M.I.A.

So, I’ve been M.I.A. for several days now, but I assure you that I haven’t purposely been avoiding blogging.

Upon returning home on Sunday night, all I could think of was getting upstairs to bed.  However, sleep evaded me, as I struggled through the night with a persistent fever and chills.  I awoke early the next morning, as my illness had come on too quickly for me to find coverage for my opening shift, feeling unrested, still feverish, and an intense pain pushing from behind my eyes and up into my head.  I took a couple of ibuprofen and laboriously chewed on an orange with my head barely raised from the table top. 

Somehow, I made it to work in this condition unscathed, and it reminded me of my drive to work in Northampton under similar circumstances several years ago.  Now, I survived over three hours shuffling about, struggling to be at the top of my game, wherever that top was.  Fortunately, a co-worker arrived early, relieving me from the remainder of my shift.  After that, I spent the next two days practically bedridden, with the exception of the visit to the doctor for my flu diagnosis, to which my dad graciously drove me.

I do recognize that I was fortunate enough to fall ill now at home, rather than when I am out of state next week, yet the timing was still less than ideal.  I felt unable to do anything, not even to think or move; never mind, organize myself for my travels.  I couldn’t even feel sorry for my miserable condition, as my primary desire was to just curl up and die.

On the first day, I had no appetite and on the second day, I was so hungry, but everything that I tried to eat tasted repulsive.  This frustrated me to no end, as I am quite fond of food.

On Wednesday, my senses and taste buds returned, signaling the final stretch of my illness and the light of recuperation.  With this new found vigor, I set myself on a cleaning spree, washing every bit of bedding and clothing that I had used and disinfecting any surface in the house that I may have touched.  I didn’t want anyone else to endure the same awful experience as I did.

I probably overdid it, still not being quite up to par and feeling rather loopy, as I rebuild my strength and fight off lingering flu symptoms.

Yet, I will try my best to keep up on my posts while I continue to recover!

Where Are the Parents?

Once school lets out for the day, the market, where I work, is swarmed by middle school children, who squander their unspent lunch money on soda, energy drinks, candy, and chips.  One of the adult customers commented on how she used to do the same thing when she was a youth, and voiced how silly it was for the schools’ to make serving only healthy meals a strict policy.  There’s no way to monitor the kids and force them to eat nutritious food. 

She also went on to tell me about the fifteen years that she spent working in day care.  She would take in children from parents, who wanted her to conduct toilet training and teach discipline because they couldn’t be bothered to do so, or even enforce her teachings on their own time at home.  There were still others, who wanted to leave their children with her for twelve hours a day, five days a week. 

With such extreme requests as these, the question arises as to why these individuals had children to begin with?  Was the conception accidental, or as accidental as it can be if a couple neglects to use birth control?  Had they already become jaded by the responsibilities of parenthood or did they not realize it would be a full-time job from the beginning?  Or did it seem like the right next step to start a family, instead of both individuals’ hearts being fully invested in this choice?

Too often today, kids seem to be going unchecked, controlling their parents and, as a result, are a nightmare for anyone else to deal with.  These parents don’t seem to want to do any work, as they keep turning to the schools to completely take care of their children’s well-being from discipline to good study habits and grades to healthy eating.  All of these habits and values must start at home and be instilled at an early age; otherwise the child seems to be nearly unreachable. Unless, hopefully, once they become adults, they will recognize the value of all that their parents wanted them to do, but never taught or enforced.

I understand that it’s a lot of work to be a parent.  One devotes inordinate amounts of time, energy, resources, and money into supporting and raising a child.  But, I believe, that all of the things that one invests mean nothing unless also totally investing oneself.  I feel that many parents of these troubled and misguided children are barely present in their lives, knowing little of what their kids are learning in school, who their friends are, what interests they are developing, and so on.  It’s easier for these parents to just throw money and new gadgets at them to make up for what they’re missing. 

Furthermore, this teaches the kids that they are entitled to have anything that they want.  One day at the market, a middle school boy retorted to my greeting of how he was doing, with something to the effect of not being well because he had to pay for all of the treats that he had loaded onto the counter.  I was so appalled that I couldn’t think of a witty comeback quickly enough.  All I managed was something about how everyone has to pay for the products that they want. 

And with a comment like that, I seriously wonder how many other goodies he had stashed away in his pockets.  It’s entirely possible, since the market has been fraught with thefts by these students.  The problem has reached such magnitude that the kids are no longer allowed to bring their backpacks into the store and only a few may enter at a time, so that they can be closely monitored by the cashier and the sentinel stationed by the door.

I worry about the future outlook for this new generation.

Empty Space

Flashback to...29 January 2010

There’s too much space for one person.  The barrenness of the apartment is intimidating and overwhelming.  I organized my room today, so it feels a bit homier and cozier.  But once I step through the doorway, I am surrounded by nothingness.  The apartment looks like it did last year, when the remodeling work was being done, before my ex, his other girlfriend, and I moved in.  Now again, it doesn’t look like anyone lives here.  Blank walls, hollow sounds, dirty floors, and random items piled up in corners and scattered about. 

The life of this space is gone.  It wasn’t meant for me alone.  It was only last year that the three of us living together in this apartment, our apartment, not just theirs, was an exciting, new prospect.  It’s now only a memory dismissed, buried, and forgotten.  So, just as I was eager, then, to have a space that was uniquely ours and not theirs, I am now waiting for a space of my own.  I am just waiting, stationary, stuck.  They have moved on as I remain in the past.  This place represents the past, and yet, remains my present, but it will not my future.

Matching Game

Flashback to...14 January 2010

It’s so interesting how we seek out and are excited by similarities between ourselves and others.  It’s all about matching interests, ideas, and goals.  Why not some variety?  Why can’t differences be exciting?  They’re more challenging and engaging. 

Even though, I look for the similarities as well, I tend to prefer a companion who is different from me, yet similar to the way that I want to be.  But then, I seem to be searching for someone to guide my life and complete me.  Perhaps, once I know what I want and am willing to compromise on, the search for similarities will be a more well-defined, useful tool.

 

However, even when individuals do have obvious similarities, there are still an infinite number of differences between them.  These similarities may not be terribly crucial, so that over time, the differences could negate the similarities, and ultimately, create a less desirable match.

Introduction to Scuba Diving

For the past two winters, I have attempted to enroll in a SCUBA experience class at Westfield Water Sports in Southwick, Massachusetts.  The class is offered as an introduction to SCUBA, so that individuals may get a feel for the sport and determine if it’s something that they enjoy enough and feel comfortable with, before pursuing the formal certification course.  The introductory class is only offered every first Friday of the month, and it seems that there is little interest in winter weather pool time, as oftentimes, the classes that I have signed up for have been cancelled, due to too few participants.  However, I can’t place all of the blame on others for how long it has taken for me to get into this class, since my own plans or reservations regarding cost and my level of comfort have also kept me away.

Finally, last Friday was the night.  There were enough people interested and I needed to do this for myself.  My initial interest in trying SCUBA developed as I encountered various marine biology internship postings that listed SCUBA certification as an application requirement.  I decided that the certification would make me a more attractive and qualified candidate for such positions; however, having never even been snorkeling, I figured that I should find out what SCUBA was all about.

The class began with the typical filling out of waivers and signing one’s life away.  We received an overview of the functions of the essential pieces of SCUBA equipment, and were ingrained with the three basic rules of SCUBA; breathe at all times, ascend and descend slowly, and equalize early and often.  The slow ascent and descent and frequent equalization are safety precautions, which are intended to prevent pressure from building in the lungs and ears, reducing the potential of serious injury.

We reconvened at the pool, at which SCUBA equipment was distributed and we suited up.  By this time, I was becoming somewhat anxious, as I sat on the edge of the pool, fiddling with my face mask, so that it didn’t feel like it would either constrict the blood flow to my brain or allow water to seep in.  Breathing with the mask on felt strange, as I struggled for air in its confined space.  Finally, I slid hesitantly into the warm water and was equipped with an air tank.  I found it amusing that the tank felt lighter than my frame pack often does when I’m traveling. 

After, a few more instructions and a final review of the three rules, it was time for the moment of truth.  I purged my regulator of any water that might have entered, stuck it in my mouth, and began insistently negotiating with myself to go under water.  My less logical side soon won out and I plunged my head in.  We had been told to take five breaths before resurfacing; however, mine felt more like hyperventilation, as I continued to struggle with my logical side telling me that humans can’t breathe underwater.  I quickly popped up, breaking rule number two and tried to get my wits together.  Fortunately, the second attempt was far more successful, and I gradually became more comfortable with this crazy concept. 

As a group, we slowly made our way from the shallow end to the eight foot depth at the far end of the pool, from which we commenced our free swim time.  I found the experience to be thrilling and I felt more at home in and in tune with my element, as I darted around the perimeter of the pool. 

Now, I just need to save up for the formal SCUBA certification course; perhaps, next year.

Night Moves

On Friday night, I laid in bed reading and waiting to doze off, as it was long past my bedtime, when a muffled noise broke the silence of the frigid night air.  At first, it I didn’t think much of it, since I frequently hear nighttime sounds, such as the freight trains rushing along the nearby tracks and the sparse traffic zooming down the state highway at the end of my street.  However, my ears gradually began to tune in more, diverting my attention from my book, in an attempt to identify the sound.  Suddenly, it clicked; I recognized it.  Owls. 

I don’t recall the last time I heard owls calling in my suburban neighborhood.  Perhaps, this was just the first time that I had really listened.  I dropped my book, threw the covers back, and rifled through my backpack for my mp3 player, which contained audio files of bird calls.  I inserted one ear phone to listen to the owl tracks and attentively listened to the calls outside with the other ear, comparing and trying to match the calls of one of the recorded species to the live individuals just outside my bedroom window.  Oftentimes, I have little success in attempting to identify birds in this manner, as many calls and songs of different species sound quite similar to my untrained ear.  Fortunately, there were only a handful of owl species, from which to choose, and my eyes lit up when a nearly identical track to the outdoor chorus began to play.  Great Horned Owls.

I was ecstatic that, not only was I able to identify them, but I also had the privilege of listening to them.  It reminded me of the nights at the wildlife rehabilitation centre in British Colombia, when a pair of Barred Owls visited another that was recovering and awaiting the day of her release from the confines of her outdoor enclosure.  Their conversations filled the silence of the neighborhood. 

At this time, I clambered down the stairs to get a better look from the French door in the kitchen, which opens out onto the deck in the backyard.  I could only clearly hear one owl calling now.  I scanned the darkness and the shadowed, entangled tree branches for an owl-like shape or even slight movement.  Yet, I didn’t notice anything terribly obvious and my heart sank, as I came to the reality that I was unlikely to spot such a secretive and elusive creature. 

However, I did notice a dark, roundish shape near the top of one of the far trees in the wooded area between my family’s and our neighbors’ property.  I couldn’t be sure if I had also seen this shape during the daylight hours, perhaps a clump of leaves or an old nest.  I opted to close the door and stop letting the heat escape, and instead, continue to listen and observe the suspicious shape from my bedroom window. 

For several more minutes, I sat crouched on my bed, gazing out into the night, when suddenly, the dark shape in the treetop fluttered.  It then swooped down through the branches of the surrounding trees, straight towards the house, before it glided effortlessly to my left and past the side wall, perhaps seeking out the mate, with whom it had been conversing.

Reflection

This question really hit home yesterday, as I felt like it could easily be directed at me:

"How can you ask for me to stay, when all you ever do is go?" (Something Corporate)

Yet another thought, upon which to reflect...