Okay, enough of the deep thoughts of yesterday. Enough of the stream-of-conscious book reviews, etc. I recognize that my previous posts have gotten a bit too -- well, philosophical -- too far adrift from the original premise of this blog.
This is a blog, after all, not a manifesto!
And it's a blog about going back to college with family (and dog, mortgage, and yard) in tow. It was meant to be fun, light, uplifting. A sort of Erma Bombeck meets Bridgette Jones in the non-traditional students' lounge. Not that I have an audience (except Eric, of course!) to disappoint by my drab mood. But in the spirit of a new year and renewing visions, I've decided to return to my roots.
In that light...
Hubby bought a book for me. Usually I *love* his book gifts. He knows my taste and interests. His timing is usually quite good. When I'm itching to sink my teeth into a juicy novel, he gives me Sarah Dunant. When I'm obsessed with history documentaries, he gives me 1776. He doesn't buy diet books for me (because he values his life) because he knows I buy those for myself.
This book, however, has shaken my confidence in his gift-giving prowess. He bought and presented to me Basic Physics: A Self-Teaching Guide. Gave it to me right after I finished finals. Right as I exited school mode and entered domestic-goddess mode.
I think he planned to wrap it and gift me with it on Christmas morning, but then thought twice about that (so he's not gone totally mad; confidence *mostly* restored.)
I can hear you saying, "I thought she liked physics?" "Why wouldn't she want this book?"
I'm glad you asked.
I do like physics. And I do want this book. I know as much as Hubby does how much I need to read this book. And I will. But right now I'm enjoying not being in school too much to think about what I need to do to prepare to be in school again. I am not in the swing. I jumped out of the swing after my bio final and ran, giggling and screaming in glee like a kid on the playground rushing for the monkey bars. I am so far out of the swing that I can barely remember the difference between an integral and a derivative (not that Mr. Calculus hasn't been trying to remind me!)
I had to take my truck to the dealership to get something fixed. I took this scintillating read, Basic Physics, with me knowing that I'd be doing time in the waiting room. I opened the book and, in true textbook-reading fashion, started at the beginning.
I didn't get past the foreword. Too much noise (and that old western on the television -- which is nicer than the one in my living room, by the way -- was much more interesting.) Too many other people with other interests and voices louder than a whisper (especially the over-stressed grandmother with two small children with her, trying to quiet them with McDonald's and who sighed loudly every time she realized it wasn't working.) Too much stinky-burnt coffee filling the air making me wish I had stopped at Starbucks on the way in. Too easily distracted -- that's me on winter break.
Next thing I know, my name was called, my truck was ready, and Basic Physics was shut for the day.
*sigh* I'll read it this week, as soon as Nate is back in school. As soon as the laundry is done and put away. As soon as I'm done casting around for the next project that I'd rather be doing than reading Basic Physics.
But right now, Basic Physics is so much Blah Blah Blah...
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
The Problem with Good and Evil
My previous post reminds me of a subject I've been mulling over after reading The Shack (read post here). The subject is good and evil. Actually, the subject is the human heart and judgment.
When I decide what is good and what is evil, I am making a very subjective but very real judgment. I determine whether an event, an opinion, a circumstance, even another person is good or bad based solely on an imperfect set of personal standards. My good is never exactly the same as someone else's. My "good" and my "bad" judgment calls are made based on how something or someone affects me.
Subjective? You bet. Broken? Absolutely.
Now take me and my judgments and place us in a crowd of thousands. Millions. Billions.
On October 12, 1999, the United Nations Population Division estimated that the human population exceeded six billion. That's 6,000,000,000,000 sets of beliefs, values, and principles. Six billion individuals, all with their own subjective list of standards by which they are determining what is good and what is evil. Absolutes are pretty much lost in all that subjectivity. Things like good and evil are no longer penultimate measures, they are opinions. But they are opinions that cause conflicts, wars, and desolation. Opinions that, since they have overwhelmed absolute standards, are baseless and empty. Baseless, empty opinions become death sentences for far too many.
When we decide what is good and what is evil based on our own standards, we make ourselves Judge. Yep, Capital J: We allow ourselves to play God. I'd love to play many roles, but deep in my heart of hearts, I don't want to play God. Only problem is, it's much harder to relinquish my "right" to judge things that affect me according to my standard and let the Holy Spirit guide me.
Israel thinks they are right. Many fundamental Christians think they are right. We Gentile believers are instructed in the Bible to "pray for the peace of Jerusalem." And I do.
But Palestine thinks they are right also. So do the majority of Middle Eastern countries. If one honestly listens to both sides of the argument -- remaining honestly neutral, taking into account culture and background -- one finds there is no right. There is no wrong.
Only opinions. That's a problem.
When I decide what is good and what is evil, I am making a very subjective but very real judgment. I determine whether an event, an opinion, a circumstance, even another person is good or bad based solely on an imperfect set of personal standards. My good is never exactly the same as someone else's. My "good" and my "bad" judgment calls are made based on how something or someone affects me.
Subjective? You bet. Broken? Absolutely.
Now take me and my judgments and place us in a crowd of thousands. Millions. Billions.
On October 12, 1999, the United Nations Population Division estimated that the human population exceeded six billion. That's 6,000,000,000,000 sets of beliefs, values, and principles. Six billion individuals, all with their own subjective list of standards by which they are determining what is good and what is evil. Absolutes are pretty much lost in all that subjectivity. Things like good and evil are no longer penultimate measures, they are opinions. But they are opinions that cause conflicts, wars, and desolation. Opinions that, since they have overwhelmed absolute standards, are baseless and empty. Baseless, empty opinions become death sentences for far too many.
When we decide what is good and what is evil based on our own standards, we make ourselves Judge. Yep, Capital J: We allow ourselves to play God. I'd love to play many roles, but deep in my heart of hearts, I don't want to play God. Only problem is, it's much harder to relinquish my "right" to judge things that affect me according to my standard and let the Holy Spirit guide me.
Israel thinks they are right. Many fundamental Christians think they are right. We Gentile believers are instructed in the Bible to "pray for the peace of Jerusalem." And I do.
But Palestine thinks they are right also. So do the majority of Middle Eastern countries. If one honestly listens to both sides of the argument -- remaining honestly neutral, taking into account culture and background -- one finds there is no right. There is no wrong.
Only opinions. That's a problem.
Hope?
I was almost in tears by this, definitely inspired. Regardless of governmental conflicts and disagreements, Palestinian and Israeli doctors are working together to perform life-saving heart surgeries for children free of charge.
It's all too easy to let a flicker of hope be quenched, however. After watching the video I scrolled down to user comments, as I normally do (you can get quite a laugh out of some of those posts!) There I found Palestinian and Israeli citizens flinging arguments at each other. Thankfully they were not in the same physical room, else they'd be flinging more than words. There was no room in their minds, crowded with anger and hurt, for reason or rational thought. The conflict is so long-standing, so ingrained, that it's MUCH easier to envision continued war and destruction than peace. Of course, the hard road is the best one to take. Hopefully the thousands of babies saved by this medical collaboration will remember the peaceful hands of cooperation that saved them when other hands in their countries wanted to kill.
It's all too easy to let a flicker of hope be quenched, however. After watching the video I scrolled down to user comments, as I normally do (you can get quite a laugh out of some of those posts!) There I found Palestinian and Israeli citizens flinging arguments at each other. Thankfully they were not in the same physical room, else they'd be flinging more than words. There was no room in their minds, crowded with anger and hurt, for reason or rational thought. The conflict is so long-standing, so ingrained, that it's MUCH easier to envision continued war and destruction than peace. Of course, the hard road is the best one to take. Hopefully the thousands of babies saved by this medical collaboration will remember the peaceful hands of cooperation that saved them when other hands in their countries wanted to kill.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Woman in Between
I get the Victoria's Secret catalog in the mail regularly. The swimsuit issue came yesterday, promptly, just like every January. Needing a bikini in January in Texas isn't so unbelievable, but I know that the same mailing goes out to customers in New York and Wisconsin (for all you naughty members of the local polar-bear winters-swim clubs!)
I read an article recently that stated Fashion (big F = the industry) wasn't quite so out-of-touch anymore and is no longer assuming that we're all rich and leisurely needing a new bikini for a winter's holiday in the Mediterranean. Well, maybe that was a forward-thinking Fashion article.
Anyway. That's not the subject of this post.
About midway through the annual VS swim catalog, I find several pages of the Pink line of bathing suits and casual clothing, all worn by teenage girls. Not even college-aged, but early high-school girls. It was all playful, not pouty and seductive like the more "mature" VS models (those in their 20s) that populate the rest of the catalog. But it still left me feeling very --
-- old. And without a place.
Where do women My Age shop for bathing suits and lingerie?
By My Age I mean in between. No longer young and lithe, but damned sure not old (and determined never to be old.) Working hard to remain fit and fabulous even while knocking on 40's door. Still fun and flirty, fashionably relevant, yet with the depth and diversity of interests brought by experience. Not willing to settle with St. John's Bay and Eddie Bauer, not willing to give my firstborn for Armani, and definitely not willing to shop the racks of flimsy pieces alongside, like, the teenage clientele at Buckle and Papaya.
These days my look says, "I'm too busy to spend a lot of time shopping." I'd rather my look would confidently state, "I am in control," but I'll settle for anything that doesn't say, "I'm trying too hard to look like those two decades younger than me," or, "I gave up mirrors when I turned 35."
Being surrounded by traditional college coeds all day doesn't really help my dilemma, either. My fashion sense is a tad skewed toward frayed jeans and graphic tees, since that's what I see day in, day out. I used to wear sleek suits and stylish heels. *sigh* Ha, try trudging up the hill twice a day dressed like that! My peers wear flip flops and house shoes to class, making my Pumas and Sketchers look formal. Still, I'd love the chance to dress My Age more, if only I weren't so confused as to how My Age should dress.
And now my lingerie catalog -- where I buy things to, well you know, help me feel like a woman -- is marketing to kids.
Whoever is in charge of dumbing down America seems to be younging us down as well.
I read an article recently that stated Fashion (big F = the industry) wasn't quite so out-of-touch anymore and is no longer assuming that we're all rich and leisurely needing a new bikini for a winter's holiday in the Mediterranean. Well, maybe that was a forward-thinking Fashion article.
Anyway. That's not the subject of this post.
About midway through the annual VS swim catalog, I find several pages of the Pink line of bathing suits and casual clothing, all worn by teenage girls. Not even college-aged, but early high-school girls. It was all playful, not pouty and seductive like the more "mature" VS models (those in their 20s) that populate the rest of the catalog. But it still left me feeling very --
-- old. And without a place.
Where do women My Age shop for bathing suits and lingerie?
By My Age I mean in between. No longer young and lithe, but damned sure not old (and determined never to be old.) Working hard to remain fit and fabulous even while knocking on 40's door. Still fun and flirty, fashionably relevant, yet with the depth and diversity of interests brought by experience. Not willing to settle with St. John's Bay and Eddie Bauer, not willing to give my firstborn for Armani, and definitely not willing to shop the racks of flimsy pieces alongside, like, the teenage clientele at Buckle and Papaya.
These days my look says, "I'm too busy to spend a lot of time shopping." I'd rather my look would confidently state, "I am in control," but I'll settle for anything that doesn't say, "I'm trying too hard to look like those two decades younger than me," or, "I gave up mirrors when I turned 35."
Being surrounded by traditional college coeds all day doesn't really help my dilemma, either. My fashion sense is a tad skewed toward frayed jeans and graphic tees, since that's what I see day in, day out. I used to wear sleek suits and stylish heels. *sigh* Ha, try trudging up the hill twice a day dressed like that! My peers wear flip flops and house shoes to class, making my Pumas and Sketchers look formal. Still, I'd love the chance to dress My Age more, if only I weren't so confused as to how My Age should dress.
And now my lingerie catalog -- where I buy things to, well you know, help me feel like a woman -- is marketing to kids.
Whoever is in charge of dumbing down America seems to be younging us down as well.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Homecare
After one day back at school in 2009, Nate is home sick today. He somehow contracted strep throat over the holidays, fully manifesting at 3:00 pm Christmas Eve. I was fortunate to find a lone doctor on call, still in the office doing paperwork, though they had closed for the holiday at noon. He kindly waited for us to get there, around 4:30, like Santa with a stethoscope and a prescription pad.
Fortunately we weren't on the road for Christmas this year as we usually are. We're the only members of our family that live in our area; our closest relatives live no less than a three hours' drive away. In years past, when I would agonize in mother-guilt about the kids never being in their home to open their gifts on Christmas morning, Nate excitedly informed me that our holiday tradition was to always be at a different grandparent's house when Santa visits. It was like we offered St. Nick his annual challenge: To figure out where to find the boys and which chimney to come down with their gifts. Actually, he continued with a big grin, it's more of a challenge to figure out how to get to us at home, since we don't have a chimney!
Nate's always been a joker.
Anyway, they let me know, when we began discussing traveling plans for this year's holidays, that they'd like to be home this year. Our plans to travel to California fell through, so they got their wish. And then Nate got his semiannual bout of strep. A bit providential, I tend to think.
He just finished his round of antibiotics on Monday. On Tuesday at 3:45, he came in the front door and collapsed, exhausted from the returning rigors of sixth grade. Today, when he woke up, he announced that he felt like he weighed two tons, was extremely dizzy with a headache and sore throat -- again. Low-grade temperature. He goes back to bed, and I go to set an appointment with his doctor. We see her later this afternoon.
Part of me wonders if this is because of school. He confided in frustration about a month ago that he still wasn't adjusting to middle school very well, still feeling insecure, overwhelmed, and having some trouble with bullies. I asked him last night about the bullying situation. He said it was probably going to be better this semester, since he's been reporting it, and the teachers announced a stricter anti-bullying program yesterday. But still...
Granted, that's just a small part of me. His temp has climbed past 100 since this morning. His symptoms are real. I know the mind is a powerful thing, capable of convincing us that we're sick when we're not, but I'm sure it can't cause a fever by unconscious anxiety.
I wonder why I still tend to approach my kid's medical needs like a mother and not like a doctor. I always thought that, once I started off towards a career in medicine, that I'd start diagnosing and treating my family, avoiding doctors that make the kids uncomfortable or who office way across town, avoiding co-pays and ridiculous insurance issues. Back to reality, Corey -- you're still in undergrad! Not even a medical STUDENT yet, much less a physician. How are you going to do the pediatrician's job?! Besides, I'll always be their mom. Mom will always be my first title. Even when I'm a doctor, I'll be Dr. Mom. That's a given. I can see a whole village of kids calling me Dr. Mom in their native tongue, whatever that is. Hopefully it's Dr. Mom and not "dumb white woman," or "she who thinks she can help."
I need to get started preparing for the killer-I-mean-challenging semester of classes ahead of me. I have a physics refresher book waiting on my bookshelf for me to read before I start classes in a couple of weeks. Only it'll be a primer for me, not a refresher, as I've never taken a physics class before. I need to decide if I will drop one of the (ahem) *challenging* classes I've signed up for in favor of a lighter political science that I still need to pick up, one that will better fit my day without having to put the family through scheduling gymnastics. And of course, I still need to attempt to set up physician shadowing. But there's a little boy in my bathtub right now, caught between puberty and Pokemon, battling a bug that we can't see, feeling off balance physically and a bit emotionally by the changes surrounding him and taking over. Whether or not he will regularly admit it -- at least not as regularly as he admits how weird his parents are -- his face tells me he needs me today.
So while I can hear physics prep work calling me, and I can feel the semester's preparations -- textbook buying, schedule perfecting -- tugging on my conscience, I am Mom today. And I will always be Mom.
Nothing satisfies me more.
Fortunately we weren't on the road for Christmas this year as we usually are. We're the only members of our family that live in our area; our closest relatives live no less than a three hours' drive away. In years past, when I would agonize in mother-guilt about the kids never being in their home to open their gifts on Christmas morning, Nate excitedly informed me that our holiday tradition was to always be at a different grandparent's house when Santa visits. It was like we offered St. Nick his annual challenge: To figure out where to find the boys and which chimney to come down with their gifts. Actually, he continued with a big grin, it's more of a challenge to figure out how to get to us at home, since we don't have a chimney!
Nate's always been a joker.
Anyway, they let me know, when we began discussing traveling plans for this year's holidays, that they'd like to be home this year. Our plans to travel to California fell through, so they got their wish. And then Nate got his semiannual bout of strep. A bit providential, I tend to think.
He just finished his round of antibiotics on Monday. On Tuesday at 3:45, he came in the front door and collapsed, exhausted from the returning rigors of sixth grade. Today, when he woke up, he announced that he felt like he weighed two tons, was extremely dizzy with a headache and sore throat -- again. Low-grade temperature. He goes back to bed, and I go to set an appointment with his doctor. We see her later this afternoon.
Part of me wonders if this is because of school. He confided in frustration about a month ago that he still wasn't adjusting to middle school very well, still feeling insecure, overwhelmed, and having some trouble with bullies. I asked him last night about the bullying situation. He said it was probably going to be better this semester, since he's been reporting it, and the teachers announced a stricter anti-bullying program yesterday. But still...
Granted, that's just a small part of me. His temp has climbed past 100 since this morning. His symptoms are real. I know the mind is a powerful thing, capable of convincing us that we're sick when we're not, but I'm sure it can't cause a fever by unconscious anxiety.
I wonder why I still tend to approach my kid's medical needs like a mother and not like a doctor. I always thought that, once I started off towards a career in medicine, that I'd start diagnosing and treating my family, avoiding doctors that make the kids uncomfortable or who office way across town, avoiding co-pays and ridiculous insurance issues. Back to reality, Corey -- you're still in undergrad! Not even a medical STUDENT yet, much less a physician. How are you going to do the pediatrician's job?! Besides, I'll always be their mom. Mom will always be my first title. Even when I'm a doctor, I'll be Dr. Mom. That's a given. I can see a whole village of kids calling me Dr. Mom in their native tongue, whatever that is. Hopefully it's Dr. Mom and not "dumb white woman," or "she who thinks she can help."
I need to get started preparing for the killer-I-mean-challenging semester of classes ahead of me. I have a physics refresher book waiting on my bookshelf for me to read before I start classes in a couple of weeks. Only it'll be a primer for me, not a refresher, as I've never taken a physics class before. I need to decide if I will drop one of the (ahem) *challenging* classes I've signed up for in favor of a lighter political science that I still need to pick up, one that will better fit my day without having to put the family through scheduling gymnastics. And of course, I still need to attempt to set up physician shadowing. But there's a little boy in my bathtub right now, caught between puberty and Pokemon, battling a bug that we can't see, feeling off balance physically and a bit emotionally by the changes surrounding him and taking over. Whether or not he will regularly admit it -- at least not as regularly as he admits how weird his parents are -- his face tells me he needs me today.
So while I can hear physics prep work calling me, and I can feel the semester's preparations -- textbook buying, schedule perfecting -- tugging on my conscience, I am Mom today. And I will always be Mom.
Nothing satisfies me more.
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