Following Through on Intent


Insomniac that I have become, I was up late at my computer last night and came across an article on the Huffington post, written by Deepak Chopra’s daughter Mallika. I was on a techno dig of sorts, for my blog fodder, when a title caught my eye, “Well-being in the Dawn of Social Media”. What I sought was data and what I came away with, a renewed sense of hope, left me pleasantly surprised.

“sublimi feriom sidera vertice”

Horace

Or for those of you not familiar with Latin, an English translation…

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

We all have intentions. I intend every day, as I lumber, to complete a to do list that has no end. All the while, I long to take a walk in the woods, with my dirty dog Jack, work on an art-project, long in the making, do homework with my youngest, when she comes home from school, and speak with two teens, who would rather play X Box, breathe, breathe, breathe, cook a fabulous dinner, in which we would each have a hand, do the dishes together,and finish the job, sit down side by side, share a book aloud, smile to myself in quiet admiration, wonder how I did it all in one day, breathe and then soundly slumber, content that our life is as it should be. Which planet do I come from?

It began in a flash as my cell phone alarm awakened me, fresh start, a new day. I arose slowly and pulled on a pair of socks from my floor in silent hope for a quiet morning. It has been difficult to do that for awhile now. Suffice it to say- and most parents of a teenager will agree- morning hours do not make for our proudest moments.

I tapped on my oldest son’s door, heard no reply, so I ventured into his lair. I called his name and tapped on his shoulder. I was greeted by a sounds that no mother should hear. He grimaced, rolled over and his tirade followed, “I do not need you to get me up! I know what time it is! Get out of my room! I don’t feel good anyway! Can I stay home from school?”

I broke the cardinal rule: “Morning is not a good time to engage a tired teenager!” What should have been a quiet exchange escalated into our predictable, morning battle to get him to the bus on time.

It was on to teen daughter’s room from there. It was such a disaster zone, I could hardly open her door. I stumbled my way around her piles and at her bedside I said, “Time to wake up.” No answer. ” Let’s get going sweetie.” Silence. “You will miss your bus. I can’t drive you today. I have an appointment this morning.” At last, I heard a response, “Then I’ll just walk! Go away!”

Strike two! Time to make coffee.

As I walked into the kitchen my dressed, brushed and ready to go youngest daughter, hugged me and said, “Morning Mama! How are you? I slept great last night. How bout you?”

My saving grace in the form of an eight year old girl.

I love them deeply, all three, but must admit I sometimes have a favorite. Today I would have to pick my baby girl.

Teenage years can be tumultuous times. Could I have possibly put my own mother through this? I do not remember. I will have to ask when I speak with her next time. I hardly recognize them at times, as they depart from childhood and move into an adult frame of mind, such deviation from the babies I knew so well. I long for butterfly kisses, skinned knees, and tiny toes. Laying in bed reading Good Night Moon fifteen times in a row, would offer sweet respite from the now and sure later. Time for me to loosen my grip, at least a bit.

Really what is my intent? I cannot hold them back from who they will become, what a fine line I must walk. As my teenagers move into adulthood, I must pause, wait for them to make the first move if need be. I reach out and take their silence, at times, as rejection. My own confusion, not their own, causes my heart to ache. Time for me to change too, ask rather than tell, and listen rather than speak as circumstances arise. I have already been over this well-trod terrain. My job here is to guide them, be their leader. I cannot play dictator, seize control of who they are becoming, no matter my discomfort or ocassional heartache. As I slowly ease up on parental reigns, a new door appears before me, with a plack that reads, “Open to change”.

Parenting is the oldest profession. As the world evolves, so must it; as my children develop, so must I.

I have always been a fan of self help books. Got a problem? I probably own a book to help solve it. I am not sure that they did their jobs, those books. After all is said and done, the best teacher is experience, and the ocassional hard knock at our doors. My intent is and always has been to be the best parent I can.

This point brings me back to where I started. Mallika created a website called “Intent”. It is a place on the net, where anyone is welcome to post a daily goal, a.k.a. intention. It was built on a simple premise, with the support of a strong social network, all things are possible. Intent.com seems a great way for a person to strengthen her resolve. Tell me? Who among us couldn’t use a bit of help now and again? Social media to the rescue! Why not? I ask you. Beats a bill from a therapist. A new way to lighten the proverbial baggage is more than welcome in my book.

I registered earlier today. This is what I posted.

I will be firm, but kind, listen when I would rather speak, keep calm and carry on.

On a last note. If indeed the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then surely a road to heaven must be paved with friends, wherever we may find them. Here’s to following through on my intent.

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Following Through on Intent


Insomniac that I have become, I was up late at my computer last night and came across an article on the Huffington post, written by Deepak Chopra’s daughter Mallika. I was on a techno dig of sorts, for my blog fodder, when a title caught my eye, “Well-being in the Dawn of Social Media”. What I sought was data and what I came away with, a renewed sense of hope, left me pleasantly surprised.

“sublimi feriom sidera vertice”        
         Horace

Or for those of you not familiar with Latin, an English translation…

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

We all have intentions. I intend every day, as I lumber, to complete a to do list that has no end.  All the while, I long to take a walk in the woods, with my dirty dog Jack, work on an art-project, long in the making, do homework with my youngest, when she comes home from school, and speak with two teens, who would rather play X Box, breathe, breathe, breathe, cook a fabulous dinner, in which we would each have a hand, do the dishes together,and finish the job, sit down side by side, share a book aloud, smile to myself in quiet admiration, wonder how I did it all in one day, breathe and then soundly slumber, content that our life is as it should be. Which planet do I come from?

It began in a flash as my cell phone alarm awakened me, fresh start, a new day. I arose slowly and pulled on a pair of socks from my floor in silent hope for a quiet morning. It has been difficult to do that for awhile now. Suffice it to say- and most parents of a teenager will agree- morning hours do not make for our proudest moments.

I tapped on my oldest son’s door, heard no reply, so I ventured into his lair. I called his name and tapped on his shoulder. I was greeted by a sounds that no mother should hear. He grimaced, rolled over and  his tirade followed, “I do not need you to get me up! I know what time it is! Get out of my room! I don’t feel good anyway! Can I stay home from school?”

I broke the cardinal rule: “Morning is not a good time to engage a tired teenager!”  What should have been a quiet exchange escalated  into our predictable, morning battle to get him to the bus on time.

It was on to teen daughter’s room from there. It was such a disaster zone, I could hardly open her door. I stumbled my way around her piles and at her bedside I said, “Time to wake up.” No answer. ” Let’s get going sweetie.” Silence. “You will miss your bus. I can’t drive you today. I have an appointment this morning.” At last, I heard a response, “Then I’ll just walk! Go away!”

Strike two! Time to make coffee.

 As I walked into the kitchen my dressed, brushed and ready to go youngest daughter, hugged me and said, “Morning Mama! How are you? I slept great last night. How bout you?”

 My saving grace in the form of an eight year old girl.

I love them deeply, all three, but must admit, I sometimes have a favorite. Today I would have to pick my baby girl.

Teenage years can be tumultuous times. Could I have possibly put my own mother through this? I do not remember. I will have to ask when I speak with her next. I hardly recognize my two oldest children as they depart from childhood and move into adult frames of mind, so different from the babies I knew so well. I long for butterfly kisses, skinned knees, and tiny toes. Laying in bed reading Good Night Moon fifteen times in a row, would offer sweet respite from the now and sure later. Time for me to loosen my grip, at least a bit.

Really what is my intent?  I cannot  hold them back from who they will become, what a fine line I must walk. As my teenagers move into adulthood, I must pause, wait for them to make the first move if need be. I reach out and take their silence, at times, as rejection. My own confusion, not their own, causes my heart to ache. Time for me to change too, ask rather than tell,  and  listen rather than speak as circumstances arise. I have already been over this well-trod terrain.  My job here is to guide them, be their leader. I cannot play dictator, seize control of who they are becoming, no matter my discomfort or ocassional heartache. As I slowly ease up on parental reigns, a new door appears before me, with a plack that reads, “Open to change”.

Parenting is the oldest profession. As the world evolves, so must it; as my children develop, so must I.

I have always been a fan of self help books. Got a problem? I probably own a book to help solve it. I am not sure that they did their jobs, those books. After all is said and done, the best teacher is experience, and the ocassional hard knock at our doors. My intent is and always has been to be the best parent I can.

This point brings me back to where I started. Mallika created  a  website called “Intent”. It is a place on the net, where anyone is welcome to post a daily goal, a.k.a. intention. It was built on a simple premise, with the support of a strong social network, all things are possible. Intent.com seems a great way for a person to strengthen her resolve. Tell me? Who among us couldn’t use a bit of help now and again?  Social media to the rescue! Why not? I ask you. Beats a bill from a therapist. A new way to lighten the proverbial baggage is more than welcome in my book.

I registered earlier today. This is what I posted.

I will be firm, but kind, listen when I would rather speak, keep calm and carry on.

On a last note. If indeed the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then surely a road to heaven must be paved with friends, wherever we may find them. Here’s to following through on my intent.

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Thank You Phyllis Schlafly and Suzanne Venker, Thank You Both


Come March, a new tome will hit a bookstore near you. A book tour will surely follow. I want to be the first in line for autographs. In fact I will take my two young daughters along, just to let them see firsthand what a female conservative looks like. They may marvel with me, at how out of step with reality one person can actually be. Make that 2 people, how could I forget? This book has two authors, Phyllis Schlafly, and Suzanne Venker. It’s title really rolls off one’s tongue. Try to say this ten times fast, “The Flipside of Feminism; What Conservative Women Know- And Men Can’t Say?” Quite catchy don’t you think? It certainly caught my eye.

Amanda Hess of the Huffington post interviewed these two women and lived to tell about it. That is she lasted through what must have been a painful interview and a shock to her system. I wonder, if she too might suffer from what now ails me, “PTIS” (Post Traumatic Interview Syndrome). As I read the dialogue, a fog set in, I fully expected to look out my front door and see a Studebaker roll up my street. Refresh my memory please? It is 2011, correct?

I have 2 young, impressionable daughters. The moth eaten drivel, which these conservative women spew, frightens me. My daughters, actually, all daughters for that matter, do not need to be pushed back to the days of yore, when women did not have rights, and their only hope of a college education and career was dependant upon a ride on the coat tails of a father, a brother or great catch of a husband. Women have come too far to lapse into such silent submission.

Feminism is not dead, but rather under fire. We need to unite, as our foremothers did. The antiquated mindset of this so-called “silent majority threatens to erase all that’s been accomplished to date. This quiet assault is like subliminal elevator music, that plays constantly- quietly in the back ground of our every day lives. If one listens long enough, you will begin to sing the song. Women’s rights are under attack. It is time to wake up and continue to relearn the songs that have already been written and to write some new songs of our own. Thank you Phyllis Schlafly and Suzanne Venker for your clarification, of so timely an issue.

We have come a long way my sisters, mothers, friends, and foes. Now more than ever, our daughters need role models. We have our work cut out for us. It is not enough to talk the talk. Time to walk the walk.

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Thank You Mrs. Schlafly and Mrs. Venker, Thank You Both


Come March, a new tome will hit a bookstore near you. A book tour will surely follow. I want to be the first in line for autographs. In fact I will take my two young daughters along, just to let them see firsthand what a female conservative looks like. They may marvel with me, at how out of step with reality one person can actually be. Make that 2 people, how could I forget?  This book has two authors, Phyllis Schlafly, and Suzanne Venker. It’s title really rolls off one’s tongue. Try to say this ten times fast, “The Flipside of Feminism; What Conservative Women Know- And Men Can’t Say?” Quite catchy don’t you think? It certainly caught my eye.

Amanda Hess of the Huffington post interviewed these two women and lived to tell about it. That is she lasted through what must have been a painful interview and a shock to her system. I wonder, if she too might  suffer from what now ails me, “PTIS” (Post Traumatic Interview Syndrome). As I read the dialogue, a fog set in, I fully expected to look out my front door and see a Studebaker roll up my street. Refresh my memory please? It is 2011, correct?  

I have 2 young, impressionable daughters. The moth eaten drivel, which these conservative women spew, frightens me. My daughters, actually, all daughters for that matter, do not need to be pushed back to the days of yore, when women did not have rights, and  their only hope of a college education and career was dependant upon a ride on the coat tails of a father, a brother or great catch of a husband. Women have come too far to lapse into such silent submission.

Feminism is not dead, but rather under fire. We need to unite, as our foremothers did. The antiquated mindset of this so-called “silent majority threatens to erase all that’s been accomplished to date. This quiet assault is like subliminal elevator music, that plays constantly- quietly in the back ground of our every day lives. If one listens long enough, you will begin to sing the song. Women’s rights are under attack. It is time to wake up and continue to relearn the songs that have already been written and to write some new songs of our own. Thank you Phyllis Schlafly and Suzanne Venker for your clarification, of so timely an issue.

We have come a long way my sisters, mothers, friends, and foes. Now more than ever, our daughters need role models. We have our work cut out for us. It is not enough to talk the talk. Time to walk the walk.

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To Thine Self Be True, Time to Eat


I do not like Winter. Dark mornings and early nights do not sit well with me. So today as I pulled up the shade in my room, and saw the sun, I rejoiced. Despite cold feet and my leaky old windows, I felt a bit warmer inside.  Ah, sunshine! I welcome her touch. Time for me to seize the day.

In a world turned upside down, to face a day presents challenge. I liken myself to a fish, as she struggles to swim upstream; tapped out, at wits end, yet tenacious, determined and ready to keep up the fight. Despite circumstances, ultimately, I will prevail. There’s only one ingredient, oft missing.

I am a chef. As odd as it sounds, I often forget to eat, especially when I’m under stress. My stomach growls as I plow through my tasks. My ADD brain thinks, that this too shall pass. When alas, 3:00 rolls around, and  dammit, I’ve not eaten a bite. Today a new dawn arises. I will nourish myself with food. Wow! Pretty basic! Words are not enough to sustain me. Though I’ve some serious questions to answer and problems to solve, nutrition and  health are core ingredients, and will certainly help carry me along on this journey.

I am left with this thought, a new mantra perhaps?

“Nourish thy body first, your heart is sure to follow.”

You can quote me on that!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!! Oh? I hear the call. Gotta run. Time to eat!

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Ok,Ok I Know This is Cliche’


Sat down to write a blog about bullying, ended up with a rift on the Night Before Christmas. Oh my Lord, where, oh where can my train of thought be?

Twas a lovely Tuesday morning and around my abode,
Not a shred of dirty laundry, not even a load.
My kids are in school, my chores are complete,
I sit down at my table and put up my feet.
Turn on my computer, at 10 for a change,
My computer awaits me, I have words to arrange,
I scroll through my favorites in hope that I’ll find,
An interesting nugget, to trigger my mind.
I stare at the screen, my mind all a flutter,
While stories and news bytes spitter and sputter.
When what to my weary, ADD mind should appear?
But a story I can relate to, and
Can share with you here.

My children are nestled all snug in their beds.
And good night to anyone who might still be awake!

Until Tomorrow!

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Walk the Dog


Hot off the web, while we tighten our buttocks, so too our brains grow.  The New York Times reported  findings from a recent University of Pittsburg study on fitness and how it affects brain function as we age. Sounds pretty boring ? I know, but what they discovered might just surprise you. In fact, if  you are a over the age of 49, this bit of information might actually motivate you to exercise 3 times a week.

I do not want to bore you with statistics, they can be read in the Times, so I will just give you a general synopsis.  120 Sedentary men and women, average age 60, were divided into 2 groups. The first walked around a track. The second did less aerobic exercise including yoga and light resistance training. They both worked up to 40 minutes, three times a week.

After one year all parties were in much better physical condition. The surprise came when the brainscan results were examined. The walkers brain volume, in the hippocampus area had actually increased, while the  less aerobic groups’ decreased. So what does that mean you ask? The hippocampus is the part of our brain that controls memory function. This small , but enlightening bit of  knowledge demands further study, both in the lab, and out in the real world. Let me explain.

Is it too much to think, if  all Americans were armed with this minor tidbit, that our rate of obesity might actually decrease? If, say, Joe Schmo, average junk food eater, super sized drink drinker, was to get wind of this , might he actually,take a walk, get smarter, and break his unhealthy habits? A larger brain could could be a very motivating factor.

If I walk my dog 2 times a day, I might be wiser by the end of a month and perhaps brilliant by the end of the century. I might even be able to remember to pick up my drycleaning.  Gotta go! My dog awaits.

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Google Warfare


When I first began to blog, I was literally clueless. I was sure that I wanted to write, and I desired a clean, streamlined website that was free of ads. Other than that, it was up in the air. I hunted and pecked my way through the set up. The learning curve was a long one. Though writing itself gives me great pleasure and stimulates my, often, weary brain, writing alone, I found, does not a blog make. My page views continue to increase, though I do not have many  followers. ( That is a hint BTW). Minor glitches aside, the only problem that remains to be solved, lyes in Google’s hands. Technical difficulties arose the moment I  signed onto their AdSense campaign. I am sad to report that I drank Google kool aid. It now haunts me.

 I moved onto  gadget placement. My frustration mounted as I attempted to execute the simplest computer maneuver of all, cut and paste. Elementary  if you know what you’re doing, tortuous to a computer novice like me. I downloaded “Blogging for Dummies”. Suddenly what  befuddled me became clear. Not only did I learn the fine art of cut and paste, but also two basic rules behind the art of a successful blog. Rule # 1; Links on  blog create more traffic. Rule #2; Advertising can generate income. Seemed logical to me, so I linked to the hilt and joined the Google charade. Regret was soon to follow.

I thought I could save time and effort by allowing Google to match ads to my blog, after all, they claim to be  experts. At first glance, ads were quite general in nature. Banners for dog food and pet care appeared. Appropriate I thought, but other, more objectionable promotions began to rear their ugly heads. They were in no way related to recent posts. In fact, I would liken them to country cousins, thrice removed. I went to work, quickly, to take them off my site. Google ad filters to the rescue, or so I thought. What seemed a petty nuisance then, continues to plague me.

This morning I signed onto Diaryofadogbiscuit.blogspot.com. I glanced over my posts and below my last entry an image only ad appeared. It was a portrait of a handsome man in a black leather jacket. He stood aside a motorcycle. Type below this image was tiny. I could not read it. My glasses were no where in sight, so  I clicked. The handsome man began to pontificate. His speech went something like this.

“Hi! I’m John Doe. I live in the suburbs with my beautiful  wife. I am an electrician. My son plays little league. My daughter  takes dance. I take the train to work, so my wife can drive our SUV. On weekends I mow our quarter acre. I ride a Harley and by the way I’m a Mormon.”

I watched as ads for  Mormons and Scientologists cycled on my blog. Pardon my drama. I was now officially disturbed. If I were an Evangelist writing about fire and brimstone, I might not mind, but alas, I am a lapsed Catholic. I take issue with the fact no one at  Google, or any other online forum can help me resolve this annoying problem.

Makes me wonder what is really going on here. I’ve read over each of my blog posts. I make reference to God only once. ( i.e., “Thank God for little girls.”) This not so subtle intrusion on my tiny website reeks of what might follow. If Google is able to invade my content, how might this cyber radar play out on a world stage? Given the role that social media has played in Iran, Tunisia and Egypt, and the relative ease and speed by which these 3 oppressive governments were able to appropriate this powerful technology, it is not so far fetched to question whether this subtle intrusion could mutate into an unprecedented global attack on  our right to privacy?

Meanwhile, back at the blog, these ads continue to roll. Have you any suggestions, dear readers?

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‘Nuf Said


I imagine that most of you watched the Super Bowl game yesterday. I went with my kids to a girlfriend’s house to see it. Her husband and our kids watched while she and I talked in the kitchen. We are not football connoisseurs at heart. Anyway, about 3/4 of the way through said football game, I received a text from a friend that said, “Want you to watch the Black Eyed Peas on sb. There is a blog piece. Note the song where they want to educate the children.” It was too late to catch it live, so I watched it via computer when I got back home.

I am a lover of music. My taste runs the gamut. I love Jazz, Classical, Classic Rock and most Pop, up to about 1994. Folk, Gypsy, Salsa you name it, and being a Minnesota girl at heart, I love Prince. But after listening to the Super Bowl Half time show, I am truly at a loss. What passes for music and entertainment is quite frankly beyond my comprehension. We all love to be entertained, but it was truly painful to listen to this shameless debacle.

What possessed the planners of this show? I can only imagine the conversations that took place at the conference tables to decide who should be the chosen entertainment for the Super Bowl half time festivities. This is the conversation that plays out in my head.

“Michael Jackson is dead.” Said talking head number 1.

“He is? How about Neil Young? He’s only half dead.” Answers talking head 2.

“No way! The young fans want hip and cool.” Whines head number 3.

“How about that group with whats her name? Fur something?” Suggests Mr. Old Head.

“The Black Eyed Peas. Perfect. Yo. Boom. Boom.” exclaims Mr. Young Head.

“Lay it down, so many ways to love her.”

“Oh my gosh, we can get Usher too, and don’t forget Slash. He and the Ferg will rock it.”

“Sweet child of mine, I think we’ve figured it out! Fill up my cup! Tonight’s gonna be a good night!”

You get my drift? Forgive me if I am wrong! Nuf said!

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great writer momma


I have a guest writer today, my 8 year old daughter Addison Paige.

“My mom is a truly great writer. When I look at her post I say if I had a computer I would be a follower and read it every single day. I wish I was a good writer, I would write all the time, 24 /7, but when I think about it if I had my own computer I would make a blog just like my Mom’s. Well it wouldn’t be as good, but if I set my mind to it I can! Just think you can do it.” Addie

Thank God for little girls! My saving grace right now! Gotta love it!

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