Really?!?

I had an appointment this week with a specialist in Rheumatology in nearby BigCity. The "first available" appointment was about 5 weeks from date of referral.  That is 5 weeks of "what-iffing" and other anxieties.

Because Arthritis killed my Mother and, my favorite Great Aunt, I have a solid understanding of what was, or was not, the typical path of this illness. The truth is the fate of my Mother and the fate of my Aunt were very similar. Even with 30 years of medical advances and research between them , these largely proved ineffective in all areas except pain management. Progression of this illness is "managed" better by therapies and medications but every step of progress has a counter step. Doctors can prescribe COX2 inhibitors but they might cause heart damage. Then too, you can take these with yet another prescription to protect your stomach and then must take 3 more supplements to protect from skeletal damage caused by the stomach med!  Great.  They might prescribe steroids to reduce inflammation but this repeated protocol will cause Diabetes. Ultimately my ancestors  march from orthopedic shoes-to- cane-to-walker-to-wheelchair-to-hospital bed was not arrested. 

I am not interested in following in their wheels.

The early news is preliminary blood work has ruled out rheumatoid factors and Lupus. This is very good news as I have tested positively for Lupus off and on since my 20's. It was a relief for this specialist to say assuredly "you do not have" an entire spectrum of illnesses. Since I began the first 6 weeks of 2013 as a patient with the Spinal Rehabilitation Center I knew the degeneration and arthritis in my spine was permanent The good news is we have a "musculo-skeletal" system and my "musculos" have long been well developed and maintained. One of the referral reasons was to determine if there is also a "musculo" illness lurking. Still unknown but I am hopeful  these results will also be negative. At least the primary suspect for this "musculo" issue does not destroy muscle, tendons, ligaments, it just makes them all  hurt. 

I return next month for evaluation two. 

I suspect I will again be told  that I do have several different types of arthritis , one type in my spine and another one  in major joints and yet a third in my hands which is typically caused by endocrine disorders. The recommendations will likely be about awareness, body mechanics and pain/inflammation management. I  fully understand the enemy is within and this is the battle for Fishy. I am actually an optimist so  am praying for the best results possible and invite you all to join me.

Yesterday was a gray, rainy, cold, icky day so Blowfish and I cancelled our plans to clean out the Garage and went instead to a movie. We saw Olympus Has Fallen. As usual, we do not agree on the message.

I actually think there is one where Blowfish does not. Or to be clear he finds the message is: box office profits soar with each explosion , each fist to plexus and every gun discharge. I think the message is: a call to awareness of our extreme peril.  Maybe it's because we do not go to the movies very often, or maybe because I truly am Pollyanna, but this movie is tremendously upsetting on many levels. 

Note: If you plan to see this movie stop reading this post now.

First there is the violence. Lots and lots of it  shown in a most disturbing way.  There is plenty  of hand to hand combat and up close shooting. The camera positions portray the carnage in a way that is intimate. Like you are experiencing the effect of having just placed a gun to a head and spattered gray matter all over the wall. In many of the shots, in the last possible fraction of a second, the lead character is no longer  the visual buffer between you and the terrorist in the White House. There is that last look in the eyes before the bang and the splatter. 

I had quite the gut flip watching a huge, weapons modified, cargo plane wreak havoc on Washington's finest architecture. I was horrified by the portrayal of the ease of the capture of the White House. Here was  employed a mixed use of our history and psychic traumas by flying planes through our symbols of  freedom and democracy and, by having the  Asian enemy in the White House, as a diplomatic entourage, at the time of the  attack.

I thought the music was not too good,  far too loud, actually distracting.

I thought the one man as hero  metaphoric. 

I thought the military brass and political decision makers portrayed as spineless idiots metaphoric too.

What terrified me the most?

The threat of being able to destroy world balance with a few computer keystrokes.

All the mayhem was about physical access to computers in the White House bunker.

Today, 

I watched an interview with Eric Schmidt, the executive chairman of Google.

He has a new book out addressing his visions of how the digital age will shape the future of individuals, nations and business.  Some of the things Schmidt said:

* the speed of computing has, and will continue to, override man. 

* personal privacy is already a myth

 There are  dossiers on all of us compiled by the combination of our  computer and credit card use and the gps data from our smart phones. By the way, this  data  is already being used to influence us by which pop up ads appear on our computers and by the hierarchy of data we receive on our "devices".

* Children will need to be taught defensive "digital privacy"  at an early age.

  (just think how easy it will be to brainwash an entire culture, not just a generation,  by controlling all the data they receive)

* Not surprising was the casual admission "cyber security" cannot be achieved.

We have all  lived through " The Great American Swindle" where by the good have been villified, stolen from and punished while the greedy and unscrupulous have been rewarded and applauded. All of that, and so much more, can revisit us as a nation,  or personally, in our homes, our bank accounts, even if our cars will start. We have lost. Being a keystroke from destruction is not virtual, it is real. 

It has occurred to me that this week has been united in it's message.

The enemy is within.

God help us all.

See No Evil

It will come as no surprise to many of you  if I mention Blowfish is a man of opinions. He is a man who grew up on Staten Island with jobs as early as age 8. I think his first job was as an assistant on his Uncle Frank's milk route or as the delivery "runner" for another Uncle's butcher shop. Later as a  gofer for various enterprises. As a teen he had Summer jobs as a life guard on the beaches and in Winter as the parking jockey for the ferry to Manhatten. In each of these jobs there was an expectation for promptness, reliability, manners and a presentation of self which would pass his mother's keen inspections.

He earned habits which have lasted a lifetime. It is rare to ever see this man in an untucked shirt, or unkempt hair, or scuffed shoes.
(I might just mention there is no human and no machine which could ever shine a boot better than Blowfish). His truck is always clean, he would never leave home with a bed unmade,  he carries a nail clipper in his pocket and his shirt collars stand as erect as any diplomats.

Every year when Spring emerges and temperatures rise, Blowfish gets a bit cranky.
The public starts shedding  layers of clothing thus exposing that which should not be seen.  At least  in public.  When Blowfish comes home at the end of his day I am the recipient of what I call "The Evening Flesh Report" which is this man's vocalized outrage at the presentation of flesh he would have rather not seen.
He feels violated.
" What is the matter  with these people Fishy! Have they no pride?"
" More likely no manners and no mirrors."
" Oh no! They all have mirrors. They like to admire their own tattoos! Clearly they want the world to as well.
It is clear to me decency is over"
" Don't look".
" How am I to do that if it is out there?  Is modesty history too?"
"For some time now."

Blowfish was slamming things. A rare event. But as he was fetching a bottle from the wine fridge, fetching the wine opener from the cabinet and selecting glasses to go with the wine he was slamming doors as a way to punctuate his outrage.

" Today I saw the personals of a  woman I do not know.  I saw her tattoo arching over the great divide. I saw that  she is not a natural blond. I saw her purple sequined underwear with no fabric just a waistband.Why did she do this to me? I am a graphic designer which makes me a very visual person!"

Trying to maintain a straight face I asked,
" Did you know they make purple sequined thong underwear for men too?"
" Those are not men."
" Well, I gather this stranger whom you now know personally was not presenting a fit, young visual?"
" Fishy, you know I do not find this funny. It is true, like any man, I would rather my gaze fell upon beautiful  young flesh than wizened older flesh but in all sincerity I wish women would cover up. Men too. I am sick of seeing young men with their pants at half mast , their heads shaved and their  arms looking like the comic strips."

" Maybe you should run for office. Clearly there are far more important things to outlaw than Big Gulps."


"Okay. So Bloomberg picked the wrong battle. What happened to the laws about indecent exposure? In my life guarding days there were not signs on the beach which said, 'Dress your fat!' but there was an expectation for people to not force others to see what should not be seen. Back in the day, there was a standard to be upheld. Laugh at you want but 'decency" was admired not scoffed over. No decent person would be showing so much flesh. We lifeguards saw everything and nothing I saw then compared with the offensive  visions of today. Back in the day the "tattoo woman" was part of the Straits shows.

"I am quite certain 'back in the day' there were older women with their  ta-tas exposed and those in bikinis who looked like advertisements for cellulite therapies  and didn't speedo jokes start in the fifties? I agree we see far more than we should. Haven't we always? The good news is the fitness craze. At least the ones you see who are looking prime are on the rise too."

" Fishy, you are being deliberately obtuse.  There are people  out there of every body type showing too much body!  Some of them are fit but I see more of the ones with rolls of fat on display. The Michelin man looks slim by comparison. I am not judging these people because they are obese. I am saying if you have that issue do not put on your skimpies and go forth for the unsuspecting to see it!"

Barely pausing for a sip he rushed on,

" There  are women  older than me who are out in public in what looks like pink and black skin with running shoes to match.  It's great they are in shape but they are barely more than nekked. The Bond women showed less! I saw a woman at the grocers yesterday in a scandalous tennis costume and thought,

'How am I going to unsee this? '

Laughing and topping off his wine glass I asked,

" How is it  you could be a professor in an art college,  in Florida, where most of the students were half naked, chocked full of riotous  hormones and  were busy living and illustrating  every coming of age pang  without you having  these issues? "

" Because Fishy that was normal!   Kids coming of age is always normal. Once you reach the age of maturity you are suppose to stay grown!   Thank God my teaching days were before this trend to show it all, pierce it all and ink it all."

Watching Blowfish in a flap about something does have an entertainment value. At least for me.  Laughing at this man divesting himself of the days horror  the imp in me wondered if there was space on those purple sequined man thongs for a monogram?

Miss Henry's Story

When our family moved to the Carolinas we picked a smallish town with an interesting history and extraordinary architecture. This is an architecturally  diverse community with spectacular representations of most every style of Southern  vernacular architecture. We bought a home in a neighborhood once marketed as " in town estates" because of the lot sizes. Our street is a horseshoe with the lots on the inside of the curve all about 1.3 acre lots and the ones on the outside of the curve about 2 acre lots with a few larger properties  on the outside ends. Being Southern, as many trees as possible were preserved and massive amounts of azaleas, camellias, roses,
hydrangea, spirea and forsythia  grace every yard. It is beautiful. No two houses are alike as few were built the same year. Ours is the oldest having come to life  in 1942-43.  Our house will never be known as the "Fishy's", it will always be known by it's architect ( Linley) and  by the owners for the first fifty something years "Miss Lula". For the first decade we lived here I could still run into folks who would say, " Oh! You live in Miss Lula's house". Sometimes I would reply, " I like to think it is our house", that statement would just get waved off.  Even now when I meet new people who ask where I live they seek to clarify by asking,
" The Linley one? " or " Miss Lula's?"

It's looking like Blowfish and I are getting new neighbors  on our North side. This is a rare event in our location as folks tend to stay in these home for 50 years or  longer.  Many of our neighbors are in their 80's, some are in their 90's and have lived in their homes since they commissioned them.  The property  next door has been vacant for a decade or so. It is well cared for with crews coming regularly to provide lawn service or replace roofing or gutters, or random storm caused repairs. The property is a very beautiful tree studded acre and a half with a graceful Neo-Classic home of old weathered brick with wrought iron columns and floor to ceiling windows along the front veranda.  The grounds are spectacular.

When we first moved here I met our neighbor, an elderly woman know as Miss Henry D. She was the originator of the house and lived there alone although she had "help" with her during the days. In the evenings, she would venture outdoors
to sit in her garden to listen to the wind in the trees and hear the evening bird songs.  Maybe a dozen years ago the help came to work one morning to discover Miss Henry D had spent the night in her bathtub having been unable to get out
safely on her own.

She was not injured but very stiff and sore.
At the time she was 93 years of age. I can tell you I am decades away from 93 and I can get stiff and sore if I sit at this computer too long. I can't imagine spending the night in my bathtub with a towel for a pillow and another for modesty. After this event there was a "sitter" who stayed at Miss Henry D's overnight. A circumstance her daughter June insisted upon and  irritated the daylights out of Miss Henry D.

Shortly after this life changing event I had my only lengthy visit with Miss Henry D.  It came as a surprise to both of us. There is a dense, high hedge and a fence between our properties. I was out hunting for tennis balls under the hedge when she came marching out to the upper regions of her yard  to have a blistering conversation with her statue of  St. Francis. Hearing her attack I busted out laughing startling Miss Henry D
into speechlessness. Almost.
"No lady worth the name would conceal herself in this way!" she  proclaimed.
Standing up with tennis ball in hand I apologized for my intrusion into her conversation with St. Francis explaining I had been concealed by my quest for the ball and not as a result of cowardice.
" Why did you laugh at my distress?"
" I was not laughing at your distress Miss Henry, I was laughing because I thought I was the only one who comes outside to proclaim my grievances to the saints. I do owe you an apology which I hope you will accept."
There was a lengthy pause before she said,
" I will not stand here and have a conversation  over a prickly hedge."
" Would you like a glass of lemonade?"
" I would prefer a fine wine."
I nipped inside to fetch a bottle of bubbly and some glasses then made the trek to her yard. When I got there Miss Henry was more composed and seated on her classic Charleston Bench.  Even at 93 she was upright, slim , groomed, elegant and beautiful.  Taking the glass she quietly said,
" This is my favorite time of day."
I nodded my understanding but did not speak as it was clear Miss Henry's thoughts were elsewhere. She was holding her glass up for a refill before she spoke again.
" I will not live what remains of my life to suit others. I have not the patience of St. Francis for the folly of humans.  I have quite earned the right to my freedom which I will not relinquish."

 If you have never seen a cultured, educated, wealthy, ninety something have a fit of anger you  missed something spectacular. Miss Henry had that very day returned from court  to defend her right to liberty. Her daughter June had petitioned the courts to obtain authority over her mother's life. June wanted her mother to either move to an assisted living facility or to have round the clock care takers at home. Miss Henry did not.
The judge found  Miss. Henry of sound mind and dismissed June's petition.
Miss Henry dismissed the evening caretaker.

I want to share with your Miss Henry's story. It is amazing. It should never be lost either. Here is what she told me.  She was the oldest daughter in a family of five children. She was tall for a girl of her era and very bookish, " not silly at all". It had been her ambition to study the great philosophers in Paris. She was in the year of preparation to be "presented" to society when her mother and father called her to the parlor to be introduced to her father's financier Mr. Henry D.

 Her father had experienced some sort of financial distress and had defaulted on a  substantial loan. As  fate would have it Mr. Henry D was quite smitten with the beauty, grace and intellect of this rare young woman. He had offered  to forgo the loan in exchange for an opportunity to court this amazing young woman. His hope was to
"win her heart and her hand".  Neither happened. But, her father gave her hand in marriage to his contemporary against the protests of his daughter.

When Miss Henry D told me this I was shocked. She would have been  in her teens in the early to mid 1920's . Surely way beyond the time when fathers arranged their daughters unions! I mentioned my surprise only to be told it was not her father who forced the issue it was her mother! Apparently her mother appealed to her sense of duty toward honor, family, siblings. Miss Henry still resisted but her mother had the announcement  published and  the bans read so she was " betrothed and thus  obligated against my will".

She did say Mr. Henry D was a fine gentleman. Mannerly " in all things" and "never ceased to court my favor".  He took her to Paris, bought her a library of the great books on philosophy and in general provided a fine life for her. It was his health issues which  caused the move from her beloved low country,  away from all her friends and cousins. While the house was under construction he hired a landscape architect to design the property to her wishes. She told the man, " I love eventide in the marshes, the movement of  the willowy grasses and the waters, the birds and the music of the winds in the trees. I am loathe to relinquish these."  Her property was designed so the lawn would flow around and through islands of  various  ground covers, dotted with peninsulas of dogwood and  cherry trees while the perimeter has banks of azaleas of every shade of pink under stately oaks.  It is truly an oasis of peace and beauty.

Miss Henry D did say she had "experienced a fine life"  for one who had been called to forfeit her independence. She told the judge she had made a vow to God upon Mr. Henry's death that she would never again "live her life to the mercy of others". That it was her privilege to live in her home for as long as she wished until she exited feet first  and no one had the right to interrupt her intentions. The judge she said, had asked her  why she had made that vow. She had explained, "Sir, I am in my 93rd year, I married before my 18th birthday to a man of my fathers age. From that day to this one I am addressed as 'Miss Henry D'.  Within my own home is the only place I, Francine Caroline, still exist."

A few years later Miss Henry D  was rolled out the front door and down the long stone walkway to an ambulance. June was at her side, taking control. I understand June. The only child of an at risk mother, doing what she thought was best. I am sure she loved her mother who lived her remaining years in a facility pleading to be returned to her home.  I often thought if June had heard her mother's conversation with Saint Francis she would have found the strength to honor her mother's wishes. For a few years, on special occasions, an ambulance would bring Miss Henry home to her garden, rolling the gurney right out by the Charleston bench where the attendants would leave her be for a few hours. I will always believe Miss Henry D would have preferred death to enduring what life remained to her under the control of others.

Blowfish and I will likely enjoy  the new neighbors who are having a lot of restoration work done before they move. They appear to have great respect for Miss Henry's architecture and landscape. I admit to keeping a sharp eye out on her statue of Saint Francis. If it is to go then I will find a place for it here.   I expect I will  see these new neighbors outside in the evenings strolling their grounds. In my heart though, I will always think of this property as Miss Francine Caroline's solace.

Happy Mermaid Mother's Day

Today 

is my favorite 

day of the year.

 because

March 19th 

is

 Mermaid's birthday

and

the day

 I became 

a

 Mama

                          

When Mermaid was little

people would say to Blowfish

"Your wife is a fool about that child!"

Blowfish 

would nod his agreement

and 

smile

When Mermaid and I started our days

at the beach before school

the teachers would say,

" You are a fool about that child!"

I would smile

 nodding

 my agreement

When Mermaid had to have a horse

My Dad said to me,

" Heh! You are a fool about that child !"

I would smile 

and

 nod in agreement

before saying,

" Maybe a fool about that horse too."

When 
Mermaid and I 

went adventuring together

strangers would say,

" You sure are a fool for that child!"

 They would all be smiling

never

 frowning

When Mermaid grew her hair

longer than long

sporting

wind tangled curls 

my siblings would say,

" Do something with that hair !"

 I would reply,

" I love her hair !"

When the day came

for 

Mermaid 

to leave home

I hugged her tight 

and 

whispered

" Be joyful"

Joy 

to the world!

Joy

 for the Fishy's

In the deep blue sea

Joy!

For me and you.

PS

Yes!

I remain 

 a

fool 

about 

our
beloved
fabulous
joyful

Mermaid.

Haiku Monday: Bloom

The incomparable Fleur won our game last week with her brilliant haiku on Forgetfulness.
This week our  theme is "Bloom".  A word I associate with my mother who loved to garden
and, who taught us all to "bloom where you are planted". If you have not been playing our
Monday game join us, it's fun , sometime intimidating,  in this smart crowd of challengers!

What blooms within grief?

Surely ... that first sprig  of hope

Love will survive death

Rose blooms on my cheeks

Spawn'd by Summer memories

of ocean brined flesh

Never The Same

This morning, while the first cup of tea was  still steeping, I looked out the window to witness my neighbor lingering at the top of our driveway where his dog was making a deposit.  I felt a little cranky about this. Truth to tell,  it is not the first time I was not feeling the whole "love thy neighbor" directive toward JR.

Two years ago JR and his wife Scotch put their house on the market. There were few showings and no takers. The realtor mentioned they were a little light on curb appeal and maybe an upgrade would be helpful. JR poo-pooed that idea  and eventually the listing contract expired and that was that.   Except,  JR complained about it every time I saw him for the next year or so.  He found no logic in being advised to  improve a home he wanted to leave.  More than once he said, " I was in banking for 30 years! It is just stupid to invest in the past. It only makes sense to invest in the future."

Every time he delivered  this sermon I managed to refrain from asking what happened to his banking career. The neighborhood chat on that is he  got in a right juvenile temper up at the bank one day and walked out.  Next morning he got up, got dressed and went to work as usual . When he was still in the break room getting his coffee the president came over and asked why he was there. JR laughed saying,  "Good one!"  To his credit, the word is, the bank president pulled JR  aside to privately remind him he had  quit his job the day before and reinstatement would not be forthcoming. Subsequent trips to various law firms did not help either.

About a year ago, I went out to fetch the mail to find a service truck parked in my front yard.  One Day Bath Remodel!  was emblazoned on the side.  I felt a little cranky about the truck. Beyond that irritation, I was  truly horrified to think others would believe this designer would ever sanction  this cheaper than cheap service  or product in my own home or the home of any of my clients!


 Fortunately, before I had a stroke, JR and Scotch emerged  from their house with the driver and sent him on his way. Over by the mail boxes Scotch said,
" Fishy, what do you think about these bath tub covers".

" I don't have any experience with that particular product Scotch, what did you think about it?"
" It saves a bunch of money! You know our house started in the fifties and the original finishes are still in there. The bathroom  tiles are sorry looking and the tub is worse. These people can come take measurements one day then come back in a week with molded panels and voila! a new bath in a day."
" Do you like your Bathroom?"
" What do you mean?"
" Does it meet your needs?"
" No! It is awful. It always has been cramped  for one, nevermind two. Can you imagine sharing one small pedestal sink for 35 years?"
" No. Are you getting a larger sink?"
" No"
"Changing the floor or wall tiles you mentioned?"
"No"
"The light fixtures?"
"No"
" Any storage in there?'
"No"
" Wow. I guess I don't understand your "new bath" concept."
" Well the tub and shower will look new with the plastic wall panels and tub cover."
" Good luck with that Scotch.
When you have this done will you ask them to not park their trucks in our front yard?"
" It wasn't there very long Fishy, your grass is hardly laying down."

The next morning the phone rang. It was the neighbors asking if I would come look at their bathroom.
" You know JR, I am really busy and on my way out the door."
" Well come this evening when you get home."
" Can I call you later?"
" No, just come on over when you get home. We'll be here."

In my very first class in "Business Principles and Design Practices" architect Tom Kincaid told us to,
 pick up your pencils and write this down, " Real life 101: it is as important to know which clients to decline as it is to know which clients to accept."   I don't remember a chapter on how to reject your neighbor without causing friction.  Blowfish advised me to go do a  chatty neighbor consult and bail. I felt a little cranky.

Ultimately I went , looked, cringed and told the truth.
The bath was too small.  In fact would not pass code and would no longer be "grandfathered" if they wanted to make improvements. That meant, the space would need to be completely gutted and expanded.  Scotch asked if  I could make a plan which could expand the bathroom, not take any space out of their bedroom or the one on the other side of the bath, not take away already limited closet space and not expand through the exterior wall.

In hopes of making a gracious exit I told them it was a tough issue needing a specialist in Bath designs. I mentioned even if the footprint could not be expanded the function, finishes and fixtures could all be upgraded. JR mentioned if he was going to invest in a new bath he had to get everything he wanted or it would not be worth doing.  I recommended a  Bath design specialist and suggested they make a list of criteria to review during the appointment and made my escape.

It wasn't to be.
The specialist was " offensively expensive".  Did I mention my neighbor carries the nickname "Scotch" because of her thriftiness?
They ambushed me at the mailboxes and stated their intentions to "hire me to design a bath for them".
I declined.
JR said,
" Now Fishy, we know you are a pro and we are prepared to pay for your services"
"JR, I cost twice as much as those specialists you found offensive".
" Well then , we will accept your good neighbor discount"

" Tell you what.  Y'all cannot hire me.  But, I will come take some measurements and see if I have a plan to offer. If I do I will  recommend  a good builder and y'all  can take it from there." So I blocked out a morning to field measure half their house  then came back to my home office to pray for a miracle. That prayer was answered by an inspired solution to their issues both spacial and budgetary. It was an awesome plan which expanded the bathroom; even allowing for privacy for the toilet and two separate  sink vanities. I presented the plan  to them the next day. During our design conference  Scotch was elated and JR got quiet. Never a good sign. When I looked up from the drawing I was shocked by JR's appearance. I  have just never seen a grown man with his pouty lip our so far. N-e-v-e-r.  When I asked him  for feedback he whined,
" This isn't fair".
"What isn't fair?"
" You gave Scotch a bigger vanity!  Mine is smaller and in the same space as the toilet!"   Since for the past 35 years this man has had a sink and a toilet in the same room,
I was not sure why he found this "unfair".

Taking in  a big, calming breath I responded, "Actually JR, ownership of these sinks  has not been assigned to any one party. There is a slight difference in the widths of these vanities, but it is actually only 3". What has been planned  is  a bathroom expansion with two zones.  One has a sink, storage and a shower.  The other has a sink, storage  and a toilet. My thoughts are the sinks would be used as needed when in either zone."

Yeah, there was more lip.

Ultimately the plans  conference ended with me giving them the builder's card and them declaring their need  to think about the investment.  They did call the builder  so a week later I went on over there to meet with the builder to  review the plans with him and answer all his what if questions before he spent time on an estimate.   After that, when I ran into one of them out by the mailboxes they either waved and left or said they were still " weighing their options".  A few months  later the plastic bath cover up people were back over there. I think there might have been a problem. Not just because JR's pouty lip resembled Pinocchio's nose but  because their installation crew came back and back and back  every few days for weeks. My grass looked bad and I felt a bit cranky about it all.

I have never been able to think the same way about these neighbors as I did before this experience. I think it is probably pretty ordinary to have  thoughts of our  friends and neighbors evolve as we add history and learn more about each other. In  this case,  every time I see JR  I hear his whiny voice  in my head and wonder what kind of  man  pouts about a sink?   I could have gone my whole life and been happy to have  never seen that close up view of his lip or her thriftiness. This morning I was thinking I should take JR  a plastic baggie. To put over his head.

Learning To Be A Dinosaur

Last night Blowfish and I went to our favorite farm to table  restaurant for our "Valentine's" celebration. The darling chef/owner has figured  out a way to hand make a low sodium chicken florentine pizza for me. There is no tomato sauce and no cheese. There is a perfect combination of sweet cream sauce, spinach, pine nuts, chicken and a scattering of yellow pear tomatoes. Since all ingredients come from local sources, it could not be better or fresher.  Blowfish loves the roasted lamb lollipops and the diverse wine cellar.  A win-win on the where to go for dinner  issue. Because this is Valentine's weekend there was a wait.  Not bad.  Maybe 40 minutes or so  more than usual which gave me time to people watch.

Surprisingly what caught my attention was the young families. The ones waiting and the ones seated.  Waiting in line with us was a family of four; parents and two girls one about 5 the other about 8 or 9. The parents were deep in conversation with each other; not making any effort to keep their girls engaged or entertained during the wait. They did not need to. Once they joined the line, the Mom reached into her capacious  bag and handed the young one a Kindle. Her elder sister automatically assumed the role of tutor. Both girls were quiet, engaged and in no way a disturbance to their parents or any of the restaurant patrons.

Seated directly next to the wait area was another  family of four. Forty something parents with young boys. One about three the other not even a year. The youngest was  dressed in footed pajamas and seated in the typical restaurant wooden youth chair with a booster seat for babies.  When he first caught my attention it was because he was expressing his intense desire to be out of that chair. Parental efforts  to redirect his attention were not going well. Across the table from him, the three year old was oblivious to the commotion. He was busy with a smart phone. At this table the parents were seated across from each other, as were their boys. This gave each parent a hand for a child and a hand for their wine glass. Only all hands were needed to keep the little guy in the chair once he started  howling, bucking and rocking. A passing waiter said, " Here, let me fix this".  Never breaking stride he picked up the baby in the chair, walked around the table and placed him next to big brother who was still engrossed in the smart phone.  The transformation was instant. Baby was happy, big brother remained oblivious and both parents  could suddenly gaze into each others eyes in wonderment.

I knew, from a recent family trip, the impact of smart phones, tablets, e-readers and computers in the development of this  new generation. The youngest niece in the Fishy school is not yet two but has clearly mastered the differences of all the various smart phones of parents, aunts, uncles, grands and older cousins.  Not surprisingly they all seem to be  loaded with baby apps. This is big, big business and,
I believe,  a sweeping cultural shift. There is no need for Aunt Fishy to sing Old MacDonald's Farm, complete with sound effects and bouncy knee rides when there is a Peekaboo Barn app available from Appolicious for just $1.99.   Here an app, there an app, everywhere a smart app ... is the new tune.

Unlike many, I do not think this the downfall of mankind. If you think about  how people learn ;

visual, auditory, kinesthetic, sequentially or by repetition all are present in this format.   I get why this is effective, even addictive.  I also recognize every community is going to have to spend millions to upgrade classrooms. I understand 4'x8' SmartBoards  cost  about $7,000  more than a chalk board of the same dimensions but, if a learner has spent their first five years on smart apps how will they relate to words in chalk?

The waiting family of four were  eventually seated at a table adjacent to the booth Blowfish and I occupied.  The parents choose to sit together on one side of the table while the girls were opposite. The parents ordered dinner, the children did not.  Appetizers and beverages were delivered to the table for the parents. The girls played on.
The Dad of this family caught me observing and offered this explanation. They negotiate with their children. The deal was this: the  girls had fast food in the car on the way to the restaurant with the promise of game time with the  kindle and the smart phone while the parents enjoyed a  fine restaurant dinner . Apparently it gets expensive if  sticky fingers infuse the technology with foods and beverages.  The rule is this: the girls  can eat, and they can game, but they may not do these two activities simultaneously.  The Dad went on to say this  arrangement allowed them to really enjoy going out " as a family" more often. He went on to mention they were able to have far more "family nights"  because they had eliminated the costs of babysitters.

Clearly the concept of  "family night" has changed. I get it.  Here at the Pond we do not squat by our cave to enjoy our  just speared haunch  cooked over open flames.  I understand this newest generation will be very different. Young brains are being grooved as never before. I accept this generation will have skill sets I will never possess, will think in patterns heretofore unknown. Will, in fact, occupy a world unknown to me. It has ever been thus. The pioneers who built   log cabins  on their staked claims did not build  the steel and glass skyscrapers of  today. Progress is to be expected. Even eagerly  sought, anticipated and embraced.

But.

Somehow while I was at dinner I kept having visions of my visit to  the Celsus Library of Ephesus. Now an architectural relic , once among the largest libraries  in all of  civilization.  The  proud home to over 12,000 scrolls. Maybe even those LOST scrolls some believe were rescued from the Library at Alexandria and others believe included the lost books of the bible. Because being there  was significant for me, I bought a painting, a water color, from an artist at the site. I remember her telling me  she painted the Library every day. That while the subject did not change,  each painting was different and her hope was to preserve in the minds of many, the lessons implied by the remains she paints. I thought it a worthy purpose.
 I still do.

Trying to sort my thoughts on the way home I asked Blowfish if he knew where all the boxes of slides were from his parents travels? He does not.  Nor does he know where the projector might be or if it works. I asked him  when was the last time he printed out photographs instead of storing them in a cloud. He could not remember in which year he last printed a photograph. I asked him if he still had the first letter I ever wrote to him? His answer, " Fishy, that is my greatest treasure! It is where it will always be, in the second drawer of the night stand next to my bed.".  This made me think of other treasures.  Will we be able to enjoy and review them in our twilight years?  We have video cassettes of important events in our family but will there still be a  way  to play them?  I have stored Mermaid's anamatronic BigBird  and all the story tapes as this is how she learned to read by age three.  No doubt the dinosaur to today's smart phone apps. My  fear is the day will come when there will be no way to play these as batteries will no longer be.

Today, I am listless.
I did not sleep well having spun like a top wondering if we are as smart as our phones.
If, as a culture in transition , we are making wise choices to preserve what came before. This is not a foolish question as teams of greats today cannot build a pyramid, or explain what did happen to dinosaurs or for that matter, scrolls. Are we multiplying our losses? Are we in the process of not just moving  into the future but also losing our past? How smart is that?