Not the answer to life, the universe, and everything but vital nonetheless

Before we went on our Alaskan cruise, I scoured the interweb looking for data to help me determine whether it was worthwhile to take a tripod along, but I found very little advice one way or the other (apparently one of those rare topics that does not cause controversy, wars, and divorce on social media).  The only other topic with so little extant web knowledge that I have yet discovered is a certain brand of guitar they quit making in the late '60's.  So for those of you dying to know whether you should take a tripod on your next sailing adventure, I will try and fill in the gap of knowledge and thereby earn my place among the pantheon of those who place a cornerstone of knowledge online that google might dig it up randomly and bequeath it to needy minds.  So whether you need a tripod for your camera, your spotting scope, or as a date (since your significant other dumped you right before your special trip), here is the final verdict: it depends.

Yes, there you have it, the final answer on all things tripodal and nautical.  Which is exactly the verdict I reached from the available data ere setting forth.  If you want to use a spotting scope at all, by all means bring it along.  If you want a few pictures of you and your special somebody and don't want to ask any old Dr. Jekyl or Mr. Hyde to snap it, ditto.  If you have extra room in your luggage, go for it.  If you want someone who is quiet and listens and obedient to your every demand, go for it.  If you want someone who can dance, I'd skip it, as the thing sometimes has 3 left feet.  If you aren't an avid photographer or bird watcher, skip it.  If you are already strapped for room or weight, skip it.  There you have it.  I had room and brought it along and used it for a few shots of me and the hubby all dressed up and used it on deck a few times to try and get a view of something far away with the spotting scope (every pirate needs a telescope, right?) but I probably would not have missed the thing.  But as far as roommates go, the thing won't snore, so there is that to consider.  And if you dress them right, that tall, lean look is attractive, right?:

Bored?

I used to think housewives must get really bored with nothing to do but wipe noses and fold laundry.  I once almost panicked at the thought of such a fate, as I was spending some time with a friend who had gotten her master's degree only to turn mother and wife; I could almost feel her 'bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in.'  But that was before I had kids and at the very start of my career.  Then I had a career and a kid.  Then just a kid.  Now I wonder how I ever thought a career was what life was all about.  My problem was I wasn't looking at a stay at home mom as a talented, useful person; I saw the laundry and the baby and assumed that was all there was to the story.

I was reflecting the other day on a 'typical' day around here: get husband's car unstuck from snow bank, pull a calf, pretend we're in a Star Wars movie, go get groceries...and that's just before lunch, nope, life is anything but dull!  Actually I've had far longer and more boring days at work than I've ever had at home.  As G.K. Chesterton says, 'an adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered,' so whether you're at home or abroad, go have an adventure or two and enjoy your day!

As ye sow

My parental antics have come back to haunt me and I couldn't be more proud.  I came home the other night and thought everybody was downstairs so I proceeded to the bedroom, only to shriek in terror as two nameless persons, one not yet five years old, leapt from behind the bed and yelled boo at me.  Worse, the instigator was the five year old!  I've been jumping out and surprising the poor kid since he was old enough to walk and now he's repaying me in kind.  Be careful what you teach their kids, intentionally or unintentionally, because it won't be long and they'll be doing the exact same things.

Xingu

Last week on my book blog, I gave you a reading assignment consisting of five short stories recommended by a certain webzine.  I read them myself, and while each was a good story in its own way, my favorite was by far Xingu by Edith Wharton.  Take a peek, if you haven't, at this witty and amusing read.  It certainly beats anything on cable or at the theatre.  Enjoy!

Holes and holes

There are holes in your heart and then there are holes in your heart.  Every breathing person struggles with the meaning and purpose of life in general and theirs in particular, that's what it is to be human and it is perfectly natural and normal, especially in your young life or after some great tragedy or life event, that hole is perfectly normal as is the struggle therewith.  But there is a subset of humanity that has a hole of another sort in its heart and they probably don't have any idea that it is there.  Just to survive they've rationalized it away, covered it up, ignored it, lied to themselves, and pretend that everything is okay.  But it isn't.  Everyone agrees that physical and sexual abuse are traumatic and horrible, we are even seeing emotional abuse gain footing as a legitimate tragedy, but there is something even more insidious and far harder to detect, acknowledge, and recognize: emotional neglect, but the adverse results on the lives of those affected are harrowing, but so subtle that its victims consider it normal.

I've had well meaning people tell me that 'at least you were clothed and fed,' and I'd like to reply that I would gladly have gone hungry occasionally if only I knew that I was loved and valued; do people say things like that of prison inmates or animals in a shelter?  I'd rather have been housed and fed by some cold and impersonal government agency than have lived with my biological family in the same sort of environment and twisted myself into knots trying to determine what was so horrid about me that I couldn't be loved, at least then I could blame the cold inefficiency of bureaucracy rather than trying to destroy myself to pardon my parents, for no child ever questions her mother's perfections, rather she will hate and blame herself for her mother's failings rather than admit some parental defect.  The results are hideous, but hidden under a veneer of fake normality.  Ripping off that false scar is the only way to heal, the process is long and painful, but far less miserable than living a lie.  Only then can you start to wrestle with the normal holes in the human heart.  To learn more, start here.

On Hopeless Cases

I tend to wear sandals with my skirts and dresses as I have sadly inherited my uncle's feet: think wide, big, and anything but feminine, and definitely a disaster to find a woman's dress shoe that is both comfortable and cute; it is a nice problem to have when looking for hiking boots though.  I actually joke that I have a farrier for a manicurist!  If I have the right sandals and paint my toes, you could almost imagine they belonged to a young lady, almost.  I also live in a place that gets very cold and has lots of snow for a good portion of the year which only complicates things.  When I wear sandals I get teased for wearing silly shoes on such a cold/snowy day.  When I wear big mean boots, people are aghast at my fashion choices.  I just can't win!  So I wear my sandals and let people wonder at my sanity (though if we leave town I have the boots along), but this Sunday my sandal broke so I ended up walking across the parking lot barefoot, yes my husband offered to get the car and pick me up at the door but it is a matter of principle: me versus the elements, or something like that.  Maybe I should start wondering about my own sanity!  Are people like this in hot climates or is my brain frostbitten?  If you think I'm bad, how about those guys in Wisconsin who go shirtless to a football game (in November)?

How to know when you are old

Everyone is obsessed with staying young these days, and I have discovered the secret to knowing if you are truly an immortal youth.  We've actually had winter this year: feet of snow, multiple blizzards, and then severe cold.  After all that, a certain four year old of my acquaintance insists he still loves snow, and I had to agree with him, as a kid, I loved snow, and anxiously awaited those glorious snow days when it was too nasty to go to school but I could go outside and play.  That's the test: do you love snow, does a blizzard inspire dreams of sledding and snow forts or do you groan about the impending shoveling?  If you love snow, congratulations, you are still young!  If your climate is not conducive to snow, you'll either have to move (ski vacations don't count, you have to live with the stuff for months on end) or discover some other metric.  If you are really determined about this, I can always use help shoveling so I'd be happy to help you out!