Things that get me out of bed…

Two days ago, the post below was what I was thinking.  Tonight, I’m remembering telephones with dials and cords, attached to a wall, no mobility in sight – specifically, the one I had when I was a teenager – a light blue Princess phone with my own number – and long nights listening to The Doors, hoping for a better tomorrow.  

Tomorrow did, indeed, get better.  Then, worse, then better, worse, better, worse, better, worse, and on and on.  Tomorrow will be better than Thanksgiving last year.  I am thankful for all the people I’ve loved and lost, for all the time they spent with me exploring the universe and the internalverse, and for all the people I love and hold tight here on The Planet now – for they spend time with me exploring not only who and what we are, but what we hope to become.  

Happy Thanksgiving to the U.S. of A’ers, and happy tomorrow to everyone, everywhere.  May you become what you hope.


Often, more often than I’d like to acknowledge, people ask me “what gets you out of bed?” and I got out of bed today to tell you.  Only this:  I still have stuff to do, and people who care.

That’s it.  That’s my secret.  No longer a secret, huh?  I’m not that complex, that my response would be something so very mystical, that it should seem a mystery.  My life’s mysteries are far more complex than my everyday life.  

I care about people and things, issues and concerns, problems and solutions, yachetmy-schmachety.  I care.  Simple.  On the day I don’t care, I will cease to exist.  Because that…caring…is the other thing that gets me out of bed.  

I care that I exercise my brain to find solutions/answers to life’s examinations of what’s so, and what’s not.  Do I always find solutions and answers?  Ha.  I wish.  I keep looking, I keep doing my unending research, I keep listening to people who seek me out, and we ponder together.  Twelve heads are better than one.  And millions could end starvation.

My day was filled with tension, the kind that ejected me from my office at 8:00 pm after too many questions and not enough answers, to find my car still parked on the asphalt – my old faithful vehicle from our days in San Diego.  There she sat in the parking lot, dark blue and all-cold metal.  Once I released myself to the driver’s seat, switched on the engine, heard the music from a local radio station, and backed up into the empty aisle, I said what I often do:  “Hey, Buddy, I miss you.”  

As usual, I cruised toward Highway 116, and turned right toward home.  My thoughts tonight turned to “what’s next for technology” and I was baffled at my attention in the after-hours to something that drives almost everything on which I lay my hands.  Technology.  Huh.

This question, “what’s next for technology?” is not foreign, just not typical of my first thoughts outside the confines of my office.  So, there was a part of me that was disturbed, and a part of me that was hopeful.  What is next for technology?

This question shoved me right into this thought of thankfulness and wonder: Owen, you were the first person in our family who had a full-scale keyboard on your cell phone.  I laughed and I cried, remembering him reclined on our couch, texting into the night, remembering him pondering whether an iPod was something worth owning, given that he could listen to music any time on the computer or a CD player, and when he wasn’t home, he was usually working, getting there, or visiting with friends.  It’s a valid contemplation.  What do we NEED, that technology can provide?  If I had that answer, hmmm…

Yesterday, Michael (Nat’s and Owen’s father) came to our house to watch over Ruby for the day (her school is taking the whole week off).  I was just leaving for work when he arrived.  I waved him over to the car, where I was picking out the CD that would accompany me.  He drew back the side of his jacket, displaying a cell phone and holder.  I was laughing before the window receded completely.  I said, “I don’t believe it.  What happened?”  He said, “Sometimes you just have to join the crowd.”

Nat does not carry a cell phone, and I worry when I don’t hear from him, don’t know where he is.  He’s a bit of a Luddite.  Good for him, hard for me.  He’s 26, and I may always worry about him.  Watching him leave the house, no matter what the mission, is an exercise in patience, in faith.  I occasionally think about getting an iPhone for myself and giving him my nearly new AT&T 3G thingy with more stuff on it than I care to learn.  But, hey, I’d like to have my calendar, photos, and emails with me when my laptop isn’t (rare, though that is).  I don’t think he would carry it with him, though.  He’s not a consumer.  He’s obviously my kid…so I worry.

Things that get me out of bed…

Song for the night:  The Ghost Song, the Doors


~ by Linda on November 26, 2008.

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