In the middle of season 5, I have come to the famous grape-stomping episode. Maybe this needs to be on my list of things to do before I die.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Lucy Stomping Grapes
In the middle of season 5, I have come to the famous grape-stomping episode. Maybe this needs to be on my list of things to do before I die.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Remembering
Dear Mom
It’s been a year since you left us. What is it about dates that make it all feel fresh and open again?
I have missed you a lot this year, even though before your change of address (I hate the word death; it feels so mournful and final. If death has lost its sting, why does the word still sound so hateful?) Even though before your transfer, much of who you are was hidden by illness.
I saw an older man and woman in church yesterday. They had their Bibles open on their laps. The man was singing along and swaying with the music, contemporary music though it was. A woman was next to them (perhaps their daughter?), ever attentive to the older woman, helping her up and down at the appropriate times. They enjoyed the service. How I wished that you and Dad could still do that!
I felt a twinge of unholy jealousy that this woman still had her mom and dad. I could feel tears welling in my eyes and knew I had to shift my thoughts quickly lest my emotions grow beyond my control. My mind began to wander to what might have been. As we sang about how God can move mountains, I had to remind myself that though He could do anything, in our case, He had chosen not to bring healing, but to bring grace in the valley. And that He did. And it was enough. It was enough, not because I can see His way is better. It was enough because even though I cannot see that His way is best, I am the little child who trusts my Father, even when I cannot understand.
I have found myself often trying to look at life through your eyes this year. As I delight in my precious grandchildren, I imagine your excitement when you knew your grandchildren were coming to see you. As I marvel at the grace and maturity of my grown daughters, and know that I could not have made them so, I wonder did you look in wonder at your grown children, and know that God had done a work in us, as surely as when He created the stars. When I look at my husband of 30+ years, I am filled with gratitude, and I think, “Did Mom look at Dad and think the same thing?” And though you never said it in so many words, I know the answers to all those questions.
We like to think that those who have gone on before us are watching the events on earth like the audience in a play, cheering for the victories and groaning with the defeats. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but if it is, I hope you also know how thankful I am that you are my mom!
It’s been a year since you left us. What is it about dates that make it all feel fresh and open again?
I have missed you a lot this year, even though before your change of address (I hate the word death; it feels so mournful and final. If death has lost its sting, why does the word still sound so hateful?) Even though before your transfer, much of who you are was hidden by illness.
I saw an older man and woman in church yesterday. They had their Bibles open on their laps. The man was singing along and swaying with the music, contemporary music though it was. A woman was next to them (perhaps their daughter?), ever attentive to the older woman, helping her up and down at the appropriate times. They enjoyed the service. How I wished that you and Dad could still do that!
I felt a twinge of unholy jealousy that this woman still had her mom and dad. I could feel tears welling in my eyes and knew I had to shift my thoughts quickly lest my emotions grow beyond my control. My mind began to wander to what might have been. As we sang about how God can move mountains, I had to remind myself that though He could do anything, in our case, He had chosen not to bring healing, but to bring grace in the valley. And that He did. And it was enough. It was enough, not because I can see His way is better. It was enough because even though I cannot see that His way is best, I am the little child who trusts my Father, even when I cannot understand.
I have found myself often trying to look at life through your eyes this year. As I delight in my precious grandchildren, I imagine your excitement when you knew your grandchildren were coming to see you. As I marvel at the grace and maturity of my grown daughters, and know that I could not have made them so, I wonder did you look in wonder at your grown children, and know that God had done a work in us, as surely as when He created the stars. When I look at my husband of 30+ years, I am filled with gratitude, and I think, “Did Mom look at Dad and think the same thing?” And though you never said it in so many words, I know the answers to all those questions.
We like to think that those who have gone on before us are watching the events on earth like the audience in a play, cheering for the victories and groaning with the defeats. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but if it is, I hope you also know how thankful I am that you are my mom!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Passwords
From John Kelly at the Washington Post.
Your password will expire in seven days. Do you want to change it now?
No.
Your password will expire in six days. Do you want to change it now?
No.
Your password will expire in four days. Do you want to change it now?
No . . . Wait, I thought I had five days.
I was trying to get your attention. Your password expires in five days. Do you want to change it now?
No.
Your password will expire in four days. Do you want to change it now?
Yes.
Really?
No. Psych!
Your password will expire in three days. Do you want to change it now?
No.
Your password will expire in two days. Do you want to change it now?
Do you like your life?
I'm sorry?
Do you like your life, which as far as I can tell consists of constantly asking me whether I want to change my password? Does that bring you happiness?
First of all, I am a machine. I am not programmed to feel -- or even seek -- happiness. Second, I do not "constantly" ask whether you want to change your password. I commence the password-changing process every 90 days, as stipulated by this firm's cyber-security protocols.
No.
"No"? "No," what?
No, I don't want to change my password.
Your password will expire in one day. Do you want to change it now?
No.
To create new password . . . Wait. What did you say?
No. I said no. NO, NO, NO! I don't want to change my password! Do you know how hard it is to come up with a new freaking password every freaking month?
Ninety days.
Every freaking 90 days?! I just want to sign onto the computer, do my stupid job and go home. Is that too much to ask?
Cyber-security protocols require a new password every 90 days to thwart hackers who might compromise corporate data integrity.
Fine. Let's do it.
To create new password, type new password now.
"password"
That is not an allowable password.
"********"
That is not an allowable password
Why not? That's what my password looks like when I type it.
Eight consecutive asterisks is not an allowable password.
Fine. "beatles"
That is not an allowable password. Passwords must contain at least one uppercase character.
"Beatles"
That is not an allowable password. Passwords must contain at least one uppercase character AND at least one number.
"Beatles65"
That is not an allowable password.
Why not? It contains an uppercase character and some numbers. And it's easy for me to remember. It's the title of the Beatles' fifth LP on Capitol Records. Released in December 1964, it contains such classics as "I Feel Fine." In the UK, it was titled "Beatles for Sale."
That is your current password.
Argh! Do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with a password that meets all your stupid requirements and is easy to remember? It seems like I spend most of my life trying to think up new passwords: at work, for my bank, for the cable company, for Amazon.com, for eBay . . .
I can suggest many memorable passwords: XjOkOp987xtl. 93ddmNKop178. {$181}hgf*FC09{lcub}=*gz.
Those are horrible! Look, how about you let me keep my password for another 90 days? No one has to know. I promise I'll come up with something good by then. Please, I'm begging you, for the love of Christ, don't make me change my password today. I just don't have it in me.
That is not allowed. Cyber-security protocols stipulate that . . .
"Cyber-security protocols . . . " Listen to yourself! You're just parroting the party line. That's no way to act! Do you think John Lennon worried about cyber-security protocols? Or Picasso? Or Thoreau? Is being a cog in a machine all you aspire to? Don't you long to create? To dream? To feel a lover's embrace? To hear a mother sing her baby to sleep? To watch fireflies trace glowing lines through the gloaming? To see attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion?
Your password will expire in one day. Do you want to change it now?
Okay, I give up. Yes.
Yes, what?
Yes, I want to change my password.
Yes, what?
Yes, PLEASE, I want to change my password.
To create new password, type new password now.
"ComputerMustDie09"
Password changed.
Monday, July 06, 2009
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