Absolute Uncertainty

It has been a while since I have taken the time to write something that does not have to do with something read or researched for a class, but writing I have done. There are so many things that have happened since my last writing that I really do not know where to begin. Even if I did, I think other pieces I have previously written and posted say what I want to say, and I do not want to be a broken record.

I am all but done with my first semester of graduate study with only one final revision to turn in on Friday. I learned a lot this semester, though a fair amount of the reading and writing I did does not directly pertain to my scholarly interest or curiosity. However, I did manage to find ways to connect subjects which were read to something that interested me and was able to weave my interests, questions, and opinions into the arguments my classmates and I had during seminar meetings.

Our seminars, like most graduate level history seminars I am assuming, lasted for up to three hours with a small break in between. Most of the time two hours was about the limit, and most of that time was spent arguing about interpretations of what was read or written for discussion.

The largest seminar ended with ten participants and the smallest, six. We came to class prepared. The professor opened the discussion by sharing his own thoughts or opinions concerning the reading assigned, and then opened the floor with this, “what did you think?”

Now here is the funny thing. At no time did a professor tell a student that they were wrong or mistaken. At no time did a student tell another student that they were wrong or mistaken. At no time was a voice raised above what passes for civil discussion or discourse. At no time was a student attacked personally. What would happen is the student offering an opinion would be challenged to better support their opinion, and most of the time, really all of the time, the student would be successful in fulfilling the challenge.

In short, we conversed. We discussed. We may not have left class with an overall common agreement, but we did leave with a better understanding concerning the multiple and widely varying interpretations that arise from an event or a figure from history.

It took some time, but I have been able to find a topic I want to investigate for my thesis. Questions concerning the topic will likely change continuously as I delve deeper into the primary and secondary source material, but the overall scope will likely remain unchanged.

Here is another funny thing. The professor who will serve as my advisor/mentor is unabashedly liberal in his political philosophy, and, well, so am I. The topic of the research seminar I took this semester related directly to my thesis, so the paper I wrote will serve as at least a portion of one of my thesis chapters, if not all of one. The professor that led the seminar is unabashedly conservative in his political philosophy. Though not his primary focus of study, he has just as keen an interest in my topic as I do and has expressed so multiple times. I will likely ask him to serve on my thesis committee, and I hope he accepts.

About halfway through the semester, my seminar professor arranged an informal interview with a friend of his to help me develop a stronger grasp on conservative thought with regard to politics and conservative interpretations of historical events and figures that relate directly to the paper I was writing as well as my thesis. The conversation between the three of us was, well, enjoyable. We all knew that we weren’t going to be changing any minds and on some things we did happen to agree. He and I were both up front with one another concerning our philosophies and outlooks concerning the current political landscape, and we laughed when we each said “I won’t hold that against you.” When he asked me about one of the figures I am studying, I told him that I did not agree with just about anything that ever came out of his mouth, but after reading his memoir I could relate a little more with him, but that I still had questions to ask. Our conversation lasted more than two hours, and when we parted ways we shook hands and he told me to be sure he got a copy of my paper.

I found out a little later that it was on the suggestion of my advisor that my seminar professor set up that meeting because he wanted me to have a well-rounded perspective and idea going into my research. He wanted my assumptions and opinions challenged before I ever got started on the study, and challenged they were. Did the meeting change my mind? No. Did the dialogue carried on throughout the meeting force me to entertain an idea or an opinion different from my own? Yes. Did I have to work harder to support my point of view? Absolutely. Did the outcome of my study meet with my previously-held assumptions? Yes and no.

It is that yes and no for which I am grateful, because it opened my eyes to something I had never considered. It is that yes and no that has led me to ask questions that have not been answered. Can I answer them? I am going to try. Because of the challenges presented, I find myself in a realm uncertainty that is either divisive or not addressed at all.

Something my mentor told me brought back something I have always believed. “Make sure you find an opinion that differs from yours.” In order to refute that opinion, I have to entertain the possibility that it may be correct. By entertaining the idea that it is correct, I have to work harder to find the evidence that will support my argument refuting it. If I cannot find the evidence I want to find, I will have to change my argument, as I have already done once and will likely do again. Though I will likely depend some on what others have previously written, what I say or write will be my argument against the differing opinion, and doing so will be both a challenge and an experience.

In a world that is filled with ideological and unwavering absolutes, the challenges ahead loom with a level of uncertainty. I look forward to it, and of that, I am absolutely certain.

 

Pretty Swell

Wow, it’s been a little while since I’ve been here, so here is a little bit of an update on what’s been running through my mind as I look out the window over my desk…

The short version is I am in the process of reading all the books pertaining to the history of Victorian Britain and the post-war South in the United States while reading about fallacies in historical writing and argument, writing papers about Native-American history and the Lost Colony in North Carolina, and skimming through footnotes and endnotes and bibliographies in the search for material that will help me find the questions I want to ask for my thesis.

I guess that’s not really a short version. The shortest version is that I began my studies as a graduate student in history last month, and I probably should not be here, writing this, because there is something else I need to be doing. However, as I was reading this morning I began to think about how I haven’t just let go and done any writing just to be writing, and in order to keep developing my writing skills, I need to find the time to do so. So, here I am.

My last post is about my thoughts and feelings concerning Harper Lee’s recently published manuscript, Go Set a Watchman. I won’t go into that more here, other than to say that the core of that book has shown me something that I very much want to investigate, and I won’t go into more of that here because my preliminary thoughts and questions are not fully hashed out, yet, but they will in time. They have to. This is what I want to study and write about, and I will get evaluated and graded on it and have to defend it, so I have to figure it out, and when I know, you’ll know…if I remember to share it with you good people in my little internet universe.

Other things that are going on?

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The hat.

The seasons and the leaves are starting to change. The air is a little more crisp in the morning and the sunrise has more of a golden hue about it. I bought a hat which my wife tried oh so diligently to talk me out of buying, but if there is a hat that is me, this is the hat. See, the hair on the top of my head is migrating to places where it should not migrate, and I needed some protection for the oh so sensitive skin. Presidential campaign politics are getting into full swing a full 14 months before the election next year, and I am trying my damnedest not to get involved. My lavender bush is really putting out some beautiful and sweet smelling flower buds. We bought some rocking chairs for our front porch which are proving to be the best items purchased since we moved into our house last October. Seinfeld is on Hulu and provides much needed levity and brain rest when I need to take a break from books and journal articles and primary sources. I am finding out just how high the stack of library books on my desk can get, and looking some of them up on Amazon and writing down prices because some of them are books that will be purchased in the future, probably near-future. I am trying desperately not to increase my coffee intake; on some days I succeed valiantly and on other days I fail miserably. I am still trying to figure out the optimal work/not work balance and figuring out that the balance moves constantly with no notice whatsoever. This is important because the first all-nighter I have to pull will probably kill me. I am looking forward to finding some time this Fall to get the camera out and take some pictures. The camera is starting to feel neglected in its bag. I am learning a lot which is really kind of the point. It is not easy or fun but I do enjoy it and so does my brain. Few things are more satisfying than when your brain gets pleasure from absorbing the things it wants to absorb and finds questions it wants to ask and finds the answers to them. I guess you could say this is my drug of choice.

I think that about sums it up as far as what’s been happening since July. Another short version is that life is pretty good; you could even say swell.

I better go. Victorian Britain is waiting for me.

It’s Not About Him

I’ll start with a question.

Have you ever had your world rocked to its very foundation by a realization?

Then you can understand Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman.

When I first heard that her manuscript was going to be published, I didn’t think much of it. However, as the opinions kept coming out concerning Atticus Finch, I started to feel a little more intrigued, not because I wanted to see how Lee portrays his racism, but the reaction that Jean Louise (Scout) would have toward him.

Maybe I missed some of the opinions, actually, I know I did, but the opinions I found and read all focused on Atticus and the comparison to the portrayal of him in To Kill a Mockingbird. Reading them, I had a realization. To Kill a Mockingbird is not about him. It never was. The book is about a little girl in the South, her worldview, and how those around her influence that view.

My intrigue led me to order a copy of Watchman, and just to be sure I remembered all that happens in To Kill a Mockingbird, I decided to dust off my copy and read it again. As luck would have it, the UPS man delivered Watchman to my house just as I was finishing up the last chapters of Mockingbird. I let it sit out on the porch in its box until I was done reading Mockingbird, and as soon as I read the last word, I went to the porch, picked up the box, opened it, and started reading Watchman. I did not look back past the title page.

It took me a little over eight hours to read through the 278 pages, taking a break to rest my eyes here and there and to eat some supper. When I finished it, I just sat in my papasan chair, with my feet up on the footstool in front of me, laid the book on my chest, closed my eyes, took a long, deep breath, and quietly said, “this is a masterpiece.”

It isn’t often I read a piece of fiction that gets down and dirty and displays the rawness that comes with passion-filled emotion. This one does. It is unpolished, unlike Mockingbird and, no doubt, the many revisions it took to get to Mockingbird, it is raw, and it is blunt. This, among others, in my humble opinion, is why the publishers and editors that first saw this manuscript in the late 50s did not want to publish Watchman. Think of the raw passion and emotion racing through the South in 1957. Then think of the polish of Mockingbird and how it eases into the subject of race without pointing out the difference between the racism that occurs in the legal system and that which occurs everywhere else, especially in the South of the mid-twentieth century.

Also, the language doesn’t follow the same rules that were followed in Mockingbird. Mockingbird is written in the first person, totally through Scout’s eyes. Watchman is written in the third person, but in lots of instances goes directly to the first person, through Scout’s eyes, in the narration, transitioning in the middle of paragraphs without any quotation marks or indention that would typically denote a change in perspective. That took a little getting used to, and I thought it a little weird, but as I got used to it and could really empathize with Scout’s and Lee’s train of thought, it worked.

It works beautifully as a portrayal of the human mind that is filled with emotion and passion, particularly when it comes to a realization that reaches to one’s very moral foundation and conscience. Think about it, when you are confronted with something that goes against a particular moral you have, emotions get high, even if you don’t show it. Your pulse quickens. The room gets a little warmer, and you might even sweat a little while you maintain some level of composure. Then your mind begins to race and to reason and to find the justification of your moral and how to defend your moral against that which has just confronted it.

You know that feeling well, don’t you?

Your mind scatters, going every which way, and it takes either an incredible amount of self-discipline or a jolt of some kind to bring you back down to earth. Lee gives us that same feeling through language.

It is speculated that both Watchman and Mockingbird are autobiographical sketches based on Lee’s life. I don’t know, maybe they are and maybe they aren’t. What I do know is that Watchman is filled with emotion. Lee pours her heart out on those pages. She gives the reader an insight into the intensity of human emotion and passion that I cannot remember seeing so strongly in anything else I’ve read.

Jean Louise’s realization rocks her core just as it rocks the cores of those who adore Atticus Finch and see him as something more than human. He is her father and her hero and her foundation. We get only a small glimpse of their relationship, but that glimpse gives us a lot.

“Equal rights for all; special privileges for none.” That phrase comes up in both books, just as a few things do, such as the description and history of Maycomb. This phrase forms the core of Scout’s social morality, and as said, she’s “color blind…always have been, you always will be…You see only people.”

She learned the phrase from her father, just as most everything else that stuck with her through life and made her the woman she grew to be. As said, Atticus, to her, is more than human. He’s her dad. He is her “Atticus.” She thought she lined her morality up right next to his, just like his, but as her uncle tells her, “Every man’s island, Jean Louise, every man’s watchman, is his conscience. There is no such thing as a collective conscious.”

Those words. I still get goose pimples as I read them and type them out here. The words would not carry the weight they do if Lee had not written To Kill a Mockingbird. Without Mockingbird, Go Set a Watchman would not be what it is. It is a masterful portrayal of human emotion AND reconciliation. I have not seen that word, or anything resembling the same meaning, in any review or opinion written concerning this book, and that is a shame.

Getting Closer…

So, my statement of intent is done.  I got over the dreading of writing it and just went to it. Four drafts later, and even some tinkering on that draft, it is finished.  I’m not touching it anymore.  I’m not even going to look at it.

What I am going to look at is the first draft of my scholarship essay.  I’m going to be looking at this a lot over the coming days.  It’s garbage, but at least it’s a draft.  It is something resembling the thoughts I have on paper.  My wife is going to shred it after she inks it up, but I’ve got something down, and that is better than what I had yesterday.

I’ve got my final recommendation confirmed, so once I am done with this last essay, my application will be ready to send.

I complained about having to write that statement, but after having done so, I saw it for what it was…an introspection.  It allowed me the thought process to clearly consider why I want to go to graduate school.  Granted, I’d already considered and considered why, but, there’s always a but, after talking with the program director and a professor I’m hoping to work with, there is some reality mixed in with the hopeful considerations I’ve had over the past months, really years.

So, it’s a dose of reality mixed with a pinch of hope and a dash of dreams.  I’d say that’s a pretty good recipe.  Wouldn’t you?

The time is getting closer.  At the beginning of next month I will begin meeting with one of my professors and getting a reading list compiled.  Then the real work can begin, and I’m looking forward to it.

To, or To Not?

I’m taking just a few minutes, the next 25 or so, to do a little free writing on a topic about which I have not written in a couple of weeks…

Fear.

A few weeks back, I read a post by Holistic Wayfarer entitled “What If You Weren’t Afraid.” At the end of the post, she posed a question: How would these things look different in your life, if you were not afraid? I posted a couple of weeks ago some thoughts concerning a couple of the topics listed after the question, particularly those concerning my relationship with my sweetheart and the relational boundaries I draw with other people. I just took a look over the list again and noticed the topic “Your blogging” so I figure why not start there.

How would my blogging look different, or be different, if I were not afraid. I guess what needs to be done is figure out of what it may be that I am afraid when it comes to my blogging. I was reading over another previous post of mine and noticed something I had written that kind of goes along with this very idea, and it goes a little something like this…

When I find something on which to write, I tend to tread my path lightly. I don’t want to piss somebody off that may read what it is that I am writing. I look “for the solution that will come without a conflicting response or opinion…when that does not work, I go to like-minded souls that will reassure me that the course I wish to take is the right one and will not falter.”

Essentially I fear an argument. Really, it isn’t so much that I fear an argument. If you know me, you know I love a good argument. What it really is is that I am tired of arguing. It gets old, especially when the arguments are always about the same shit. The day may be different, but the arguments are always the same, especially when it comes to the topics I tend to follow and about which I care the most. There is rarely anything new added to the conversation. If, by chance, a new idea comes into the topic, the conversation will take a turn, but it always, always comes right back to the beginning. Then the parties of the argument get pissed off, turn and figuratively walk away with nothing be solved. Pretty much what it boils down to is that we are a bunch of children that refuse to give even an inch in the hope that a compromise or agreement can be reached.

That is what frightens me. I don’t want my blog to turn into a huge pissing match between people with different points of view, and I don’t want to begin censoring those who take part in any discussion that may come up because they refuse to act like grown-ups.

Then again, a little spice might be good. I have plenty of thoughts that can be considered nonconventional. They are certainly not aligned with the status quo. I do like to propose challenging and provoking thoughts. Otherwise, what in the hell am I writing for? Who wants to read something that doesn’t provoke at least a minimum amount of thought?

I guess that what I’m trying to say is that my blogging would be more edgy and more strongly opinionated if I were not afraid of some argument breaking out in the comment section. Moreover, what is troubling is the fact that I do not want any piece that I write to be boiled down into a simple yes/no debate that takes what is stated, and usually quite eloquently (if I may say so), and turned into some kind of talking point that can be recited on cue by some shmuck that does not have any skin in the game. I suppose I could just say screw it and write what it is that I feel and what I think, and say to hell with censoring myself. That would certainly be healthier for me as it would allow me to release pent up feelings and thoughts that swirl within my mind and body.

I’m going to mull this over some more before I make a decision, but it seems I have some things to ponder. It’s a good thing that pondering is something that I’m pretty good at doing.

You’ll have to stay tuned in order to find out which direction my pondering will take me.

Still Doin’ It…

DadTomorrow is Father’s Day, and I’m sitting here thinking about my dad. He is one of the hardest working people I know, and one that I think about when I’m feeling a little bit lazy and realize that I need to get up and get it in gear. Actually, that is one of his sayings. “Troops a’ movin’” or “let’s get it in gear.” He’s also the reason why I have an obsession about being everywhere I have to be as early as humanly possible. Late is not in his vocabulary. It simply does not exist. If there is even a suspicion that tardiness is going to occur, there will be hell to pay for whomever causes it.

He worked the same job, the same job, for 37 years with rarely a negative thing to say about it. He is spoken of highly by those that had the pleasure to work with him and for him. I’ve never heard anyone that he worked with say anything negative about his work or what he brought to the workplace. He touched a lot of lives in a positive way. He taught, and still teaches, invaluable life lessons such as hard work, dedication, and self-improvement. I did not really take to those lessons growing up; I was more or less bitter toward them, because I already knew everything there was to know. Once I became a little older and wiser, I could see what it was he was doing and what he was showing my brother, me, and other young people with whom he connected, coached, and taught.

If you would have told me at 15 or 16 that I would think this way about my dad at 36, and be grateful, I probably would have called you an idiot and laughed. But it’s true. I am grateful to have the dad I have. I’m glad he was stern with us growing up. I’m glad he didn’t take our crap, or crap from anyone else. He was fair. When credit was due, he gave it. When punishment was due, he wielded it. When self-reliance needed to be taught, he stepped away and let things run their course. “Look it up” was, and still is, his favorite answer to a question.

I’m in my mid-thirties, and he is still teaching me. He may not know it, and I’m sure as hell not going to tell him, but he is.

That’s why I’m glad that he is my dad.

A Title? Yes, it needs one…

I’ve been doing a bit of reading and research on writing, making my writing better, and expanding my readership. Within most of what I have read, there is a common theme; identifying my brand and sticking with it. Therefore, I am going to use this post to nail down what my brand might be, because the thoughts that spill out of my brain, either through my fingers or out of my mouth, tend to be completely random and based heavily on something I hear or read at a random time.  Really, what the majority of my writing here is, and will probably be for the foreseeable future, a response.

But what do I want my brand, my writing, to do? What do I want it to say? Those questions seem pretty important to me. I want my writing to have some purpose. I want it to not only to present my thought on whatever the subject may be, but to provoke a thought or response from the reader. A good response. A bad response. Something. I’d prefer it provoke an agreeable response, but I know that isn’t always going to happen.  Disagreeable responses are acceptable, too.  I’d like to make people’s heads nod or shake.

I guess that is what most of us here want.

I also understand that patience is my friend in this endeavor; a kind of “if you build it, he will come” thing.  Patience is not my strong suit.  Really, I stink at being patient, but I’m trying.

Anyway, I am going to keep trying to hone my brand, and follow where my writing takes me.  If there is one thing I know, it is that writing cannot be forced.  It has to come freely from somewhere inside with plenty of honest thought and contemplation.  Otherwise, it stinks…mine does anyhow.

We live in exciting times.  There are so many things happening around us all the time, and a lot of it is thought provoking.  Let’s see what is provoked and also where the thoughts go and what they generate.

Siesta Key, My Desk, My Coffee, and Back

It’s been a crazy week, so there has not been much time for writing or even to think of something about which to write. We’re just going to go with a true free writing session and see where the fingers and mind take us.

One great thing that has happened this week is that my wife and I have ironed out our vacation plans. We are going back to where we spent our honeymoon last August. The super cheesy part is that we will be there to celebrate our first anniversary. It was all my idea. I swear.  We will be heading to Siesta Key, a small barrier island right off the coast of Sarasota, Florida. If you have never been, I highly recommend it. The name of the island gives a pretty good idea about what it has to offer. Siestas abound, and if you know me, you know I love siestas. Siestas on the beach, as long as there is an umbrella that will move with the celestial movement of the sun in order to protect my fair skin from the beams of cancer that radiate from it, siestas in the condo, siestas on the lanai, siestas anywhere I can lay my head and feel pure serenity. Needless to say, I am excited.

Also, also! my new writer’s desk arrived this week, and my wife, being the ever so crafty and assembly inclined woman she is, put it together for me while I was at work on Wednesday night. I was pretty stoked about buying it, was stoked when I bought it, and was stoked when it showed up. I am still stoked about it. The surface is four feet by a little over two feet, and is unfinished which I love. For a long time I was a top of the lap or a tv dinner stand laptop user, but now I have a desk and I must say that desks, especially those that offer room, lots of room with no clutter, are the way to go. When I was in college and it was research time, which seemed like all the time, I would stake my claim on the biggest table in the library I could find and go to work finding books, printing journal articles and dissecting them all in marathon, caffeine induced, sessions. And there was room to organize and stack everything in its proper place. Ahhh, I miss those days. Maybe my new desk will allow me to recapture those moments along with a cup of my sublime weekend coffee.

Oh yes!

The weekend!

It is nearly here, and I have no plans. Ahhhhhhh, it’s a wonderful feeling. So when asked what I am doing, the response is likely to be “nothing” or “I don’t know…something,” and That. Is. Fabulous. Maybe I’ll go for a walk. Maybe I’ll hole up with my new desk and write. Maybe I’ll watch a movie. Two things are definite, and two things only. I will have coffee from my French press, and I will be practicing making the perfect cappuccino with my espresso maker. Oh yeah! My espresso maker! I now have my own area of the kitchen that is solely mine. Mine! It does not have a name yet, but it is the little countertop by the sink that has my weekday automatic coffee maker, my French press, and my espresso maker on it.

You could say that I am an addict. Actually, you should probably say that. I am an addict.  When I went back to school in my late twenties, I discovered the indispensible value of coffee. Coffee to wake me in the morning. Coffee to get me to lunch time. Coffee to perk me up in the afternoon. Coffee to accompany through the evening hours studying or writing papers or doing research. And coffee to push me through the deep, dark hours of night to meet assignment deadlines. I embraced it. I came to love it, and still do. Although, now I try to keep my coffee intake between the hours when I wake up until lunch time. After lunch, no more coffee, and that is okay. As I have matured in my coffee love, I have come to know good coffee, and life just keeps getting better. My wife’s sister sent us some coffee from Italy, Lavazza Crema e Gusto, at Christmas time. Not long after, we bought a French press, and coffee heaven has been in our midsts since on the weekends because good coffee takes time and time in abundance is something I do not possess in the morning during the work week.

Needless to say, our French press and our Lavazza will be making the trip with us to Siesta Key, along with my immersion blender to foam my milk. Heaven in a cup in our siesta filled heaven that is to come. Life is good. If only I could take my desk…

My wife will likely have something to say about that, and speaking of my wife and remembering that she is the boss, I have yet to ask her what the plans are for the weekend. I’m hoping she feels about it the same way I do.

Guilty Pleasure

Since about Saturday night I have been feeling a little guilty, here’s the story…

I don’t remember what year it was, but when I went back to school to finally get my undergraduate degree, I got a laptop computer, an HP to be specific. I had a desktop, but the laptop seemed a more useful tool to use for writing papers and doing research and what have you. I carried that sucker everywhere and if I could find a table on which to work, I would stake my claim and get to work. It processed more than its fair share of papers and presentations, and downloaded a lot more than its fair share of research articles. It was a beast.

Sadly, after I graduated, my technological companion only made it about a year and a half before the motherboard crapped out on it. It was going to cost more to repair the motherboard than was originally paid for the computer. It was a sad, sad, sad day. I still have it. It still works…sort of. I can plug a monitor into it, but its laptoppiness is gone. Its portability is no more. I should probably get rid of it, but we are friends and I don’t like casting friends aside.

At the time I was working a job that paid peanuts, so the funds were not readily available to purchase a new techno-friend. I began doing some thinking and research on the next computer I would buy. After a lot of looking around, I settled on an ipad. This is one of the best purchases I have ever made. Like all purchases, there are some things that I wish were different, but my ipad and I have been together since 2011 and neither of us have looked back. It is super duper portable and it does not get much more user friendly, especially when it comes to the technologically inept, like me.

I type on it quite a bit even though the virtual keyboard and I are mortal enemies. I surf the web, check email, read articles, blog posts, and columns on it. I write blog posts and emails on it. I watch videos, listen to music, play games, and look at pictures on it. It is a useful machine, and has been a faithful friend for going on three years now.

However, the decision has been made by my wife and I that it is time for me to get it in gear and go back to school for even higher education. Now, even though I have my faithful friend of three years, I have used my trusty ipad to do more research on a new, more powerful friend.

Actually, I have known since before I bought my ipad what computer I wanted to buy next, but the expense was just too much so I felt it necessary to just wait and the time would eventually come when I could afford it. Patience. There was a lot of reading and a lot of thinking done during that time. I don’t do any gaming, so I don’t need a super fast PC. I read and write and take pictures and look at pictures. I watch videos. I do like storage space because I prefer to save everything. I wanted something that was going to be user friendly and would not crap out, because I am horrible with technology and not afraid to admit it.

After three long, arduous, computerless years, the time finally arrived. My wife sent me a text on Friday telling me that we would go after we got off of work and buy my computer. I knew exactly what I wanted, so we went into the store and went straight to a salesperson and I told him why I was there.  He went and got someone that would be better at helping me out, so I told her what I wanted. She  did not try to talk me into a different machine. She did try and upsell some coverage plans…warranties and what have you. One of which I bought. She also saved me $200, because, yes, I still carry my student ID in my wallet.

After swiping the magic debit card and signing for the charges, I received my computer, and went straight away to get it set up which was a breeze. I mean…a breeze. We got home and I played with it some, checking out some of the ins and outs…did a little typing on the keyboard, and it was heaven.

That was Friday.

The next day, Saturday, went along much like a well needed lazy day does. I had my delicious weekend coffee. I piddled with my new friend for a while off and on all day. Did a little housework and piddled some more. Then I laid down in the bed.

That is when it hit me. As I laid in the bed looking up at the ceiling in the dark, the thought crossed my mind that my new friend cost more than what was paid for my first car. It cost more than what some people pay for a car. It may not be a great car, but it’s a CAR.

So, the guilt hit me a little…not enough to take my new friend back, but a little, and it’s still there…not enough for me to take it back, but a little.

It is a wonderful machine and I hope that my Macbook Pro and I enjoy many years of typing, processing, researching, and net searching ahead.

Happy Mother’s Day

Today is Mother’s Day.  Earlier this week, I posted about being grateful and taking things for granted. This is a big one for me.

There is a lot I could say about my mom, but I won’t here, other than to say that I don’t know many people that are as strong, or stronger, thoughtful, or caring as she is.

Sorry, dad, but this one is about mom.  It’s her day…

I’ll just say this…

When I grow up, I want to be at least a little bit like my mom.

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