Did you participate in Earth Hour

Last night at 8pm I turned off all unnecessary lights and appliances in my house. My husband wasn't on board so he agreed to be in one room of the house while the rest of the house was in darkness. It worked out well.

Just after 8pm I climbed the hill of which my house is at the bottom. I wanted to see how many of my fellow Bermudians were participating. From what I could tell it looked like about 40% of the island was in darkness. My immediate neighbors must have forgotten or not known because most of their houses were ablaze.

When I returned home at about 8:20 I got my iPod and lay on the couch with a flashlight at the ready and a glass of chilled white wine within easy reach. Peacefully I listened to music and played a game on the iPod. I so enjoyed the space I was in I didn't turn my lights on again until 9:20pm.

First of all did you participate and if so what did you do ... tell all.

The human pet

I read this story on line and all I could say was, you have got to be kidding me!

http://today.reuters.com/news/articlenews.aspx?type=oddlyEnoughNews&storyID=2008-01-23T182442Z_01_EIC366253_RTRUKOC_0_US-GIRL-LEASH1.xml&WTmodLoc=NewsArt-L3-Oddly+Enough+NewsNews-2

Tell me your thoughts.

The (hand) writing is on the wall

One of the things I realised last year was that my mail box was inudated with bills and other meaningless envelopes. I didn't receive personal mail the way I used, dare I say it, twenty years ago. This prompted me to make a commitment to two friends that I would start corresponding with them via snail mail.

The prospect of receiving something other than demands for money gave me a reason to visit my mail box. At least I could look forward to something hand written and personal that provided me with a connection to the person who sent it.

So far it is working out well. For those of you who may not be familiar with the concept. I will lay out the steps below:

1. Find some paper and a pen.
2. Write a letter - which is pretty much like an email but done by hand.
3. Next you find an envelope, fold the precious document and place it carefully into the envelope.
4. Find the appropriate stamp - you are on your own with this one, since most of you know my affiliation with Bermuda Post Office (and this piece isn't about defending them loudly and strongly).
5. Then you mail the letter.
6. Wait three to six weeks for a response (again not a piece about defending the BPO).
7. When the response arrives you find the appropriate location to savor it undisturbed and the process starts again.

This morning I wrote a letter to a friend following the above steps. As I read over my missive, several things struck me:

1. There is no delete button.
2. You can't insert, where you need to.
3. Unless you start over again you can't tidy up you letter to give it the pristineness (is that a word) of an email or Word document.
4. My handwriting has gone to the dogs.

This is the main focus of this piece. My handwriting. Granted it has never been text book beautiful it was at least more legible years ago than it is now. I have heard my writing described as a series of loops. While I accept that (it shows the warmth and friendliness of character -ask any graphologist), I assumed most people could decipher it. I am at a point that I'm not sure I can understand it.

What has happened in the years since pcs and laptops have become as vital as food and water in a household? I will speak for myself, my handwriting has suffered. I've noticed that the quality and cost of the pen (which will be the subject of another blog entry), doesn't necessarily give you beautiful instantly legible penmanship (despite the fervid claims by writing implement marketers).

I am concerned that the two people who receive handwritten missives from me may give up sending me letters because they don't want to receive my chicken scratch and spend the best part of a Sunday afternoon trying to decipher my exciting news - which is no longer news or exciting because it is weeks old due to delays in the postal system (again, not a commentary on the local postal service which, does an excellent job of getting mail to its final destination - I know this first hand).

In order for my writing relationships to continue I have to find a way to improve my handwriting.

I mean other than making notes for myself, there is little opportunity to write anything long or meaningful. My fingers know their way around the keyboard and in many instances move of their own volition. I welcome your thoughts on how to improve my penmanship because at this rate my friends may beg me to resort to emails and give up using the mail service simply for their benefit (and then what will happen to postal workers worldwide?).

So the final analysis is that good penmanship will keep the postmen and women of the world employed for the foreseeable future.

A new year ... a new point of view

I initially thought I wouldn't set any new years resolutions for myself. Most of the time I don't follow them or by February I've forgetten why I made them in the first place. However I have had to change my mind, thanks to my husband.

We went grocery shopping this week and as we were driving home I started to give him my thoughts on the fastest way to get home. I honestly believe he always selects the longest, most tortuous route. As my comments fell on deaf ears I swallowed my irritation and vowed that I would no longer give directions or make suggestions when he is driving. From now on I will simply sit back and enjoy the view, no matter how dark it may be outside.

The second resolution I've made is not to give parking space suggestions no matter how many times he circles the parking lot searching for the spot furthest from the door. It often feels as though my helpful tips seem to fall on deaf ears.

So there you have it from a person who resolved not to make resolutions, I've made two. I'll let you know how I make out as time goes by.

Sew what?

As I prepare to go into 2008 I have decided to come clean about a secret hobby that I've kept hidden for many years.

Gulp! I have to prepare myself mentally for the possible backlash and public shunning that may result but I remain steadfast and resolute in my determination not to live under the cloud of shame for another year. 2008 is the year I proudly proclaim that I love counted cross stitching!

I have been a closet counted cross stitcher for about four years now. I know the shock this revelation may bring to my closest family members and friends. But I think it is time to come clean and reveal my hidden addiction.

What is counted cross stitch, I hear you ask. Just the sound of it makes you think it is an old lady's hobby that she keeps hidden in a large bag and takes out once she is seated in her rocking chair for the day.

Simply put, counted cross stitching is taking a scene and putting symbols to the colors on a pattern and then sewing the pattern onto a piece of cloth.

Yes, friends this is what I do. I wish I could say this I am using the new, amped up electronic form of counted cross stitch but to my knowledge there are no technologically advanced versions of this time consuming but totally satisfying hobby. The technology probably hasn't changed in the last three hundred years. I mean all you need is a needle, cloth, threads, a sharp eye and the ability to count. How easy is that?

Periodically I will put some of my works in progress on the blog so you can see how I am doing. I'm excited about my latest project. I purchased two new creations on line yesterday. I can't wait for them to arrive.

If I find a website that explains this awesome hobby far better than I have I'll add it.

I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. As I close I will share with you that there is a stitching club in Bermuda. Who knew?! I found out this past Saturday and I think - I might attend a meeting. I know this is a lot to absorb but since I'm coming clean I may as well find others who have the same addiction. I might learn some new stitches.

A day without coffee ...

I woke up one Saturday morning with only one thought on my mind, my first cup of coffee for the day. I shuffled down to the kitchen and began the ritual of selecting only the beans that contained maximum amounts of caffeine. Each bean had to pass my rigorous test before being ground into a fine powder. How is this done, you might ask? The answer, carefully and with scientific precision.

As I began the grinding process I started to think about what a day would be like without coffee. As tears started rolling down my face at this earth shattering thought I began to question whether or not I was addicted to the brown elixir. Could I, in fact, last an entire day without one drop? Was this even a sane thought or the mindless ramblings of a woman who had not yet had her caffeine fix?

The more I contemplated this disturbing thought the faster the tears flowed as I looked into my bleak day without the bold, sharp aroma wafting past my nostrils as I took the first sip. I gazed out of the kitchen window and fondly remembered some of my coffee adventures.

I recalled the time when I used to travel extensively for a previous job. There would always be a car service waiting for me when I landed at JFK airport. I arrived early one morning and told the friendly driver that I wanted to find a Starbucks before we got to the office. He peeled across two lanes of traffic to take the next exit because he knew exactly where a Starbucks was. We made it safely to the coffee haven and the rest of the trip was a blur, although I do vaguely remember car horns blaring as the driver zigzagged through traffic to our final destination.

The next week when I landed at JFK another driver picked me up and as soon as we got into the car he was on his car radio speaking an East European language which I was trying desperately to learn so my instructions to him about Starbucks would be clear. As he ended his conversation he turned to me and said, “Starbucks?” I looked at him amazed. I said, yes, how did you know? “My friend, (indicating to his radio) he pick you up last week.”

As I settled into the back seat, looking out of the window I wondered if my obsession for the perfect cup of coffee had gone too far with car service drivers knowing my weakness and plotting amongst themselves on how to get me to the nearest Starbucks.

There was another occasion when coffee played heavily on my mind, the following incidents I am about to describe I have to admit I’m not terribly proud of. In 2005 my mother and I took a trip to several far flung countries – Singapore, Thailand, Australia and New Zealand. While I would love to sit here and tell you we took out our guide books and traipsed around these countries looking for places we had only seen on tv or read about in books. I close my eyes and lower my head in embarrassment when I look back at that time when I had my gray-haired mother on the look out for Starbucks coffee shops.

By the end of the grueling four week trip I had trained her so well, she no longer cried and stamped her feet when we walked out of the hotel each morning. She no longer pleaded to strangers passing by to help her get away from me. She fell into line, like a good mother and was hunting for Starbucks coffee shoulder to shoulder with me. By the time she got on the plane to return to Bermuda she was a professional coffee orderer … a grande soy, sugar-free vanilla café latte, extra hot and hold the foam. During that trip I looked at my mother with new eyes as she had sealed her fate as my shero for life.

But I digress. I wiped the tears from my eyes as I poured my first cup of coffee and sat down at my laptop to begin work. What kind of world do we live in if we can’t have coffee to jump start our days? How would things get done without people killing each other because of a caffeine deficiency? I am a strong advocate of coffee drinking and I would like to gouge from my mind the thought that I even contemplated not having a coffee today.

In case you are interested I like French Roast (or any other dark roast) black with two Splendas. At the risk of offending others - flavored coffees with milk or syrup or cinnamon and the like isn't for us - real coffee drinkers. I am of the belief, good coffee doesn't need it and bad coffee doesn't deserve it.

I have only one thing to say about decaf. What's the point?

Stay away from my coffee mug and no one gets hurt.

Why are comic strips important?

There are a few comic strips I feel make my day a little brighter when I read them. I think they provide insight into life to help me realise that if I could draw and write in balloons while at the same time being funny, thought-provoking and astute, my life could be a comic strip that I would then sell for millions of dollars to syndicated newspapers.

Since most of us don't have this gift (well I'll speak for myself), since I don't have this gift I laugh at my life and perhaps the life of family members and friends reflected on line or in a newspaper comic strip that takes 15 seconds to read and gives a smile that lasts for 30 seconds.

A tiny bright spot in the middle of an otherwise busy and hectic day.

I love The Boondocks which I can only get emailed to me. I can't find their website. While I'm at it, if you know where I can get a The Boondocks XL tee shirt please let me know. So far I've search two states and not found one.

In the meantime, here's a strip I found recently:

http://www3.thestar.com/cgi-bin/star_static.cgi?section=comics&page=/Third_Party/comics/betweenfriends.html

Enjoy!

What are you reading?

I want to dedicate this corner of my blog to one of my passions - reading (my other passion is bags which I will get to at another time.) I have read some great books over the years, if only I could remember them all. Those that have stayed with me I will post here and give you a link so you can read a synopsis.

I belong to a book club that has been together for more than 12 years. Together we have grown and matured experiencing all that life has to offer. From time to time I will let you know what we are reading.

I hope you will share some of the books you have loved with me. Simply write the name of the book and the author. Feel free to post a link so we can all know what it's about, and maybe read it.

"Half of a Yellow Sun" by Chimananda Ngozi Adichie
The main characters stayed with me long after I had read the last page.
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?z=y&EAN=9781400044160&itm=1

"Snow Flower and the Secret Fan" by Lisa See
I loved this book because the relationship between the two women transcended time, race and culture.
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?z=y&EAN=9780812968064&itm=1

"Sacajawea" by Anna L. Waldo
It look me about eight weeks to read this book and it was worth spending the time with each of the 1400+ pages.
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?z=y&EAN=9780380842933&itm=1

Book club selection for December 2007:
The Icarus Girl by Helen Oyeyemi
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?z=y&EAN=9781400078752&itm=1

Book club selection for January 2008:
A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?z=y&EAN=9781594489501&itm=1

Watch the video

A friend sent this link to me several weeks ago and I got a chance to view it today. WOW! is all I can say.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTMqjwFsTZE

After you have watched it let me know your thoughts.

Do you agree with this article?

The crying game: male vs female tears By JOCELYN NOVECK, AP National Writer Wed Oct 24, 5:15 PM ET NEW YORK -

"Please, please, please, just give the dog back," Ellen DeGeneres wept on national TV last week. It was a moment that quickly established itself in the pop culture firmament, less for the plight of Iggy the adopted terrier than for the copious crying itself.

Setting aside the question of whether those sobs were 100 percent genuine, tears are a natural human response, and public figures are obviously not immune. But some who study this most basic expression of feeling will tell you that in this day and age, it can be easier for a crying man to be taken seriously than a crying woman.

In politics, it's a far cry (OK, pun intended) from 1972, when Sen. Ed Muskie's presidential campaign was derailed by what were perceived to be tears in response to a newspaper attack on his wife. Whether he actually cried is still up for debate. But decades later, an occasional Clintonesque tear is seen as a positive thing.

Bill Clinton, that is.

"Bill could cry, and did, but Hillary can't," says Tom Lutz, a professor at the University of California, Riverside who authored an exhaustive history of crying. In other words, the same tearful response that would be seen as sensitivity in Bill could be seen as a lack of control in his wife.

But there are additional rules for acceptable public crying. "We're talking about dropping a tear," Lutz notes, "no more than a tear or two." And it all depends on the perceived seriousness of the subject matter. Thus Jon Stewart or David Letterman could choke up with impunity just after 9/11. But a dog-adoption problem is a whole other matter.

In a recently published study at Penn State, researchers sought to explore differing perceptions of crying in men and women, presenting their 284 subjects with a series of hypothetical vignettes.

What they found is that reactions depended on the type of crying, and who was doing it. A moist eye was viewed much more positively than open crying, and males got the most positive responses.

"Women are not making it up when they say they're damned if they do, damned if they don't," said Stephanie Shields, the psychology professor who conducted the study. "If you don't express any emotion, you're seen as not human, like Mr. Spock on ' Star Trek,'" she said. "But too much crying, or the wrong kind, and you're labeled as overemotional, out of control, and possibly irrational."

That comes as no surprise to Suzyn Waldman , a well-known broadcaster of Yankee games on New York's WCBS Radio.

Earlier this month, she choked up for several seconds on live radio after the Yankees had just been eliminated from the playoffs. She was describing the scene as manager Joe Torre's coaches choked up themselves, watching him at the podium and foreseeing the end of an era.

Her tearful report quickly became an Internet hit, and she was mocked far and wide, especially on radio, with her voice, for example, played over the song " Big Girls Don't Cry."

"This turned into something pretty ugly," Waldman said in an interview. "I don't throw around the word 'sexist,' but this was as sexist as it gets."

She also wrote a passionate editorial in Newsday defending her brief display of emotion. "While the anger and sarcasm that I can and do display is all right with people," she wrote, "the occasional tear is scary and is ridiculed. Why?"

While Waldman notes that female anger in the clubhouse, is OK — it makes her seem tough, she says — one recent study indicates that perceptions of anger, too, differ according to gender.

"When men express anger they gain status, but when women express anger they lose status," Yale social psychologist Victoria Brescoll, who conducted three experiments on how people perceive female anger, said in an interview. Her study is to be published in the journal Psychological Science.

For a little historical perspective, says Lutz, author of "Crying: The Natural and Cultural History of Tears," it's helpful to look back to the 19th century, when skillful politicians like Abraham Lincoln used tears as a natural part of their oratory.

The tide later shifted against male crying, but in the last 30 to 40 years male crying has gained in acceptability. "Every president since Ronald Reagan has used tears at some point," says Shields, the Penn State psychologist.

As for women politicians, many remember the 1987 incident in which Rep. Patricia Schroeder, D-Colo., had to defend herself against charges of weakness after she wept while announcing her decision not to run for president. "I think it's a sign of compassion," she said later.

Military figures have cried at critical moments. Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf cried at a Christmas Eve ceremony in front of his troops, and when interviewed by Barbara Walters, Lutz notes.

There seem to be few limits on crying if you're an entertainment figure. Johnny Carson's tears were touching on the second-to-last night of his career, while serenaded by Bette Midler . As for awards shows, aren't we even a little disappointed (and bored) when a winner DOESN'T cry?

But in DeGeneres' case, along with the strong support from fans and many dog lovers, she also endured some criticism and mockery, especially from fellow comic Bill Maher. (To recap: DeGeneres had adopted Iggy from a rescue organization, then given it to her hairdresser's family when the dog didn't get along with her cats. That was against the rules, and the rescue group took the dog back, prompting her emotional appeal.)

Maher decided to respond on behalf of an entire gender: The opposite one.

"At this moment when the entire nation is saying 'Hmm, can we have a woman president? Maybe they're too emotional,' I don't think this is helping," Maher said on his talk show.

"If I was a woman," he added, "I would be embarrassed right now. I would be embarrassed for all womankind."