The Relationship

It has been said that society is merely a mirror of the family and of interpersonal relationships. Never have I seen it more plainly displayed as I have in this past year.

It was about a year ago when I first noticed the collective sighs of schoolgirls enamored by a big man on campus (BMOC). Notes were passed back and forth discussing the merits of the BMOC, hoping and dreaming that he would fill the shoes of the consummate perfect boyfriend. His shiny, black corvette blinded many-a-girl with the hopes of riding side by side in such a noteworthy machine – though in fear of showing the true shallowness of her admiration, no girl openly admitted that the car had anything do to with her obsession. The BMOC, emboldened by the expectations, became bigger than life, strutted his stuff through the hallways of his school, as well as at rival schools. Along the way, he stopped and leaned against lockers, posing in seemingly intimate conversation with each set of eyelashes batted in his direction. Like a bad 1980s chick flick, those watching groaned as the star-struck girl forsook the homelier best friend in favor of “flash and dash,” otherwise known as, BMOC.

At least in the high school chick flick the girl comes to her senses, and realizes she’s been bamboozled by a shallow and self-centered boy who is just out to score. Unfortunately, the collective schoolgirl in our sad story does not. Wise friends and family, who have the wisdom of years to evaluate the BMOC realistically, advise her to break off the relationship. Instead, she sees herself as some sort of revolutionary thinker who perceives her BMOC in a way that the “unenlightened” cannot. So instead, she counts the days until their wedding.

“He loves me!” she argues to her parents. “He says it every day! He says that he has a plan to make us rich so that we don’t have to work the rest of our lives. He says our marriage is not going to be boring and conventional. He’s so brilliant, Mom!” To her parents’ protests that he has nothing except words to show for it, she can only reply that she is sure that he is not like the other guys her parents have known who have said these things and ended up being losers. On the contrary, this guy is the real thing.

She is not interested in examining his past to discover patterns revealing his true character. Though former girlfriends call regularly and creditors leave messages day and night, he assures her that things are different now. “I love YOU, sweetheart! Those girls mean nothing to me, and those charges were all a mistake that is being cleared up,” he insists. He charges a dozen roses to a credit card, and she forgives all.

Tired of protesting and arguing, the parents foot the bill for the wedding. When the question, “If anyone knows any reason why these two should not be married?” is asked, her parents bite their tongues and hold hands.

On the honeymoon, BMOC announces to his lovely bride that she will have to go to work to support them. She is shocked and befuddled, as this is a new idea, contrary to the previous guarantee of a life of ease after their marriage. “Let us summon a new spirit of commitment; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other,” he says. Stunned, she nods, and heads off to the kitchen to pour a bowl of cereal for dinner – the only food in the pantry. Each day she heads off to work as her BMOC cheers her on from the couch, remote in hand. “I’ve got a plan, babe, a great plan,” he assures her.

At the end of the first month of marriage she sits down to pay the bills, only to find out that every last cent is gone from their checking account. Confronted, BMOC argues that he needed it to invest in his grand scheme, and in the long run they will be richer. “Where is it invested?” she asks hopefully, still trusting her knight in shining armor.

He tells her that he has sent it to his cousin Vinnie, the one who had the used car dealership that was foreclosed last month. “Vinnie is going to reopen the dealership and we’re going be rich, babe!”

Need I continue? We know what is going to happen. Call Dr. Laura and ask her. Check the Bible. Ask Dr. Phil, or whoever you deem a relationship expert.

Though America’s relationship to the latest, most popular politician is played out constantly on the local and national levels, by all political parties, it has never been so marked as it has been this past year in the election of Obama. His rock star following has been unnerving and frightening. Like scared parents, leveler heads with a realistic view of history and the future begged and pleaded with the enamored masses. Like defeated parents we voted, lost by a small margin, and submitted ourselves to honoring Barak Obama as our Commander in Chief. Like parents of a child who has chosen badly we stand by, knowing that there is nothing we can do to rescue our child who now must pay the consequences of a poor choice. But unlike the parents in the story, we must bear the social and financial consequences of our child’s poor choice just as if it was our choice. This is part of being “one nation.”

People who are put on very high pedestals only have that much further to fall, and fall they will, for people are not golden statues to worship and trust as a savior from any perceived threat. Anyone who believes himself capable of providing for the physical, spiritual, emotional and social well-being of one person, let alone a nation, is either self-deceived or purposefully deceitful.

The wayward daughter in our story is about to discover a truth best summarized by Mark Twain: When I was fourteen years old, I was amazed at how unintelligent my father was. By the time I turned twenty-one, I was astounded how much he had learned in the last seven years.

May God have mercy on our country and raise up wise leaders who study history in fear of repeating its mistakes and in hopes of repeating its successes.

Half Written Blog Entries

I have had several people ask me when my next blog post was happening. I should take that as a compliment, but really, all I feel is guilt.

I find it so hard to distill my thoughts sometimes; my poor brain swings from corridor to corridor, blindly trying to find its way to some sort of brilliant conclusion... which never happens. Because there are very few brilliant conclusions in life. Especially when you’re trying to write in complete sentences. With proper grammar. And punctuation. And dazzling, creative mastery.

I seem to do much better at babbling endlessly about things like this. Instead of just writing the rest of the ten articles I have previously started, I prefer to talk about how I can’t seem to find the time and focus to finish them.

Since I started this, I have handled two phone calls from two people in crisis. I’ve had to rebuke and correct. I have turned off lights that were left on by wayward children. I am listening to the movie, Kit Kittredge: American Girl, in the background. My husband has called from a garbled cell phone to let me know he’s on his way home, and that the trip he was going to make to Sam’s Club isn’t happening. I have had to walk by countless piles that need to be un-piled, dirty dishes that need to be washed, a to-do list that is blaringly not checked off, and a home school table that needs to be cleaned and organized. Quite frankly, it’s amazing that I can write a coherent sentence, let alone a blog entry.

And that is about as far as I get. The Kit movie ends. The children descend. My husband walks through the door. I hit “save.” And the half written article is reduced to pixels, zeros, and ones. Until I open it again in two weeks, read through it, and decide it was a horrible idea to begin with.

The Bible Is So Inconvenient

The Bible is horribly inconvenient.

The Old Testament is full of bloodshed – and claims that God actually orders the executions of entire countries because they are “wicked” – including women, children and cattle. I mean, what did the cattle do? Isn’t PETA going to do something about that?

And Jesus… he was downright mean. He called people names, like “hypocrites,” “adulterers,” and “murderers.” Since when is name-calling okay? He threatened people with judgment and hell if they didn’t turn away from their sins and live “sold out” for Him. He said things like, “Woe to you,” and “You will not inherit the kingdom of God.” He didn’t give anyone second chances or give any encouragement for just trying. It was all or nothing. Not realistic at all.

There are so many things in the Bible that are just hard to deal with in today’s world. It seems that more and more of it needs to be redefined so that it doesn’t hurt anyone’s feelings or make anyone feel ostracized. God is loving, right? So, it doesn’t matter WHAT you do, as long as you do it sincerely, right?

For example, in 1 Corinthians 6, it says that anyone who is a drunkard (someone who gets drunk as a practice) will not inherit the kingdom of God (will not go to heaven). That is so wrong! Obviously, these people did not understand the pressures of this life. I mean, what’s the big deal about going barhopping on Friday night after work? It almost sounds like God is saying I’m going to go to hell if I pursue drunkenness. Surely God wouldn’t send someone to hell for that!

It is pretty clear to me that as long as I have safe sex with a consenting adult (of either gender) it’s no big deal. Everyone does it and seems to be just fine. There must be a mistranslation or something about not being saved if you are an adulterer, fornicator, or homosexual. I’m sure God wants me to be happy, and sex makes me happy. Those verses must apply to some sort of cultural situation that was going on then – not now. I mean, now-a-days we have unique financial strains that make it necessary for me to live with my boyfriend. God still loves me, no matter what I do, and, by the way, I’m not going to hurt my gay neighbor’s feelings by implying that God will not have mercy on him either.

These Bible bangers are so rude. It is NOT nice to tell people they are going to hell if they don’t believe and live for Jesus. As long as people believe in God and live pretty good lives, I’m sure God will be fine with that. He knows we’re trying as hard as we can. After all, who are we to judge others? Doesn’t the Bible say somewhere not to judge others?

And what is up with these Bible freaks who are trying to bring God into politics? Separation of church and state people! Hello!! God is not in charge of the United States, and I’m sure that He doesn’t mind if God-given rules are not applied to our government.

Look, I go to church when I can and that’s good enough. That’s all God requires, right? I give Him Sunday, and I’m good to go. Don’t give me this, “The Bible says…” stuff. It’s downright annoying


"You will know them by their fruits. Grapes are not gathered from thorn bushes nor figs from thistles, are they? So every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot produce bad fruit, nor can a bad tree produce good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. So then, you will know them by their fruits. Not everyone who says to Me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father who is in heaven will enter. Many will say to Me on that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in Your name, and in Your name cast out demons, and in Your name perform many miracles?' And then I will declare to them, 'I never knew you; DEPART FROM ME, YOU WHO PRACTICE LAWLESSNESS.’” (Mat 7:16-23)

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A Rebuttal

After my rant about people who fail to see the connection between the “If” and the “Then” I began to think about how the connection is either not made or ignored, and other times that this lack of connection is actually a benefit. The motivation behind this is one thing, but the actual mechanics of the process are equally as fascinating.

First and foremost people fail to make the connection because they do not follow the “then” into the future. These are the people who choose ignorant bliss. For example, “If I build my house on the side of a hill, then it will probably slide down the mountain in the next major rainfall.” Some people stop there. “Well,” they reason, “it won’t happen. Nobody in this neighborhood has ever had a house slide down the mountain.” Because they don’t want to think about it, they never extend their reasoning into the odds that it might happen. So they build the house.

They never continue on from, “If I build my house on the side of a hill, then it will probably slide down the mountain in the next major rainfall.”

And then what? “Well, I’ll lose my house and all of my possessions.”

And then what? “I will have to replace them.”

With what money? “Since the insurance for the house is exorbitant (because the insurance companies have actually calculated the odds of the house remaining intact), I will not have paid it. So, then I will have nothing.”

And then what? “I guess I’ll move in with friends or family who did not build their houses on the side of a hill.”

And now we get to the actual decisions which they choose to never allow themselves to think about: Is it okay with you that you lose everything and become dependent on others? Is it okay with the “others” on whom you will be depending? Will your children be happy to have to change schools, and lose their clothes and toys? Will you be okay with working one or more jobs in order to pay the mortgage on a house that no longer exists, while saving up enough to get back out on your own again? What will you do when the bank calls your loan because you no longer have the collateral of the house?

If people actually get that far in their thinking, they fall into one of two categories. Some think it through and say, “But it won’t happen to me. I’ll beat the odds,” and relegate themselves into the category of those in “ignorant bliss.” Others think it through and conclude, “I might not beat the odds, but I am going to do it anyway.” These are the gamblers.

Now this is not necessarily a bad thing. After all, if there were not gamblers in the world, life would be pretty boring. Christopher Columbus gambled and won. Thomas Edison gambled and won. Bill Gates gambled and won. I am sure that each of them was surrounded by people who thought each was out of his ever-loving mind.

But of course, the odds are still there. Numbers don’t lie. Most people who gamble against the If-Then rule, lose. There are certain laws of physics, laws of nature, and trends of the human condition that are close to inevitable.

And here is the crux of the whole thing. I realized after I wrote my first post that it is neither the people who choose ignorant bliss, nor those who gamble and lose against the If-Then rule that send me over the edge, it’s the whiners. It’s even worse if the whining includes an insinuation that the government, friends, family, or some other entity is now responsible to bail them out of their bad choices.

If people want to gamble or make choices out of ignorant bliss, fine. That’s their prerogative. But don’t whine when things don’t work out. Don’t whine when your house goes sliding down the hill. Don’t get on T.V. and start weeping and wailing about how it’s so horrible and you don’t know how you’re going to make it. The hills in Malibu above PCH slide down on a regular basis. For once I’d like to hear someone whose house is on the edge say, “Well, I bought the house knowing the danger. It was a great view while we had it, but this is what happens to houses on the edges of hills that slide.”

I don’t want to hear whining from the woman who fell madly “in love” with a guy, married him after a week of knowing him and is now on Oprah talking about how he beat her. I want her to say, “I made a bad choice. I gambled against the wisdom of getting to know someone before marriage. I lost and, unfortunately, the consequences with which I had to live were dire.”

This is why my son gets no sympathy when he decides to launch an intricate Lego machine off the top bunk. “Watch this, Mom!” he exclaims.

“Son, have you thought through what might happen if you do that?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re still going to do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Let’s see it.” Over it goes in a very impressive spin. The sound of it hitting the floor is something between the sound of breaking glass and the crunching of fallen leaves. Hundreds of Legos simultaneously spatter throughout the room and blow under multiple pieces of furniture. “Very cool,” I say. “Hope you find all the pieces!” He knows better than to ask for help in damage recovery. He knows that if he can’t find that one very important piece, without which life cannot continue, he will not get one ounce of concern on my part. All he’ll get is, “Gee, I hope it doesn’t get vacuumed up.”

God-willing, my son will never be on T.V. whining about how he was wronged when the police pulled him over for going 100 mph in a street race. When he calls home, he can count on, “Gee, I hope you don’t get beat up while you’re in jail tonight.”

I praise God for those of us who are the ultra-responsible If-Then types. We’re predictable, dependable, and self-reliant. However, we are not very exciting. We don’t go sky diving. We don’t drop everything at the last minute to take off on romantic weekends with our spouses. We won’t. We don’t like unpredictable. We live reasonable, boring lives and we like it that way.

I also praise God for the risk takers -- the ones that look the If-Then squarely in the face and gamble. Without them my house wouldn’t be full of great inventions. Without them the highest peaks of the world and the lowest depths of the canyons would not be explored. Without them there would be few soldiers, firefighters, and policemen. These people ask, “What if I could? What if I did?” and they find out.

Just please, no whining.

If... Then...

“Son, what did you think would happen when you decided to drive your remote control robot off the top of the TV cabinet?”

“Why did you think that grabbing the toy out of your sister’s hand was a good idea? Did you consider what might happen next?”

“Sweetie, what were you thinking when you drew with purple marker all over your arm? Did you think that was a good idea? Did you think about how we were going to get that off?”

My days seem to be full of trying to teach my children the simple If-Then maxim. Granted, my son seems to be the slowest to grasp this concept, being that he is full of testosterone, and the “then” part of the maxim seems to be actually what he’s aiming at. If he could verbalize it, he would say, “Well, Mom, I was asking myself that very question. I thought it might explode into a thousand pieces, which would be very cool, but then again, it might not, which would be incredibly awesome. It really was a win-win situation.”

“But now it’s ruined and we cannot fix it!” I try to reason.

Though his lips say, “Sorry, Mom,” his eyes say, “Yeah, but it was worth it just to watch it disintegrate!” Then he says, “Can I get Dad’s tools and destroy it the rest of the way?”

It causes me to think back to a conversation I had with my brother when we were both in high school. He was grounded because he wasn’t doing so well in a certain class. I walked in his room, where he was NOT doing his homework. Perplexed, I asked, “Do you understand that if you do your homework, then you won’t get in trouble?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to,” he answered.

“But now you’re stuck in your room. Grounded.” I was trying to use simple phrases in hopes it might help the comprehension. “If you do your homework, you won’t get bad grades. If you don’t get bad grades, you won’t get grounded. Then you have freedom to do what you want.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to.”

I thought perhaps he didn’t hear me correctly. “If you do this,” I gestured to one side, “then you get this.” I gestured to the other.

Stunned silence. “So what?” he asked. I walked out of the room.

I was so floored by this reasoning, or lack thereof, I can picture the whole thing in my mind to this day. However, it has helped me understand so many situations I’ve come up against since then. While people are ranting and raving about how some wrong needs to be righted, I am mumbling in my mind, “If... then.... What did you think would happen?”

What I discovered from my brother, and I continue to observe with my children and most of society, is that the If-Then maxim breaks down because a desire for something outweighs the knowledge of the reasonable result. If someone wants to do something or wants to avoid something, he or she will deny the result of the action in order to justify the indulgence of that action.

Think about adultery. If I commit adultery, I will jeopardize my marriage -- perhaps even lose everything I have -- my home, my friends, my family, and my kids. The desire for what I want in the moment outweighs the knowledge of the reasonable result.

How about living within a budget? If I spend money based on what I want, instead of spending money based on what I have, I will be in debt. I will either have to pay that money eventually, or I will lose everything I have -- cars, house, etc.

Other than just admitting that the “then” part of the statement exists, the missing factor from the beginning of this reasoning is called sacrifice. People who make wise choices sacrifice their immediate desires for the long-term good. It requires maturity and self-control.

Personally, I would like to lie in bed and watch movies while eating chocolate ice cream at least three hours a day. However, I don’t because it wouldn’t be good for me physically, mentally or spiritually. Also, my house needs to be cleaned, groceries need to be obtained, and children need to be taken care of (to name but a few things I do instead of indulging myself). I sacrifice my desire to satisfy my wants by looking at the result of what would happen if I made that choice.

When my husband and I were going through training to become foster parents I found out that a huge percentage (something like 90%) of the individuals who are incarcerated are former foster system kids. Immediately my mind went to the If-Then. “If children have stable families, then they will not end up in prison. So," I pondered, "if this is true, why is our society throwing money at more prisons, better rehab programs, more policemen, and new laws to cover all the ways people discover to be 'bad'?” Does anyone besides me see the If-Then statement here? To solve the problem, wouldn’t it be logical to spend the money encouraging families to stay stable and intact?

Another place the If-Then seems obvious is in education. What is the ONE thing that causes success for a child in school? Parents. When the parents are involved and stable, then the kids succeed. It’s not the curriculum, it’s not the lunch programs, and it’s not the buildings. It’s the parents. The schools are now actually taking on the job of parenting kids since parents don’t want to do it anymore. Schools are very inadequate parents. I know it as well as every other educator, because we've tried. Trust me. If children have involved, two-parent families, then they succeed in education. If-Then.

The next time someone starts ranting about an "inexplicable situation" apply the If-Then and blow his/her mind away.

If... then... It’s such a simple concept.

(In my brother's defense, I must state for the record that he grew into a fine, upstanding, citizen and he is not to be judged on the basis of a conversation he had during his teen years with his annoying, younger, goodie-two-shoes sister.)

Miss Ma'm

At Starbucks today a darling young man with zero gauge black earrings assisted me with my caffeine fix. I would have enjoyed him a lot more if he hadn’t said, “Can I help you Miss?” at the beginning of the interaction. This immediately sent me inward to contemplate the usage of the word, “Miss,” and so I missed the opportunity to ask him why he called me “Miss,” which would have saved me several hours of categorizing all the motivations and factors that might cause a person to choose a title with which to address someone.

As if this wasn’t enough, I stopped by Trader Joe’s. The surfer dude that checked out my groceries called me “Miss” twice. Twice. Being an introvert, this was enough to reduce me to stunned silence as I married this to my Starbucks experience. It stunned me so much that I forgot to sign the credit card pad. He finished bagging my groceries before I was finished with the electronic necessities, grinned, and said, “Tortoise and the Hare. I beat you.” Cultural literacy. Humph. It threw the option of total ignorance out the window.

I have more gray hair than most grandmothers. In fact, I often have to explain that my children are not my grandchildren. Nobody asks for my ID if I buy alcohol. I wear a wedding ring. I have wrinkles and lines on my face. I don’t look, young, spry, and fresh. I look middle aged because I am middle aged. Miss? Not anywhere near it.

In all fairness to these hard-working young men, I am sure no one has ever instructed them in this area -- though I did contemplate the possibility that they were instructed to call all women “Miss,” thinking it complimentary. In retail sales, do they hold classes on this? Sales clerks are instructed to say all sorts of inane things. “Thank you for calling Macy’s. How may I provide you today with excellent service?” It’s worth it to call Macy’s every fifteen minutes just to hear the sales clerk rattle that off over and over. If there are requirements for what to say when one answers the phone, you’d think there would be instruction given about how to address one’s customers properly.

So, what is the rule for when to call women “Miss” or “Ma’m?” Is there a rule for “Sir?”

After much thought and some non-scientific research, I’ve decided (being that I’m the arbiter of the English language) that the time to use these titles is not dependent on the age of the person being spoken to, but rather the position of the speaker in relation to the position of the addressee. For example, if I am under the authority, or in a position of submission (e.g. salesclerk in relation to customer) to a female to whom I wish to show deference, I would use the term “Ma’m” or “Miss” to communicate my submissive spirit. A 57 year old man, if he is my sales clerk, might say, “Yes Ma’m. I can help you with that.” However, I would not, in this situation address him as “Sir.” If he was my boss, it would be appropriate to say, “Yes, sir.”

That seems pretty straight-forward. However, knowing when to use the term “Miss” as opposed to “Ma’m” requires bravery and acute observation. Technically, a woman should be referred to as “Miss” if she is unmarried, but with all the feminist nonsense you never know who is going to get bent out of shape no matter what you say. So here’s my advice: Use “Miss” only if the female is clearly under eighteen years of age. If she is over eighteen refer to her as “Ma’m” if she is older than you. If she is over eighteen, but younger than you, check the wedding ring finger, and make your best guess.

The only thing I know for sure in this whole mess is that you should not call anyone “Madam” unless you are a butler with a distinctly English accent. The connotations of addressing a woman as “Madam” here in the Wild West won’t get you the sale. Guaranteed.

Why?

In following with the great blog writers of the 21st century, I feel obliged to write at least a short piece detailing the reasons why this blog exists. It’s not because I’m bored or self-centered. It’s because I’m bored AND self-centered.

When my sister-in-law started her blog, in all seriousness, I asked her, “Why?” I hurt her feelings and had to ask her to forgive me for my insensitivity, but I was confused about the whole blogging community. I figured people who blog must have really interesting lives and have lots of people who want to read about their interesting lives -- that and a lot of time on their hands.

Somehow the repetitive existence of blogs pulsated its way through my mind and dulled my initial perception into desensitized acceptance. My life is not exceptional, nor do I have a following of people who find me so -- and I have no time on my hands. So here I blog. If you can figure out the logic in all that you’re way ahead of me.

I think the first reason I’m blogging is to reassure my husband that I’m still the brilliant, witty, charming, sophisticated woman he married. Very often by the time he arrives home and asks, “So, what are you thinking about? What did you do today?” he sees only a stumbling shadow of a woman, staring vacantly off into space. One day he knocked on my head and said, “Hello, hello. Anything going on in there?” Regularly, the poor man shakes his head and mutters, “I’m fishing here, Laurena... looking for anything.”

Unbelievably, I think about millions and billions and trillions of things. But as evidenced by the previous sentence, these things are shrouded in the mysterious fog of motherhood. (For the uninitiated who missed the non-adult literary inference there, see Millions of Cats by Wanda Gag.)

I ponder things like, “What is it like to live with no concept of time?” as my five year old asks me to tell her the time for the thirty-first time that day. Like it matters to her. She doesn’t even understand minutes and hours. So, I start thinking about how the conceptualization of time develops from the newborn baby to adulthood. I ponder how one’s philosophies on life and the assignation of the meanings of events necessarily change based on one’s concept of time. I think about cultures throughout history and how their measurements of time affected their philosophies of life.

I think magnificent thoughts. Really. I build systematic neuron bridges that connect indefinitely. It may look like I’m doing dishes, picking up toys, and breaking up quarrels, but there is, in fact, measurable electronic activity happening in my head.

Another reason I’m blogging is that I like to write. I like writing, especially when it involves analyzing and explaining. It’s the teacher in me, I suppose. Synthesize. Create. Regurgitate. And if I do it well, neurons explode in other people’s heads as they begin to build bridges that connect indefinitely. If I can make you laugh, feel understood, contemplate life, find hope, and/or make a connection you’ve never seen before, then I find joy. It’s all about me. I’m selfish, remember? See paragraph one.

The final reason I’m blogging is that my brain is bored. The life of a mother and housewife is one of repetitiveness. In order to survive, we moms travel down well-paved roads where we have, by sheer repetition, become very efficient. Automation is the survival technique of motherhood. This is why watching new moms is so entertaining. (This will definitely be explored further in another post.) The first time the baby throws up it takes her several hours to recover. By kid number three or four, thirty seconds is all it takes to whisk away the evidence and move on with the day. When a mom takes the road more often traveled, it truly makes all the difference.

So, when I do step out of the machine of the Townsend household, my brain is begging to do a different kind of activity. It dives into a philosophical and theological spin where no live entity needs to be fed, watered, or wiped. It meanders back and forth through imagination and reality to a silent spot where full sentences are constructed without interruption. There it spins together the volumes of knowledge hidden in the darkened corners of my mind with the events of the day, and instead of it fading away as one day becomes the next it will now be sent out through my fingers into some sort of pixilated permanence.