Maternal Reflex

Whew ... I survived the last week of school and my daughter's birthday party. No small feat, the latter, because I had twenty-three very wired kids in attendance.

It really is interesting watching some of the kids ... you really can tell who has been raised in a barn, and who has had a proper upbringing. I know that sounds terribly snobby and echoes our moms and grandmothers, but it's true. I guess I can't exorcise my mother's voice from my head (very Norman Bates-like, I know).

Every time I host an event in which there are lots of children in attendance outside of my kids' circle of close friends, I find myself having to hold back from quizzing my kids closely afterwards th ensure that my kids don't do any of the rude things at others' homes and parties that I witnessed in my own. Quite frankly, I'm always appalled by some of the things I see.

Don't get me wrong ... I don't expect kids to be miniature adults and just sit quietly. My children are certainly active and boisterous as a barrel of monkeys, and I love the element of chaos that they bring into the household. What I don't expect though are children who have this sense of entitlement and who are just plain cheeky and rude. Children who will do things like open your fridge and just help themselves to things without being invited to do so. Children who will decide they like something they see (non-edible) and pocket it without asking. Children, who when you tell them a rule (like, we don't use the word "fuck" in our household), argue with you. I guess, I must be old because I just kept thinking to myself how disrespectful some of these kids were.

Of course, some of the mystery was cleared up when I met the parents. One woman showed up half an hour late (this after she had repeatedly asked me at the drop-off what time the party ended, thereby proving that hearing and listening are two distinct and separate experiences), and completely without explanation or apology. During the torturously long half an hour before she deigned to appear, I had to constantly ask her son to refrain from behaving in a certain rude and decidedly wild manner. I also had to resist from ripping out of his hands some of the things he'd decided should go home with him. I was in no mood to linger and chat with the mom when she finally did show up. Was also mildly appalled that neither parent nor child thanked me or my daughter before they left. This is a woman who is quite well educated and wealthy, and is a respected professional, so stupidly I assumed that she would have some amount of etiquette, but there I go, snobbishly stereotyping again.

The delayed reaction I get to being exposed to kids like that is wanting to pack up and move to a rural neighbourhood where I can raise my children in a natural, simple and unspoiled environment. I just can't bear the thought of my kids turning into rude and obnoxious people.

The Green Eyed Monster

I read an interesting article in the Star yesterday. It told the tale of Matt, a seventeen year old boy who attends a large well-known public high school in Toronto. A quiet,intelligent boy who ran for school council president and won narrowly.

This past winter, Matt came out to his entire school as Jade. Apparently, Matt had always felt that he wasn't really male, and after much discussion with his parents, he elected to present himself as a female to the world this past December. In a gutsy move, six foot four Matt came to school dressed in woman's apparel and a wig.

What I found wonderful, reassuring and surprisingly refreshing was how much support Matt/Jade received on all fronts. First off, his parents, who are divorced, were amazing. I'm trying to imagine anyone from my generation telling their parents that he/she wants to change sexes, even if only clothing and namewise. My favourite quote was about how when his mom phoned his jock dad to tell him about Matt's decision, his dad rushed right over. Not because he was horrified, but because he didn't want Matt to think that he had hesitated for a moment, and not been supportive, loving and accepting. He later took Matt shopping and helped him pick out clothing. underclothing with built-in implants and a wig that would make Jade look pretty. I thought that was pretty impressive, because it must have been a bit weird for a parent to watch his kid transform himself before his very eyes.

Jade also received a great deal of support from the principal of his school, who when informed of his decision, sent out a letter to all staff members explaining what was about to happen and asking them to be respectful and supportive. Jade was then assigned a teacher escort for the first couple of days who helped to field any questions or concerns from others and also acted as a buffer in case of any intolerant individuals.

Lastly, Jade was accepted by her peers. I found that mildly surprising because for some reason, I have this idea in my mind that kids are naturally cruel and intolerant of anything "different". But then again, maybe that was just our generation. Because now that I come to think of it, my step-daughter has a friend the same age as her who is gay and who came out a couple of years ago at the age of about fourteen or fifteen.

I think it's really great that adolescents can come to grips with their sexual preferences at an early age and announce it to the world. In high school, I had a good friend of mine who was a lesbian, but who didn't come out for years. Poor girl went through hell trying to fit in because she thought something was wrong with her. It was all very painful to watch from the sidelines. Now of course, she's happily married to a lovely woman and they have a beautiful four-month-old daughter. She recently commented to me that she felt our present day society is far more accepting and tolerant, at least on the surface, than it was "back in our day". Her partner is about eight years younger than us -- not a huge difference, but enough that she found more acceptance amongst her peers at an earlier age (she went to her highschool prom with a female date).

It's funny, I try to teach my kids to be tolerant, respectful and supportive people, and there are many times where I get blown away because they say and do things that I would never have done in my youth. Even now, I think I'm still way harder, meaner and more suspicious than they will ever be as adults. Should I have been at all surprised by the fact that Matt/Jade isn't being taunted at school? Should I have simply taken it in stride, and not thought otherwise? Granted, I would never have openly made fun of a peer under any circumstances, but would I have been openly supportive either? Without trying to be too Seinfeldesque, not that there's anything wrong with it, but I'm not sure what I would have thought if one of my classmates decided to present himself or herself as a member of the opposite sex. I'm not homophobic and I'm quite sure if one of my kids announced he or she was gay, I would be ultra supportive because all that matters to me is that my kids are happy and secure with themselves.

I have to wonder if maybe I'm envious that today's youth seems to possess a certain self-confidence and self-assurance that I never felt, especially as an adolescent. I think it's amazing and wonderful and it obviously shows that as parents, we are on the right track if we are endowing our kids with this kind of feeling of self-empowerment. To echo my profile, I guess I really am somewhat developmentally retarded because I am only just now discovering this kind of secureness to pursue my own path without worrying and fearing others' recriminations.

All Fired Up

Okay, so I'm on day three of steroid therapy, and it's got me really manic and way bitchier than usual (yes, I know you're all thinking "who would have thought that possible?")

Anyway, so I have to wonder: is it just me/the 'roids or are people really cheeky? Feel free to cast your vote.

To illustrate:

I am currently in the midst of planning my daughter's seventh birthday party. Disorganised person that I am, I always leave this until the last minute and then get in a panic when I suddenly realise that I have to throw the party before school is over as people leave for their summer vacation or kids get tied up with summer camp. (Apparently, it's chic to ship your kids off at the age of seven to overnight camp for a month or more). Anyway, so as I'm alternately chastising myself for being a bad mother and for my poor conception planning skills (why, oh why didn't I have a spring baby?), I finally manage to throw together what might actually turn out to be a terrific party. And just in the nick of time, too as school will be finished next week.

We elected to invite my daughter's entire class to the party as she was friendly with about three-quarters of the boys and girls. The only problem with this plan of action is that I don't actually know all the kids, and more importantly, their parents. There are just some parents whom you NEVER see at any classroom events, field trips or even during the pick-up/drop-off times.

The next day after the invites were passed out, I received a phone call. Bear in mind that I had just spent the previous twenty-four hours in hospital, am now on steroid therapy and am extremely exhausted. The person on the other end identifies herself as being the aunt of one my daughter's classmates, and then proceeds to say that he has a brother at the school in Grade 6 and "it's okay for him to come as well, right?"

I very gently but firmly explained that in fact, the invitation was extended to only one person, and that while I understood their predicament (I really didn't, actually), the party was intended to be for my daughter and her friends only. Also, since others invited had brothers and sisters in the school, I would have to extend this courtesy to others, and we were already beyond the recommended capacity for this particular venue. So sorry, no siblings allowed.

The woman clearly didn't expect to be turned down, so after a long pause said "Okay, so just K. will come then ... one person". As though she were doing me a favour by complying with the invitation request. (See, I told you I was reaching new heights of bitchiness). I replied very cheerfully "Great, we'll look forward to seeing him then".

There must have been a special on imposing yourself upon others that day (two rude requests for the price of one), because the woman then says "So you'll be bringing him to the party and then you'll drop him back off at school". Whoa ... has this kid never been to a party before? Does she not know the drill? I resisted the urge to ask her if I should be purchasing a gift and wrapping it on their behalf, took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was probably reacting in an unduly irrational manner. I proceeded to inform the woman that in fact, I had three kids of my own, was hosting a party and that I therefore couldn't be responsible for her nephew. I told her that each parent was expected to either bring their child themselves or in the alternative, make their own drop-off and pick-up arrangements.

Her response was "Yeah but his mom only wants to pick up her kids once". My initial reaction was one of horror because it dawned on me that the older sibling would probably have to hang out at school for a couple of hours while his brother partied just so that mommy dearest wouldn't have to make a couple of trips. Following that, I became mildly pissed off because she was essentially saying "If you don't do this, then K. won't come", which was just fine with me because K. actually never even made it on the A list to begin with. Of course, I didn't say this. Instead, I simply said "Well it sounds as though it may not work out for your this time around. But let me know if you make other arrangements and K. can make it because we'd love to have him if he can". (His aunt frostily informed me the following day that K. would not be attending the party after all, and implied that his mom was somewhat insulted by my inhospitable manner and failure to accomodate her son).

So I have to question if it's me/the 'roids or if this woman was just pushing the envelope on bad guest etiquette. I did wonder briefly what kind of a caregiver would entrust their child to a virtual stranger. I mean, for all she knew I could have been some irresponsible, alcoholic child beater. Actually, that might not be as bad as the reality -- an irrational steroid charged bitch on wheels.

Life, the Universe and Everything

Okay so there are some things I just don't get.

I guess you could call me somewhat of a ponderer. Well, at least I used to be one. I spent my adolescence mulling over agonising questions that seemingly had no answers. Like the meaning of life, or the reason behind racism. I think it's not an inaccurate statement to say that most young adults/teenagers struggle with these kinds of issues and questions. Youth has the time and energy to be passionate about societal injustices and metaphysical questions.

My parents would, in their own words, essentially tell me to get over myself. What exactly is the point of wondering whether or not people are islands unto themselves? Who cares? What difference could it possibly make to your existence to figure out why people are anti-Semitic or prejudiced against blacks? I remember thinking "how can they not get it? How can they not understand how important an issue this is to resolve?"

Of course, now here I stand, mother to a child who asks endless questions that have no apparent answers. A child, who I think, may one day agonise over what he perceives to be life's injustices. Already, he wonders how it is that we can live in a country where we have so much, when on the other side of the world, people are dying daily from starvation. And while I have the utmost sympathy for my child questioning the morality of eating cows, or the existence of any concrete proof of God, I honestly don't always have the time and the patience to humour him in the way that he deserves. It must be a symptom of old age that we become so burnt out, beaten down and jaded so as to believe that one person's passion isn't enough to change a universal problem. When did we stop believing in David and Goliath?

These days, I find myself pondering less weighty issues, like why it is that no one can refill the toilet paper holder when it is empty. The toilet paper is right there, but they will use it without exchanging the empty roll for a new one. Or why is it that a former jock star basketball player consistently seems to miss the laundry basket when pitching his socks onto the floor. Or what the logic is behind a teenager announcing that she is going out clothes shopping with some friends, but "can you please go to Shoppers and pick up some shampoo because later on when I come home from shopping, I'm going to want to shower and wash my hair and there isn't the kind of shampoo that I like".

To be honest, sometimes I think I stand more of a chance of beating racism and third world countries' poverty, than I do of getting someone to empty the damn dishwasher. Obviously, my passion is misdirected.

Ahhhh youth ...

I feel pathetic. And old.

I went down to Queen Street the other day with my step-daughter. The purpose of our excursion was two-fold. First, we were going to New Tribe (a tattoo and piercing parlour) and then we were going to a particular store to shop. The reason for the pit stop at the tattoo parlour, you ask? Here's where the pathetically old comes in: during a conversation with Celine, I mentioned that I wanted to get both of my ears pierced a second time, and the left one a third time. This is something I'd wanted to do since I was fourteen, but never dared to (could barely face the wrath of my mother when I was thirteen and went off and pierced the first holes). Of course, she egged me on and then offered to come and hold my hand during the deed.

Then she mentioned once again, how she's been thinking of getting a tattoo. I wanted to be supportive, but just couldn't egg her on with the same enthusiasm as she had me. Instead, I remained fairly non-committal and expressed the cons of doing so. Granted, she only wanted a very small tattoo, in a very discreet location. In fact, she was thinking of only doing the outline and not filling it in. It didn't sound so bad, but I knew that both of her parents would freak if they knew, so I couldn't exactly start chanting "Do it! Do it! Do it!" So, I said that if she really was going to go ahead and get a tattoo, that I wanted to be the one to go with her and check out the place to make sure it was kosher. I figured that I couldn't stop her from doing what she wanted to do, unless I pulled out the authoritarian parent card (which would seem weird since I've never done that), but that I could at least exercise some control if I was present.

As it turned out, she didn't end up getting a tattoo. Five minutes en route to Queen Street, when I asked her if she was really and truly sure that she wanted to get a tattoo, she exclaimed "Oh no! I forgot the picture!" She'd left the photo of what she wanted at home (Perfect Circle's symbol). I offered to turn around and go back home, but then she started waffling and saying that maybe she should do a little bit more research before actually going ahead with the deed. Having a degree in Psychology, with a big emphasis on Freudian analysis, I felt that really and truly, this was her subconscious way of declaring that she didn't want a tattoo. In the face of a consenting and supportive parental figure, she found a way to get out of it gracefully. I let her off the hook and gently said "That's a good idea, honey".

I have to admit though that I felt really self-conscious and foolish when we arrived at New Tribe. I had to step up and announce to this very young and very tattoo'ed and pierced teenager at the counter that I wanted my ears pierced. I swear, I could feel her thinking "yeah, like that's really going to fool everyone into believing that you're young and cool". Had I been younger, I might have caved into the perceived peer pressure and signed up for major tattoo'ing!

I felt even older and squarer when the teenybopper presented me with a selection of jewelry for my piercings, none of which included any studs. I found myself wishing that I'd gone somewhere that had some really lovely little bejewelled earrings instead. I picked the smallest and most discreet silver barbells for all three of my piercings. (Again, I could feel the girl thinking "Boooooo-RRRRRRing!").

Afterwards, we had a really good time shopping for the rest of the afternoon. Celine took me to a store afterwards where she'd bought a whole bunch of great tops on sale a few days earlier. The salesgirl recognised her and then kept referring to me as her "friend", as though we were the same age (see, the piercings really did work).

The highlight of my day was walking down the street with her and having every young twenty-ish guy ogle the two of us and nudge his buddy. This would never happen if I was alone, but with her, everyone assumed that we were more or less the same age (well, okay but at least confined to the same decade). It's funny how when you're old, you suddenly revel and relish these moments which, when they happened fifteen or twenty years earlier, you just rolled your eyes.

I know, I know. I am really pathetic. And old. But at least I don't have any delusions about myself, right?

P.S. For those of you who think I am going through mid-life crisis and that the piercings are my way of expressing it, I say "You better believe it!"

EU-thanasia

Okay, so if I had a quarter for every time I've thought the phrase "Just kill me now" lately, I think I'd be able to take a nice little trip to Cancun.

Here are a few key examples of the various times during which that little mantra takes place:

1. This weekend, I drove to and from the cottage within the span of about twenty-four hours. It's not a long drive -- a little over an hour from doorstep to doorstep, but it's not always so peaceful. When I first purchased my car, R had asked that the dealer install a TV and DVD player. I balked at first, but he shushed me and insisted that we would be glad that we had one. At the time, my eldest was 5 years old, my daughter 3 and the baby was only 1. During longer car trips, I would put on a tape and all three kids' attention would be instantly riveted. It was great during trips to Montreal when the kids would get bored after the first couple of hours. It certainly cut down on the usual "Are we there yet? How much longer until we get there? How about now? Now, how much closer are we?"

Inevitably however, what started happening was heated arguments over what tape to play, and of course, as soon as J.M. (the baby) got old enough to cast his vote, it became increasingly difficult to reach a consensus. However, once they'd agreed upon a tape, peace would be restored and the kids would be quiet for the duration of the movie. The half an hour to an hour's worth of silence was like gold to me.

Unfortunately, my kids are exceedingly creative and adept at discovering fresh new ways of torture. Now, once a tape has been agreed upon, there begins a fight over which character each child is going to be. Yes, you read it correctly. For instance, if I put on a Tom and Jerry tape, as soon as each episode begins, the kids call out "I'm Tom! I'm Jerry", etc. Inevitably, someone calls out a character that is apparently more desirous and pretty soon, all I hear is "No, I'm Tom! No, I am! No you're not! I called it first! Mommmmmeeeeeee! I said I was going to be Tom and then she said she wanted to be Tom but I was first and she's being mean". This of course is where the script reads Harried mother clutches steering wheel tightly while softly chanting to herself "Kill me now, please".

2. My step-daughter graduated from high school last week. We were both so proud of her accomplishments and overcome with emotion at reaching such a significant milestone.

On the other hand, the amount of pomp and circumstance surrounding the momentous event was significant. First, we had to attend the Headmaster's Dinner which was a sit-down meal for parents, students and teachers alike. This would have been okay except that we were subjected to the Headmaster's boring speeches. This was followed by each student being called up to the podium to receive a momento (stainless steel key chain) while getting their picture snapped with the director of the senior school and some unknown parent.

A couple of days later, the graduation ceremony took place. I loved seeing the kids as they received their diploma, and wished we could have heard more about them. Instead, for reasons unknown, we were subjected to a barrage of speeches from the Headmaster, the President of the school board, the Director of the school, and lastly from the CEO of Manulife (couldn't figure out the reasoning behind that last one as he isn't alumni or related to staff or parents in any way ... probably the only French speaking dude they could find who has made it big). All of these speeches were meant to be humourous and inspiring, but were simply trite and boring at best.

The ceremony lasted a full three hours in an auditorium that was overly air-conditioned. By hour two, I was starting to mutter those all too familar words "Just kill me now, please" as I crossed and recrossed my frostbitten legs tightly (damn cold room made me want to pee incessantly!)

(What bothered me the most about the whole ceremony was that it was just a private school trying to show off. It didn't have much to do with the kids; they were just a way in which to sell an image).

3. I was helping my step-daughter fill out her application for university residence. At the end of the whole process, she passed her application to R for signature and he then started questioning all of her choices. Not that he didn't have a right to do so, but on the other hand, he chose to watch a basketball game rather than join our earlier discussion in which we had figured everything out. Now, the joke around our household is that Richard suffers from ADHD. He can never sit still beyond about thirty seconds and he asks questions but walks away from you mid-answer, only to pace back furiously a minute or two later and pose the very same question again.

When we started telling him the different choices that needed to be made in residence, like apartment-style vs. residence style, double vs. triple vs. quad vs. bunk loft, we didn't get very far. He interrupted before we'd had a chance to finish our explanation and started firing off questions like "Are there rooms you can have that are like self-contained apartments? So what did you say you wanted as your first choice? You chose residence style vs. apartment style ... what's the difference? What are the chances that you'd get a single? You don't want a single? Why not? So you want to live in what kind of a place? An apartment? No? Oh then what? Do you want to get a single room? No? Why not?" My all-time favourite was when he started questioning each of the choices and would ask for explanations like "What's a double? Oh two people in a room. Okay, so how many people are in a triple?" Hard to believe from this discourse that the man is actually very bright.

So yes, during the firing off all the rapid questions, both C and I started getting irritated, and I would bet money that simultaneously we were both thinking "Just kill me now".


Now the real question that comes up is, does it denote a pacifist's soul that I elect to be suicidal versus homicidal? I mean, why don't I want to kill the offending parties? Is it that I'm a martyr or a masochist?

Next Stop ... Geriatrics

Man, all my kids are getting older!!! Time really is relative because I still feel young and immature. It's like I'm in the Freaky Friday movie -- somehow I woke up up in this middle-aged bod complete with the house, hubby, kids, pets and two cars. Weird ...

My eldest son is starting to have existentialist type doubts about the tooth fairy. My daughter has lost her baby belly and has sprouted these incredibly long pre-teen legs (already!). My youngest son is losing his baby talk (sad because I loved when he would said that he wanted to go eat at Tickle Bear (Pickle Barrel) or he would ask Justin to join him in a game of Pretendo (Nintendo)). My step-daughter graduates from high school this Friday and begins university in September. Where the hell does time go??

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ... not much has changed with me ... or so I like to think. But is that good? I mean, isn't change a good thing? If suddenly, my life is uneventful, hum drum and fairly static, isn't that the first sign of old age?

Further evidence of my middle aged status ... the fact that my big thrill these days is getting mistaken for someone in my twenties. Even if it's obviously complete bullshit. About a month ago, I went out with a friend of mine and she sent me into the store to buy her some cigarettes. I got I.D'd by the clerk who claimed that I looked like I was twenty-two. I think he was just hoping to get me to buy more stuff, but I didn't care (it worked, incidentally).

Today, I went into the LCBO with Richard, my step-daughter and her school friend. The purpose of our visit was to buy them some wine coolers to take to a graduation party tonight. The clerk at the counter asked Richard if he was buying the booze for himself -- implying that he'd hooked up with a bunch of under-aged kids outside who'd asked him to score some stuff for them. When Richard replied by saying that he was buying it for his daughter and her friends because they had just graduated from The Toronto French School, the guy turned to me and said "Congratulations. It's such a great thing that you can speak French". I don't think I need to tell you what a big thrill that was, even though I suspect the guy wasn't exactly Albert Einstein, and may also have been tippling abit of the store's inventory while on the job.

I realised that Justin is already halfway to the age of being able to get a driving licence. How scary is that? Jacqueline will probably start developing in a couple of years. Celine is probably going to lose her virginity with the next six months. I don't think I can bear it all!!!

It was pointed out to me not so long ago that my children are now closer to the age of twenty-one than I am. Gee, there's a lovely thought. Thanks, thanks very much for brightening my day. (That was one of your friends, Snooze, by the way ...)


I was looking over my wardrobe the other day and realised that I still dress in pretty much the same way as I did since I was fourteen. I'm still into cute little mini skirts and tights, or tight jeans and t-shirts with funny logos on them. I still wear my hair long. Should I be making some fashion changes in order to be more appropriately middle-aged? It worries me when I pick up my kids at school and see the eighth graders wearing the exact same skirt that I just bought a few days ago. It elicits that whole panicky feeling where I start frantically asking myself questions like Am I dressing too youthful? Or are they dressing too mature? Is it them? Is it me? Are they laughing at me?

To hell with it all. I'm going to wear my mini skirts into the grave. Old age doesn't mean that I have to become this decrepit, dowdy, boring person with no sense of humour. (I'm told that this is classic middle-age crisis thinking, but I choose to ignore that helpful comment).

On the Effects of Damn Good Drugs

On the way to Montreal a couple of weekends ago, I was fiddling with the radio trying to find a station that played decent music, so I could stay awake (was on the road until 1 a.m.) Finally found one (don't know what it was or where it was coming from) but it played some great tunes from the seventies and eighties. Good quality classic rock like Led Zep, Pink Floyd, Queen, The Eagles, April Wine, etc. God those groups were awesome. They just managed to find that musical groove together, that came from some really great jam sessions.

I had to stop and ponder whether or not we have any kind of music currently that has the same kind of staying power that the old stuff has. I mean, sure, there are some great tunes around that I like to dance to or listen to, but will they have any relevance and appeal ten, twenty or thirty years hence?

When I was bemoaning this fact to a friend, it was suggested that I was becoming an old fart and sounding like the previous generation did. You know, complaining about how "music today is such crap. Back in myyyyyyy day ..." But I really don't think this is necessarily true. Take my step-daughter for instance. Born in 1987 and on the verge of her eighteenth birthday. She discovered her step-dad's old albums (he was a rocker pretty much into the same stuff as I was/am) and she claims that music today isn't of the same calibre and quality as it was back when we were teenagers. She also says that the lyrics written during our era were way deeper and more intelligent. Think about it ... who doesn't know Twist and Shout? It's played at parties and weddings galore. What's the contemporary equivalent for that? I can't think of one.

It occurred to me that there was some connection between the types of drugs used and music that ensued. During the sixties and seventies, musicians were into drugs like good old marijuana, hash, LSD, coke, 'shrooms and the like. They'd toke or coke up and then get together and jam. I personally think that bands like Led Zep probably alternated between weed/hash and LSD. Their music is so wonderfully laidback and relaxed in a way, and not coke hopped up like some of the great energetic tunes by The Stones.

Nowadays, the music is all computer generated and very techno sounding. Jam sessions include computer engineers who goof around with various files to find the right sound. To me, a lot of the music sounds the same -- somewhat hollow and tinny, although catchy. Any connection to the designer drugs that are circulating among the beautiful? Stuff like Ecstasy?

I'm thinking that we need to take a bunch of musicians and get them to smoke a really big spliff of some great weed that might have been dusted every so slightly. Then put them in a room and see what they come up with. I'm counting on something a little more relevant, intelligent and lasting than what we are currently churning out.

Re-Wired

Phew! Almost three weeks without internet ... how did I ever survive?

It's truly amazing how dependent we have become upon technology. Things like letter writing on paper and (gasp) mailing it via the postal system have just fallen by the wayside. I find I become frustrated and impatient when I discover that someone doesn't have email. You mean, I actually have to take time to post something to you and then wait for several days for a response?! And yet, I have an entire shoebox crammed with letters from friends and family members who wrote to me when I first moved away from home to go to university. This after about seven or eight address changes and more than a decade-and-a-half later. I actually schlepped them with me everytime I moved. The shoebox containing printed up emails? Empty. So much for sentimental and meaningful correspondence, so long as I get it today, or better yet, yesterday. It's all about speed now. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.

Oddly, I missed blogging more than I thought I would. But did it occur to me to sit down and write out some of my thoughts? Of course not. That would just be so passe and anti-techno.

Let's face it ... we're going to hell in a handbasket. But so long as we can bring our IPods, laptops, cell phones and other gadgets along, I guess we won't much mind the journey.