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