Each and All

Well folks, thanks for sticking around during the daily blog posts of NaBloPoMo.  Gropius lives within the design of a new model, so to speak, and I appreciate your attention to my random musings. I'll be around, but if I skip a day every now and then, it's fine with me and I dare say you'll feel the same.

Today I thought I'd share my favorite poem with you, a gift handed to me by my 11th grade English teacher, who was an incredible inspiration in my life. All these years later, I love Emerson's messages that everything is most beautiful at its source and we all have the same source that ties us together.

Each and All
Ralph Waldo Emerson


Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown,
Of thee, from the hill-top looking down;
And the heifer, that lows in the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton tolling the bell at noon,
Dreams not that great Napoleon
Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent:
All are needed by each one,
Nothing is fair or good alone.
I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home in his nest at even;—
He sings the song, but it pleases not now;
For I did not bring home the river and sky;
He sang to my ear; they sang to my eye.

The delicate shells lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave;
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me;
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
And fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.

The lover watched his graceful maid
As 'mid the virgin train she strayed,
Nor knew her beauty's best attire
Was woven still by the snow-white quire;
At last she came to his hermitage,
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage,—
The gay enchantment was undone,
A gentle wife, but fairy none.

Then I said, "I covet Truth;
Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat,—
I leave it behind with the games of youth."
As I spoke, beneath my feet
The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,
Running over the club-moss burrs;
I inhaled the violet's breath;
Around me stood the oaks and firs;
Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Above me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and deity;
Again I saw, again I heard,
The rolling river, the morning bird;—
Beauty through my senses stole,
I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

You Really Want a Netbook

D-Man usually gets a "big" gift for Christmas--the one thing he really wants that can be a bit pricey--and a few little things to go with it. There isn't a big gift he's been asking for this year, and I have been struggling to think of something good.

Despite endless pestering, lecturing, punishments, etc., D-Man usually gets away with doing the bare minimum in school. Getting ready to enter high school next year, it's more than time for him to step up his game.

I've heard him say how much he hates computers. This would be a bad thing, especially if you are Gen Y or younger, and increasingly, "computer illiterate" greatly increases the chances that your hopes and dreams of doing more than digging ditches as an adult will get scattered.

So I thought: netbook.

MixedReflection's Mind:  "He will have his very own device to upload his photographs (possibly leading to an interest in capturing that perfect artistic image), to conduct research (for the next science project), to write e-mails (communicating with members of the family), to learn to type well (to make homework more bearable and to increase his skills), to have his own iTune control center (so he won't download all of that doodoo music on mine), to develop spreadsheets and documents in Google Docs, etc., etc.  In any case, he will become extremely computer literate but will be 'tricked' into becoming so!"

D-Man wasn't too into this idea. He was very anti-netbook.

I worked on it with him for a while and was eventually silenced by Husband who said, "If he doesn't want a netbook, why are you trying to convince him he does?"

So I told D-Man I was dropping it. "Okay, just tell me something you would like--OTHER than a remote controlled car. I'm not spending money on that."

Less than 5 minutes later, he said, "Yeah, you know, I really do want a netbook."

D-Man's Mind:  "I will have my very own device to upload [inappropriate] photographs, to conduct research (on girls I like at school), to IM peeps from the bus, to learn to type well (oh screw that!), to have my own iTune control center (so parents won't be able to censor my selections), start my own Facebook page, etc.

Obviously D-Man and I have very different ideas about this gift and what it might be used for.

I guess the funniest thing is that yesterday I suggested to him I was thinking the netbook might not be such a good idea after all.  His reaction?

"No!!! I want a netbook!"

Willie

Early this afternoon, D-Man and I went to Robinson Preserve to enjoy the 3.8 mile loop. It's such a beautiful trail. D-Man rides his bike and I do a power walk.

It's a well-traveled path, and many people bring their dogs. D-Man always pauses to ask if he can pet each dog, and most people are happy to stop for a meet and greet.

We were maybe half a mile from the parking lot on the return loop when we encountered an elderly woman who was walking a small long-haired dog that looked like it was a perfect match for her. Little dogs usually aren't my thing, but something about this guy told me he had quite a story behind him.

D-Man approached with his hand outstretched, inquiring if it was okay to say hello.

"Why yes," she said. "But he's shy."

"Someone who was very mean to him used to own him. I've had Willie for a couple of years now, and he's starting to trust again. "

Willie sniffed D-Man's hand and then ran back behind the woman, darting between her feet.

"I can't understand people who get dogs just to hurt them," she continued.

As we turned to continue down the trail, we heard the woman say, "Willie is my best friend."

Nearly 12 years ago, I found my Flanders on the street. She was living under an abandoned cottage near my office building. A large cut ran down her head, as if she had squeezed underneath a chain link fence trying to get out of a bad situation. I fed her for 3 weeks before she would come anywhere near me.

I hate to imagine how she began her life, but I feel like we were destined to find each other. She's one of the greatest parts of each day, always such a comfort to me.

Of course I thought of this blessing when I met Willie and his owner. They were destined to find each other, and this connection between human and animal is one that only some will understand.

Perfect Gifts for Parents You Don't Like

If you really want to get back at someone you don't really like, there are a few things to add to your Christmas list for their toddlers.

What about Hungry Hippos? Guaranteed to make more noise than you would take in at a heavy metal concert.  The banging plastic parts on marbles is deadly, perfect for parents on your shiter list.

A close second is the good 'ole ant farm. I always wanted one of these, but everyone with any sense knows that a release is in the cards. At some point that baby is busting open and shedding tiny marching bodies everywhere. Before it happens, parents will go to bed knowing there are hundreds of ants in their home every night, wondering if tonight is the night when the great escape will occur.

Fish are good too--just one more thing for the parents to take care of.

Let's move onto just about any musical instrument for toddlers. It's not that music isn't fabulous for youngsters, but when they don't know what they're doing and are just at the pouncing and shaking stage, a nice junior keyboard can drive the parents mad. Along the same lines--karaoke machines for kids. Pretending you're loving that singing adds a terrific dimension to the torture.

A giant soaker water gun is one gift item I'm pretty sure was given to D-Man in his younger years by people who hated me. You see, when it's you, Husband and one little guy...and you have a giant soaker water gun in the equation...there are two people in the line of fire. One of them is yours truly. So yeah, I'd add the giant soaker to the top of your resident evil list.

After experiencing a number of these gifts first hand, I'll tell you that presents for boys and girls can also be nice treats for your senses if you have parental revenge on your mind. If you do like the parents, however, remember that anything you buy for that special kid will have a direct impact on the mental well being of his mom and dad. I'd go with socks, a nice stuffed animal, legos or erasable crayons if you want to preserve the integrity of your adult relationships.

The Cardinals From Hell

Every morning around 9 a.m., the firm tapping sound would begin, surfacing from the living room at my parents' house. They would hear it every 30 seconds or so and would round the corner to see a cardinal (and sometimes its mate) dive bombing the window, hitting it hard as hell, from the adjacent tree. This would continue on and off for about an hour or so every day.

A long-time Audubon person, I was soon on the receiving end of the call as Parents tried to figure out what was going on and what could be done.

It's not unusual for birds to fly into windows, either catching insects on the wing or not realizing the window is an impermeable surface separating the inside from the outside. But these strange cardinals do it over and over again...and then some. And they make it a daily exercise. Odd, to be sure.

Parents tried all the usual stuff like putting up a visual distraction on the window to be sure the birds knew it wasn't an extension of the vegetation. But this hasn't worked. Nothing has worked.

So to put it all into perspective, I'll tell you this started YEARS ago. Just to be sure we're on the same page, that's like 4 years ago.  Now, the birds aren't starting at 9 a.m., they're starting at 7 a.m. And they'll now return for an afternoon encore performance. It's crazy.

We're wondering: are these the same birds, or have they now passed the behavior onto their offspring?  Are the birds insane?  Are they seriously mentally challenged, taking the bird brain to a whole new level of minimalism? Are they trying to remove a parasite or something? Who knows. They're like bird masochists.

It's terrible to think about what they're doing to themselves. And if you're a human inside the house, listening to that sound over and over again is pretty killer too.

In their latest attempt to derail the bizarre avian activity, Parents mixed up a water/ Cayenne pepper concoction and put it all over the window and the tree. We'll see what that does...we'll just see... My hopes aren't too high. I'm betting that the cardinals from hell will prevail in their mystery quest.

Thankful for Dinosaurs

It's been a relaxing Thanksgiving. I've taken today to nap, continued my purging of books and clothes for Goodwill, and of course have thought a lot about what I'm grateful for.  That exercise is something I don't save for Thanksgiving. Every day, I always keeping in mind how fortunate I am for good health, a healthy family, work, a fascination for life, friends, a roof over my head and the satisfaction of knowing there are things I can do--however small--to make a positive difference.

Tonight at my sister-in-law's husband's parents' house (ah yes, a fun one, isn't it?), we went around the table and each talked about what we're thankful for. Friends, family and health were of course commonly spoken, and then we arrived at little Jack, who's three years old.

"Dinosaurs and race cars," Jack said.

Ah, I'm thankful to have a little guy in the mix. Simplicity is a good thing, never overrated.

Presidential Turkey Pardon: I Don't Get It

No this isn't mine. It's owned by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

My inability to understand the Presidential Turkey Pardon each year has nothing to do with the fact that I've been a vegetarian for 17 years--honest.

But really?  It's kind of like the Free Willy syndrome. All those cute little kids and sympathetic adults of all ages feeling sorry for Willy, petitioning to free him and then spending a vacation day at SeaWorld.

I've never seen Obama read a speech, but he was reading that turkey proclamation today. I could just imagine the inner thoughts, "Holy CRAP, do I actually have to do this? There are a few other pressing things, just a few, that I should probably be taking care of."

The close up shots of him stroking the turkey were especially entertaining for me. It's like WTF? Enjoy that turkey dinner.

I'm going to feast on my Tofurkey tomorrow and of course, all of the carb-laden sides. The sides are pretty good.

Meanwhile, just know my deepest feelings about this pardon. It's stupid. I mean, maybe not for the sole turkey who gets to walk.