Truly can't see the forest for the trees...

When I was in my corporate ladder-climbing mode, I was analyzed for traits, to see if I would fit the model they sought in their management. The resulting evaluation let me grab one more rung, and gave me an insight I'd never have gained on my own.

Among the many traits, however, was the one that has still helped and haunted me to this day. It seems that I was and remain mentally myopic. Evidently I am gifted with such an ability to focus, that it becomes a curse. The old expression "the devil is in the details" holds especially true for me. I can roam around in a hell of my own making, in search for whatever answer I happen to need at the time.

Although I long for a little right brain activity, that side of my brain must be dead--or maybe it never existed in the first place. My left brain functions to such an extent as to totally overwhelm any influence from right brain. Maybe that's the reason I always appeared as such a jerk to my wife (who happens to be mostly right-brained).

Thank goodness for our ability to put up with each other--between us, we constitute a whole. But, damnation, it certainly does make it hard to understand each other.
Funderstanding - Right Brain vs. Left Brain

Real Obscenity

As if being a vegetable weren't bad enough, Terri Schiavo has now become a political piece of meat as well. I'm certain if she knew, she'd relish the media circus she has become. In truth, of course, she'd be horrified by repeatedly seeing her "blank stare" picture being plastered all over national television.

Can't the politicians stay out of it. They are almost certainly in this for the their own gains--not hers. I'd be willing to bet that not one of them reasonably thinks he/she could truly help Terri. I certainly don't think it is their place to meddle, nor is it mine or yours.

I've actually heard both sides of this issue argued really well. But, I don't think Terri would care to remain in this horrific spotlight. She would be ready to exit the stage. If, indeed, God is the only one who can rightly make this live-or-die decision, then let Him. The rest of the world should stay out of it.

Top News Article | Reuters.com

This Blog's for Me

Now that I've had my blogs for a little while, I seem to be on many web-tips lists. These are a combinations advice and advertisement, but I do find some tips helpful. One of the recent ones I read had to do with drawing traffic to your blog. It talked about the do's and don't's of what to write.

One of the cardinal rules seemed to be don't get too full of yourself. It advised to write with the entertainment of the target audience in mind. That's when it hit me--I don't have a target reader. I began blogging for me--as a means of expression. I simply needed to spew out some thoughts, without any ulterior motive.

I realized I do this blog primarily for me. Writing helps me to clarify my own thoughts and beliefs. If someone else happens by and enjoys my musings (whether they agree or disagree with a particular posting) then good for them. If anyone happens to want to voice their own opinion, then simply hit the comment button. It might not change my point of view, but it just might broaden it.

Paw or Papaw

I had the great pleasure of knowing both my sets of grandparents very well. They were all around as I "grew up", and I spent my share of time with them. That gave me the opportunity to observe two distinct behaviors in grandfathers.

Papaw (my father's father) was a good man. But, he never connected with children the way that my mother's father (Paw) did. Paw was forever picking at whichever child was nearby. But, Papaw was far too serious to engage in such behavior. His previous jobs (he worked for the Railroad, and then became a policeman) seemed to have locked him into "stoic" behavior.

Paw, of course, was loved by all children. Today, his behavior might even be reported as some kind of child abuse. If an unwary grandchild ventured too close to him, while Paw was reading his paper, he was likely to reach out and grab the unlucky trespasser and subject him/her to several minutes of humilating torture. He would tickle ribs, squeeze knees roughly (he called it a mule eating corn), and hold the child in what felt like a death-grip until we were in tears. Half the time, of course, those were tears from laughing. He showed no mercy.

During the summer, he was almost always working around his property in an old cotton button-up shirt (which was always unbuttoned, of course). Since he was an old farmer, he carried his work habits into his nineties. So, he was likely to be sweating from his physical labor. The ultimate humilation (saved only for his most favorite grandchildren) was when he squished the child's face up against his sweaty, extremely hairy chest, and asked if that child wanted some "titty pie".

As I said, in today's society he would have been accused of some kind of child abuse. But, it wasn't so. He was the biggest kid in the bunch. What amazes me still about him, was that he managed to be such a playful adult and such a responsible father and grandfather. He fathered 11 children. I don't even remember the number of grandchildren, but I know I always had a cousin or two around. He never let any of us down.

Papaw (on the other end of the "merry-meter") loved his children and grandchildren no less. He too provided for his family all his life. But, he never managed to turn off the serious side like Paw could. He respected the "space" of all his grandchildren--hardly ever touching them at all. He somehow became locked-in to the seriousness of earning a living, and wasn't able to really let go.

I proudly carry the genes of both Paw and Papaw. I loved them both. But, if the time ever comes when I find myself a grandfather, I hope I can behave more like Paw. I fear the Papaw genes are more dominant in me, but I promise myself to work hard at playing better with any future grandchildren. I was too busy providing to be a very playful father. Maybe, for any grandkids, I can find my "Paw side".