of the images or quotes used.  I use them for entertainment and education purposes only. 

That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.- William Shakespear

I'm having an identity crisis.  This isn't a spiritual crisis or a mental crisis, it is an actual identity crisis.

When I was born, I was given a lovely name.  Mary Elizabeth.  I was named after (or in honor of) several people who were important in my parents life.  Since my mother's name is also Mary, they called my by my middle name.  But Elizabeth seems too big a name for a small baby, so it was shortened to Beth.  I've been Beth all my life.

I remember going with my mother to open a savings account as a child.  You need a social security number in order to open a savings account, and oddly enough, my parents had neglected to establish one for me until then.  Since I was old enough to write, I signed the card myself.  I wrote my name, Beth.  That's were it all started to go wrong.

When I turned sixteen, I was lucky enough to be given my grandmother's old car.  There was only a slight hitch in transferring the title.  The names on the documents included: my grandmother's name which was Mary Elizabeth (Betty to her friends),  my mother's name as my guardian (another Mary), and the notary (guess what her name was).  The transfer was held up a few days due to the confusion of all the Marys and who was who.

As I grew older and had to sign my name to more and more things, I began to become two people.  I wrote the name on my birth certificate for most official documents: Mary Elizabeth. For more personal or informal things I was Beth.  When I entered the work force and had to fill out paperwork, I fluctuated between the formal name and the name on my social security card.  So the ball of confusion grew.

Just in case things were too easy to figure out, I got married.  Added now was a married name, a maiden name, a birth name, and an everyday name. I don't like to throw anything away, so I held on to all the names.  My signature grew longer and longer.  I actually got the name changed on my drivers license to include them all.  When I went to the social security office to change my name on that one....well, I'm ashamed to say I thought the line was too long.  I put it off to do another day when I had more time.  Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years.  And here we are.

I thought about getting a passport, but I don't know which name to put on the application.  I had to sign a special disclaimer for a loan stating I had 'aliases'.  Insurance cards, bank accounts, credit cards, W2's, and countless other vital documents have a plethora of identities.  I don't know what name to sign any more.

Well, no more.  Since I'm on a role of change lately, I've decided to change my name.  No longer will I be she of many aliases.  It's a little scary.  Part of me feels like I am turning my back on who I was by changing my name and dropping some of the extra's.  But then I think of the above quote and remember that what I call myself doesn't change who I am.  I could change my name to Rumpelstiltskin and still be me.

Video games are bad for you? That's what they said about rock and roll. SHIGERU MIYAMOTO

Crops will die, animals will go unfed, dishes will spoil and jewels will not be matched in sets of three or more...  I am taking a break from playing games on Facebook. 

At least that is the plan.

You see, I am what you might call a game addict.  It's not too terribly bad at the moment.  I do still go to work and take care of my daily hygienic needs.  No one in my family has starved yet either, so maybe I'm not that addicted.  But I did do the math.  I calculated the time I spend playing games on Facebook and other sites.  I average about five hours a day on line, a little more on my days off and a little less when I work.  That works out to about 76 days a year online.  Seventy-six whole days, or two and a half months.  Wow (and I don't mean World of Warcraft).

When I was in college, I rented a video game for some fun and relaxation.  Friends would come to visit and we would end up sitting in front of the TV taking turns playing the game rather than talking.  I stayed up a full 24 hours in a continuous marathon of questing and fighting.  My dreams began to take on the mode of the game play.  Action would stop and I would be presented with option buttons to choose from before the dream would resume.  That was when I knew I needed to take a break.  I returned the video game to the rental place only to find that I had kept it out so long that actually purchasing it was cheaper than paying the late fees.

That was then.  This is now.  I have a young son who revels in video games as much as I did.  But perhaps he is a little more involved than me.  He recently stayed up all night watching walk-thrus on YouTube of other people playing games he is interested in.  I try to explain to him the need to turn off the computer and go outside from time to time.  He just looks at me like I don't understand.  Me, not understand?  I've been there, done that, defeated the boss and won the game.  I know how alluring it is to become enveloped in the rich worlds these game creators make. Sometimes it becomes so real, you get emotionally involved with the games and have difficulty meeting real life commitments.

That is why I am taking a break from playing Facebook games.  I can't tell him to take a break if I'm busy watering my crops, clobbering snakes, or redecorating my virtual home.  Give me strength to resist!  I am confident I can do it.  After all, I still have solitaire and minesweeper. 

By the way, the quote used is from the man who probably helped steal so many years of our wasted youth.  Mr. Miyamoto is the game designer behind such Nintendo classics as Mario, Donkey Kong, and Legend of Zelda.  It is reported that he recently submitted his resignation to Nintendo and is perhaps going to join one of their rivals.  I thank him for all the lost hours and wish him well. 

The greatest gift of the garden is the restoration of the five senses. ~Hanna Rion

March 21st was the first day of Spring, the Vernal Equinox, and what a wonderful day it was.   I'm an optimistic gardener to my core, even if I see my plants wilt under the harsh summer sun.  That is why I try to plant something every year.

This year I've started out simple.  Just a couple of tomatoes and peppers with a side of basil.  There's still a good amount of potting soil left, so more planting is definitely in my future  But for now, on my humble apartment porch, it is a start.  But it calls to mind a garden from several years ago.

I used to work for a garden center. I came home tired, hot, sweaty, and smelly... but happy. I enjoyed walking up and down the rows of annuals, perennials, and shrubberies as I watered all of the stock. I delighted in reading the numerous gardening books, covers fading from the sun and pages curling from moisture, that were offered for for sale but never seemed to get sold. I especially loved imparting that information to anyone who asked for my gardening advice.

One of the perks of my old job, was taking home dry and damaged bags of soil for a pittance. This was especially welcomed since my husband and I had just purchased our first home and to call it a fixer-upper was being kind. The back yard was small and dominated by a huge pecan tree and a sad little peach tree. Most of the space was covered with a concrete driveway. What little dirt there was, was hard packed and littered with long forgotten nails, glass ...and pennies for some strange reason.

Being young and full of energy, my husband and I spent most of our time either fixing the house or working in the yard.  I sprinkled soil and grass seed over the small back yard until the grey dirt turned into a lush green carpet.  I dug beds in the front and back yards, no easy task since the soil was thick and black with clay.  In these beds I planted the scraggly plants I had saved from the dumpster.  Some were so sickly looking, I even questioned if I was planting or burying them.  My husband called this "Darwinian Gardening" since only the strong and best suited for our environment would survive.  Not all did.

But those that did not only lived, they thrived.  Soon, what was once a desolate waste land that even weeds found hard to survive in became an oasis in a hectic city.  Along the front fence and arbor (built from recycled wood...see earlier post) grew Morning Glories greeting the morning with purples and blues and and Nasturtiums seeing the sunset with a blaze of yellow and orange.  Amazingly, corn grew and produced a few small ears, potatoes defied pill bugs and tough soil to increase their numbers, and even a few tomatoes managed to grow to maturity.   The noise of the city faded as the growing vegetation seemed to muffle the sounds of car horns and alarms.  I even found myself altered by the creation going on around me. I found more and more calmness in my garden.  We harvested and dried so much fragrant Basil and Lemon Balm that memories of the summer were remembered in my cooking all winter long.   

I loved that garden; I loved the sweat, the dirt, the disappointments and the sore muscles. I continue to plant despite not owning a patch of ground on which to plant. I still find calmness in the dirt under my nails. I breath deeply the scent of lavender and basil. The sight of tiny flowers and fruits growing day after day fills my heart with joy. I look forward to tasting the fruits of my labor (quite literally).  Noises still seem to fade when I sit amongst my plants. My senses and my soul are restored with each new leaf.

For my friend who asked about planting tomatoes, and anyone else interested too.....
http://www.ehow.com/how_4546092_when-plant-tomatoes.html

Spring Forward, Fall Back.

This past weekend many (but not all) people  across the country observed Day Light Saving(s) Time and moved their clocks forward one hour.  It's a time of mixed emotions for me.  On the one hand, I love the idea of gaining more day light hours to get things done.  On the other hand, I hate loosing that hour of sleep. I usually find myself sleepwalking through my life for a few days until my internal clock realigns itself.

I'm told I have Benjamin Franklin to thank for my drowse state.  He conceived of the idea back in 1784 while in Paris as an American delegate.  It didn't get any serious consideration until the early twentieth century. Actually standard time itself was a relatively new idea.  The time was usually agreed upon by the general population of a town and it might not coincide with the time agreed upon a town or two over.  The concept of a standardized time meant trains could maintain arrival and departure schedules.  Workers and business owners had the same idea of when to show up and when to leave work.  Everyone was on the same page. 

During the wars (WWI and WWII), enacting Day Light Savings Time meant a savings of fuel.  This was what got many people on board with the idea.  Many arguments have been made through out the world both for and against this manipulation of time.  There is some debate on exactly how much fuel/electricity is saved by moving the clocks forward in the Spring and back in the Fall.

To further add to the confusion of what the time is, not everyone observes the 'Spring forward, fall back' observance.  There are even parts of this country where crossing the street puts you either forward or backwards in time.  To find out who does and who doesn't participate in this idea, check out this website:

http://www.webexhibits.org/daylightsaving/g.html

Inevitably, this time of years gets me to thinking about time in general.  I am not one of those people with an in born sense of time.  Hours whiz by in the blink of an eye for me.  I looked up one day and twelve years had passed.  The opposite side of that coin is time standing still.  I'm sure we all have experienced that slow as molasses passage of time while either sitting in the doctors office or standing in line.  In reality the same amount of time has elapsed for me as for everyone around me, but it's my perception that is altered.  There are days I'd love to make last forever and others I'd rather see leave.  

I guess that is the difference for the pro and anti day light savings time people.  It depends on which side of the hour hand you stand as to whether it is a good idea or not.

We are not to throw away those things which can benefit our neighbor. Goods are called good because they can be used for good: they are instruments for good, in the hands of those who use them properly. -- Clement of Alexandria (150?-220?)

I have to pass two dumpsters as I leave my apartment.  Often it is overflowing with the everyday household debris... empty milk containers and cardboard boxes, broken plates, empty plastic packaging and left overs that, while no longer palatable to humans, make the cats and birds very happy. But inevitably there will also be a piece of furniture, a mattress, or an old tire. I've seen high chairs and electric fans, an entire six drawer dresser with mirror, and even a car bumper once.  The trash always goes beyond the container and oozes into the roadway like some horrible lab experiment that has gained a life of it's own and wants to escape it's captors.

In many ways, the trash we produce is getting away from us.  We are not only a nation of mass consumers, but mass disposers as well. Despite dwindling resources and finite landfills, we believe it's so much easier and cheaper to throw something out than to try and fix it or reuse it. It's ingrained in the American psyche that what you have isn't enough. The gods of consumerism command that we buy the latest thing. In order to get that new thing, you have to get rid of the thing you bought 6 months ago. As soon as you step out of the store your computer is obsolete. The resale value of that car plummets the moment you drive it off the lot.

We Americans consume things. It's what we do. We're good at it. Consumerism is part of our culture. It was elevated to an art form in the 20th century and now it threatens to drown us in debt and our own garbage.

At the beginning of the industrial age planned obsolescence wasn't a marketing strategy. Once upon a time, we actually took pride in craftsmanship and made things that were sturdy and well built. We designed and manufactured things that would last a very long time.  Something that could be of use not only to us but to the generations that would follow us.

The problem with making quality products that never break is that a company can only sell so many before everyone has one.  But somewhere along the way someone discovered that if you could make something slightly less durable so that it would wear out or breakdown at a certain time...well then you could sell it again, and again, and again.  Add to that the holy grail of planned obsolescence--rapid multi-generational electronic devices and you have a Jackpot! The strategy goes like this: "You wanna play that new game or run that new app?" Well, you'll have to have a faster computer or a better phone or the newest game machine. Some nerds become billionaires and our dumpsters overfloweth!

I'm not a mass consumer or a mass disposer, or at least I try not to be. I'm not on a par with the hoarders you see on TV, but I try to consider the value and reuse of an item before it's pitched in the trash.

Case in point:  We no longer needed the box springs for my son's twin size bed. Instead of tossing it on top of the trash pile, I re-purposed it.  After stripping off the fabric and cardboard, I had a frame for my new bookcase.  We made shelves from wood that was rescued from the construction scraps of a neighbor.  On this free bookcase I placed a chipped water pitcher, no longer able to do its original job, it now houses a plant grown from a clipping that would itself have been thrown away.  And finally, an antique fan that was rescued from the trash heap now sits on my new box spring shelves. Thrown away simply because it needed a $2 cord.

One man's trash is another man's treasure.

If you want to make treasure from trash, you might give these websites a try.

http://www.fastcompany.com/magazine/132/from-trash-to-cash.html


http://www.suite101.com/content/creative-repurposing--turning-trash-into-treasure-a253753

http://earth911.com/news/2009/04/27/5-ways-to-repurpose-your-trash/

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1645679/repurpose_your_household_trash.html

“An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.” Bill Vaughn

In my youth, I stayed up to ring in the new year in every time zone.  I raised my glass of sparkling grape juice and blew my horn along with all the drunken fools on television.  When I was a little older, I continued the tradition with the younger children I watched, so their parents could join the revelry themselves.  Those were some of the best New Year's I think I had. 

The birth of a new year is steeped in tradition and superstition.  The Romans' held the month of January as sacred to Janus, for whom the month January was named. Janus was portrayed with two faces, one facing forward to the future and one looking back on the past.  He was a door keeper between the past and future.  Today we take this time to remember those events of the past year and ponder on them.  We rejoice in our accomplishments and mourn our losses.  It is a time of taking stock of our lives and preparing for the coming rebirth in Spring.

The tradition of Old Father Time with his sickle and hour glass passing on the torch to the youthful Baby New Year also has Ancient Rome to thank for it's association with our present day tradition.  The old and haggard Father Time is in fact Cronus, the father of Zeus.  Cronus is often depicted with a sickle since it is the weapon he used to dethrone his own father, Uranus (Father Sky and the base of the word universe).    Zeus, the youngest child of Cronus and Rhea, defeated his father after a long and bloody battle.  Since gods can not be destroyed, he banished him thus repeating the cycle of the youth defeating the aged.

And so it goes on today.  Birth... life...decline...death.  Youth overcomes and surpasses age.   The future leaps through the present on it's way into the past.  The cycle goes on.

In these first few days of the new year, I have two wishes for you.  May you look forward with joy and hope and backwards with understanding.  I also hope that when it comes time for our spirited youth to seize their day, we will witness a calmer transition than those of the old gods. That is to say, free from fighting, intrigue and banishment.

Happy New Year