C: A Great Cloud of Witness

I got an email this morning from a client who has been dead at least six months.  We’ll call him “Peter,” which is not his real one.  Seeing his name pop up in my inbox was eerie.  I knew immediately that it was not a “real” message and, sure enough, it was one of those that is sent out to everyone in your inbox advertising sexual enhancers or weight loss or some such—I don’t know which in this case since I do not open these.

Still, it was odd seeing Peter’s name, especially in this early-morning fog before my coffee.  It felt momentarily like a message from the grave from someone who had not been ready to pass on from this life.  Like a stilled voice trying to cry out to be remembered.

Indeed, he had not been ready.  He left an eight-year-old son for whom he and I fought hard.  His death had been out-of-the-blue, young.  He need not signal from beyond for me to remember Peter.

But, I am digressing—my ADD.  There are many rabbit holes I could go down on this one, but the one I want to write about today is this:

Do you ever think about how much information is floating around in the airwaves?  Okay, I know it isn’t in the airwaves but on some big servers that I picture (wrongly) to be in the sky.  In any case,  it’s out there.

Amazon knows everything I read and last evening I was told by the news that it keeps track of those passages I highlight in my ebooks (I am an inveterate highlighter). 

I don’t highlight anything exciting, folks.  I am no national security risk.  I would not care one bit if you, my friend, looked over my shoulder at any time and saw my readings or my highlighting.  But it’s creepy to consider persons I will never have any real connection with having that access.  Don’t you think?

Same with my local Kroger store.  I use their “rewards” card because without it I don’t get their discount.  Therefore, they know everything I eat.  (Now THAT’S something you don’t need to see—often laden with junk food as it is).  Truthfully, I shrug about that one, too, but add it to the Amazon thing, and it’s creepy.

Our office uses encrypted emailing to send documents through “the Cloud.”  It is American Bar Approved for securely sending documents, is a great tool for communicating and storage yadayadaya, but c’mon!  It’s up there somewhere!  Which I believe means that is eventually accessible.

Do you see how much of a trail you are leaving behind?  Just like poor Peter, who left an active email account, now demon-possessed and sending spam.

The whole thing unsettles me especially in light of the revelations of how much spying our own government is doing on us all.  I believe that to be creepy, too—and illegal, not to mention unAmerican (Can anyone spell “Bill of Rights?”).

We’re getting immune to the creepy feeling we ought to have about leaving a trail of information about ourselves.

I had a client in the other day who is a professor in the information technology field.  He spoke about how easy it is to find out things—how you don’t have to be the big-dog government. He says as an exercise he has one of his students post a private picture on facebook in the classroom, then shows them right there how to get to it.

There is no privacy.

He says his young students do not care. “I don’t particularly want people I don’t know (especially millions of them) knowing that my favorite color is blue,” he said.  “But these young folks cock their heads and furrow their brows when I try to explain my unease at this.”

Yes, there is no privacy, and we are caring less and less.  The younger you are the more information  you put out there.

You think I don’t understand how much information about myself I put out on this blog?

So, back to Peter.  What is going to happen to all your email accounts when you pass on?  What about your “cloud” storages?  Will they be reaching out to someone after you are gone?  Do your loved ones know how to get into your electronic paths and deactivate them?  ( I suppose there is no such thing as “destroying” the information you’ve already put out there.”

I think of archaeologists who dig through ancient garbage dumps, sifting all the information they can find on ancient civilization.

I don’t think any archaeologists will be needed 1,000 years from now to know everything about us.  There is a growing cloudbank of witness to your lives.

Creepy, I tell you.  C

C: Fear Itself

We’ve lived a long time in the woods—or at least near to the woods.  The forest comes up close to my house on two sides and from there stretches miles back over hills interrupted only with dottings of civilization.  Hearing the night forest sounds when the weather allows open windows is one of my favorite things about living out here.

One of the sounds I love is that of the whippoorwill bird, who sings only at night.  For those of you who live out of his range, you can hear one at this site.  Scroll down to the section on “call” where you will find a recording.

Normally I hear the whippoorwill from the darkness of the forest.  Lately, however, I have had one calling on my back utility porch.  His song is loud and from so close fills my den.  That porch is the point of my home which is nearest to the woods, the steps being but maybe 50 feet to the thick trees.  Hearing him so close made me think about the whippoorwill’s impact on my son.

When my son was born we lived even more-surrounded by woods than now.  The whippoorwills were common out there and sang to us.  Oddly enough, my son developed a fear of the whippoorwill.  My husband was largely at fault. 

One night as he was tucking our nearly-four-year-old into the bed, Son asked about the sound coming from the woods.  “That’s the whippoorwill,” his father said.  “He only comes out at night.”

Son sat upright in the bed.  It seems that “night creatures” equated with “bad” to him, and he let his father know that this was an unsettling thought to him.

“Don’t worry, Son,” Dad soothed.  “I bet Molly (our cat) goes to visit the whippoorwill when she’s outside.  You know how she likes to be out at night, too.”  Son relaxed.  And then Dad, unable to leave well enough alone,  messed up…bad.

“So long as you hear the whippoorwill you don’t have a thing to worry about…” (could he have stopped here?  Nope, he was too wound up).  “In fact, it’s when you don’t hear him that you should be worried.”

Well, as you know, the whippoorwill calls a lot at night but not all the time!  The minute it stopped that night, Son was running to our bed.  “Dad!  I can’t hear the Whippoorwill!!”

It took us weeks to calm him out of this fear.

And that reminds me of another time, after we had moved to the city.  Dad struck again.  He was tucking Son into bed and praying for him as was his custom.  This time he added a little:  “And, Lord, please protect us through the night.”

Son sat up straight in the bed.  “From what?”

He wanted to know exactly what disaster was coming down the pike from which Dad was seeking divine protection.  This necessitated a two-parent discussion of the generality (not always the specificity) of God’s protection.  It took a while to calm Son down and convince him that Dad did not know of some impending danger.

All this remembering makes me wonder about myself.  What “unknowns” am I afraid of that are really only benign unknowns?

Many, I think...perhaps when I feel fear of “unknown,” of moving from my comfort zone, I should recall the whippoorwill, his reassuring call and the generality of God’s protection.  My little utility-porch buddy has been a good reminder and a great encouragement.

C

 

C: C’mon, Let’s Exercise Your Vocabulary!

I think I have a decent vocabulary.  I love words and don’t often run across English words that I simply do not recognize.  I may not know the definitions off the top of my head when it comes to the more obscure, but I usually at least recognize the word.  But I ran across a new one this week.

I was internet-stalking Suzanne Somers the other day…er, I mean, I was snooping a look or two at her estate high on a mountain overlooking Palm Springs that is now being offered at a reduced price of a mere $15 million.  It sounds lovely.

I don’t think this picture really captures the place:

The estate has several buildings and has ten bedrooms and 11 bathrooms. 

As you can see, it has a marvelous kitchen:

and beautiful outdoor spaces:

It has a pool and, for the performing arts, an outdoor amphitheater.  What more could one want?

I was really living it up vicariously when I got to the part that said one of the unique things about the property is that it is only reached by a funicular.

Huh?

Funicular?

Well, that sent me to the dictionary, where I found that a funicular is a cable-drawn car which transports folks up a steep incline, like a mountainside.  I found pictures of Suzanne’s funicular:

And here she is snuggled up having a blast with some guy (her husband?) in bathrobes (do you reckon they ride up and down the mountain in their bathrobes often?):

Here are a few more examples of funiculars for your learning pleasure:

Do not ever say you cannot learn things here from the Stickhorse Cowgirls.  (If you are kind you will at least pretend you didn’t already know this word…)

-C

PS – BTW, I am afraid of heights.  The funicular entrance killed the deal for me…Suzanne must look elsewhere to unload that estate.

C: Celebration

It was this tree that started me thinking this spring…..

Yes, it is a tree I see every day as I drive into my property.  It belongs to my neighbor, Mary. This is a poor picture to depict its grandeur.

It is starting to green, and I really wish that I had photographed it just a few weeks earlier, when there were no leaves to soften the stark branches.  Against the blue winter sky, its perfect shape has inspired me all winter.  It is what has caused me to think (overthink) about nature’s perfection.

But it was this photograph that put me over the top and made me want to write in this blog again and say to you, “Do you see the perfection, the planning, the genius of our world?” 

I do believe that nothing we do enhances it.  In fact, everywhere we touch, I’m afraid, we diminish God’s initial handiwork.  Just look at that little baby giraffe photographed against his mother, pondering the world.  Is there anything we can do to match this?

I started thinking about nature’s symmetry, its design and went in search of examples for you.  They are all obvious.  No genius in my search, here, but even though they are common examples, these thrill me, make me wonder.

Honeycomb, made by bugs, no less.  Ingenious, practical, beautiful—so beautiful that we mimic:

As pleasing as the tile floor is, as much as I would love to have it in my own home, it does not compare to the original.  Remember: we are not the originators of this beautiful design…the bees were.

Who could think up this dandelion?

…not to mention constructing it.

And think of William Blake's exhilaration: “Tiger, tiger, burning bright in the forest of the night, what immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry…”

Indeed, who?

There is something about stripes in nature, isn’t there?  One of my favorites—zebras:

I never tire of seeing them.  I have a compulsion to collect photos of them, so entranced am I by their stripes.

The list goes on and on, including the everyday, the mundane (“mundane?”  Really?):

…and the fantastic:

and the patterns…

…and unending variety

…since what may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them.  For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature--have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse. 

Romans 1:19, 20.

Indeed.  Sigh.

--C

Cowgirl V: Light at the End of the Tunnel

 

It’s much more difficult than I ever thought it would be to write what I really want to say.  I hamstring myself with fear of revealing too much, embarrassing myself or others.  I’ve often wondered if others struggle with this too.  Do I want to limit myself to writing about a slick veneer of life as seen through rose colored glasses, or do I want authenticity—even if sometimes it’s a little angry, or whiny, or questioning?

 

I don’t want to air all my dirty laundry publically, but I will say that my 40 years of marriage hasn’t always been rosy.  We’ve struggled through difficult times—our own  selfishness, even boredom at times.  We’ve endured the stress of rebellious, out of control teenagers.  We’ve sat in the emergency room of hospitals, with life and death circumstances before us for two of our three children.  Despite the difficult times, thankfully we have had trust  and common faith to sustain us through the rough times.

We’ve been through a lot, not always supported each other as lovingly as we should have, but there is value and merit in hanging in there most of the time.  To my grandchildren who suffered the pain and separation of divorce, my hubby and I are their rock—like salt and pepper we just belong together in their eyes!   I’ll never forget my late father telling me many years ago that he discovered as a teenager that his grandmother had been married to another man before she married his grandfather.  She had lost her husband and  baby to a flu epidemic.  He said that even though she had been widowed, he felt a sense of betrayal to even consider that she had shared a life with someone other than his grandfather.

 

 

Oh, how things have changed!!!  It amazes me how the cultural climate has changed  since my husband I were married.  Facebook (as much as I have enjoyed reconnecting with old friends lost to me through the years), has become a huge problem in many marriages with people reconnecting with old flames.  Temptation has never been easier.

 

“C” and I both have discussed the statistics many times, but still would both say that our sons are the exception to the rule!  Often, I’ve said to “C” when she recites the statistics “yes, but what about our boys?”  Another lament of mine regarding  men who aren’t faithful is –“Who raised those men?  Where are mothers dropping the ball in not teaching their sons to be faithful men?  And what about fathers?  Are they perhaps teaching by example?  And can a mother’s counsel overrule that example if it’s bad?  I know my own father, an only child of divorce, stood by his mother with a protectiveness, and vowed never to follow in his father’s unfaithful footsteps.

 

Our son’s divorce was final last year.   He was absolutely faithful and dedicated to his wife.  The  girl we welcomed into our family just walked away without a glance back to pursue a new person who turned her head – No one is perfect, but my son is kind and hardworking and faithful and he treated her well.   He goes to work, comes home, plays with the dogs, cooks  on the grill, works in the garden, and goes  to bed early.   He’s a tinkerer too—loves to have a project.    Summer before last he taught himself how to can and put up over 60 jars of pickles!  He bought an old travel trailer and refurbished it. So this has been a difficult time, but he has been surrounded by friends and family who love him.  He has a new job with a promising future working with his brother-in-law and is planning to buy his own home soon.

So, this is not just a problem of men who have a wandering eye.    Sometimes it is the  woman who is restless and thinks there are greener pastures. I  believe my former daughter-in-law may live to regret her decision to pursue someone she hardly knew.  Oh, the enemy is a deceiver.  Let us teach our children, sons and daughters,  by word and example, to be faithful, kind, and honoring of our vows.

 

 

 

Just want to let you know that “C” will be back posting soon!  Actually, she has written three books!  She has taken a hiatus from posting to work furiously at her law practice, and on her books.  If all goes well—who knows, she may be a bestselling author!  I wouldn’t be surprised at all!  And how is my job going?  Well just let me say that I have never had a more difficult year in my life!  I may retire after this semester, or I might try to find something less stressful/part-time.  I want to slow down!  Working full time and helping out with my grandkids is wearing me out!  I’d rather just help with the grandkids!  Life is too precious to be exhausted all the time!  There IS light at the end of the tunnel!  I am enjoying Spring Break, and on May 31 I am DONE!

C: Christmas to Remember?

How was your Christmas/ New Year holiday?  See if you can top mine….

Two weeks before Christmas and the arrival of six family members from half a continent away my dishwasher went out.  No problem.  I went to the Home Depot and purchased one, arranging for it to be delivered the next week—just in time for the boatload of dishes that fifteen people would make on Christmas Eve night.

Disclaimer: The above is NOT my sink—only what I feared!

One week before Christmas we had a windstorm that lasted at least 24 hours with straight-line winds that prevented me at one point from opening my car door.  Strong enough that they snapped our electric poles and caused me to be without power for four days. 

Please recall that without power out here in the country, there is no water…pump, remember?

This necessitated two nights in the local Hampton Inn so that I could be presentable in Court the next morning.

It also meant that the dishwasher could not be installed.

Fine.  We’d just do chinette.

My guests arrived on Saturday, understanding that because of four days without electricity the house was not exactly presentable, the refrigerator was bare because we lost so much of the food there, and that there were no—not even one—Christmas decorations.

The next morning Son and nephew went to the storage unit to get the Christmas tree and decorations so we could all put them up together.  He got confused about the code to gain entry and did it enough times before calling home for the correct one that we were locked out.  No attendant was on duty—gone until after Christmas.

Next decision made:  No decorations. 

Christmas came.  It was wonderful.  We basked in over-indulgence of food (off Chinette) and gifts.  It was marvelous fun.  Right up until Christmas evening, when the power went out. 

Gulp!  We prayed for a short outage.  But the next morning when we arose we knew to expect the worse because this is what we saw.

That’s Chili looking back at me—he loved this entire time.  Our family had brought their dog, Athena, with them, and the two played and played and played.  I don’t think they knew anything was amiss.

The above is the nose of my brother-in-law’s car, stuck in the snow…right next to mine which also got stuck when I got cocky and tried to drive to MIL’s home…no power, no water, no getting out of the driveway.  We were made prisoners by the snow in a nineteenth century time warp, without any modern conveniences.

We adapted.  We bundled up and kept a roaring fire going in the fireplace.

The no water situation was the worst.  We could not flush toilets because of the lack of pump (don’t think on this one too much) so we gathered snow to melt in order to be able to perform this function.  Snow melt (boiled and with a little bleach) also served to wash what dishes and pots we used at mealtimes.

By the evening fire one night we read poetry, beginning with Robert Service’s “The Cremation of Sam McGee.”  Son and I recited our favorite Frost poems and, of course, as much of “The Raven” as we could recall.  We could not prevail upon others to recite, but in all we had a great time that evening sitting in semi-circle around the fireplace enjoying each other’s company.

The captivity continued until Thursday afternoon when Son, BIL and I made a foray into town, treacherously as you will see from these pictures, to re-supply. 

The above is a normally well-traveled road into town.

As you can see, it took a lot of chainsaws to make things passable.

Finally, as we sat around late Friday afternoon dreading the cold and dark of the night, the power blinked on.  We were jubilant!  Our town relatives had to wait until the next day and, in one case Sunday, before power was restored so we were ahead of the game as compared to them.

Sunday our guests decided to take one “fun” trip into town and see Les Miserables before packing to leave the next day.  In the final half hour the theater lost power.  Just their luck.

We have laughed over this as the Christmas we will never forget!  I will tell you one thing, though: my family were champions through this ordeal.  They could have packed their cars up and left on Thursday, but they chose to stick it out with us.  Their kids’ extra hands at gathering snow, keeping the fire lit, and doing all the work that this lifestyle entails was a huge help.  There was little, if any, complaint.  This bunch is definitely foxhole material.

Now the New Year has turned, and Son and I spent New Year’s Eve quietly at home, relishing our electricity.  2012 has been a difficult year, and we hope for a better one in 2013—we wish the same for you.  --C

C: How Much Reward is Required?

My now-grown son likes to remind me of a “scam” we used to run on him when he was young.  We put a special calendar up on the wall just to record his good behavior.  He would earn one of those gummed gold stars on the calendar for each of several specified good deeds.

He now tells us that he paid great attention to the opportunity to fill those little calendar squares up with the shiny stars.  It caused him to eat way more green beans than he would otherwise have eaten (which would have been none).  It was responsible for many more beds made without asking.  It just, generally, served to achieve parental purposes at very little cost to Dad and me.

Son now says (good naturedly), “I can’t believe I fell for that!  All that effort for a stupid star!”

And we both wonder why it worked like it did.

I was reminded of this the other day as I played my latest time-waste game on my I-Pad – Bedazzled.  I become mesmerized by this game, trying to line up like “jewels” so that they will pop and go away, others dropping in their place.

If I am good enough, I get “special” jewels that sparkle or seem to be on fire.  These make a spectacular fireworks display when they are discharged by lining them up with others like them.

If I’m really good, I get a message, like the “Excellent” shown in this picture.  It is always such a thrill to get this message of encouragement.

And, let’s don’t forget the points!  You get points for lining up like jewels so that they pop and disappear.  And you get even more points for the “special jewels.”

And all this counts for what?  Nothing, that’s what.  It reminds me of the gold-star scam, above.  It makes me wonder about the psychology of reward and what’s really required for our brain to see something as a reward.  Surely, it isn’t only identifiable return…

I’ve said it before:  It takes so little to amuse me.

Kind of embarrassing when you think about it. - C

PS – don’t take this as some declaration that I’ll quit this time-waste game…

Technorati Tags: Rewards,video games