THE TIE

      

I had a personal experience not very long ago dealing with the whoring of America. It angered me, and I felt as though there was no way to win against it. I cannot say I DID win, but I sure did not lose, either. The final score was Bedazzzled1 with one point...corporate whores with one point. Gee, I have to say I was pretty darn proud of myself.

I will be deliberately vague explaining it, but that is my right. After all, that has not been taken away from me by Time Warner (yet). Also, the story is an extremely personal one. Specifying names is not necessary to get across my point. It most assuredly happened, and it is completely true.

Once upon a time there was a man who worked at a bigggggg university. He really wanted to build a brand new multimillion dollar state-of-the-art facility to replace a similar one that did not have quite all the bells and whistles. It was to be one of the finest in this country. His rationale was that bigger means better and better draws more people and more people means more money coming in to the school.

Finding the other big wigs at the university to back his idea was a piece of cake. All they needed to do was figure out how to fund such a venture. And that is when they decided to whore out every part of the structure to anyone with enough money to buy it. Price tags were put on virtually anything associated with it. Construction commenced.

The big boys with their big wallets bought up the things with the hefty price tags. Those would be things like naming rights to the entire facility. Get the picture now? More and more such things were bought up, all so they could plaster the names of their companies on them. No big deal. Right?

WRONG. It was not okay with this broad...and not with quite a few other people who found the pimping ignored some of the rich history and tradition of the university in its efforts to fund this huge structure. Without the contributions (nonmonetary) and accomplishments of certain individuals, that big new structure would never have been an idea in anyone's brain. There was an outcry from groups of folks over that aspect. Naming rights for anything had to be BOUGHT even for the name of someone who was one of the main reasons, if not THE reason, success and prominence had come to the university in that particular area. Screw that.

I was disgusted. I had seen how other colleges had junked up every square inch of their allegedly beautiful buildings with advertising banners. Then to learn that there was not even going to be a gratis pass for the gentleman responsible for having the school be nationally recognized? Oh wait, there was to be a room with his name put on it where alumni could gather. Sorry, not good enough for me or for others. His name really should be slapped on the part of this giant structure that was his forte...his shining moments. But, alas, the tacky people who owned numerous companies and corporations felt it was more appropriate to honor their DISCOUNT FURNITURE STORE. Oh yes.......class just oozes out of their every pore, eh?

I began what I call a pen pal relationship with the man who had the idea to build this potential white elephant. I carefully penned my words to him after much thought. I listed the many reasons why I felt the gentleman I knew deserved more than a room in a massive structure. I received a letter in return detailing the costs of such a vast undertaking and the necessity for sponsors to help defray the expense. Okay, thanks. I responded by pointing out how in similar situations when new buildings were constructed that a person was honored by having the facility called by his/her name. We went back and forth like this for a time. It was always kept civil, even friendly. We began to occasionally speak on the phone about it, too. It all boiled down to the almighty dollar. To hell with tradition. To hell with history. To hell with anything that kept another buck from finding its way into the coffers of the university. Yet this man had nothing but the highest regard for the gentleman I knew.

I persisted. I told you I am one persistent woman. I was not lying. ::grin:: The day arrived when I felt a fair deal had been struck. I received a phone call from the man telling me he had awakened in the middle of the nite with what he felt was a perfect solution...and it had no price tag attached to it. I was all ears. (Let me just state here that money was not really the object when it came to honoring the gentleman in some prominent way. Principle was the issue. And principle defined the gentleman. To pay for him to be honored would have been whoring at its worst. Something he would have never tolerated.) The Board of Trustees had the final say in the approval of his idea, but he felt certain it would be passed unanimously. I was quite pleased, and I awaited his next phone call informing me whether it received a thumbs up or down from that unpredictable group.

All thumbs were up. And I was beyond excited. Now there is a road bearing the name of the distinguished, successful, kind, and decent man that runs parallel to this new building and leads to other roads. It is not just a short little street, and it regularly gets a hefty amount of traffic. But the joy for me is to see the street signs at the beginning and end of this wide road. For they hold the name of that wonderful man. And it is as it should be.

Let the big boys pimp out themselves. No one attending any function in that monster facility is going to buy discount furniture because the name of the store is written across a large portion of it. But EVERYONE will notice the name of the road they HAVE to take to get to the function and the functions taking place further down the road. ::big smile::

Yep, Bedazzzled1 was pleased with the outcome.  

"Advertising is legalized lying." ~ H.G. Wells

MY BLEAK HOURS

I have always been a creature of the nite. I think we are born predisposed to a specific body clock. Some of us are morning people who awaken all cheery and ready to take on the world, and equally ready to crawl into bed relatively early at nite. Then there are those, like me, who thrive on the hours of the nite and abhor the morning...relentlessly smacking at the snooze button on the alarm clock.

My hours do not fit neatly into what is considered the "norm" of day-to-day life. I am able to toy with my body clock and arise early in the morning when necessary. Obviously, I had no choice when I was in school. Plus, I have children. No mother sleeps in regardless of the time she went to bed.

The nite has always suited me. I love the sky then, and the quietness outside that is really not silent...just different. My mind seems to come alive and be abuzz with all sorts of thoughts and wonderings and ideas. I know it is my most creative time. Many of the ideas I have been most proud of came to me while the majority of people are sound asleep. Perhaps it is the lack of distractions that enables me to think more clearly and get in touch with my whirling brain. Even though my family is in the house with me, they are all sleeping. I am essentially alone. Maybe I am like a star that glows in a dark sky and goes unseen during the bright daylight hours.

For many months now, sleep and I have not been on very good terms. The Sandman must be hurling amphetamines at me instead of the sand he is supposed to be sprinkling. I am almost incapable of staying asleep for longer than three hours. It is a minor miracle if I have five or six consecutive hours of sleep. I cannot seem to find a way to undo this dreadful pattern, no matter how hard I try.

I have discovered there is a specific window of time that is almost haunting to me. Those hours are approximately 3:00 a.m. until around 5:00 a.m. It is then I no longer feel the embrace of the quiet dark, but instead the harshness of it.  What earlier I took comfort in, somehow turns into a hint of fright. My thoughts are not creative or productive then. They turn into whispers of sad memories, painful recollections, and bittersweet moments. And being alone turns into feeling lonely.

If I am going to cry, it is then. If the phone is going to ring to bring me shattering news, it is then. If I am going to experience self-doubt, those are the hours. And the stark realities of an imperfect world creep into the foreground of my mind.

I try to find something to do that will crowd out the feelings that have arisen. I might work on a painting...but it does not busy my mind enough, so I abandon it. I play music, but the songs I choose end up being ones that twist my heart. I read but seem to get stuck on a page...reading and rereading due to lack of focus. Television is never on my agenda except when sporting events are on (yes, I even love watching golf tournaments). However, overall, TV annoys me and makes me edgy. The last thing I need between the dreaded middle-of-the-nite hours is to feel edgier.

Those two hours are overwhelmingly bleak ones for me. I am grateful they last such a short time. Because when the stars fade and the restlessness is just about to consume me, it is not much longer before I peek out the window and am greeted by this:

     

And suddenly the frailty of my soul is replaced with strength and a renewed sense of self.

"The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures." ~Rabindranath Tagore         

VETERANS DAY

                        

"Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, must, like men, undergo the fatigue of supporting it." ~Thomas Paine

Today is Veterans Day. I knew why we celebrated it nationally, but I did not know the particulars of how it came about. With a little web surfing (as the Sandman continues to overlook me each nite), I found some interesting information.

                   

World War I ended the 11th month, the 11th day, the 11th hour in the year 1918.  It was proclaimed "the war to end all wars." And for 20 years, peace did reign. It was in 1919 that November 11 was named Armistice Day in gratitude for those who fought for that peace. In 1938 Armistice Day officially became a legal holiday renamed Veterans Day.

As of 1971, these were two statistics I found staggering:

There have been more than 38 million Americans who have served their country in the military service. Of that number over 28 million are still living; and,

Living veterans and their families, plus the living dependents of deceased veterans, make up about one-half of the population of the United States.

Those are massive numbers. I was unable to find more recent figures, but I think the enormity of those that existed in 1971 tells an incredible story.

I, myself, am the daughter of a veteran. It is with pride that I say that. It does not mean I am always pro-war and blindly support any and all opportunities to go into battle. However, I have profound respect for those soldiers who answer the call when they hear it. It is not their decision to fight, but those of our government. And have we not ALL reaped the benefits of their dedication and love for our country throughout the years?

It seems we should be thinking about those facts today and saying a mighty huge thank you.                     

"Americans, indeed all freemen, remember that in the final choice, a soldier's pack is not so heavy a burden as a prisoner's chains." ~Dwight Eisenhower 

BEFORE & AFTER

                                   

John Scalzi has a "Monday Photo Shoot" assignment in his By The Way journal for those wishing to participate. This week's theme was "Before and After" photographs. In his words, "Your Monday Photo Shoot: Do "Before and After" photos on any subject you like. The idea is to show change over a bit of time. Some easy ideas would be haircuts, cleaned-up rooms, kittens growing up into cats, and etc. And yes, this means you can dip into your collection of old photos (they certainly qualify as "before")."

I thought the possibilities were endless. A million things ran through my mind that would certainly qualify as before and after. I finally settled on a sketch I drew that became a painting. While I am not overly thrilled with this particular painting, it was my first time to sketch nudes. It was also the first time I used a technique where you ink the lines after you pencil them...THEN fill in the areas with watercolors. It was a fun and different thing for me to try.

Here is the pencil sketch (the BEFORE):

And here is the finished ink and watercolor painting (the AFTER):

Yuck. Having to resize it to fit nicely in this journal seems to make it look bluckier than it did before.Oh well. At least you get the gist of the before and after!

"I was leafing through a magazine where there was a before-and-after picture of a woman who went from a size 5 to a size 3 by liposuction. Was she serious? I've cooked bigger turkeys than her "before" picture." ~Erma Bombeck

 

HOW ARE YOU?

Being outgoing does not mean I thrive on attention. In fact, I shrink from it at certain times. Maybe it has something to do with wanting to be in control of when or if I receive notice. Getting caught off guard by a flood of attention triggers my flight reaction. Tears might surface if it is a touching situation, and I would not want others to see that.

As another birthday creeps up on me, I am reminded of the year I had an "unbirthday." It was horrible. I had a feeling my husband was going to try to pull off a surprise party for me. I did not want one. Under normal circumstances, something sweet like that would cause my eyes to well up...a definite no-no that would unglue me in front of friends and family. But that particular year was anything but normal, and I was sure I would sob nonstop if a party was held.

I repeatedly told my husband that he best not dare do anything in honor of my birthday. I wanted nothing. I wanted not to be the center of any attention. I was very firm and probably almost hysterical in tone of voice as I told him that.

For as long as I can remember, birthdays were a big deal to my father with his four daughters. As we were growing up, the birthday girl got to choose a restaurant and go out on a "date" with Daddy. Just Daddy and the birthday girl. Mom stayed at home preparing the cake of our choice, made from scratch. It was always a special time to be with him without anyone else around. To be the focus of his attention was wonderful.

Once we married, the one-on-one dinner dates with him stopped. In its place was the first phone call of the day from Daddy. The one wishing us a happy birthday. He never missed a year. And he was never caller number two or three. That phone rang early, and it was Daddy with his wishes for a happy day. It always set the upbeat mood of the day. He loved his girls.

My unbirthday year was wretchedly sad. Daddy had suffered the brain aneurysm. He had spent those many months in the hospital and rehab center. He came home, and we were trying to make that work for his sake. Within two months, it was painfully evident his health was declining. He was severely crippled and becoming even more so. I saw him daily. I saw him physically slipping away from us. The repeated trips to the emergency room were taking a toll on his health and abilities...what few he had.

On the day of my birthday, I received that annual morning phone call from him. My eyes lit up and a smile burst onto my face when I heard my Daddy's voice. But, it was a tiny voice. It was so very soft and very quiet. He kept repeating, "How are you?" I waited for those two words. I just needed to hear him say them. Then it would really be my birthday. My mother was holding the phone for him, and I could hear her saying numerous times, "Honey, tell her happy birthday." Instead, all he could say was, "How are you?" Over and over and over.

I was very cheerful and told him that his number three daughter was packing on the years. I joked about anything and everything I could think of. All the while I was silently pleading for him to wish me a happy birthday. He never did say it. I told him I loved him before we ended the conversation. I was so sad and so scared. I knew it was the beginning of the end for him.

As I hung up the phone, I fell apart. I am not sure the last time I cried as hard or for as long as I did then. As far as I was concerned, my birthday did not exist. It would not be celebrated, because it was truly an unbirthday in my mind. The one thing that had always made it feel like it was MY day had not taken place. Therefore, it was not happening. Thankfully, my husband had honored my wishes not to put any emphasis on the occasion. I would never have been able to charm any partygoers in my state of mind.

It was but a few days later that Daddy was rushed to the emergency room. He never got to live at home again. His remaining years were spent in hospitals and a nursing home slowly withering away. And that unbirthday of mine exists only because my birth certificate says it does.

"Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time." ~Jean Paul Richter

THE LITTLE THINGS

         

Patience is not a virtue of mine. I want information yesterday, to learn how to do things the first time I try them, and for bad things to go away right now. These are not always possible or realistic desires. On the plus side, I AM persistent. Therefore, I am usually able to ultimately get the information I need, learn what I want, and cope with the bad things that refuse to leave.

Lately, in between working on my paintings, I have been fiddling with my Paint Shop Pro. That is the program almost everyone uses to make gorgeous tags and graphics. Trying to understand its operation was akin to me reading hieroglyphics. I would get so frustrated and walk away from it. But, I hate to give up. When time allowed, I would park myself here and try again. Well, voilà! I have learned how to do several new things. They might not be the BEST looking yet, but previously I could not do them at all. ::patting myself on the back::

I get so excited when I am able to perform the needed steps to create something. I have learned how to make water reflection ripples, add sparkles to pictures, animate certain graphics, etc. A small deal in the grand scheme of life, but one that leaves me with a big ol' smile on my face.

I have to say, the little things in life really do string together to make our lives complete. They may not be the stuff that on our death beds we recall, but they surely added a needed lift to our days here and there during the time we lived. I am grateful for all things...both big and small. ::smile::

Have a grand weekend!

"Never neglect the little things. Never skimp on that extra effort, that additional few minutes, that soft word of praise or thanks, that delivery of the very best that you can do. It does not matter what others think, it is of prime importance, however, what you think about you. You can never do your best, which should always be your trademark, if you are cutting corners and shirking responsibilities. You are special. Act it. Never neglect the little things." ~Og Mandino  

A REMINDER

                                

The past couple of sleepless nites, I spent a good deal of time reading all of the entries in Judith Heartsong's October Artsy Essay contest. I think the collection of essays may be the best of the ones I have seen since I started participating in her contests.

The subject she asked us to explore seemed to require each of the entrants to delve deep inside and bring forth something not generally shouted out to the world. I cannot believe the incredible revelations each of the writers so richly described. The emotions ran the gamut from crippling hurt to pure joy. I was moved countless times during my readings.

And today I have thought about people in general. We are so different, yet so alike. We do for them, talk to them, make time for them, like them or dislike them, and we react to them. Sometimes how they are with us is puzzling, maddening, or unbelievably cruel. If there are days when we feel fragile, it becomes all too easy to let the words or actions of others define us. A strong sense of self is necessary to avoid being caught in that dreadful web. And it is worth every ounce of energy to escape it.

Here is a gentle and profound reminder to those who might be struggling trying to prioritize what is and is not of importance. It is attributed to Mother Teresa, although I am not 100% certain this is one of her many teachings. Whoever wrote it was blessed with superior insight into the psyches of people.

"People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered; forgive them anyway.If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; be kind anyway. If you are successful you will win some false friends and true enemies; succeed anyway. If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; be honest and frank anyway. What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; build anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; be happy anyway. The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; do good anyway. Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; give the world the best you've got anyway. You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God; it was never between you and them anyway."

That is brilliant.