The Next Roller Coaster Ride

As most weeks are, this has been one of ups and downs. But the very big "up" this week is one that brings me more joy than anything but the birth of my children and my wedding day: my daughter's allergy tests suggest she is very likely free of her peanut allergy.

For those of you fortunate enough not to have food allergies in your lives, this probably doesn't sound like a big deal. For those of you who actually know what this is like, I know you rejoice for me whether you know me or not, because nobody should have to live with a life-threatening food allergy and all that goes with it. To have gotten the news that her skin test showed only the tiniest weal, and her bloodwork actually came back *NEGATIVE* for peanut antigen, and that she is now clearly eligible for a food challenge to determine once and for all if she is actually actively allergic to peanuts, is like being released from a medical prison. True, she has not yet passed the food challenge, so we're not out of the woods yet. It's more akin to hearing that the "real" killer has confessed, so while you're technically still incarcerated, the likelihood of your release is almost certain. But we'll take it.

I dream of the day when my daughter can split a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with me. When she can go to a friend's birthday party without my having had to do a complete menu review with the child's mother ahead of time and then bring a special cupcake for my daughter anyway just to be safe. When we can take her to the town fair and let her have an ice cream cone or funnel cake and enjoy the event the way every other kid can. When she can take an airplane trip - at all. I dream of not having to worry - on top of all the other things parents have to worry about - that she will be out of my sight someday, whether at age 5 or 15 or 50 - and will either be careless or the victim of someone else's carelessness and end up in the emergency room - or worse - because she was inadvertently exposed to a food that could kill her. I dream of a life unimpeded by all the restrictions a life-threatening food allergy necessitates. And folks, I just might not have to dream much longer.

Every prayer is welcome that this particular nightmare will soon be over.

Tribute

I just saw an obituary today that makes me both sad and joyful. A woman I didn't know very well but who had, unbeknownst to her, a truly profound impact on me as a young woman, passed away today - nearly 22 years after her only son.

My heart is heavy for the loss; while I haven't seen her since her son's memorial service 22 years ago, it was that day that I learned from her a tremendous lesson about faith. At what had to be the most difficult, heartwrenching moment of her life, she comforted me, and went on to speak at the service about how, sad as she was to lose him in this life, she knew with every ounce of her being that her son was in a better place, personally called home by God. I couldn't fully understand at the time how she could be so calm and so forgiving at what was clearly such an unfair tragedy, but what I definitely understood at that moment for the first time and perhaps more poignantly than any time before or since, was the power that faith holds for those who are fortunate enough to find it. Here was a person facing grief beyond measure, and yet she was comforted and at peace, entirely and solely because she believed. I have never forgotten her composure, her love, or the strength of faith she displayed that day, and I thank her for a contribution to my life that she probably never knew she made, but which means more to me than she could ever have known, even if I had told her.

At the same time, I am thrilled for her - happy that she is finally at rest after a long illness, that she can finally be reunited with her son, and that she is able to finally meet the Lord in which she had such an abounding faith. May heaven exceed your every expectation, Sherri, and may you rest eternally in God's peace. Thank you.

Sounding Off

Today's news story featured the upcoming execution of the DC Sniper, John Allen Mohammed, slated for November 10th. Naturally, there's an appeal, but the news story was from the angle that one of the jurors is now recanting her participation in recommending the death penalty. Seems that post-trial, now that she's read all the news, she's decided that had the jury been given information about Mohammed's abuse as a child leading to an alleged "diminished mental capacity," she wouldn't have voted for the death penalty. Her testimony to that fact is now entered as part of the appeal.

I'm sorry, but I am absolutely outraged by this whole idea. I like to think I'm a compassionate person, and I will agree that the administration of the death penalty in this country leaves a lot to be desired. However, we have a guy here who is clearly, unequivocally identified as the cold-blooded killer of 10 people (and wounder of three others, including a child). Witnesses, including his underage accomplice, testified that he repeatedly talked about the killings as something that would confirm his power and ability to terrify. Not that killing is ever acceptable, but this guy wasn't going after people who had done him wrong, or who had done society wrong. He wasn't killing his abuser. He was picking off strangers at random, for no reason other than that they were good targets on that given day.

I don't care what happened to him as a child, nor what lingering effect that may have had on his thought process: HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING WAS WRONG. He was an adult, capable of being responsible for his actions, and he maliciously and with full intent to murder, not only went after innocent people but took a minor child along with him for the ride, training him as a co-assassin. There is absolutely no reason he should be exempted from the death penalty for not one but multiple capital offenses. Past abuse does not absolve one from responsibility for obeying the law and living by the rules of civilized society.

We can argue the value of the death penalty as a form of punishment or deterrent some other time (for the record, I'm for it, just not the way we go about it). But here, we are not talking about someone who can be redeemed, who will be rehabilitated. This is not someone who is even remorseful. There is absolutely no reason for us to say, "hey, this penalty is really too harsh." He killed ten innocent people for no reason at all, and terrorized a community for weeks. Frankly, he's getting off easy.

A Vocabulary Lesson

At the beginning of the summer, I went a little nuts. With two small children, I was facing an increasingly challenging morning routine, and my beyond-shoulder-length hair was just getting the better of me. So, I cut it off. All of it. Well, not technically all of it, although to hear my husband tell it, I may as well have come home with a shaved head. But, I went from somewhere in the neigborhood of 10 inches to about 2, from beyond-the-shoulder to above-the-ear, just a smidge shy of "pixie." Oh, and I dyed it too. Platinum. As in "Gwen Stefani has nothing on me" blonde. So, it was a bit of a change.

Most of the women in my life, if they get past the "WOW" moment, have commented thusly: "You are so brave. I could never do something so radical." Brave? Seriously? Uh, no.

"Brave" are the women who are battling cancer, losing their hair to the combination of disease, chemotherapy, and radiation. Some wear wigs, others scarves or hats, and a very few of the truly brave sport their newly-balded pates like hard-won battle scars, defying the laws of fashion because they have earned the right to do so.

"Courageous" are the women who cover - or uncover - their hair, over the religious and/or political objections of their faiths, countries, or menfolk. They risk scorn, discrimination, ridicule, and even punishment, sometimes as severe as it comes. Their hair is not just a frivolous female attribute to be shorn and shaped at whim; it's a privilege, a hard-fought right, and a symbol of basic human freedom.

What I did was neither "brave" nor "courageous," it was just silly. Sillyness has its place, mind you, and don't mistake the adjective for an apology - I'm not sorry I did it, and I'm glad to be among those with the freedom to do as I please with my hair (well, even my husband has limits). But let's keep it in perspective, folks. It helped make my life easier, not harder - and that's the difference between "courage" and...well, a "wild hair."

Cheerier Subjects

Every once in awhile, it's nice to do something great for somebody who deserves it.

My friend Lisa has (almost) reached the landmark of having lost 100 pounds. ONE HUNDRED. Most of us struggle to lose 5, but she set a goal for herself to lose 100 pounds by her 40th birthday, and although she remains a couple pounds shy, she is absolutely going to make it. She had decided that as a reward to herself for the effort, she was going to treat herself to a beautiful pendant from Tiffany's, a few hundred dollars in value - not something that breaks the bank, but not something you'd buy for yourself every day either. I thought that was a great idea.

So great, in fact, that I decided to steal it. Not the pendant - the idea. I got in touch with a mutual friend, and she and I together contacted a few dozen people and asked folks to join us in jointly buying Lisa the pendant as a way of showing our pride in her for accomplishing such a monumental feat, and to illustrate what an inspiration we find her to be. I was a little worried - worried that she would feel cheated of the opportunity to reward herself, because this was a big deal; worried that she would go get it for herself before we could get it to her; worried that someone else would also think this was a great idea, independently from me, and Lisa would end up with a multitude of these pendants. Fortunately, only the latter came true, and her brother (the buyer) is being a good sport about it and happily exchanging his pendant for matching earrings.

Meanwhile, Lisa LOVED it. Absolutely loved it! She was completely floored. Gobsmacked, if you will. Surprised and thrilled, and it couldn't have been more perfect - it was exactly what we had hoped would happen. I cannot tell you how warm and fuzzy it makes me to see her so downright giddy, especially because I know it means so much to her to know that other people cared enough to do this for her. I wish I could do things like this more often for people - I wish we ALL did that more often for people. The gesture doesn't have to be grand or expensive - believe me, she's just as thrilled that 15 people went in on it as for the gift itself. But boy, what a world we'd have if we all relished in our friends' successes this way.

And So It Goes...

As the world watched the global coverage of Senator Kennedy's funeral cortege and service in Washington, DC, my parents and I quietly dressed and made our way to the church. We remembered the life of Derl E. Weikel, not a senator, but a no less worthy brother, husband, and friend. His ashes were buried next to his wife's, in her family's plot in a rural PA cemetery where forget-me-nots are planted beneath the headstone.

Until we meet again, Uncle Derl...

Summer Mourning

1969: the Summer of Love. 2009: the Summer of Loss.

This has really been a crappy summer for people. As a community, an American civilization specifically, we've lost a number of genuine icons - people who defined a generation, a genre, or a Government. This summer has seen the deaths of Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, John Hughes, Les Paul, Walter Cronkite, and now today, Ted Kennedy. And there are others, and my apologies to them - the list is getting too long to keep track in my tiny little brain. These names are not small-time celebrities who had their 15 minutes of fame. They were genuine contributors to society in some substantial way, sharing their incredible gifts with us. The world genuinely feels loss with each departure, and we're a poorer place for the loss.

For me, those celebrity passings have been a sort of symbol of what has gone on at a much more personal level. This summer has also seen the death of two great friends of my family - Betty Tufts and Derl Weikel. Both were genuinely good people, beloved by those who had the privilege to know them, and stricken with cancer that stole them from us much too soon. I have been enriched by their presence in my life, and I am deeply and irrevocably saddened by their deaths.

I am grateful to still have my parents, my sister, my husband, and his mother and siblings still with us (and of course my children, but I prefer to think of them as too young to mention in this context). I admit to guilt for feeling relief that these losses, profound as they've been, have been someone else's mother, brother, or spouse. I also recognize, more vividly than ever, that this is the cycle of life; death is inescapable, inevitable, and in a way, therefore no more noteworthy than any other event.

But it still hurts.

I Blame Archie Bunker

That said, television hasn't been altogether good for me, and not in the way you might think.

It's not that I watch too much (although I do) when I should be doing other things, or that I don't do the things I should do instead, like read. It's that it's taught me a very bad habit: sarcasm. Worse, these days it's downright snarkiness. And while that may be very entertaining on TV, I'm finally learning that as a component of personal relationships - to wit, my marriage - it's really not entertaining at all. In fact, it's downright damaging.

If there's one thing I wish my husband and I could change in our relationship, it's the way we talk to each other, and to some degree, our kids. Mind you, we're not nasty. I recall being with a good friend, her husband, and child several years ago, and when my friend asked their then 3-year-old what Daddy's name was, specifically, what Mommy called Daddy, the child responded, "Joooooooo-ooohhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnn!"* in precisely the same whiny, nagging tone that my friend routinely used. My friend laughed hysterically; I was mortified. This child was learning that people disrespect each other, because her parents found that perfectly acceptable in their own relationship. (For the record, they are now divorced. Shocker.) It's not nearly that bad at my house. We aren't openly awful to each other, per se. But disrespectful? Well...yeah, at times.

My husband and I play to an audience, much the way TV characters do. When Archie's making fun of Edith, he's clearly doing so for the benefit of the laughter of the studio audience, even without looking directly at the camera. Hubby and I are similarly smart, witty people who are generally intolerant of stupidity and quite proud of our respective abilities to make others laugh with just the lift of an eyebrow. The problem is, there's no audience here - except our children.

And we both know we do it, and we both know, I think, that we shouldn't. We aren't kind and generous in spirit to each other, which is how I wish we could bring ourselves to be. Granted, if we were too kum-by-ah all the time, it would be boring as heck around here, and we don't want that either. Still, do we need to be Chandler-esque in our repartee every single conversation? Is it necessary to always say, "were you gonna just leave the dirty dishes for me to do?" instead of "would you help me with these dishes before you go?" After years of not only watching countless hours of bad habit-inducing television programs but practicing those habits on our friends and coworker (who find it considerably more amusing, no doubt because they only have to hear it a few hours a day), we're finding it hard to speak to each other any other way, even though we both sense that it's probably not doing us any good in the long run.

We must do better, but how? Do we start practicing yoga and listening to Deepak Chopra CDs? How do become kinder and gentler, and stop feeling the need to get a cheap laugh - from a nonexistent audience? I try, I really do, but then the opportunity to get a really good one in comes up and, well, it's back to Snarkland I go. Any suggestions? I want to do better, I'm just not really sure where to start.

And Another Thing...

And on that happy note: if I have to listen to one more pedagogical lecture on the dangers of children watching television, I am going to lose it. When are we going to learn that it isn't THAT kids watch television, it's all about context?

I watched TV as a kid. I watched a LOT of TV as a kid, especially the older I got. You know what?I am a functioning member of society. I am not out climbing Everest, but I'm not a total slacker either. I can hold a job, I am both well-educated and well-read, and I am fairly socially adept as well, in no small part because I am able to carry on a conversation about not only the mundanities of the political landscape in America but the fact that Seals and Kroft's Saturday mornings shows were clearly the result of somebody's acid trip.

It isn't about keeping kids from watching TV. It's about:
- not letting the TV be the all-day-long babysitter for your children (tempting as it is);
- knowing what your children are watching, and ensuring that the content is both age-appropriate and educational (e.g., Sesame Street has enriched both my children's language skills more than I ever could have, in spite of all the books we read together; The Teletubbies, by contrast, are forbidden in this house as they have no redeeming educational value whatsoever, nonsensically baby-talking their way through mind-numbing non-adventures);
- knowing when to turn the TV off, and not apologizing to your kids for doing it.

I watched a lot of TV, but my mother also made sure that I watched Sesame Street, The Electric Company, and Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, and not soap operas and game shows. On nice days, she forced me to go play outside. She limited the amount of time I could spend in front of the TV, even on rainy days. Consequently, although I watched TV, I also had a healthy imagination, learned to love reading, and could happily entertain myself for hours on end without the aid of the boob tube.

In the meantime, I learned to read a newspaper and watch a nightly newscast. I have a graduate degree, but I've learned more from watching Jeopardy than I probably retained from fully half of my college courses. There's no question I enjoy unwinding by aimlessly watching some bubble-gum kid-friendly flick like Enchanted or The Princess Diaries, but I'm also fully engaged by Clive Cussler novels, Vaclav Havel's memoir To the Castle and Back, and the Sunday Post. So, do my kids watch TV? YOU BETCHA.

Everything in Moderation - Even Hedonism

I was absolutely inspired for this one after reading (yet another) series of articles and editorials in various parenting magazines tauting the virtues of protecting children from any and all exposure to sunlight. Recommendations included not only generous slathering of sunscreen, but my personal favorite: having children wear - and I am not making this up - high-necked, long-sleeved and long-legged brightly colored or dark (because white isn't protective enough) clothing - in the summertime, on the beach, when it is presumably about 95 degrees.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? Look, I don't dispute that skin cancers are both dangerous and on the rise. And I don't believe it's fair to my children to send them out at noon every day, carelessly shunning sunscreen in favor of a good burn so they'll get a nice "base." But covering every inch of their little bods on a hot day when the whole point of going to a beach is to ENJOY THE SUN? No. I am drawing the line in the sand, my friends.

Let's have a little perspective, eh? For every woman profiled in the article on skin cancer, there are dozens of us who have spent hours in the sun playing outdoors as kids, who even with a sunburn or two in our history have no evidence of skin cancer. That doesn't mean we're immune, it just means that the statistics tend to only highlight the worst case scenarios, not the millions of people who turned out just fine. Each of those skin cancer victims, I might add, confessed to having been a sun bunny, a tanning-bed fanatic, or an otherwise tan-addicted sun-worshipper who went out of her way to get UV exposure throughout her youth. And that means I should ensure my children look like "Powder"? I am not going to risk heat stroke by putting my child in a dark blue turtleneck just to protect him from the sun. Puh-lease.

Once again, it's not about abstinence, folks, it's about moderation. Children need protection, true, but they also need sunlight. There are an increasing number of medical studies now pointing to the dangers of depriving kids of sunlight altogether. Vitamin D deficiencies are just one of several important side effects of sun-shunning, but they illustrate the point nicely: one extreme can be just as deadly as the other in the long run.

I put sunscreen on the kids when I know we'll be out in the sun for a long time. (And yes, overcast days count, but when we're going to be outdoors in a primarily shaded area, no, I don't bother.) We go to the beach from 9:00 to about 11:00 or so, then come back inside for lunch and a nap during the peak UV hours, returning (if we're so inclined) in the late afternoon when it's just as sunny and fun, but less dangerous. We don't go out of our way to be in the sun just for the sake of sunning ourselves, but we don't hide inside either. We will teach them, as they grow older, to be responsible about the sun and that tanning beds and tans are not smart. But that's it. Beyond that, it's not precaution, it's panic-induced paranoia. Children need to have a life, and that life includes time in the sun to just be kids. Otherwise, we risk having them turn into housebound, overweight, video-game-addicted couch potatoes...oh, wait...

Talking Myself Down Off The Ledge

WHY do I let myself be bothered by these things???

A truly inconsequential man who relishes being obstinate and unpleasant has insinuated himself into my role on a project. Now, this would be perfectly good reason to get ticked off - IF. IF I were in the job full-time; IF I actually felt threatened that his doing so would in some way reflect on my capability or ability to keep my job; IF I actually cared about my ongoing relationship with this man (or the company, for that matter). But I don't. And so, for the life of me, I can't figure out why I let it get me all a-twitter, and why I've now got a headache from worrying about it.

The truth is, I am just irritated because it's him. If the other person who shares my role were to have said, "You know, I'm going to do this one," I would've said, "Okay." Because frankly, I'm going on vacation next week anyway and the timing of this would've worked out fine to hand it off to someone else and just be a bit player. But it's THIS guy instead, and I just loathe the way he treats everyone, the way he condescends, and the fact that I know the only reason he's assumed control (without being asked, or consulting anyone), is because he just plain doesn't like me or the other person in the job and always thinks he can do better without us (which, for the record, is absolutely not true - and I am not just tooting my own horn here; ask anyone).

And even though I spent a lot of brainpower mulling over whether or not this will signal the end of my working relationship with this company, I know that it won't - or at least that it doesn't have to. It is ONE project that he has particular interest in and therefore sees fit to insert himself in, and the reality is that he cannot do what I do, and the other person in the role needs and wants my support (at least for now ), so there is no reason to think I'm out the door. But I'm bothered because he wants to diminish my role, relegate me to something I have long since outgrown doing given my work history, education, and past role. I am merely being proud; the reality is that I should be thinking, "you want to pay me this much money to do something you could pay a $10/hour intern to do? ROCK ON!" But instead, I'm being obstinate and peevish because I am LETTING HIM GET TO ME. I hate that I am letting him get to me.

So, I am going to try very hard to take the Zen approach to my upcoming conference call. I am going to say, "whatever, dude, knock yourself out." I am going to be grateful to have it off my plate so I can rest easy on my vacation, and know that I will be billing them like an attorney (you e-mailed me? That 30-second response is a 15-minute billable increment...) for something that is completely beneath me, but hey, was their call. Wish me luck.

The Sound of Silence

Just to keep my hand in, a little post to say: I am thoroughly enjoying the fact that my little cherubs, safely enfolded in their beds at Grandma & Grandpa's house, have made nary a peep since being put to bed. I do believe they may actually have fallen to sleep, in record time. God bless the long drive, good weather, swimming pool, and playground - and of course Grandma and Grandpa - for wearing them out. Sweeeeeeeeeeet silence.....

The Luckiest Woman in the World

Does your husband of seven years still send you spontaneously written love poems - good ones, I might add - just "because"? I am THE luckiest woman in the world.

Proud Mama

I'd just like to take the opportunity to let the world (all 5 of you) know that my little baby girl had her first ballet performance today. She was Cinderella (all 3 girls were Cinderella, actually), and she was brilliant. Of course, she was also 3 1/2 - she was distracted by the people in the room, she chewed on her dress, and when they were done and curtsied and the room broke into my applause, my little Elvis said, "Thank you! Thank you!" But, Daddy and I couldn't have been prouder, and yes, we captured it on video to share with the world (not via the internet of course, but in what will no doubt be relentless repeated showings in the living rooms of friends and loved ones for years to come - including future dates, natch).

My little baby is growing up. :)

My How I've Grown

Last spring (2008), my husband and I (and our kids) took a big leap: we joined a church. (Before you stop reading, this is NOT an evangelistic piece of proselytizing - just setup for a story.) We had agreed that although neither one of us is particularly devout (okay, we're not devout at all), nor feel adamantly Christian (my husband is at least decidedly Christian; I am...a firm believer in God), we want our children to be raised in a church. Better to have them grounded in something to rebel against than have no grounding at all. And I'm the first to admit that, questionably-Christian though I may consider myself, I definitely find increasing value in the general lessons I learned being raised in a church - helping others, serving the community, the importance of worship, fellowship, and stewardship (can you tell I'm Lutheran?), and even evangelism, even if my version of practicing those things is a little off the Lutheran mark. So, we found a congregation we liked, and joined.

Gradually, through the year, we've gotten a shade more involved in the church. It's still difficult to do since our kids are so little - there just isn't a lot of time, and because both kids have food allergies, many events are just off-limits to us for now because, as all good Lutherans know, where two or more of you have gathered in his name, there is food. But, we are sending our daughter to the church's preschool, I found myself joining the preschool's board, and although they're fewer and farther between than I would like, I've tried to find things I can contribute to the church as a volunteer here and there - making casseroles, weeding the grounds, managing the nursery snacks (okay, that last one is as much out of self-interest and the protection of my children as it is philanthropy, but at least I'm generous enough to provide the snacks out-of-pocket and not ask for reimbursement). I like that we're slowly but surely becoming active members of the church (even if our Sunday attendance remains a bit...irregular).

I like it so much, in fact, that I did a crazy thing. I went to a church council meeting last night. Crazier still, I am totally jazzed about the experience. I happened to drop in on a great night, when there was a really engaging discussion about our church's service structure and the various needs it's not quite addressing and how we might go about changing it over the next year. I was impressed with the discussion, the questions asked, the group's dynamic - even the subtle suggestion of dissent in some cases (and not-so-subtle, but that was more on other topics than the service structure), and here I am today, still reviewing that discussion in my head, still thinking it was a great meeting (I don't think I knew there could be "great" meetings), and being thoroughly proud of myself for finally getting up and going.

Worse yet, I actually smiled today when a council member that I happen to know from the preschool called me to say that she was so glad to see me there last night. Just that, no other reason for the call. One of those calls that, a few years ago, I would've cringed to receive, because it would have been such an obviously ploy to suck me in and make me like the place and try to get me to be more involved, and how dare they, because really, it's a church not a used car dealership. But today, I enjoyed the call, because I want to be sucked in, made to like the place, and be more involved. I felt honored that she took 5 minutes out of her busy day (I could hear her young children in the background) to call and just say "good to see you last night." I felt...well, a part of the community. Heeeey...wait a minute... (LIGHT BULB) Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and he just dropped a big ol' dose of sugarplum "gotcha" on me. I have joined a church and, surprise, I like it. Go figure.

The Crazies Come Out of Every Corner

So I get a new Facebook friend request today, and I had to read the name three times because the first time I thought, "who?"; the second time, I thought, "No way...it can't be who I'm thinking it is..."; and the third time finally brought, "NO $#!%. It really is who I think it is."

Now, I'll admit to spending several minutes being completely petty and childish, ranting about how I hated this woman when I worked with her, because she was totally insane and made our collective lives miserable (she was the client, we were The Evil Contract Staff). I even e-mailed the mutual friend through whose Facebook profile she located me to commisserate. He agreed that the request was absurd, and explained that he had been offered up by another mutual former coworker (who was also a client, and technically sort of still is), who later had the gall to make a point of specifically asking my friend to accept Loony Lady's request. No way in Hades, I said; I'll be racing to the "Ignore" button first chance I get.

And I did hit "ignore," but not because I'm still being childish and petty (tempting though that is, because let's face it, it's fun to occasionally have someone in your life you feel free to hate, and therefore harmlessly take out all your immaturity on). I just truly don't like the woman. I truly believe she is either legitimately mentally unbalanced or simply delights in making other people crazy, and either way, I want no part of her. More specifically, and this is the part of Facebook that bugs me that a lot of other folks don't seem to understand: I don't want her to have a part of ME.

I don't want to invite her into my world, where I post pictures of my weird hairdos and give status updates about the A/C unit being on the fritz. I don't want her to know how I'm doing or what my family's up to. I am quite happy to have moved on from the misery that was that particular work engagement - because let me be perfectly clear: that job was MISERABLE for me - and would be perfectly content to never hear her name again.

I truly cannot say that about most people. There are plenty of folks from, say, high school that I would not care one way or the other about - if I never saw them, heard from them, or heard of them again, oh well, but if I ran into them at the mall, I wouldn't walk the other way either. But there are a handful, just a few special folks, that I truly would go out of my way to avoid like so much plague infestation, and she is one of them. And Facebook, folks, make no mistake, lets people into your LIFE. I don't fill out quizzes or download applets, because that not only let's the world know which Harry Potter character I'm most like or what color represents my mood, but it also gives the Information Miners plenty of datapoints about my demographics.

Don't believe me? Think I'm being paranoid? Aside from the half dozen or so articles (from legitimate news sites, not conspiracy theorists) that I can point you to that explain how it works, I'll give you a concrete example: my friend Steve regularly complains about the daily ads on his Facebook home page to "Meet Senior Women." I do not get those ads. Steve gets them because he fills stuff out, and somewhere down the line, he gave some piece of information that suggested those ads might be of interest to him. I get nothing but generic Facebook advertising, because I have NEVER accepted an applet. I turn down Lil' Greenhouse requests and Super Smiles and all that other nonsense, not because I'm no fun (and believe me, I was REALLY tempted by the Typing Test Game today, given my 120 wpm average), but because I want to keep some pieces of me for ME (and my family). I don't post pictures of my kids, because I don't want to end up like the family whose annual Christmas photo ended up on a billboard in a foreign country (I am not making this up - Google it.) because somebody somewhere snatched it from the distributed e-mail (a friend passed it to a friend who passed it to a friend with an eye for marketing material...) and decided to make use of it.

I'm not saying Big Brother has arrived, but I am saying that neither legislation nor security has been able to keep up with the lightning-fast evolution of internet capabilities - nor the insidious minds of child molesters, porn distributors, or plain ol' ID hackers - and until it does, I see no reason to let a crazy woman be my friend. I've got plenty of crazy women friends in my life already.

And that, my friends, covers just a few topics on my mind today...

Hm...

Where in the world is Carmen San Diego?

How Fitting

I sincerely hope that when my day of judgment comes and I arrive at the pearly gates, the dear Lord looks kindly upon me, embraces and welcomes me, and then bestows upon me the answer to the biggest mystery of my life: how to fold a %$#@&*! fitted sheet.