Saturday, December 15, 2012

AND SO THIS IS CHRISTMAS . . .


               Such a terrible week.  First a mall in my neck of the woods and then the unthinkable shooting of elementary school children.

            I wasn’t feeling very Christmasy this year, what with one daughter in London and the other newly married and busy setting up her own traditions, grandkids far away, and my mother receding into confusion.  I had been thinking that maybe Christmas needed an upper-age limit—wondering if we should reserve the  festivities for those under 18 and their adult hangers-on. 

            And then the shootings.  And the lives of all of those children lost during this holiday season. 

            I feel sick and sad and helpless.  All I could think to do was to contact my congresswoman and senators and the President and try to raise a voice for sensible gun control.   (Ironically, only 2 out of 3 of my people in Congress even had “gun control” listed as a topic of concern for an e-mail. . .)  It seems that even those who hunt or carry a gun for protection should be able to agree that no one outside the military needs an assault weapon, and that it should be at least as difficult to buy a gun as to get a license to drive a car.  

            Democrats and Republicans alike are afraid to raise the issue.  We need for all of them to hear from all of the heartbroken people who usually stay silent in the face of the NRA juggernaut.  (And why wouldn’t the NRA support a ban on assault weapons, anyway?)   

            I’ve heard the arguments:  There are already too many weapons in circulation for a ban to make a difference.  We can’t stop all acts of violence.  But can’t we, as a country, start somewhere to do what we can do:  Ban assault weapons.  Buy back those already purchased legally.  Spend more money – lots more – on mental health care and early intervention.  (I just read an article saying that most people who commit these acts have left a trail of markers of their instability and intentions, but so often their families cannot get help for them.) 

            Please contact Congress and the President.  It’s the least we can do for the children. 

           

Sunday, December 2, 2012

If life is a river, why is mine filled with silt? Some Thoughts on Facebook three years in.


Let’s say life is a river.  I know, as metaphors go, this one’s not exactly original.  But humor me while I tease it out a bit.  A life flows like a river until, at death, it merges with the sea of the eternal.  Given this metaphor, here’s my question:  If life is a river, why is mine filled with silt?

The answer in a word:  Facebook.

Here’s how I see it.  The river of life flows along.  We have an experience and when the experience is behind us, it settles to bottom of the river--like silt.  Some experiences – those that are traumatic or glorious or in some way dramatic - take longer to settle.  The water stays muddy a bit longer.  But, as a rule, these eventually settle as well, remaining at the bottom of the river, quiescent  except when, say, we look at an old photograph or hear a song that formed the background of a pivotal moment. 

And then along comes Facebook and stirs up the silt.

Suddenly my past is part of my daily life.  Sometimes this is wonderful.  I have been happy to reconnect with people and learn where they are in their lives.  Some of them have re-emerged as current friends.

But sometimes the reconnections are dislocating.  I know more about the day-to-day lives of people whom I barely knew 40 years ago than I know about the lives of many of the people who matter most to me today. 

And sometimes I have to take a breather.   Let the silt settle for a while.  Remember where I am right now and who has my back today.  Sometimes I am even moved to call someone.  On the telephone.  To make a date to spend time with a flesh and blood person.  Sometimes the silt reminds me to tend to what really matters right now.

So, I'm dedicating this, my first blog post, to the friends with whom I sat and talked for a couple of hours -- in person -- yesterday morning and to the friends who joined my husband and me last night for another few hours of great conversation.  And to my book group, and to all those who continue, against the digital tide, to take the time and risk to have a face-to-face or, at least a voice-to-voice, conversation.  



copyright 2012 Marjorie A. Speirs