The End

I am ending this blog. Thank you for your interest and support. I'll be starting a new one soon. I'll let you know. xx

Robyn

Power of Positive Thinking

I was having lunch with a couple women friends the other day, and the topic of negativity came up.  We were discussing a new venture  idea for the Friends of the Ripley Library and how it was met with lukewarm enthusiasm at best.  I'm a go-get-'em kinda gal myself. When I have an idea, I want to act on it immediately.  So the lack of interest in this new project made me feel kind of down. But like my friend said, most people around here are negative at first.  You have to show them how it's going to work and how to get it done - THEN they jump on the bandwagon.

Do you know how hard it is to keep "your sunny side up" and remain positive amongst all this negativity?  It ain't easy my friend.  Sometimes I feel like I have a plastered smile on my face.  It's hard to stay positive when everyone around you is down.  But I do it!  And you know why?  Because I've been on the down-side of life.  I've looked at the world with a down and out attitude. I've been angry at everybody and everything. I've blamed everybody under the sun for my problems. And one day, it occurred to me how unhappy I was.  I didn't like myself very much and I decided I didn't want to be like that anymore.

Don't mistake me. I didn't change overnight. It took years to turn my attitude toward life around. I had an image of who I wanted to be and that's what I worked toward.  It came from a story my ex-husband used to tell about a great aunt of his, Nanny. 

Nanny came to this country from Germany, spoke hardly any English her entire life, but she devoted that life to raising her nieces and nephews while her sister worked. When those children grew, she helped raise her great nieces and nephews; and then cared for her aging mother and father. She devoted her life to caring for others; never marrying, never having children of her own. And she was always upbeat and positive. It was a decision she made every day, to look on the bright side of things, to make the most of everything that came her way. My husband told of taking her out for pie and coffee once a week, and no matter how bad the pie or how strong or weak the coffee, she would smack her lips and declare that she had never had better in her whole life.

I wanted to be like that; never complaining, always looking for the good. So I embarked on a campaign of positive thinking. I decided to ignore the negative things I saw. I decided to look for the good in everyone. I decided to forgive myself my shortcomings and faults and resolved to do better. I put little notes on my bathroom mirror, reminding myself that I was a worthwhile, valuable person. I stopped myself in mid-sentence when I started to say something negative. It's not easy to turn a sow's ear into a silk purse, but with perseverance it can be done!

I've learned to accept help and more importantly, I've learned to ask for help. As much as I'd like to think so, I can't do everything. My religious friends would say all things are possible with God. I prefer to believe God helps those who help themselves. If you want to wallow around in self-pity and misery, you certainly can, and God won't do a thing about it if you don't want help. I know people who don't want to be free of their depression or anxiety, because it's what they know and they know how to deal with it. Being any different is scary, because they don't know how to react to positive, good things.

If you want to change, however, it is possible through faith, hard work, and a positive attitude. I will start this new venture. I will be positive about its outcome. And those naysayers will hop on board eventually and it will be a wonderful thing.

Just you wait and see.

Tempus fugit

How time flies.  It's been a bit more than a year since I last posted on my blog.  In fact, I needed to contact a friend to get my blog address!  You're welcome for the laugh. :P

I started to write a post but it's coming out all depressed and sad. So I'll postpone this for another time, when I'm feeling more upbeat.

Til next time.

Mark Wahlberg, Jack Black and Other Unknown Celebrities

Watching the Oscars the other night, I saw Mark Wahlberg presenting an award, and as the light bulb lit over my head, I thought to myself, “Ohhh, THAT’S Mark Wahlberg!”


It all started in Boston, in August of 2012. No, actually it all started in London in November of 2006. I was visiting a friend of mine, Sue; it was my first trip abroad and I was loving London. We were in the West End theater district one evening, which was packed with people, when Sue’s son, a photographer, rushed up to us and said he’d gotten a press pass and was going to get a shot of Jack Black, who was there for the premiere of The Holiday. Sue was very excited and stretched her 5’9” frame up to try to get a glimpse of Black. Being a bit on the short side myself, I had no hope of seeing Mr. Black, and truth be told, I had no idea who he was anyway. Having never seen The Cable Guy, or I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, Shallow Hal or any of the other films Jack Black had been in, he was an unknown to me.

Let me explain, I don’t see a lot of movies anyway, and if I do it’s usually a rented video viewed in my living room.

It took a little while for Sue to realize I had no idea who we were hoping to see. She was incredulous! “You don’t know who Jack Black is?!” “Uh, no.” She proceeded to name off a list of films he had been in, and I, embarrassed that I obviously was lacking in cultural knowledge of a great film star, shook my head no at each movie title. This was obviously an opportunity wasted on a small town country bumpkin. Ah well.

Fast forward to August of 2012. Sue was now visiting me in the States and we decided to take a road trip to Boston and Cape Cod. We arrived in Boston fairly early in the afternoon and on a whim I suggested that we take a commuter ferry to Hingham to get a feel for the locals.

It was approximately an hour commute to Hingham and I had a great time people watching. There was a particularly good looking gentleman aboard who just oozed “money” from his pores, sitting on the steps of the ferry. After a time he wandered over to the rail, which is my favorite place to be on a boat, so I started talking with him. I’m not sure what David actually did for a living, but it was obvious he knew a lot about stocks, trading, and the economic future of the United States. During the course of our conversation he suggested my friend and I stop at Alma Nove’s, a trendy restaurant in Hingham, for a drink before heading back to Boston.

Alma Nove is owned by Alma Wahlberg, mother to Mark, Donnie, Paul and a bunch of other Wahlbergs. Sue and I sat at the bar and started talking with a delightful barman, Gabriel, who was waxing eloquent about the restaurant being run by Mark Wahlberg’s brother Paul and sometimes Mark would stop in and visit with the patrons; and how Mark and Donnie had opened a restaurant across the street called Wahlburger’s. Now granted, it was loud in there and I was having a hard time hearing everything Gabriel was saying, but I gotta be honest; I had no idea who Mark or Donnie Wahlberg were. I thought I’d heard Mark’s name somewhere, but I thought maybe he was a computer geek or something, like Mark Zuckerberg or Bill Gates.

Again Sue couldn’t believe I was clueless. I was establishing a precedent here. So I texted my daughter, who is a very savvy individual, and I wrote, “Do the names Mark and/or Donnie Wahlberg mean anything to you,” clearly thinking I would be vindicated by her not knowing them either. She texted back, “Yeah, Marky Mark and New Kids on the Block.”

Once again I was laughing at my lack of current cultural knowledge, although I did actually know who the New Kids on the Block were. But, hey, after watching the Oscars, I realize there are a LOT of celebrities out there now that I’ve never heard of. And quite honestly, I really don’t care. I don’t watch movies much anyway.

I saw a bumper sticker the other day, “My pug is smarter than your honor student.” I’m not sure how smart the dog is, but it left no doubt in my mind as to the intelligence of the owner.

What kind of distain must this person have toward education? What kind of ignorance must they live in to put down children who are striving to be the best they can be?

In a country of dumbed-down education, where the lowest common denominator rules the rate and level of teaching, it’s a sad commentary where we vilify the more capable kids. Being a jock is held in highest esteem, particularly in some states, but being one of the “smart kids” is a cause for ridicule among some students and parents alike.

When I was a teen, if you were smart (and insecure), you hid your intelligence. Boys didn’t want to date smart girls. Hopefully we’ve gotten over that, although survey after survey still says girls don’t participate as much in the maths and sciences, don’t assert themselves for computer time in the classroom. Hopefully my information is old and behind-times.

I have nothing against dogs. I’ve known some very smart dogs. I’ve known some real dummies as well; kind of like people that way. Maybe we should come up with a bumper sticker that says, “My honor student is smarter than your dog’s owner.” Not particularly witty, but that’ll confuse ‘em for awhile.

Everywhere I look lately I see Wizard of Oz memorabilia - little tin men, miniature Dorothys, signs that say things like "Things just aren't the same since that house fell on my sister." I love the movie, The Wizard of Oz. I'm not sure if I'm seeing all these things because it's getting close to Halloween or if it's just the craze du jour and I'm really kind of sad about the whole thing.

The movie, The Wizard of Oz, was released in 1939. In the 1956 it became the first Hollywood movie to be shown on network television and it continued to be shown every spring for decades. You see, The Wizard of Oz is a story about a tornado taking little Dorothy far from her home in Kansas. Tornadoes occur primarily in the spring and hence, every spring they would show the movie and I would look forward to seeing that amazing film. I looked forward to it all year long. That all ended in 1980 when the movie became available on home video.

The anticipation is gone. The excitement of sitting down in front of the old black and white, and eventually color, television and watching the movie with friends and family is no longer there. Once again delayed gratification bites the dust. At the push of a button, or two, we can view Dorothy and Toto anytime of the day or night, all year long. It has lost its allure and it's a shame.

I'm sure the producers of The Wizard of Oz never dreamed it would still be going strong seventy two years later. And I'll bet they're rolling over in their graves at the continued profits from merchandizing they're missing out on. So fly on monkeys, go get 'em!

Insecta-cide

Should you be following me as I weave down the road, rest assured, I am not intoxicated. I’m dodging woolly bears. These lovely little caterpillars are making their annual pilgrimage to the perfect spot to spend the winter. Why they feel it necessary to cross the country roads and highways to find that spot is beyond me. Why can’t they just nestle down close to home?

Woolly bears, as is so often the case, are adorable youngsters with their beautiful brown and black bands of fuzz, and become rather unremarkable Isabella Tiger moths when they grow up. As a kid, I used to pick up the cute fuzzy things to inspect them more closely. They immediately roll up into a ball when so handled, which makes them even more intriguing. Trying to coax them to unfurl themselves was a challenge that could not be passed by.

As I drove down a particularly scenic five mile stretch of country road recently, I must have come across thirty or forty woolly bears in various stages of crawling across the road. So I dutifully swerved the avoid running over the little creatures whenever I could. Luckily there weren’t any other cars, or Amish buggies, on the road with me.

I’m sure I must have hit a few of them, and that saddens me. My parents instilled in me a great reverence for animal life. Or maybe it was just some misguided compulsion about killing. In either case, we didn’t kill beetles, moths, spiders, ants or other vagrant wildlife that found their way into the house. One side note: flies and mosquitoes were exempt from this act of mercy. Consequently, I am reluctant to kill any bugs I see in the house, or any animals, no matter how big or small, outside. This is a matter of great amusement and sometimes frustration to my husband, who will gladly squash anything that gets in his way.

While I don’t actually deliver the fatal blow to various insects or arachnids, I am not above condemning them to certain death by putting them outside on a night of certain frost or freeze. Infestations of box elder bugs have been removed en masse on chilly nights when they emerge by the hundreds in the sunlight of the day. My patience wears thin after gently placing the first fifty or so outside. After that, the broom is my weapon of choice.

Beauty has is merits in the animal kingdom. I have become more callous in my desire to save all creatures great and small. Ants, centipedes and some beetles are no longer guaranteed safety. Some spiders, especially those who remind me of Charlotte, are spared while others meet their doom. Anything beautiful; moths, attractive beetles, and particularly woolly bears, are gently placed in a dry warm spot to continue on with their day as best they can.

I can’t be held responsible for passing birds who spot a good meal.