“Look before, or you’ll find yourself behind.” – Benjamin Franklin
I just had my first birthday on Facebook and I must admit, I haven’t felt this well celebrated in years. As you may or may not recall, I wrote a column back in March about being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the future via Facebook. It wasn’t a very cheery column because at the time I had no interest in adding posting minute and generally uninteresting details of my life on Facebook to my daily “To Do” list. Boy! was I wrong.
It turns out if you want to keep up with your kids, coworkers, family and old friends or seem surprisingly hip to your photography business clients, Facebook is the way to go. Since I began actively checking my “wall” several times a day and going to other people’s “walls” to read their “status” updates, I know a whole lot more about the people in my life than I used to and, contrary to my initial notion, most of it is pretty interesting.
For example, my little sister in Colorado is a landscaper and, according to her most recent post, she has put 2,665 bulbs in the ground in the last six days. My son and his wife just ran a half marathon in Athens and within moments of crossing the finish line a photo of their two lovely, exhausted, exhilarated selves was on-line. I never would’ve gotten to share in their glory and enjoy the comments of their friends, had I not been able to check in on it all via Facebook.
One of my daughter’s college roommates is a Fulbright Scholar in Jordan and her postings are wildly interesting; so, too, are those of an old friend who is a PhD astronomer/single parent. His postings range from exotic shots of faraway planets and odd pieces of rock that somehow made their way to Earth, to super cute I-Phone images of his four-year-old daughter. Another friend manages a bank in Atlanta and some of the things his customers say and do, well, you couldn’t make that stuff up if you tried.
I read about the parenting trials and tribulations of family and friends who live so far away I would never be able to put them in any real life context were it not for their daily posts and somehow because of what they put up on their “walls” and how I respond, we all feel a lot closer than we have in years. It’s the power of just being able to quickly, easily and for no extra fee - share.
The future is surprising that way. It comes up with things you think you’re really going to hate, but then end up loving because they’re just so interesting, useful or fun.
The other day I picked my car up from the mechanic and an older man in the waiting room was scrolling slowly through his cell phone, trying to find his own number. We laughed, that man, the mechanic and me, because we all agreed that without our cell phones, we’re useless when it comes to phone numbers – even our own.
”When those things first came out I couldn’t imagine myself having one,” the mechanic said. “Now look at us –we can’t live without ‘em.”
Our first mobile phone was one of those huge old “bag phones” that came out in the late 1980’s. It was in Mr. Clark’s company car and we felt pretty special having it. My son, who was eight at the time, would sit in the car and pretend to make calls because it made him feel “like a movie star.” Good times, great technology…
The other day I started volunteering at a clinic in Athens for people with no money or insurance. As you might expect, the place was crawling with UGA interns gaining school credit while learning to serve humanity. One of the girls I worked with wanted to find a phone number, but because the clinic can’t afford computers, she didn’t know what to do. Finally she picked up a phone book and said, “Can you show me how to use this? I’ve never even opened one of these up. I always just use my phone.” Amazing…
Mr. Clark read that the average person under 25 sends at least 50 text messages a day, while the average person over 50 sends under five; that’s quite a disparity. I admit to being annoyed when the young people around me sit silently, thumbs flying, texting away while they’re supposed to be doing something else, but it’s not all old school curmudgeon for me - some days I send way more than five texts.
You would think my positive experience with cell phones and Facebook would make me more willing to embrace new technologies, but it hasn’t. I’m like an old Rottweiler, still suspicious of anything new and very wary of change. Each passing birthday presents the challenge of working a little harder to stay young and current, because as the years fly by it becomes easier and easier to cling to the past and become stagnant. Who knows what techno-challenge this year will bring? Those I-Pads look like a lot of fun on TV…
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Cancer
“Better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness.” – Chinese Proverb
Our world is awash in pink this month – pink merchandise, pink newspaper pages, little pink ribbons are everywhere, on everything. “Think Pink” is the theme for October because it is the official breast cancer awareness month and, while I’m all for a cure for breast cancer, I’m not sure I’m a fan of using it as a marketing tool.
It seems a little crass to me – like the reality that breast cancer kills women and effects hundreds of thousands of lives each year fades into the background when what we’re focused on is buying things that have pink ribbons on them in an effort to show we care.
Please, don’t get me wrong. I’ve never had cancer, so I can’t pretend to understand how people whose lives have been touched by it, in any form, think or feel when the topic of “cancer awareness” comes up. I’m only talking my version of the talk because I’ve never walked their version of the walk. From my perspective, though, no one should profit from the exploitation of the merchandise marketing power of an illness – any illness.
I have a friend who is dying of ovarian cancer. It has metastasized throughout her body and she does not have long to live. She is younger than me, has a long-time husband and a daughter who has just started college. I can’t imagine what they’re going through…
I met Joanne at the hospital, where we worked together for years. She is a strong person, opinionated, talented, never afraid to speak her mind. She has a loud laugh, a dry sense of humor and a very tender heart. She’s the kind of person you could exchange terse words with in one situation and then find yourself laughing with and hugging her a short while later. And, as devoted as she was to her work, her devotion to her family, especially her daughter, is clearly greater.
Her daughter was a talented dancer, actress and singer in high school and Joanne was always proud of her accomplishments. And, as tenuous as a career in show business might be as a goal, Joanne’s daughter is now well on the way to making it a reality, I’m sure in part because of Joanne’s strong belief in her talents and support of her dream.
It took the cancer a long time to knock Joanne back and she fought and kept fighting a difficult fight. At work, when she was still well enough to work, she was always brave, strong and upbeat, laughing loudly about her recent hair loss or surprisingly curly hair re-growth or whatever sign of the battle had most recently appeared. When the cancer got to the point that conventional treatments were no longer effective, she went out of state for experimental trials. And, no matter what the latest news was – and, it was often not good – she never stopped smiling, laughing and being brave.
I stopped by to see her in the hospital last week and there she was, the same Joanne – joking about how hard it was to get her hospital gown snapped correctly, laughing, smiling and asking me about my life. It broke my heart. How can I think I have problems when this strong, delightful, tough, tough woman with so much still ahead of her is attending “end of life” classes and getting ready for yet another round of chemo?
I felt small, sad, humbled and inspired sitting across from her as she perched on the edge of the bed and talked about how much she’s looking forward to her daughter’s Christmas visit. I so wanted to do something, to help in some way - but how? Anything I had to offer seemed insignificant in the face of the challenges Joanne faced.
Then, it came to me; I could offer her a photo session. She hates pictures of herself and I hate pictures of myself; we have that in common. I wasn’t sure if she’d go for the idea, but I offered anyway and she surprised me by immediately saying, “Yes.” It’s not that a photo session is a big deal; it’s not. It’s just something I could personally offer.
We all want to be part of something big, something good - something like finding a cure for cancer; and there’s all kinds of cancer. Just because Joanne’s cancer doesn’t have a color or a month or big merchandising campaign behind it, doesn’t mean she can’t use a show of support, even if there’s no little ribbons involved.
It’s easy to go out and buy things. It’s not so easy to look around, see someone who’s struggling and ask yourself what tangible thing can I offer? Maybe it’s a ride to a medical appointment or an offer to clean the house. Maybe it’s making food or doing a load of wash or cutting the grass. Is there something they’ve always wanted to do, but never got the chance? Is there a way to make that happen?
My bet is reaching out will feel better than whipping out that debit card; let’s try it and see.
Our world is awash in pink this month – pink merchandise, pink newspaper pages, little pink ribbons are everywhere, on everything. “Think Pink” is the theme for October because it is the official breast cancer awareness month and, while I’m all for a cure for breast cancer, I’m not sure I’m a fan of using it as a marketing tool.
It seems a little crass to me – like the reality that breast cancer kills women and effects hundreds of thousands of lives each year fades into the background when what we’re focused on is buying things that have pink ribbons on them in an effort to show we care.
Please, don’t get me wrong. I’ve never had cancer, so I can’t pretend to understand how people whose lives have been touched by it, in any form, think or feel when the topic of “cancer awareness” comes up. I’m only talking my version of the talk because I’ve never walked their version of the walk. From my perspective, though, no one should profit from the exploitation of the merchandise marketing power of an illness – any illness.
I have a friend who is dying of ovarian cancer. It has metastasized throughout her body and she does not have long to live. She is younger than me, has a long-time husband and a daughter who has just started college. I can’t imagine what they’re going through…
I met Joanne at the hospital, where we worked together for years. She is a strong person, opinionated, talented, never afraid to speak her mind. She has a loud laugh, a dry sense of humor and a very tender heart. She’s the kind of person you could exchange terse words with in one situation and then find yourself laughing with and hugging her a short while later. And, as devoted as she was to her work, her devotion to her family, especially her daughter, is clearly greater.
Her daughter was a talented dancer, actress and singer in high school and Joanne was always proud of her accomplishments. And, as tenuous as a career in show business might be as a goal, Joanne’s daughter is now well on the way to making it a reality, I’m sure in part because of Joanne’s strong belief in her talents and support of her dream.
It took the cancer a long time to knock Joanne back and she fought and kept fighting a difficult fight. At work, when she was still well enough to work, she was always brave, strong and upbeat, laughing loudly about her recent hair loss or surprisingly curly hair re-growth or whatever sign of the battle had most recently appeared. When the cancer got to the point that conventional treatments were no longer effective, she went out of state for experimental trials. And, no matter what the latest news was – and, it was often not good – she never stopped smiling, laughing and being brave.
I stopped by to see her in the hospital last week and there she was, the same Joanne – joking about how hard it was to get her hospital gown snapped correctly, laughing, smiling and asking me about my life. It broke my heart. How can I think I have problems when this strong, delightful, tough, tough woman with so much still ahead of her is attending “end of life” classes and getting ready for yet another round of chemo?
I felt small, sad, humbled and inspired sitting across from her as she perched on the edge of the bed and talked about how much she’s looking forward to her daughter’s Christmas visit. I so wanted to do something, to help in some way - but how? Anything I had to offer seemed insignificant in the face of the challenges Joanne faced.
Then, it came to me; I could offer her a photo session. She hates pictures of herself and I hate pictures of myself; we have that in common. I wasn’t sure if she’d go for the idea, but I offered anyway and she surprised me by immediately saying, “Yes.” It’s not that a photo session is a big deal; it’s not. It’s just something I could personally offer.
We all want to be part of something big, something good - something like finding a cure for cancer; and there’s all kinds of cancer. Just because Joanne’s cancer doesn’t have a color or a month or big merchandising campaign behind it, doesn’t mean she can’t use a show of support, even if there’s no little ribbons involved.
It’s easy to go out and buy things. It’s not so easy to look around, see someone who’s struggling and ask yourself what tangible thing can I offer? Maybe it’s a ride to a medical appointment or an offer to clean the house. Maybe it’s making food or doing a load of wash or cutting the grass. Is there something they’ve always wanted to do, but never got the chance? Is there a way to make that happen?
My bet is reaching out will feel better than whipping out that debit card; let’s try it and see.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Blind Bird
“God finds a low branch for the bird that cannot fly.” - Turkish proverb
I am a sucker for animals in distress - always have been. The tough thing about helping an animal is I never know how it’s going to turn out. Some rescues have happy endings, others are very sad; the point is I have to try.
My latest rescue is a male House Finch who, up until recently, I called Blind Bird. Like all House Finches, he is social, spending his time in a small flock that nests in the trees near my side porch. And, like all House Finches, Blind Bird loves bird feeders. His favorite feed is sunflower seed, so I keep one feeder full of those, just for him.
I think Blind Bird hatched this year, because when I first started noticing him, he was small and brownish gray. As the summer progressed he got bigger and his head and chest turned a pretty shade of dark red. According to the bird book, male House Finches are typically more orange-red, but since Blind Bird looks, acts and sounds like the other House Finches I’m sticking with my theory that he is one of them.
I first noticed Blind Bird because he was slow to fly away when I came up to replenish the feeders, and even from a short distance away, I could see his eyes were matted and dull, like he had some kind of eye infection. Having suffered the heart break of watching baby bird after baby bird die, after falling from a nest and being “rescued” by me, I resolved to let nature take its course, so all I did in an attempt to help Blind Bird was make sure finding food was never a problem for him.
Blind Bird seemed to function alright. He could flit from his bird feeder to the nearest tree and he had a voracious appetite. Maybe his immune system just needs extra time to tackle whatever’s wrong with his eyes, I thought week after week, as Blind Bird came and went, always with same sick-looking eyes.
Then, last week, Blind Bird’s health took a turn for the worse. When I went out to refill his feeder, I found him sitting completely still, puffed up like a very sick bird does. His eyes were crusted completely shut and he didn’t seem to be able to hear because he didn’t move at all when I got close enough to see how bad the situation was.
A short debate in my mind followed. Try to save Blind Bird from what looked like certain death? Or, just let him be like I had so far. The decision was quickly made when my old tom cat slinked around the corner – health-wise, Blind Bird obviously had nothing to lose and if something didn’t intervene, he’d be cat dinner tonight.
Because these things unfold the way they do, I was, of course, due to cover a school board meeting for the paper in less than an hour…Clothes not changed, hair not combed, no makeup on, I threw the cat in the house and ran up to the attic to retrieve the cage I keep for bird rescues. Wash it, line it, fill the water and food then rush back outside hoping Blind Bird had flown away. Nope, there he was, still sitting there completely still, as if quietly waiting to die.
I grabbed Blind Bird and put him in the cage, shut the cage in a bedroom safe from the cats and dogs, changed my clothes, combed my hair and makeup-less but on time, made it to the school board meeting. Thankfully it was a short one, because all I was focused on was getting back home to start Blind Bird’s treatment plan.
After washing all the gook off, I dabbed some antibiotic ointment on each eye, put a drop of antibiotic syrup in his beak, gave him some water and put him back in the cage. Then I wrapped the cage in a thick dark towel and stashed Blind Bird on the upper porch, safe, secure and warm for the night.
The next morning I was hesitant to lift the towel, so sure a dead Blind Bird is what I’d find. But, there he was, hopping around, looking a whole lot better than he had the night before. Another treatment and out went Blind Bird to hang in the cage near his favorite bird feeder for the day.
This was my routine with Blind Bird every day for the past five days and today he’s looking pretty sharp. His eyes are all cleared up, he’s active and he’s regained his cheery chirp. Tomorrow, after one last morning treatment, I’m going to let him go and in anticipation of this, I’ve started calling him Free Bird.
Of course, there is no guarantee that my tom cat won’t get Free Bird or that he won’t fall victim to some other peril; nature offers no guarantees. At least he’ll face whatever lies ahead with a healthy body and a pair of good eyes. He’ll also have the comfort of being back with his friends. All during Free Bird’s recovery, other House Finches perched on his cage and chirped to him, as if offering encouragement. I like to think that made all the difference.
I am a sucker for animals in distress - always have been. The tough thing about helping an animal is I never know how it’s going to turn out. Some rescues have happy endings, others are very sad; the point is I have to try.
My latest rescue is a male House Finch who, up until recently, I called Blind Bird. Like all House Finches, he is social, spending his time in a small flock that nests in the trees near my side porch. And, like all House Finches, Blind Bird loves bird feeders. His favorite feed is sunflower seed, so I keep one feeder full of those, just for him.
I think Blind Bird hatched this year, because when I first started noticing him, he was small and brownish gray. As the summer progressed he got bigger and his head and chest turned a pretty shade of dark red. According to the bird book, male House Finches are typically more orange-red, but since Blind Bird looks, acts and sounds like the other House Finches I’m sticking with my theory that he is one of them.
I first noticed Blind Bird because he was slow to fly away when I came up to replenish the feeders, and even from a short distance away, I could see his eyes were matted and dull, like he had some kind of eye infection. Having suffered the heart break of watching baby bird after baby bird die, after falling from a nest and being “rescued” by me, I resolved to let nature take its course, so all I did in an attempt to help Blind Bird was make sure finding food was never a problem for him.
Blind Bird seemed to function alright. He could flit from his bird feeder to the nearest tree and he had a voracious appetite. Maybe his immune system just needs extra time to tackle whatever’s wrong with his eyes, I thought week after week, as Blind Bird came and went, always with same sick-looking eyes.
Then, last week, Blind Bird’s health took a turn for the worse. When I went out to refill his feeder, I found him sitting completely still, puffed up like a very sick bird does. His eyes were crusted completely shut and he didn’t seem to be able to hear because he didn’t move at all when I got close enough to see how bad the situation was.
A short debate in my mind followed. Try to save Blind Bird from what looked like certain death? Or, just let him be like I had so far. The decision was quickly made when my old tom cat slinked around the corner – health-wise, Blind Bird obviously had nothing to lose and if something didn’t intervene, he’d be cat dinner tonight.
Because these things unfold the way they do, I was, of course, due to cover a school board meeting for the paper in less than an hour…Clothes not changed, hair not combed, no makeup on, I threw the cat in the house and ran up to the attic to retrieve the cage I keep for bird rescues. Wash it, line it, fill the water and food then rush back outside hoping Blind Bird had flown away. Nope, there he was, still sitting there completely still, as if quietly waiting to die.
I grabbed Blind Bird and put him in the cage, shut the cage in a bedroom safe from the cats and dogs, changed my clothes, combed my hair and makeup-less but on time, made it to the school board meeting. Thankfully it was a short one, because all I was focused on was getting back home to start Blind Bird’s treatment plan.
After washing all the gook off, I dabbed some antibiotic ointment on each eye, put a drop of antibiotic syrup in his beak, gave him some water and put him back in the cage. Then I wrapped the cage in a thick dark towel and stashed Blind Bird on the upper porch, safe, secure and warm for the night.
The next morning I was hesitant to lift the towel, so sure a dead Blind Bird is what I’d find. But, there he was, hopping around, looking a whole lot better than he had the night before. Another treatment and out went Blind Bird to hang in the cage near his favorite bird feeder for the day.
This was my routine with Blind Bird every day for the past five days and today he’s looking pretty sharp. His eyes are all cleared up, he’s active and he’s regained his cheery chirp. Tomorrow, after one last morning treatment, I’m going to let him go and in anticipation of this, I’ve started calling him Free Bird.
Of course, there is no guarantee that my tom cat won’t get Free Bird or that he won’t fall victim to some other peril; nature offers no guarantees. At least he’ll face whatever lies ahead with a healthy body and a pair of good eyes. He’ll also have the comfort of being back with his friends. All during Free Bird’s recovery, other House Finches perched on his cage and chirped to him, as if offering encouragement. I like to think that made all the difference.
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