It seems to me that the further down the road we go in time, the lazier we become, especially in the United States.  It has been a while since I have been to a foreign country, but thanks to the wonderful world wide web, I have many friends and acquaintances around the world.  Through them I see other views and customs.

In the past few years in Second Life, I have seen people’s names diminishing rapidly.  At one time people seemed to address another person by the first three letters of their first name.  Now, they just address them by their first initial.

My nom de plume is DL Bach.  I am also known by other names.  My real first name is Debbie.  Sam is a nickname given to me by others I worked with because there were three women named Debbie in our group of ten.  In Second Life I am Parker.  A friend in Paris did a play on my pen name and calls me DeeEl.  I like this.

Debbie is a shortened version of my real name Deborah.  If you really don’t like me and want me out of your life, just call me Deborah.  I will be gone faster than you can repeat it.

There is one person I know in Second Life who has given to call me JJ.  Now, my last name in Second Life begins with J, but for the life of me I cannot understand why this person calls me JJ even though I have corrected them several times.  I generally use a person’s full first name in Second Life to address them, unless they ask me specifically not to.

There are times when nicknames (usually shortened versions of a given name) are used to be endearing.  For instance, my Second Life name is Parker and most people call me Parky.  This isn’t much shorter, but it is fun and playful.  Then there are the nicknames that have nothing to do with a person’s name at all, such as my nickname of Sam or when people call a loved one Boo or Woobie, etc.

A while back (when I used to work), I was screening a movie or something and two men were discussing nicknames.  One was Russian and the other American.  The American asked the Russian if names didn’t work the same way in Russia being that you shorten them when speaking to or about a loved one.  The Russian replied that occasionally it does work that way, but usually the nicknames are longer for someone you love.  His rationale was that when you are saying the name of someone you love, you never want it to end.  This is where I am.

In real life when I am introduced to someone, the manner of introduction will usually dictate how I address the person.  Until I am invited otherwise, I will usually address them as Mr./Ms. So-and-so.  I hold to the old way of respecting people.  I do not infer intimacy, I wait to be invited in.  When I worked in the prison, my first day of training, I met the head of the prison and when he introduced himself and we were chatting he asked me to call him by his first name.  My manager, later, tried to write me up for insubordination for calling the director by his first name.  The director chastised the manager instead.

When you are invited to the inner intimacy of speaking on first name basis, it is a trust that has been earned, not invaded.  This is a matter of respect.  So if you think so little of me and the speaking of my name repulses you so much that you reduce me to a mere letter of the alphabet, then I must reconsider the intimacy I have allowed you to share.

To say that I am prudish or priggish is quite accurate.  I was raised to behave in a modest manner and to believe that certain things should remain private.  I still hold to these things as true today.  I am neither a voyeur nor an exhibitionist.

These days it seems sex is used to sell pretty much everything.  There has been an advertisement on television of late displaying a stick-thin model indulging in a huge hamburger from a certain fast food chain in a seductive manner.  First of all they don’t show you the part where she may take the bite, but spits it out having neither chewed nor swallowed it.  Secondly, this type of advertisement will not induce me to purchase the hamburger the model is not consuming.  It being a female model has no baring on my decision.  You could put a top male model in her place and I would still not be enticed.

When the reality television program Dancing With The Stars first launched I thought it would be really nice to see celebrities learning how to ballroom dance.  However, it has turned into a sex-fest.  Last season was the only season I have watched the show.  I only watched and voted because there was an uproar over Chaz Bono participating.  I did write a post on that http://dlbach.com/deeels/2011/09/02/hatred-unfounded/.  The controversy was over Mr. Bono’s transexuality, yet there is no problem with the females being clad very skimpily nor the males removing their clothing.

A number of years ago I had a knee injury and had to undergo physical therapy.  One of the therapists would always start debates with me regarding movie content.  He found it difficult to believe that a grown woman such as myself would only go to movies rated G, PG or PG-13.  He would argue that sex, violence and foul language were everywhere.  I heartily agreed with this statement.  However, that does not mean that I am either going to go out looking for it or pay my hard-earned money to see it on the screen.

Many people believe that the fewer clothes a person is wearing and the more seductive the pose makes that person sexier.  With this I disagree.  A previous job I had, a certain manager would (as all the managers did) wear suits to work every day.  One weekend morning he came in wearing sweats in order to perform inventory in his area.  A fair amount of his inventory was in the racks across from my office.  I sat there going about my duties, but also watched as he went about his. 

We engaged in idle chit-chat as we always did.  At one point I stopped what I was doing and just looked at him.  I told him I wanted to tell him something, but asked him not to take it the wrong way.  He knew me well enough to know that what ever I was about to say would be purely innocent and he said I should proceed.  I went on to tell him that he was a very sexy man.  He blushed a deep shade of red and kind of got choked up.  I explained that even though he was wearing sweats and was kind of dusty and dirty from taking inventory, he was still the same as if he were wearing his usual business suite.

Sexiness has nothing to do with what a person is or is not wearing, it has everything to do with attitude.  This gentleman was a handsome man, he felt he was at least a bit attractive, but would never consider himself sexy.  I had never considered him that way before either.  However, after that day we would both blush whenever we would look at each other.

Just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so is sex, sexuality and sexiness.  While I may not go around discussing sex and I most assuredly do not write about it in my poetry, short stories or novels, I am still a sexual being.  It is the small minded people who will torment others because of their beliefs and try to get them to behave the way they do.  This is why terms such as prude and priggish are deemed negative just as gay and lesbian are in many groups.  The only thing that is a must is that you are true to who you are.  Trying to be something or someone you are not will only leave you miserable.

I’d like to break my own taboo and speak here on religion.

Earlier I was reading a Brit friend’s blog and her post on this same subject.  Her words caused words to begin to swell up inside my head and gave me the courage to relay them here in a more definite manner to allow people to see where I am at.  I am not doing this to start a debate or provoke long-time friends to try to persuade me different.

When my best friend Sissy was still alive, she had no reserve about arguing her religious views.  I recall one occasion sitting in a Wendy’s down from my apartment with her and two gentlemen of a different denomination.  An argument ensued.  I firmly stated that I would leave if they did not cease.  The discussion abated briefly.  However, when it began again, I collected my things and prepared to depart.  The gentlemen stood, apologized and returned to their wives.  Sissy and I left.  This is related to remind you how firm I am on NOT debating or arguing religion.

I was raised in a so-called Christian household where one thing was preached and another was lived.  Alcoholism, abuse and adultery were rampant.  As a child does, I accepted what I was told and believed how I was told to believe.  I listened while members on both sides of my family orated their bigotry and hatred for those who were different (I will get into this in an upcoming post as it has more to do with my new mission in life).

As a child I knew there was something different about me.  I recall one Sunday while Grandmaw was preparing Sunday dinner, my uncle and I were playing a game of cards.  Grandmaw came in and said we were sinning by playing cards on the Sabbath.  I thought she was going to have kittens when I calmly said, “But, today isn’t the Sabbath, yesterday was”.  Her disapproving look advised never to broach the topic again.

At the age of 21, my mother, while in the process of disowning me, looked at me and told me I was a “damn Jew” just like my father.  This gave me pause.  I had never heard anything before about Jewish heritage in my family tree.  I have since found that connection.  The statement did give me reason to think.  While studying the Jewish people and learning of their plight, I always felt a connection.  I attempted as an adolescent to hone in on my German roots and forget those feelings.

A few years after my mother’s enlightenment, I learned about a Messianic (congregations of Jewish believers and Gentiles who embrace their Jewish religious roots) congregation in my area and began attending services.  Here, I flourished and began learning about this hidden limb buried in my family tree.  Growing in this setting I accepted what I was taught and began to relinquish the past teaching.  To say I completely gave up my past is inaccurate.  Nor did I pick and choose what I wanted to keep from each.

In my mid-twenties, I began to question.  I questioned everything I believed in.  Recalling there is a place in the scriptures that encourages this kind of questioning, I pushed forward.  I learned through my study that holidays, both Christian and Jewish, I had kept were not what I was trained to believe they were.  It was like a child finding out that there is no Easter bunny nor Santa Clause.  I continued to embrace my Jewish roots and remained with the Messianic congregation.  However, I kept true in my own ways.

Seeing false faith in both the Christan and Messianic worlds, I needed to find my own peace, my own way.  After I got sick and people from both of those worlds began to disappear, I really began to question things.  As I look back over the past few years (generalities, so not trying to diss anyone) it seems the ones who have offered the most sincere support to me are those from the Atheist, Buddhist and mix-n-match realms.

I have not kept anything within the Christianity world in many years.  I keep the Jewish parts in my own way.  It is more in the Buddhist meditations that I have found inner peace.  When things seem to be the most troubling for me, I finally pause and realize I have not been meditating.  There was once that, while in the midst of a Meniere’s bout of full-blown vertigo, I had a passing thought I hadn’t done my meditations.  I focused the best I could and tried to work on my Chakras.

It has been since Passover 2009 that I have attended any religious services.  While I still consider myself Messianic, I don’t really have any formal belief system other than knowing what I have studied and continue to learn.  I will no longer accept with “blind faith” what a mere mortal says.  I will also not look at man’s book of scriptures solely as a resource.  I will prove everything out from historical accounts and keep things the way I keep things and not the way someone else tells me to.  I will not “pray” to a god I cannot trust.   I will send good thoughts and energy to those who need it.  I respect that you believe your way and only ask for the same consideration in return.  I will not try to persuade you to believe differently, which is why I didn’t give details of what I learned when I searched for answers.  I expect the same from others.

The Greatest Frontier

Throughout history man has looked for frontiers to conquer.  Stepping into the unknown is both fearful and exciting.  It is near impossible to predict what treasures you will find or even what dangers you will face.  The best we can do is rely on our past experiences to help guide in these endeavors.

Gene Roddenberry, in his television program Star Trek, called space the final frontier.  He dubbed this the last unexplored area for men to conquer.  Perhaps this is true to a point.

For centuries philosophers and psychologists have explored the human mind.  However, there is still so much to explore and learn with such a complexly simple mechanism.

Upon meeting someone for the first time, they might inquire, “Who are you?”  While they know your name from introduction, you, out of habit, repeat your name.  Another question that may be posed upon first meeting is, “Can you tell me about yourself?”  With this we may proceed to declare what job we do for a living, our marital status, offspring, etc.  These are things that identify us just as much as our hair color, eye color and the way we dress.

But, who are you?

We hear tell of those (usually kids in an attempt to keep from going to college or to work) who use their money to “go and find themselves”.  This may seem frivolous to many.  I find it so in the regard that usually all they are doing it romping about exploring life.  How often do they actually “find” themselves?

Many people look to religion as the source of identifying who they are, others their families, education or even hobbies.  These are things that can, once again, identify us, but do they tell us who we really are?

I had always heard that praying is the act of “speaking to god” while meditation is the act of “listening to god”.  I hear so much of people talking about praying, but rarely about meditating.  After getting sick and being mostly confined to my apartment I started searching.  One of the worst things you can do is leave a writer alone with her/his thoughts.  We can get into all sorts of turmoil this way.

I cannot go back to the me I used to be before the illness entered my life.  Believe me, I have tried and I have sought to “find” the me I used to be.  Only now am I realizing this is never to happen.  When I am in a bout of vertigo (which lasts two days) my head conjures up all kinds of things.  Some is good, some not so much and others just plain out in left field.  One thing, however, that is prevalent, is trying to find me.

The first time I went to have a check-up with my current primary physician he stepped back and asked me if I were a singer.  I affirmed this and he went on to state that it was his experience that singers know themselves well, some better than even professional athletes.  True he was speaking of knowing myself physically.  But this is something I have been pondering of late. 

My mind also travels back to  time when my best friend, Sissy, her husband, two other friends of ours and I all went to Kings Dominion for an outing.  Anyone who knows me well enough, knows how much I really hate roller coasters.  Sissy, her husband and our friend Loretta convinced me to get on this new coaster called the Shock Wave.  It is a roller coaster you ride standing up.  Loretta and I were in the car behind Sissy and Al.  I pulled the straps and bar over me and leaned my head back and closed my eyes.  As the ride was ending, Sissy and Loretta were unstrapping themselves even before the ride stopped and shaking me.  They said they thought I was dead as I had turned as white as the tank-top I was wearing.  All I know is I put a death-grip on the bar holding me in and went deep inside myself.

Do I know myself?  Hardly.  I know my name.  I know I am single, never married, no children and I am a fair writer.  I know I have a hideous disease.  I know these things about me that identify me to the outside world, but I don’t know me – yet.  I read things that force me to look inside myself.  When I meditate, I look inside myself and explore those areas that I am afraid to look at or didn’t know exist.

There are times I write things, especially here in my blogberg, that many have told me they cannot comment here or even in Facebook or Twitter because they don’t know what to say.  They explain that I write in a manner that makes them think and causes them to look deeper then they ordinarily would.  These are things that help me explore my greatest frontier.

Space may be quite unexplored by humankind, but the greatest and most final frontier is in exploring ourselves, our own minds.  The Buddhists have a way of spending time with themselves and looking deep and when they come out on the other side, they are more peaceful more at home with who they are.  Their way isn’t the answer for everyone.  We must find who we are on our own and in our own way detached from all other influences.  Get to the heart, the soul, the very core of you.

Francis Bacon once wrote, “It is a sad fate for a man to die too well known to everybody else and still unknown to himself.”

Take time to explore your greatest frontier.

For those of us who are writers, it seems the proverbial writing has been on the wall for a while now with books being replaced by e-publishers and internet downloads for e-readers.  Now it seems more and more people are obtaining their music, movies and television shows via internet download as well.

Don’t get me wrong, I have downloaded a lot of books, music and movies.  Where my issues come in is, first of all, books.  I do use my iPod Touch as an e-reader to make it easier to carry books with me, but there is nothing like the feel of holding a book in your hand and smelling the pages as you turn them to discover the treasure on the other side.  For me, it is also much easier to study with an actual book.  I can highlight and make notes in the margins for future reference especially if I am researching for a piece I am writing.  I can then flip through the pages to find those notations easier than having to scroll through page after page of pixels.

The rest of my objections come from my being hearing impaired.  I am sitting here typing this and popped in the DVD I just picked up at the library on sign language.  While I do scan lips when speaking to people to be able to better understand them I am finding that as my hearing gets worse I need to brush up on my ASL (American Sign Language).  One would think that a DVD teaching sign language would have Closed Caption (CC) for hearing impaired.  This is not the case.  There is someone speaking while another is signing and since I am not fluent in ASL I need to see the person’s lips to know fully what is being said.  The person speaking is off camera.  I am now very frustrated.

When I had Netflix, I complained because many of their DVDs and none of their downloads had CC.  I was advised that they were attempting to make that available and I would have to go to a different site to download and it would take twice as long.  It seems that to provide CC for a digital download you need two feeds – one for the video and audio and one for the CC.  None of the movies or television programs I have downloaded from iTunes are equipped with CC although my iTunes preferences dose allow for it and I have it turned on.

Music is something I have already become accustomed to in this modern world we live in.  If there is a song I have known since before my illness which is taking my hearing, then I have no problem and can still sing along.  However, if it is a new song or one I don’t recall from before, I need to Google the lyrics to be able to understand what is being sung.

So what does the future hold for us?  Several generations ago families would gather around the fire while one read or played a musical instrument.  It was a time for families to be together and share.  Not long after that with the incoming of the radio, families would sit around the radio and listen to music and dramatic presentations over the air waves.  Then, when I was young, the family would gather around the television and watch favorite programing.  With the changes coming, people will gather around the computer or completely detach from the family gathering and everyone will have their own iPod, computer or viewer to sit in their own corners and watch what they choose.

Since so many options are not including CC for the deaf and hearing impaired, my options will diminish.  I just hope that families will find new and creative ways to maintain that precious family time without something to gather around and enjoy books, music and programing.

About a year or two before my grandmother passed away, my aunt began hosting the annual fun-fest.  I say this with tongue-in-cheek as things began changing when my grandmother got sick and could no longer host the family events.  Bitterness set in and that brought lots of bickering.  Since I was a young teen, I was not privy to most of the issues at hand.  One constant was those who presumed they did most of the work were angry that others were partaking without even offering to lend a hand.  Funny, as a child I recall it was Grandmaw who did most of the work, but I do not remember her ever complaining as she enjoyed the time with her family.

I came to dread the holidays and spending time with the family, especially after my grandmother passed.  It seemed the holidays were the appropriate time to bash each other and hurl the worst insults that could be found.  I thought holidays were supposed to bring families together and, especially Thanksgiving Day, finding all the reasons to be thankful.  I must have had a grave misconception in this area.

The happiest Thanksgiving I recall following my grandmothers death was the year my long-time friend Denise invited me to spend it with her and her family.  I was probably about 19 at the time and expected to feel very claustrophobic as she comes from a rather large family.  At the most, growing up, we had about two dozen coming and going from my grandparents home.  With Denise’s parents, siblings, their spouses and children alone they had over two dozen.  Then you sprinkle in an odd uncle and aunt or two.  That is a lot of people.

Denise knew how miserable I was contemplating another Thanksgiving dinner with my family and being the main source of abusive entertainment for everyone.  Therefore, she suggested with an insistent tone that I come to her parents house and spend the day with them.  I knew her family quite well and admired them for their closeness and love for each other so I graciously accepted the invitation.

I walked up the block to the Fulton abode and almost before I could knock on the door I was greeted heartily by a couple of the children.  Everyone else filtered in and made me feel welcome.  One thing I really enjoyed was they treated me, not like a guest, but as they treated each other, like family.  There was no difference with any other time I had been to their home, except ALL of them were there at one time.

Dinner was very animated with all the lively conversation.  It was filled with respect for each other and very comfortable as if they had been acting this way all their lives.  I knew they had, because this is how they behaved any other time of year when I would have the honor of being within the warmth of this home.  Mr. Arness (my name for Denise’s dad due to a photo of him resembling James Arness the actor) reminded me a lot of my grandfather, except he was more vocal than my grandfather.

After the feasting came the festing.  Christmas music was put on and everyone just had fun with each other.  I was sitting there watching the whirlwind of excitement and entertainment going on around me and comparing it to my own family.  Denise came over and grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet to begin dancing to the upbeat holiday music swelling the air with the lingering aromas of turkey and pie.

As tears fill my eyes remembering times long since committed to the archival parts of my brain, I ponder my more recent Thanksgivings.  I have not had a full thanksgiving dinner since 2005, the last time since being sick that I was still able to cook it.  As this dragon makes life more and more difficult for me, I spend most of my time resting and doing little things.  I also try to use it to get some writing done as I know I will not be receiving IMs or anything from anyone since the majority of my US friends (who all live in my computer) will be with their families and loved ones.

For this Thanksgiving, provide your kin with reasons to be thankful, not regret.  I bid all y’all a wonderful time with your loved ones giving thanks for each other and letting them know you are grateful for them being in your life.

Winston Churchill once said, “Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”  I have always liked this quote until I read an update but cannot recall who said it.  This has become my favorite quote; “Those who fail to learn history are doomed to repeat it.  Those who fail to learn history properly are just doomed.”  I will not get started on all the ways that we as American citizens have distorted history to suit our own desires.  That is not what this is about.  Here we will remember.

After the Civil War ended, Reunification Day was celebrated.  It was near this time that the country first enacted a day to remember and pay honor to all the Union soldiers who gave their lives in the war between the states.  At first this day was called Decoration Day having the first national observance May 30, 1868 and the graves of the fallen soldiers were decorated.  Later this was extended to include all US military personnel who died during WWI.  With each war the United States entered, the fallen during the war were to be included in the remembrance of Memorial Day (a term first used in 1882).

Years ago I wrote a song about how we gained our independence.  It was the blood, sweat and tears of so many who lived and died before us.  These are the ones we pay homage to on Memorial Day.  Had it not been for the brave men and women who put on a uniform and went to battle and died, we would not know this life we have today.  I say uniform, but it is a broad term, because during the Revolutionary war, most of the colonial soldiers just wore their every day clothes.

So often today people confuse Memorial Day with Veteran’s Day.  Veteran’s Day does not afford us the summery day off from work.  In fact, most companies do not observe it as a holiday at all.  No matter the observance,  it is still an official federal holiday set aside to honor ALL US veterans of ALL wars.  Those living and those gone on.  This weekend, we pay special tribute to those who have given their lives on the battlefield to make sure we have the freedoms we now take for granted.  In short, they all died just so we can eat grilled hamburgers.

I have been wanting to write a special poem for Memorial Day and to include not only US soldiers who have given their lives to defend this country, but I wanted to pay homage to the fallen in all countries who have bravely and proudly entered battle to defend their homeland.  After watching the PBS special National Memorial Day Concert I knew the direction I wanted to take.  I wanted to pull up the fight songs of each of the branches of the US military.  I stopped after reading the lyrics to the first song I pulled up – The Marine Corps Hymn.  The last stanza really struck me.  The last four lines in particular; “If the Army and the Navy, Ever look on Heaven’s scenes; They will find the streets are guarded, By United States Marines.”  I knew I had my poem for today.  I remembered watching yesterday as they showed scenes of the military burial sites around the world where fallen US soldiers lay in rest.  From all of this I wrote the following:

Gone On To Eternal Duty

Lost in a dream
of days gone by
Searching for answers
through heart’s eye

Up and down
neatly groomed rows
trimmed with flags
sprinkled with bows

The names and dates
all a blur to me
looking out across
a flag waving sea

Stepping sure, crossing
barriers of space and time
no more markers or flags
but, soldiers in line

Wearing uniforms
both new and old
they died for others
as history’s told

They entered battles
as men full grown
they fought hard, reaping
what others have sown

I study the faces
reason to find
they are all the same
it boggles my mind

Walking up one
then down two
in a distance I spy
an ocean of blue

Turning to see
the picture full
my heart is pricked
there’s a tug and a pull

From every nation
they stand as one
their tour long past
but yet just begun

These soldiers gone before
stand on land and on sea
they guard the world around
they guard you, they guard me.

May 31, 2010
© DL Bach

Some of you know of my disregard for Katie Couric.  I used to admire her as I watched her as an anchor on NBC Today.  It was heartbreaking to watch as she struggled with her husband, Jay Monahan’s fight against cancer and then his ultimate death.  It was even more disheartening that he left two young daughters behind as well.  The turning point for me as a fan of Ms. Couric’s was when she would whine and complain about how she struggles financially trying to raise two daughters alone.  Yes, it is a struggle being a single mother.  However, considering Ms. Couric makes more in a month than most single mom’s make in a year working two and three jobs, I don’t see how she can, in good conscience, bemoan her situation.  I have seen so many single moms struggle trying to make a good life for their children.  They sacrifice and work sometimes 12 – 16 hours a day not getting to spend much time with their children.  I know it is difficult losing a mate and suddenly having to do everything yourself, but when you make that much money and so many make at and below poverty level and they keep going, come on already.  She is the reason I stopped watching NBC Today and switched to CBS This Morning.

Single moms and dads should be held in the highest regard.  Especially the ones who aren’t financially secure.  I have worked along side some of these wonderful people.  They love their children so much and have to sacrifice to provide food, shelter and clothing for them.  It is so easy for some to have babies and then go and get welfare money and food stamps.  But so many people don’t believe in this.  They prefer to take care of their families themselves by working and providing the best they can.  People who were raised during the depression will be the first to tell you that they didn’t even know they were poor, everyone was.  Today we have movies and television that show a different life style and people believe if they do not have these luxuries, like cable television, cell phones and computers then they are living in shame.  Somehow, these wonderful single parents actually make things work and they do it all without complaining.  I raise my glass to each and everyone of who make things work everyday with so little.

Now to address working mothers.  I have been watching CBS This Morning for a while.  Starting with anchor Julie Chen, it seems all the women were getting pregnant.  Julie Chen began her maternity leave in September 2009.  She returned from maternity leave this past week.  Well, sort of.  After eight months leave to have her baby and spend time with him, she returned to CBS This Morning working an hour a day.  Yes, she only works the second hour of the two hour program.  During a segment this past week she made a comment about admiring someone because she was a working mother and now Julie herself is a working mother.  Um, HELLO.

In years past a girl was raised to finish school, maybe go to college and get married and have babies.  The woman did not work outside the home.  A side note here, I believe all mothers are working mothers, especially if they are the ones who take care of their children.  This is not about that. As years have gone by things have changed.  World War II found women having to go into the factories and businesses to work and do things the men had once done since the men were off fighting in the war.  When the men returned home, the women didn’t want to go back to staying in the home.  They wanted to keep on working.  Also, financial status’ changed.  Prices kept going up but wages could not keep up.  Therefore, households require two incomes.

I have a friend who recently had a baby.  Her maternity leave was six weeks.  For the most part, maternity leave is about six weeks and is unpaid unless the woman has accumulated sick/annual leave.  Some companies also offer paternity leave which is much shorter in duration and again, unpaid unless you have accumulated leave.  Basically, all this leave affords is security that your job will be there when you return.    Ms. Chen went on maternity leave 9/09.  My friends baby was born January 2010.  My friend was back to work her normal hours in the department store she has worked at since 2004 months before Ms. Chen returned to work only one hour a day for CBS.  Since her husband is president of CBS, Ms. Chen doesn’t have to work.  She could have extended her maternity leave indefinitely.  So many women in this world have to work just to help make ends meet in the home.

I would never begrudge anyone anything they have worked for.  I just think that those parents who are single and working hard every day as well as home with two working parents who nave to work and keep the family going, deserve mucho kudos.  To my many friends who are single parents and those where both parents work hard every day to raise healthy, wholesome children who will grow up to run this country one day, I humbly bow to your excellence.  If I could I would take care of all of your children and give you each 24 hours to do nothing but pamper yourselves.

My poll on WDC was only open to members and I desired a more global allowance of participants.  It seems that writer’s have interesting thoughts concerning love.  The way I pose my question and the selection of options caused many to pause before replying.  On the surface the question seems quite simple.  Then you view the options and begin to question what you really think.  I can not recall exactly why I designed this poll, except that I wanted to write an article.  What my prompt was I do not know.  As I ponder this I am sure that I was brought to this poll due to my own thoughts about love.  I actually put my response in the options – “A word in the dictionary”.

The first nine years of my life all I knew of love was that it had to hurt.  If someone said “I love you” then they wanted to hurt you, physically and/or emotionally.  Then I found religion and thought I was heading in the right direction when it came to love.  Yes, there were still those in my life that would continue to hurt me, but I thought I had found a different kind of love.  Then I got sick with a chronic illness that has no known cause/no known cure and all of that seemed to vanish.

I love teddy bears.  I love to write.  I love to read.  I love, love, love mangoes.  I love music.  It has been more years than I can count since I have said “I love you” to anyone.  In Second Life, I do occasionally say “I love my SLamily”, but it is usually said a bit facetiously when the crew are acting all silly and goofy.  I have noticed that most folks use that line very rapidly.  In the beginning of romantic relationships it can be a bit explosive.  But those who know each other a long time or are related in any manner say it all the time.  They end telephone and IM conversations with it and even sign cards, letters and e-mails with it.  Sometimes I think it is out of habit or expectation.  It isn’t that I have no feelings for the person I am speaking with.  I just don’t like using such powerful words on a whim for one.  I also have such negative memories for those who have used those words with me and I do not want to use something for someone I care about with ugliness attached to it.

So, take the poll and give it some real consideration when you answer, “What is love?”  Then look at how it applies to you and your life in respect to those you care about.