No need to dream...

This is what we have been up to this last week...

Life

At ninety-one, my grandma continues to represent an old ideal: stoicism.

She is composed and kind, generous and forgiving, a fearless mind and a calm soul.
Nothing has ever succeeded in breaking her spirit, not the loss of her mother as a child, nor the experience of a father lost to depression, nor her childhood during the depression, nor the birth of five children during the war in bombed out hospitals, alone, alone, and again alone.

I wouldn’t prescribe that life to anyone, but I would hope that everyone could learn from it. It’s a powerful message about the ability to move on, not like a tank, but like a gentle breeze, one that touches flowers and stones alike, that spreads life in its passing and leaves a soothing sensation in its wake.

It’s what we associate with mothers. It’s what we should expect from humanity.

Today

I woke up early and ambled over to my desk in the dark, carefully, so the promise of a mouse bite of undisturbed time wouldn’t be nixed by ‘i-am-hungry’s and ‘where-is-my-fly-wa-honk’.

And so here I am, in this pitch black corner of the house, with my hard drive humming away, and my curser pushing onward while my feet are turning cold around the edges, because I couldn’t locate my Crox in the dark.

But I treasure this little space of time and silence. It’s mine for now, my moment of silence and sanity before the rumble, which has become my life, is to begin.

And I love that life. Often, these days, I think, how great it is. How wonderful to have three kids. What better investment in a life could there be?

I see dear ol’ Zoë, whose growing thoughts are pushing me onward, letting me rethink what I have learned so far about myself, about people, and about the world. And then Lea, on the other hand, at seven, who doesn’t ask, who simply knows. Her mind is spinning, her eyes are two bright, little, fiery diamonds and her smile is triumphant. No need to ponder there. And then, there is Julian, who is busy explaining the world to us, and who is inviting us so generously to hug and squeeze him 24/7.

It is a good life, lived in a world that could be better. But it is still good. I have wondered these days, whether I should fret more and worry, whether I should be out there to fight for lower emissions.

I do hope that there will be a decent future for our children and their children, and the generations to come, but I am doubtful that we will manage to get there in time. We are, after all, very limited. The drive for supremacy and our still rather underdeveloped emotional intelligence are serious challenges for our long-term survival, I believe. Far beyond rising sea levels.

And so, I have decided to be happy. Today.

Panpanic

A quick pit stop between emptying buckets, checking on temperatures and refilling warm water bottles: After Matt came down with swine flu a month ago, we have tried to stay healthy, albeit with moderate success. Jules was prescribed Tamiflu a while ago by the Pandemic National Health Line, but we ended up waiting it out. They are awfully quick with their diagnosis, even if you check NO to most of their questions. Off they send you with an authorization code in your pocket to pick up the miracle drug at one of their ‘collection points.’ In the end, it was only a a very virulent stomach virus, fever and all. And while it is noisily making its round through our family, I am glad that I didn’t combat it with viral cyanide. More than a pandemic, this seems to be a panpanic.

Nothing more dangerous, than...

thinking for yourself.

In times of relativism where the individual stands to decide for her or himself everything including sexual identity, spiritual affiliation and source of information, it seems dated to speak about norms and taboos. Political correctness yes, but divine censorship??

In fact, it has become sort of démodé to mention the old iconoclasts, all those individuals and movements of the past who passionately fought for fairness, justice and equality. After all, we’ve got it all.

Why mention that a mother’s job is grossly underpaid? Get a better paying job then!
Why insist that the services rendered by society’s hardest working population should be reflected in the GDP? Who cares?
Why point fingers at tenaciously persistent gender inequalities? Get a life!

Just please don't think!