Lost Generation

by Jonathan Reed

I am part of a lost generation
and I refuse to believe that
I can change the world
I realize this may be a shock but
“Happiness comes from within.”
is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy.”
So in 30 years I will tell my children
they are not the most important thing in my life.
My employer will know that
I have my priorities straight because
work
is more important than
family
I tell you this
Once upon a time
Families stayed together
but this will not be true in my era
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making
In the future
Environmental destruction will be the norm
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this earth
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope.

And all of this will come true unless we choose to reverse it.

There is hope.

It is foolish to presume that

My generation is apathetic and lethargic

It will be evident that

My peers and I care about this earth

No longer can it be said that

Environmental destruction will be the norm

In the future

I will live in a country of my own making

I do not concede that

30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce

Experts tell me

This is a quick fix society

but this will not be true in my era

Families stayed together

Once upon a time

I tell you this

family

is more important than

work

I have my priorities straight because

My employer will know that

they are not the most important thing in my life

So in 30 years I will tell my children

“Money will make me happy.”

is a lie, and

“Happiness comes from within.”

I realize this may be a shock but

I can change the world

and I refuse to believe that

I am part of a lost generation

Lost Generation

by Jonathan Reed

This poem was presented as a video that won 2nd place in a 2007 video contest sponsored by AARP called U@50. According to Wikipedia, “contestants between the ages of 18 and 30 were challenged to create a two minute video depicting what they feel their life will be like at age 50.”

I think this poem is brilliant. I gotta go find out what the FIRST place chick wrote!

Before I was a Mom

Before I was a Mom;
I made and ate hot meals,
I had unstained clothing,
I brushed my hair every day,
I had quiet conversations on the phone,
I slept as late as I wanted and I slept all night long.

Before I was a Mom;
I cleaned my house each day,
I never tripped over toys or forgot lullabies,
I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous,
I had never been puked on,

pooped on,

spit on,

chewed on,

peed on,

or pinched by tiny fingers.

Before I was a Mom;
I never thought about immunizations,
I never held a screaming child so the doctors could give shots,
I never looked into teary eyes and cried,
I never felt my heart break into pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt,
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.

Before I was a Mom;
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put it down,
I never sat up late hours of the night watching a baby sleep,
I never got up in the middle of the night to make sure everything was okay,
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.

Before I was a Mom;
I had complete control of my mind,

my thoughts

and my body,
I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside of my body,
I didn't know that having something so small

could make me feel so important,
I had never known the warmth,

the joy,

the love,

the heartache,
the wonderment,

or the satisfaction

of being a mom.

Before I was a Mom;
I never knew that something so small could effect my life so much,
I never knew that I could love someone so much,
I never knew I would love being a Mom,
I didn't know the bond between a Mother and her child,
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much
Before I was a Mom.

-Anonymous

Happy Mother's Day.

Living a Little More Erma Bombeck

Alright. Some of the comments to yesterday's post made me think of "The Rest of the Story." Here are the annotations.

Yes. As Amy noticed, I served Sloppy Joes to the guests in my house. But, you know what? I was having an Erma-Bombeck-don't-wait-for-the-carpets-to-be-clean moment. I was making Joes. We had plenty. We called up the folks. And, I gotta say, people probably enjoyed it a lot more than if I was running around like a maniac, stressing over whether the coq au vin* was just perfect.

Also, as Danny wondered (and for those of you who know me or have been reading this blog very long), you might be surprised to know that I did not flip my OCD, who-left-the-dinosaur-at-the-table lid when this occurred either.

Shut up. Get off the floor. Close your mouth before you swallow a fly. May I proceed?

As a matter of fact, I was so zen about the whole situation that I got up off my a$$, set down the (unspilled!) fruit bowl, marveled that the Sloppy Joe bowl (half-way across the room!) hadn't broken, surveyed the mess and said, "That'll keep. Let's have dessert." Then we all ate cake.

As I said, I like to believe in moments like this that I'm living "Erma Bombeck-esque." So, here. For a reminder to us all:

If I Had My Life to Live Over

by Erma Bombeck

If I had my life to live over, I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love you's"... More "I'm sorrys"...

But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute... look at it and really see it... live it... and never give it back.

Here's to having a lot more of these moments (less the Sloppy Joe).

*I don't even know what coq au vin is. But, it sounds fancy. Doesn't it?

Random Acts of Culture

I must be emotional, but there were tears streaming down my face by the end of this. And, I really don't know why. Because, really, it's just awesome.

To quote the Creative Minority Report: "Shoppers at the the Macy's in Philadelphia... were surprised when over 600 choristers who were there mingling with regular shoppers suddenly burst into Handel's 'Hallelujah Chorus'... Accompanied by the Wanamaker Organ - the world's largest pipe organ - the singers burst into song at exactly noon."

I don't know if it's the awe on the onlookers' faces. I don't know if it's the fact that such seemingly everyday-looking people can make such a glorious sound. I don't know if it's the dad helping his baby dance in the air to it all. You watch. And, tell me if you get choked up.

(Thanks, Lindl. I needed this.)

Faith is Belief in Things Not Seen

Ever since I was a girl, I've thought of sunbeams as a visible sign of God. Like He's reaching down from Heaven to touch the face of His creation.

But, I only ever see sunbeams shining down through cloud, or trees.

I sat in my car yesterday on a perfectly ordinary day, at a perfectly ordinary stop light. Everything I saw with my eyes was perfectly ordinary.

I turned on my phone. It was still on the camera function. This is what I saw.

I lowered the phone. I looked around. Nothing. I raised the phone. Sunbeams. I lowered it. Nothing. I raised it. Sunbeams.

"Whaddup, God? Message received. Thanks."

May God grant you always...

a sunbeam to warm you,

a moonbeam to charm you,

a sheltering Angel

so nothing can harm you.

Laughter to cheer you.

Faithful friends near you.

And whenever you pray,

Heaven to hear you.

                       -Irish Blessing

Just as there comes a warm sunbeam into every cottage window, so comes a love - born of God’s care for every need.

                       -Nathaniel Hawthorne

"After a While" by Veronica A. Shoffstall

[A friend of mine was hurting recently and I was reminded of this poem.  My mom sent this to me when I was in college and a boy broke my heart.  These words helped me become a stronger person; a person who realized I really could stand on my own two feet; a person that some wonderful guy would someday be lucky to find (don't tell Shawn I said that - his eye rolling might hurt my feelings.  ;)  Hope it speaks to you, too.]

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand
and chaining a soul
and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren't contracts and
presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of a woman
not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting
for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn
that you really can endure
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye you learn.

Commercial Blog

OK.  I'm just going to change the name of this blog to "Cool Commercials".  Obviously, all I do now is post commercial after commercial for your viewing pleasure.

But, this one will tug at your heart.  It was on my friend Mindy's blog.  And, it sums up the way I've been feeling lately.

I'm so very, very tired from a calendar that seems to be on crack.  I even told Shawn this morning that I am going to have to start getting some more sleep... or die - and the jury is still out as to which option it will be.  However, as I was rushing around today, getting another chore accomplished, Elizabeth Ann stopped me without a word, took my face in her hands and kissed my cheek - and it took my breath away. May I never forget that moment. I already know, with a heavy heart, that she will not always be carefree enough to stop the world for kisses...

And I realize that life is going, oh, so fast.  My "babies" are such big "kids".  But, I'm too tired at the moment to put that sentiment into an eloquent blog post.  And, then, low and behold, Mindy summed it up perfectly by posting this:



It all goes so fast.  Enjoy it.

What You're Doing Matters

My sister sent this to me in an email with the word, *gulp*. *Gulp*, indeed.



"And my greatest hope for you, sweet child, is that I can teach you how to write a good one."

Never forget:  What.  You're.  Doing.  Matters.
*gulp*

"To Remember Me - I Will Live Forever" by Robert N. Test

[one of my favorites.  have a happy weekend.  -aj]

The day will come when my body will lie upon a white sheet neatly tucked under four corners of a mattress located in a hospital; busily occupied with the living and the dying. At a certain moment a doctor will determine that my brain has ceased to function and that, for all intents and purposes, my life has stopped.

When that happens, do not attempt to instill artificial life into my body by the use of a machine. And don't call this my deathbed. Let it be called the Bed of Life, and let my body be taken from it to help others lead fuller lives.

Give my sight to the man who has never seen a sunrise, a baby's face or love in the eyes of a woman. Give my heart to a person whose own heart has caused nothing but endless days of pain.

Give my blood to the teenager who was pulled from the wreckage of his car, so that he might live to see his grandchildren play. Give my kidneys to the one who depends on a machine to exist. Take my bones, every muscle, every fiber and nerve in my body and find a way to make a crippled child walk.

Explore every corner of my brain. Take my cells, if necessary, and let them grow so that, someday a speechless boy will shout at the crack of a bat and a deaf girl will hear the sound of rain against her window.

Burn what is left of me and scatter the ashes to the winds to help the flowers grow. If you must bury something, let it be my faults, my weakness and all prejudice against my fellow man.

If, by chance, you wish to remember me, do it with a kind deed or word to someone who needs you. If you do all I have asked, I will live forever.

The Gift of an Ordinary Day

I think God often gives us little shout-outs if we just take the time to notice.  So, on a day when I'm trying to do laundry and every garment seems to be inside-out and I forgot to turn the crock-pot on for dinner, I'm glad I slowed down just enough to pay attention to this.

Thanks, Lane.  I'm off to enjoy my "perfectly ordinary day".

Happy 2010!

May your joys be as bright as the morning,

and your sorrows merely be shadows

that fade in the sunlight of love.

May you have enough happiness to keep you sweet,

enough trials to keep you strong,

enough sorrow to keep you human,

enough hope to keep you happy,

enough failure to keep you humble,

enough success to keep you eager,

enough friends to give you comfort,

enough faith and courage in yourself to banish sadness,

enough wealth to meet your needs

and one thing more;

enough determination to make each day

a more wonderful day than the one before.

                                         -Irish Blessing

May you always have "enough" in 2010!