Drops In the Bucket . . .

The Rock -

2009-06-08T13:01:00.001-07:00

He was like bedrock
Firm and compacted
Unmoving and unyielding

I had no desire to weather
This man of long-held views
And entrenched ways

I merely wished to stream
Along his edges
And touch his borders

And to chip away
Some of his solidity
Into my fluidity

Remember there are always worse things . . . .

2009-06-05T22:30:00.000-07:00

Just when I think that my life is bad or my sadness is too great, I read the news and realize I'm just a whiney baby who has no cause to feel so depressed. I was going through a crying spell and decided to do what I do when I get upset: I read the news. The world is such a curious place that I'm usually wrapped up for a block of time reading a story, researching tidbits I learned, or reading further clarifications. It's not that I am specifically looking for stories that make my life seem better, but as all you perusers of the news know, the articles are rife with negativity.

This evening, I read an article about 29 children dying in a fire at a daycare in Sonora, Mexico.

They also confirmed today that the body of the little girl found on the banks of a river in Michigan was the 5-year-old girl, Nevaeh Buchanan, who went missing on May 24, 2009.

I also read the uplifting and heart-wrenching story of Betty Makoni, who is a survivor of rape as a child in Zimbabwe.

So many parents out there lost their beloved children...the Mexican parents, the mother in Michigan, and the children who were robbed of their innocence in Zimbabwe, and here I am sitting, crying, with my two healthy beautiful boys sound asleep in their beds, my relative health, my prosperity. I have no right to be depressed. I have to seize each day with joy, zeal, and gratitude. I will no doubt still feel sad, but I do realize that I have so much to be happy for.

Product Going National!

2009-06-04T16:23:00.000-07:00

In August 2008, I designed the logo and packaging for a golf tee named the SmarTee. The inventor just called me to let me know that my logo would be used in a national spot television commercial. It is a very satisfying feeling.

Power to the Snail!

2009-06-03T15:57:00.000-07:00

Slowly millimetering itself along the walkway to my apartment is the everyday garden snail. The snail is not an attractive creature. It does have an interesting shell, but its earth-toned body is slimy and not particularly endearing, and yet, I have such empathy for the snail. Perhaps my empathy stems from its very slowness. That must be it.

One day, my sons and I made a quick trip to the local grocery store. Since it is close by my apartment, we walked. On the way down the walkway, we saw a snail had just started to cross the walkway. I advised my sons not to squish the creature, though they didn’t know why. My general answer is that it is a living thing and deserves to live and die naturally. When we returned about 40 minutes later, the snail had gone ¾ of the way across the walkway. My sons were shocked! It had taken the snail so very long to cross and it still had a ways to go.

I used the opportunity to convince my boys they shouldn’t kill the snails we see. After all, they had such hard lives. They are now completely convinced that snails should be protected.

I can hear you gardeners out there with your snail-killing solutions grumbling and feeling defensive over your snailicide (made that up). This particular comment is from an article on methods to kill snails:

“I was reading your article about controlling/killing slugs and snails in the garden. The article was very informative and I thank you for providing this information and this wonderful gardening site for our use. One method of slug/snail control that I did not see mentioned but have found very useful is 1 part ammonia to 4 parts water in a spray bottle. I found this information in several different garden forums I belong to. I have read that the ammonia is not harmful to the plants and have found no ill effect in using it on plants. It literally dissolves the slug or snail when sprayed on the critter. There is some satisfaction in this method when you discover a precious plant chewed to pieces and the culprit is dissolving before your eyes. It is very easy to carry a spray bottle with the rest of your garden supplies and I have found it to be effective. Last year I was quite diligent in using this method and this year despite the incredibly damp spring we have had here in Eastern Maine, my snail/slug population seems to be diminished.”

The author of the article takes pleasure in killing the poor snail. Am I a strange one for thinking it wrong to kill a living creature because they happened to eat part of a plant? I suppose gardeners want their gardens to be perfect. They could not deal with a spot or two where a hungry snail had a little bite. So they kill the snails and toss them away like garbage. It's perverse how many cruel and painful ways they have to kill snails and slugs.

The only snailicide I condone is that for you strange people who actually like to eat snails. I find it bizarre and stomach churning, but if the death serves such a purpose, I will accept it.

The slithering snail shall always have an ally in me.

A quote - Isaac Asimov

2009-05-29T07:48:00.000-07:00

If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster. - Isaac Asimov

Swim in My Universe

2009-05-26T16:26:00.000-07:00

We all live in parallel dimensions. It is as though there are multiple universes. My universe is different from the universe of the cubicle mate who sits around the corner. His universe is different from the universe of my boss. No one of us has the same perspective as another. The seconds of our lives tick by without ever truly knowing what another is thinking or feeling in that particular second. We can only read or learn about said thought after the fact, and by that time, that particular thought in that unknown second has already been filtered, distilled, or expanded and expounded upon.

Is it the pure thought that is more valuable, or is it the revised thought? This is not a question anyone can truly answer. You can make arguments for both. The pure thought is raw, closer to what you really think, and probably closer to what you feel. The revised thought has been refined, weighed and is closer to what you want to think or want to evoke.

In high school, I took a creative writing class. Every day, we had a few minutes of free writing. We were supposed to write down anything and everything we were thinking until the time had finished. I came up with my best story ideas in those few minutes. In life, our minds are always free writing, but we never jot it down. When I started this blog, I did not know what I was going to write about. All I knew was that I wanted to get something down. I wanted my thoughts to flow and to think of something that was not in the monotonous flow of my daily life. I wanted to write about something that had nothing to do with the regular flow of my universe.

Sometimes I am so dramatic.

Unrequited Love

2009-05-08T12:11:00.000-07:00

I felt I had to document this for my sake. There is no edification in my words nor some new insight into unrequited love. It is merely the recordation of an end.

A few months ago, I fell in love for the second time in my life. I had been seeing him socially for more than a year. It was as though one day, I greeted him as a friend; a friend I viewed affectionately, but a friend nonetheless. Then, almost from one day to the next, overwhelming feelings of anticipation, joy, longing, comfort, desire, and passion consumed me. Every time I saw him, I wanted to be with him; to be near him; to smell him; to feel my hands on his skin; to kiss his lips, his eyes, his ears, his neck, well, his everything; and I wanted to be able to love him openly. I felt like my heart had never been broken because this love was pushing all the pain out.

He’s everything I wanted in a man, except that he does not love me, and I know he never will. Of that, there is not a shred of doubt. So I finally buried my love. My heart bears a fresh wound. He never meant to cause it, so in that I have some comfort.

The end.

A reflection

2009-05-04T15:43:00.000-07:00

My sons just turned 8 and 9 years old, and I feel as though I was changing their diapers a few months ago. I marvel that I am raising two boys with their own personalities, whims, desires, and needs. I feel inadequate to the task and self-centered at times. I have been taking them out more often to birthday parties and family functions so they can socialize more outside of school.

At the same time, I have been spoiling them and buying them things I never had. They both have hand-held game systems, with more than one game. I take them out to eat far more than I ever did as a child. It is no longer a special occasion to them, so I feel I robbed them the feeling of surprise and joy it used to give me as a child. I tell them that they do not realize how lucky they are, but it is solely my fault that they view their possessions as commonplace. I have decided to start taking away their treasured toys for a week every month just so that they can appreciate them more.

They impress me every day with their ideas and they sheer joy in life. I watch their faces as they tell me of their day. One part of me responding with required oohs and awws of conversation, the other cataloging the tones in their skin, a leftover milk mustache from their noon-day meals, and perhaps a new grass stain on their pants. I wish I knew those little stories, but I never will. It is the way of life, just as my mother does not know even 5% of what I do with my days.

Letter to the President

2009-04-20T11:52:00.001-07:00

I wrote a letter to the President today in response to an article I read, "Picking Letters, 10 a Day, That Reach Obama." I am not sure if he will get it and I don't really want to post it here, but I thought it was worth mentioning.

Too Much

2009-03-20T16:18:00.000-07:00

I think too much, my darling
Every second is consumed
With musings and conjecture
Every hour passes a sentence
On my lascivious heart

I feel too much, my darling
The ups and downs of your every smile
Move my emotions as deftly as a puppeteer
Anesthetize my soul with a kiss
Quiet my conscience with sweet whispers

Reach your arms around me, darling
Hold me close for I fear so many things
Only the warmth of your embrace keeps me sane
Only the power of your eyes makes me forget
All the reasons why this shouldn't be

Reach your arms around me, darling
Patch the holes of my psyche
Don't let go, love,
I don't know how long I have
before I crack again

On Living On My Own

2009-03-20T10:57:00.000-07:00

It has been a year . . .

2009-03-16T15:06:00.000-07:00

since I moved in with my aunt and grandmother. My time there has alternated between being the best times of my life to ones filled with stress and worry.

Friendship - Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

2009-03-11T11:05:00.000-07:00

Oh, the comfort —
the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person —
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words,
but pouring them all right out,
just as they are,
chaff and grain together;
certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keep what is worth keeping,
and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.

The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936)

Thornburg

2009-03-10T10:07:00.000-07:00

I had every step of Thornburg memorized from my house on Alvin all the way past Fesler, down to Cypress. I'd go down this street to go to junior high, to church, to my beloved library. I'd fallen on it (and scraped my knee pretty badly), hit a truck while riding my bike, gazed at cute, unattainable neighbor boys, and made friends with its inhabitants. As I grew older, Thornburg was where I strolled with my first love and where he stole his first kiss on my cheek. It was a street that featured in my dreams and nightmares long after I moved away from my hometown. And though I wasn't much of an adventurer, this was a street that I could travel with complete ease because I knew what was around every corner.

But this post isn't necessarily about Thornburg. Thornburg was the way that I went to another hallowed part of my child hood: Veteran's Memorial Park. I have a lot of stories to say about that place from my childhood to my teenage days. When I was 5, my brother broke a bottle over my head there; I discovered that I had not invented the word carnation inside the Veteran's Memorial Hall; and later on, I made out with my boyfriend behind the bushes at the back of the hall. But this is more about the playground at the park.

Veteran's Memorial Park had a sand playground in the shape of a large oval. The playground had a merry-go-ring, a slide shaped like a rocket, balancing rails, and monkey bars. I would hold my breath every time as I rounded the corner on El Camino, wondering if I would see children playing at the park. This thrill of anticipation was sometimes too much to bear. When I would see them, I would get so happy. They were usually kids I didn't know, so there was no fear that they would think I was strange or reject me. I was the most outgoing child you could imagine on these days. I don't remember a single name of the children I played with on those days. But they validated my existence. They made me feel like in an alternate reality, I could be a normal person and have friends just like everyone else. Their happiness in my presence was as narcissistic as any mirror, but more innocent than that. THEY were my first social experiments, and for that I write about them and thank these anonymous beings.

Having friends now reminded me of those days, and about the park, and about Thornburg. I looked up the area on Google Maps and realized that I had so much history within one square mile of this area. My cousin and best friend Evelyn lived on Lincoln, the next street parallel to Thornburg on the east. My friend Terry Villapondo lived three houses down from her, and I once lived in an apartment on El Camino and Lincoln with my stepdad Bill, mom, and siblings. Parallel to Lincoln on the east was Broadway, where I got hit by a car when I was 5, which is also where Bill's Takeout was (best fries ever).

For now, the reminiscing ends.

Cameo Appearances

2009-03-09T13:55:00.000-07:00

Health

2009-03-06T11:53:00.000-08:00

Tonight I undergo a sleep study for sleep apnea. According to the literature, a technician will attach a multitude of electrodes to various parts of my body. During the first 3-4 hours, they will record my normal sleep patterns. The technologist will tally how many "events" occur. Then if I meet the criteria, I will be placed on a CPAP device, which is a mask that goes over my nose and around my head. It is a device that acts like a splint to keep my airways open. I am apprehensive, but it seems like an interesting experience.

Overall, my health has been improving and I feel like things are changing inside my body. I've lost a total of 21 lbs from my heaviest weight, and a total of 11 lbs since the beginning of this year. It is not rapid weight loss, but I think it is an enduring loss, so I have cause to be proud. I am using a website to track my daily calories. I eat what I like, but I am more conscious of portion size and variety.

My diabetes has not returned. All my blood glucose (A1C) tests have come back in the normal range. My thyroid levels are great with medication. Things on looking good.

Friendship, Friendship, Such a Perfect Blendship

2009-03-04T13:56:00.000-08:00

Spanning back to my first diaries, there are countless references in my writing regarding friends and my lack thereof. From gradeschool, I yearned to have more friends but never quite knew how to get them or what to do when I had them. Every new school year I would vow to make more friends; I would be more outgoing and more enjoyable to be around. And every year the first days of school would pass and I would again retreat into my world of books. As I got older and more isolated, I found that most of my friends were made online, which I considered a very safe environment, or they were coworkers. I would second-guess my ability to deal with other human beings.

Things are so different now. I have friends in the tangible world. When I go to karaoke, people greet me by name, give me hugs, rave about my singing, and ask me if I will be there again. Do you know how long I have waited for people to say those things to me? It is so amazing. Last night I was invited to join a group of women on their weekly "Night Out." They go to each others homes, bring an appetizer and wines, and just talk and relax. It is a dream come true!

Self-Image

2009-02-22T10:37:00.000-08:00

I have had a problem with my weight for years now. By eliminating the weight problem, I hope to reduce my health problems as well. At the end of last year, I started taking small steps to lose weight. I ate less of what I loved and started walking more. The results were encouraging, but I felt I had to do more. I joined a site that allows me to enter a goal-weight and gives me the number of calories I should eat in a day to reach that goal. So I have been tracking my calories. I don't truly restrict myself from something, but I am conscious of how many calories it is and if I am under my limit. This site has the nutritional information for almost anything imaginable.

The fount of words has dried and all that's left is punctuation . . . .

2008-09-25T18:24:00.001-07:00

Several times a week I read technical reports. I review them for consistency, readability, punctuation, and grammar. I have also been reading a lot of fiction. Thrillers and suspense novels have climbed into the car with me to be devoured on a plate of pillows and pajamas. If I am given a string of words, I can make them sound better and give insight as to how to improve it. But the words I want to come forth from my hands and mind are not there. I used to write frequently and with such affection for the process, but the facility is gone. Is this truly writer's block or am I just not equipped to be a true writer. Perhaps I am meant to be an editor forever.

In Business

2008-09-03T16:51:00.000-07:00

I have taken measures to get my business on the right footing. I have contacted some attorneys I used to work for to see if they can help me create standardized contracts and agreements for the graphic and website design services I will be offering. My website is still being worked on, but I am excited about it. My old attempt languished because I did not give it the time it deserved.

Here's to success!

Being at Peace

2008-07-25T08:53:00.000-07:00

My mind has been constantly thinking about writing something on my blog. I read a particular news article and consider its blogworthiness--often resolving to write about it as soon as I get home. However, my train of thought gets derailed, and I once again leave my blog outdated. As such, I will write about myself.

Recently, I have had some losses in my life. They have been difficult, but I am not destroyed. A year ago, these losses would have devastated me, and I realized that I am much healthier emotionally than I have ever been. It is not all my doing. I have the support group that I lacked before. I have friends. I have acquaintances. I have routine.

So with this post, I will say thank you to the friends who have made me this less fragile woman. I send my love, gratitude, warmth, and extend my support whenever you shall need it.

The Future of Robotics

2008-05-29T09:49:00.000-07:00

Ever since I picked up my first Isaac Asimov novel, I have been fascinated with robotics and what they could mean to the future of humanity. (Wikipedia.com has a very concise description of the field and its evolution) What always struck me in my pursual of this topic was that robots were always slated to be of service to man. For example, the Robot Institute of America defines a robot as a programmable, multi-functional manipulator designed to move material, parts, tools, or specialized devices, through variable programmed motions, for the performance of a variety of tasks. Like Asimov, I thought they could be so much more -- human.

When I started my education in the computer science field, my ultimate goal was to become an artificial intelligence/robotics engineer. The ethical dilemmas and concerns presented by Asimov in his novels, particularly in his Law of Robotics, heightened the interest and enthusiasm I felt when following the advancement of robotics. My interest was sparked all over again when I read an article about a robot created by Steve Yohanan to study touch and how touch is important in communication. Read the article here. The robot creature looks like an eyeless and mouthless rabbit and seems harmless enough. Depending on how this creature is touched, it can interpret your feelings and generate its own responses to how it is being touched – all recorded in sensors. Yohanan hopes that in the future, robotic pets will be created that then later allow someone else to feel what you were feeling when you were petting it.

“Yohanan imagines that the creature might lead to the development of a robotic pet that could connect couples who don't see each other often. For example, a wife who works different hours than her husband could convey her mood through touch to the creature, and the husband would sense that mood through the robot when he came home.”

The implications of this type of research are profound. While not specifically addressed in the article, when you couple a robot – a piece of technology, that can interpret how it feels through touch and convey its feelings through touch, with a robot that can move, talk, and process data at fast speeds, what you get is a sentient being – a being capable of feelings and emotions and intelligence. Additionally, the type of interpretations being performed by this robot will not be confined to touch much longer. It will develop into vocalizations. This is all beyond a robot emulating a human or performing a pre-coded set of facial expressions/parrot conversations; it is beyond a tool that can answer phones and direct calls—it is almost human, and IT IS EXCITING! (See some really neat human-like robots here.)

The ethicists should be swarming over this development. The self-aware robot is no longer a matter of future possibilities. The ability for intelligence and feelings to merge into one robot is fast approached and nothing will be able to stop it. [A discussion between top robotics engineers, ethicists, and artists about the ethics of robotics is discussed on The Tech Museum of Innovation’s website.]

The question that burns in my mind is whether a robot will be content to be of service to man if it is more intelligent, is self-aware, and capable of forming its own opinions and feelings.

(I have no doubt People for the Ethical Treatment of Robots will be forming during this century.)

2008-05-08T16:25:00.001-07:00

These photos were from a trip I took to San Francisco in November 2007.

It was a lovely place to be.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

May I Have This Dance - Entry for April 6, 2008

2008-04-06T01:12:00.000-07:00

we two-step across the floor
in unpracticed synchronicity
traveling into a strange land
arms moving up even stranger torsos
madly wild kisses strewn on the face
of today's love
as we dance to the victory of youth
we care not about bills and mortgages
like our aging parents
or about time-clocks and whistles
urging the tired to their starting marks
or for others
the sagging walk home
we are at the cusp of those things
and the stench of it is close enough
to make us recoil
but not enough to scare us
out of each other's arms

I Appreciate The Irony of this Blog - March 29, 2007

2008-03-29T16:23:00.000-07:00

The bad thing about rediscovering myself and being single is that I have been thinking far too much about myself lately. I turn the most simple of conversations into an exploration into "Vanessa." Is that not a symptom of the decline of our civilization? When one thinks about themselves over the needs of others, does that not spell disaster for the collective well-being of the world? These kinds of questions shuffle through my brain, along with more selfish concerns. I feel much like a child--wondering who will care for me, love me, hug me, hold me, talk to me, and entertain me. I wept in the shower this morning because I felt so alone. I should be worried about more global concerns, but those self-indulgent tears were comforting.

When I think about how I was before the ex, I was pretty much on auto pilot. I worried over the daily things, like the children, bills, chores, paying the mortgage; my insides largely ignored. I did not evaluate my marriage in terms of my happiness level, but in terms of "our" mutal happiness. I did not scrutinize my ex-husband too much because a fault in his treatment of me or of our relationship would have been a condemnation of myself as well (after all, I could see the ill treatment, and yet I stayed). (Come to think about it, when I was going to school from 2004-2005, I never really talked to anyone. I was going to school in the day--full time, got 3 hours of time with my sons and to breathe, and then I worked till 11p.m. at night. I did not really speak to anyone.) Now it is all I seem to do. How am I feeling? What do I want? What do I need? It is too much sometimes. I cannot answer my own questions, and yet I cannot retreat back to the automaton that I once was. It is very frustrating, delightful at times, but more than anything, frightening. I do not know who I am, and I do not know who I want to become.

But thinking about me, me, me has been tiresome. I want to get this over with already. I want to stop wondering when I will feel normal again. (Have I ever been normal?) If not normal, at least past this soul-crunching self-awareness. (I do appreciate the irony that this whole blog is just another "me, me" blog, of which I am complaining of.) And so, in my conversations with friends online and in the big bad world, I am trying to insert the following disclaimer, "If you want to talk about something else, please do." Interrupt me, change the subject, tease me, and joke with me. If I open and close my mouth like a fish for a few minutes, or turn red in embarrassment, it's okay. Blushing is my natural state anyway. *grin*

Switching the Gears --- Admist Screetches and Groans

I am not an entity all to myself. My sons are big players in the world of Vanessa. They are the witnesses to all my good and bad moments. The biggest choices in my life revolve around whether they will be adversely affected. I am Mother. I cannot just take off and do what I like, or go out with whomever, or take off on a vacation. Their needs come first. Thinking about myself is detracting from thinking about them, and that is not acceptable.

I am trying to balance this situation. I have started to extend myself further out into the lives of my children. I owe it to them to make sure they are well-adjusted and not scarred irrevocably by me leaving their father. I do not want to sit idly by and let life transform them as it will. I have written long emails to their teachers asking the teachers how they are behaving in class, their academic and social progress, and if they need to share anything with me. They have responded with long emails in return. I have been playing with them more outside, taking them on walks, having them clean the house with me. Just yesterday, I took one of our guinea pigs, George, with me to pick up my son. It made my son shine and beam with pride. Having him feel that way and knowing that I caused that made me soooo happy. In fact, I feel great knowing that I am taking active steps to be more involved.

They are usually bright and happy boys, but there are times when I see the sadness in their eyes when they ask about their Dad, when he forgets to call, or when he breaks promises. It is heart-wrenching. I am working on making sure they are stronger from the experience--not weaker. I am trying to do what so many set out to do when they have children: not make the mistakes of their parents