Just Believe

Christmas time this year, and I feel so very, very homesick.

This clip is dedicated to those I have loved in this world that are gone now and those I love still that are here for me (what treasure I have!).

The magic of Christmas is so special. It heals us and brings us new hope for every tomorrow.

Enjoy the love and forgiveness and the renewal of the holidays for all they offer you.

My First Christmas

Christmas memories are remarkable for me. Seems like Christmas was/is the turning point for the entire year – I still mark every one of my years by December 25th instead of January 4 (my birthday!!).

And special memories of Christmas bubble up now and again reminding me of wonderful “sugar plum” love and sometimes even disappointment. So this year I’m choosing to share with you one of those memories from my favourite Christmases and hope it will stir up your own best memories, too.

The first Christmas I can remember would be when I was five. We had moved to a new house. My brother was only a year old. The house had a big living room with 10-foot ceilings (that seemed to be twice that high to me) and right by the front door there was a wonderful floor to ceiling window where we always put the Christmas tree.

The Tree

I remember the beautiful, tall, green, live, pine tree decorated with lots of pretty Christmas balls and some lights that looked like little glass candles in plastic holders. The glass part was yellow, blue, red and green and the contrasting plastic holders were mostly two toned green and yellow or green and red. The candle portion, once heated up would produce unending bubbles inside the glass tube and make little glass clinking noises once in a while. They were featured every year of my memory on our trees (I even bought then for myself after I grew up left home).

Christmas carols would play all the time. So pretty.

Under the tree Mom would arrange a white sheet (so it looked like snow) and put down special, big wooden bowls with fresh oranges and mandarins and mixed nuts (especially my favourite English walnuts). And boxes of home made and carefully decorated Christmas cookies – more than you could ever eat! And hard candy with little Christmas trees and wreaths on them.

The Doll of my Dreams

I had seen -- and desperately wanted -- this wonderful, tall-as-me, walking doll so badly. I think as I look back it was a difficult year for money what with the move and a new brother and all. But I was five and there was nothing more important for me than that doll with the frilly, white, long dress and the little pink bows all over it. I can still see her lovely hands and little fingernails and her beautiful eyes that would close if you laid her down for a nap.

Meaning of Christmas

Then right after dinner the day before Christmas, Mommy came to me and said we needed to go into Daddy’s office. Now I knew this is where all the Christmas presents were “hidden”. And I wasn’t supposed to go in there at all.

Well actually I had wandered in there a few times anyway and could see all the enticing boxes up high covered in bags. But they were up so high I couldn’t actually see anything. But I knew my dolly was there because it was the biggest box ever.

So I was really happy because I thought she was going to give it to me now instead of having to wait till Christmas morning!!

Strangely, she brought the newspaper with her and sat down on Daddy’s office chair. She had me come look at a picture on the front page of the paper.

There was an image of a burnt down house. With a mommy and daddy and little girl standing outside in the falling snow. Mommy explained that this family had lost everything in a fire that very morning and would have no Christmas at all.

That made me feel real sad as I peered at every detail of that picture.

She looked at me and she looked up at the boxes. Then she got up from the chair and reached up real tall and brought down the very big box in the bag. She looked at me again. She said nothing but slowly pulled the bag off.

And there she was, my dolly! The most wonderful dolly I had ever seen. All I wanted to do was to touch her, to hold her, to brush her hair, to smell her skin, to give her a big kiss.

But Mommy put her hand on my shoulder and pushed me a little away (I would have slobbered on that box to be sure!).

She asked me to turn and look in her eyes. There were little tears there – I will never be able to forget.

And she said, “Sweetie, we must do something for this poor family and I want you to give the little girl your dolly. You would like to do that wouldn’t you or that little girl will have no Christmas at all.”

Well I did NOT want to give her my dolly. I had wanted that dolly more than anything in the world.

Mommy said, “What if it had been us, wouldn’t it be nice if some little girl wanted to give her dolly to you?”

Well, yes, I thought. That would be good.

I looked down at my dolly’s beautiful face and just wanted to touch her once.

Yet, as I thought of that other little girl, with nothing but cinders and dark boards surrounding her, I couldn’t resist. I reached out to the box with my dolly in it and pushed it to Mommy. I asked her to take my dolly to the little girl. And I have known all my life that this is and was what Christmas is supposed to be, always.

Holiday Wishes for You

I hope your Christmas and holidays are the best ever and they are crowded with family and friends, good food and time to remember all the moments of precious love you have ever had in your life. And I hope that by the time you get through New Years that the only memories that remain are the good ones for the past year.

With love from Lady Sheridanne Kelley

Don't Give Up!!

Sometimes you just have to take stock of who you are and what is actually happening around you to find the secret to tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed that...I know I am.

/me smiles and smiles and smiles

Towanda !!!

Henry David Theroux said most men live lives of quiet desperation. In other words they are not only bored with their lives to the point of screaming, they remain silent. Perhaps they remain silent because they have convinced themselves that like a tree falling in the woods with no one there to hear it, there really is no sound and no one will hear them scream out for mercy.

But we all know the truth of that. Just this week I posted a segment about the series of virtual disappointments Lady Sheridanne has been going through (RL & VL (real life and virtual life).

She didn’t get through them alone though….others held her hand, her head, hugged her, danced with her, gave her a massage, rushed her off to get several lattes and many explained their own victories as examples of how “hope happens” and can’t be lost.

It was a time where Lady Sheridanne could not be strong or frisky or hopeful or optimistic or positive for anyone else, let alone for herself. Lady Sheridanne is exhausted from the last four months of events and has no more strength left.

Old Friends and New

And without intending to she turned to old and new friends just for a hug or a word from them. And they came.

- The man who brought her first to Avilion, enchanting her with his Elven magic and charm to hold her and to strengthen her from his new found strengths.

- The lady who taught her about being an Ancient, who said something to the effect, that this too will pass and really doesn’t matter much in the universal scheme of things and gently threw her long, red, dread locks over her shoulder and hugged me.

- The man who made the music box that I played until the neighbors must have complained and who held me like no other in my home, came and helped me say good bye (and hopefully has found a way to save my music box for my new home).

- The man who has held her the most, through the most difficult times for the longest friendship she has ever had in her virtual life -- a great (yet lost love), came and held her and listened to her fears for the upteenth time -- and still cares

- The gentle lady who never misses a day sending me encouraging words in many ways reminded me to look to my friends over and over, repeating the lesson as if I was a slow learner (and I am) offered me more hugs than I deserve.

- My first sword teacher came and hugged me and told me how well I had learned my lessons with him and how there were more things to learn from these past events.

- And my wonderful role play husband and special, dear friend came when all the furniture was gone danced with me and held me and let me just weep and say good bye. He let me be so angry and frightened and weak and never once told me to “Buck up.” A unique gift to be sure.

That tears and raging for a bit help is self evident to us all. And those who know me, know I rarely allow myself to ever get angry at injustice at myself (although for others you must be prepared to hold me back).

Compost Treasure

For me, the culmination of these months of exhausting difficulties and personal loss became like a huge pile of compost. And the useless scraps that are tossed into that pile must be nurtured too (tears and hugs from friends do this in real life -- I know) and then, when ready the compost can be spread out in all the right places to bring forth the most lovely and healthy of blossoms (I am the Queen of Flowers and the Spring for a reason, you know).

Most of all, being so weak I could barely stand -- taught me new things about friends I sometimes rush past as I try not to be hurt again by anyone.

But I am back now -- although I never really left, I just went into neutral as I took time to remind myself that my contribution to this world and that world is unique. No one else can make it but me. And if I stop, although there are a gazillion other people out there, no one can give what I give from what I’ve learned and know and from what I have become.

Honey and More Honey

An new friend started a blog recently and I pulled off this quote by Antonio Machado that he used. It is actually what began the hard healing of my heart.

"Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt -- marvellous error!
That I had a beehive here inside my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
And sweet honey from my old failures."

But most of all a friend, lying in a stable manger offered me the final set of building blocks to begin preparing the compost. (Thank you as always for being my Muse).
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How to be the strong one (TBS)

1. Keep a sense of humour
2. Remember, that its not your life - its someone elses
3. Have faith in something, even if its only yourself
4. Expect pain
5. Sacrifice yourself if it helps. Otherwise, play for keeps
6. Stay heads down even if everyone is going crazy.
7. Kiss away tears
8. Grab the back of the wrist, not the front. You won't get cut
9. Be willing to fight the crowd
10 What they're saying about the people they love, is really about themselves
11. Protect all children but teach them and play with them more
12. Make lists, even things that are soulbound.
13. Plan the work
14. Work the plan
15. Pain is weakness leaving the body
16. Lance Armstrong Rocks

"There is no limit to what a man can achieve as long as he doesn't care who get's the credit". - Bob Woodruff. (Coca Cola Corporation).
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I mixed in too many illustrations you are thinking…well you are right, but they symbolise the many, many gifts I have received. You see, although I absolutely refuse to open my Christmas presents early, this year I was tricked into, not only receiving the presents early, I was tricked into opening and using them early too.

Many have helped me during this time and I have not mentioned you all, but you know I am grateful anyway and I owe you a long, Lady Sheridanne, special hug. The one that makes you relax and results in giggles. Remember?

So I am humbled and I am healing and I am strong again, but wiser hopefully and thanks to each one of you for your patience and your love for me. Thank you and happy holidays (whatever they mean for you). For me….well this has already been a most memorable holiday!

Remember When?

What a lovely and sweet film and what a joy to be reminded of all the toys and wonder and magic. There were many grown-up reminders too.

Tis the Season

Tis the season to be jolly, to share fun with people, to make a decision between buying a real tree or once more pull out the artificial tree with the pretty fibre-optic lights embedded in the branches, saving you time in decorating. And deciding between cooking a traditional Christmas dinner or remembering that it will likely be over 35 degrees C (100 degrees F) with bush fires raging rather than snow to shovel.

This year it promises to be a strange Christmas in the virtual world. Last year as I wandered through the pixelated virtual world I entered (over a year ago), I found it so much fun. It was filled with leaving secret gifts with friends and singing Christmas Carols with lots of strangers who became friends, passing out platters of warm cookies and milk and tea and coffee and going ice skating and skiing in the only place that had snow and ice last year.

But this year, snow and ice are all the rage in the virtual world. But what is different this year is that I am losing my home in the realm I have lived in for almost all the time I have been in the virtual world. What a sad Christmas present.

I have also resigned my responsibilities in my home realm. Worst of all, my friends there no longer even feel free or comfortable to speak with me. Heartbreakingly, some even believe lies that have followed me, unjustly for ages (that I have foolishly ignored thinking I would be cleared and vindicated of these suspicions). I love my home realm so much, and learned to work under many challenges there to help make it safer and more fun for residents and visitors alike. But it doesn’t matter now. I made enemies too and they have worked their hardest to hurt me, so I wish them a satisfied Christmas.

Where Did The FUN Go?

But for me, where are the people to trust or have fun with? I haven't written or recited a poem at a poetry reading for ages or sparred with my sword or pulled out my bow for anything more than an accessory. No teaching, no building...what is happening to my life in the virtual world?

So many of the people I care about have left the virtual world or been banned from one Sim (realm) or another! I am not sure what to do for Christmas in the virtual world (Christmas was so lovely there last year).

So I purpose(d) to throw a big Christmas party – oh no, forgive me, to be politically correct, I must call it a tree-lighting party. But it is likely few, if any, will show up anyway -- as just getting permission to have the party has been very controversial. So I am just wrestling with what to do.

For me personally and virtually, it has been a year of loss since August starting with the loss of my virtual, very frisky and creative husband/partner. Then my real life Dad, died and I couldn’t even go home to be with the family. Then my resignation from my responsibilities in my virtual home realm. Now, controversy over my role play husband in another virtual realm and many betrayals of my trust. For me, right now, there seems to be only a very few friends left I can trust.

Daddy, Iago & the Ruler

Actually, my Dad told me once that if you lived your life and had five real friendships you were a rich person. I was nineteen when he imparted this bit of “foolish” wisdom to me. I thought it was the silliest thing I had ever heard. I mean I was involved in lots of activities and a cheerleader too. What could he know of real life?

But over the years, I noticed, as we all do (if we are growing wiser), that for every year I grew older, my Dad grew wiser in my understanding. He was right…five good friends would be an immeasurable treasure in either the virtual world or the real world!

And Iago was also right. Iago, my most wonderful love in the virtual world, lost forever because of intrigue, politics and amazing lies. He told me to trust no one – NO ONE -- in the virtual world, because anyone can create an alternate identity. That person can be appealing and kind and seem to care about you. You can grow to trust them and pour your heart out to them and they only exist to betray you and grind you into the dust. How can you live in the virtual world knowing this?

And the ruler of my home realm was also right when he told me he thought I was burned out and needed to take a break and go find some fun and live more in the virtual realm as well as the real realm. (Thank you for that, m'Lord.)

Wake-up Call

This morning in real life, I slept in till 5:04 AM. The latest I have slept in since first entering my virtual home realm (where I averaged easily six hours a day seven days a week) for almost a year. I found it so strange to be awake and find the sun just peeping over the bay (I would rise extra early to get my hours in, usually before 3 AM when it is very dark out). I forgot how pretty the sunrise was.

I was very tired you see because yesterday I enjoyed going Christmas shopping with the two loves of my real life (the 13-year old and the 7-year old) and taking them to see the sweet and recommendable movie, “Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium”, with Dustin Hoffman.

It was lovely. I hope to write a blog segment around one of the lines in the movie: "Your life is an occasion, so rise to it!" What a great idea. Perhaps this is the introduction.

He Said, She Said, Part II - The Arms of the Angels

He said,

"There is a fine line between love and illusion
A fine place to penetrate
The gap between actor and act
The lens between wishes and fact.

She said,

"Yes, the line between love and illusion
is almost as fine as
the gossamer wings of a butterfly
or a faery...
easy to penetrate
but impossible to repair.

"Is our act authentic or merely pretend?
Where is the truth of the illusion?

"Do our wishes not sometimes
even colour the facts,
if they are strong enough
for us to look through?

"Perhaps!"

Why?

Sharing is so dangerous...Like a snail moving in the world, unaware of others and how they see them. Perhaps, we are all snails to someone at times....and some have boxes of salt. Do we stay inside our shells and hide, or keep trying to play the game, that is the question.

Meme - 8 Facts about THE Lady

The "one who cannot be named", tapped me. I thought it might be interesting to presume I am “the Lady”. So I also read up on Meme and this IS supposed to be some kind of art form . So, here as challenged, are eight facts about the Lady. (now you will have to wonder whether these facts are about THE Lady or her Alt (alter ego in this case).

WORDS

1. I belonged to a book club when I was four and wrote my first book when 14 (it was meticulously hand-printed on lined paper, bound between two pieces of silver, spray-painted thin boards of plywood and held together by my favourite turquiose blue kniting yarn (and now I am a dinky-di (authentic) international author (published by McGraw Hill). Last year on a trip home to my little (now six-foot tall) brother’s house, I found one of my favourite, childhood picture books, filled with amazing four-coloured plates of unique flora and fauna around the world. As I carefully opened the cover and began to turn the heavy pages, just the scent of the ink brought back memories of the many hours I spent devouring them. The images of animals and plants instantly reminded me of my child-like and naive determination to see every one of them.

• Here a fig tree with roots above the ground so large you can stand hidden with them (and I have).
• Here a temple on stilts in the water (where I walked).
• Sculpted formal gardens (where I sat smelling the sage, rosemary and thyme and made my own pen and ink drawings).
• A rubber tree scored with special marks to drip its white, viscuous liquid into a bucket (that I rubbed gently between my fingers).
• Oh yes, and the spider that trapped water around it’s abdomen and could last forever like that until an unsuspecting person or animal played with them to find, if bitten, they face eternity in under 45 minutes (they live not far from my garden now)

So many memories in the book and a life devoted to seeing each of these images for real. And I have you know. Travelled that is. The only one with a passport from a family that never travelled more than 71 (to where Grandma lived and university was) miles -- except for grave exceptions. And written and written and written.

Life Goals

2. I wanted to be a ballerina first, but at three was stricken by Scarlet Feaver and gave that up as I barely crawled unknowlingly from the brink of personal extinction. Next, I wanted to be a doctor, but was told by everyone I couldn’t be, because only men were doctors, so I decided I would be nothing and got married. Which as it turns out was almost the same thing. That ended (no kids) and my hope of true, deep, lasting, profound love ended too (Extra! Extra! Read all about it in a forthcoming blog segment here: “Mysteries of Attraction”). Alone, and having not worked in the real world, I took receptionists jobs hoping to be “discovered” and remarried to a kind, intelligent, man of faith who was thoughtful, very honest and had enough money to give me time to write, but that hasn’t happened either. (Although, in one year I must confess, I received proposals from seven very wonderful men, but declined them all – what a cheeky woman!) From receptionist, I was promoted to editorial assistant in a medical publishing company and was promoted again to be their promotions director (direct marketing when it was just mail) and realised that writing (even compelling commercial writing) was what I loved to do the most – it is almost as satisfying to me as that “s” word.

Motivators

3. I have five constant motivators in my life since I was about 16 and first wrote them down. They change priority as I slip through life but today are in this order:

A. To write.
B. To speak (public speaking and facilitation of workshops).
C. To travel (give me a ticket to some place new and I am there).
D. To share my joy (I have had so much I can dole it out by the buckets).
E. To make enough money (for my own needs and to have enough to share with those I love – I do not hoard money and intend to work until I drop dead at my keyboard.).


Strong & Solitary

4. I have never had anyone to actually lean on or depend upon. I took care of my family -- still help take care of my brother -- and have always been the strong, independent one, the glue, the peacemaker, the healer, the “bringer of Christmas”; and the one who is tireless in supporting those who are sad and lonely. Somehow giving keeps me from noticing that I still hope for someone to help me.


Blended Family

5. I live in a very large home with eight bedrooms and a lovely back yard – now with grass so lush from all the rains and the heat of the promised summer and I love pottering around pulling weeds and trying to make grapevines obey me. I have a wonderful family that lives with me. The Mom is my very bestest friend ever. And I have a few good friends, but none like Carla, who demonstrates unconditional love to me in the most humbling and constant manner I am ashamed to even write about it here. She has a supportive husband (Paul) and they have two boys. David “discovered” me and introduced me to the family and for that I will always be grateful. He was seven at the time and is now 13 (with a newly discovered moustache). Finally, Matthew who was 13 months old and is now a grown-up seven. He loves me with an innocence I had not expected but truly am amazed by (hope it lasts just a little longer). As a special kind of family we share everything -- plus the boys fix things, climb up on ladders and kill spiders for me anytime I need that done too.

Slick

6. I met my life mentor when I was about 30 years old and thought I knew it all. He calls me Slick – and only one other person in the world does. But Fred has helped me keep many things in perspective over the years and has believed in me when no one else has. I only wish he didn’t still live in California and I was so far away. You can read more about him in another forthcoming article on this blog called, of all things, “Slick.”

Geneology

7. In my geneology I am actually descended from people from Switzerland, who somehow travelled through England (my great grandmother served the Queen as an actual lady-in-waiting), some settled in the USA, and somehow through a series of adventures has me clearly in the family line of Wild Bill Cody! So you take your pick am I more like Buffalo Bill or a Lady in waiting…/me smiles.

Private

8. I rarely share personal things with anyone, well not really important things about myself because I feel like a little snail who has extended herself out of her shell once too often to be greeted by a salt shaker. (you would have to have snails in your garden to appreciate the metaphor).

This was difficult! (And BTW (by the way): this is just a new form of chain letter, you understand, but no money is involved, unless you want to send some to fund my writing, of course). I tend to obfuscate my actual identity in fluff (and probably still did more than I realise. But I have enough critics (the good kind) who will tell me if I did). So now it is over to eight others to take the challenge of the MEME (feel free to email me your reply, if you don’t have a blog site yet).

1. Valla
2. Rill
3. Juniper
4. Gorthaur
5. Rijani
6. Shane
7. Jip

8. Iago

Hold On

Fasten your seat belt and put on your crash helmet. Someone sent me a very provocative email about a Fortune 500 Leadership conference they just attended and I answer it (personally) but wanted to share some of what I said with you as this person hit some very important hot buttons.

Leadership

I have written extensively on the topic of leadership for my industry, yet the principles I write about are not industry specific nor are they new, but obvious and practical -- by any other words: common sense.

In several of the workshops I facilitate, we consider a quote from Dostoevsky's, Brothers Karamazov, that roughly says: "All human beings are drawn to and can be manipulated by three great desires: a miracle, a mystery and for authority."

For all the fads of bottom up, upside down, circular whirling, team, etc., management -- people do still want structure (not necessarily a dictator, although if you read "The Six Styles of Leadership" in my weekly industry column, you will find that even dictatorial leadership is indeed needed sometimes).

Spock or Freud Started It – You Pick!

Remember Dr. Benjamin Spock (a follower of Freud, for a while it would seem)? He became controversial, then popular when he proposed the theory that children should not be disciplined (because it repressed creatively for their lifetimes). And of course who of us likes to be disciplined? Everyone can relate to this idea.

Yet children, teens, young adults and adults (and household pets) all long for some "reference points" in all their lives. Chaos and anarchy appeal to few and are feared by most all; yet out of each of these states (chaos and anarchy), structure begins to form spontaneously reardless of the "amount" of freedom anyway! Someone always struggles to the front of the line and decks (knocks out) the guy in their way.

Since Spock first proposed these ideas (later withdrawing the theory himself), these same concepts have invaded our schools, our business institutions and our government. Where responsibility is shifted or completely ameliorated into what is known as the "soft" approach to dealing with people. This "soft" approach should, according to the experts, result in good behaviour rather than undesired behaviour (Yet the principles of progress demonstrate that things do not build to better but deteriorate over time where there is no structure and appropriate leadership).

Example

If someone wants me to travel to London or Chicago or Atlanta or Amsterdam to speak to a group of their colleagues about leadership, I ask for parameters and clarification of the engagement, including:

· Who is making the booking? Are they actually able to assemble the level of executives and leaders the message is appropriate for; and are they able to pay the fee?
· Where will the event take place -- on some one's back veranda or in the City Civic Centre and what is the exact address?
· Where will I stay -- in a nice hotel or in the Travel Lodge? Do I have a per diem?
· What topics should be covered in particular? What are the hot spots for the attendees?
. What should not be mentioned? (There are always pitfalls that must be avoided.)
· What day and time is the speech or workshop scheduled for? How long do I have to deliver the message and how early will someone be there for me to rehearse?

All these questions give structure and a way to make the decision to come or not --the word is guidelines. But the guidelines do not dictate how to fulfil the desire. No one else will write or deliver my speech for me. The leader however demonstrates leadership by giving me clear parameters of how to satisfy the requirement. And to do this without threat.

The group of Fortune 500 leaders in the aforementioned workshop came up with a perfect definition of leadership. It is: "to have your employees do what you want them to do, even if you are not there."

Ted Turner's Quote

Ted Turner (who I almost went to work for years ago at one of those key junctures of my life) once said, "If you want to know if you are a leader, turn around and see if others are following you!"

In the many teams I have led, I can proudly say people would follow me out the window of a ten-story building – but I would demonstrate the technique first; they would follow BECAUSE they trust me and believe in my vision (and know I must have a reason for such idiotic behaviour!).

It does not mean I am always right. There is wisdom in many counsellors (you must select counsellors with the utmost care of course), but at the end of the day, a leader is the one that is responsible. So why the struggle today surrounding leadership (and the accompany vision painting)? Could it be Spock-related? Perhaps. I think so.

Heart Disease

It is the intention of the heart that counts in leaders and followers. What I find in businesses today is that employees have become THE identified enemy (and in a similar fashion in educational institutions, government and families).

Employees, for instance, do take up to 60% or more of our operating budget, so let's kill them all and get machines to do the work. The customer be damned! Who needs customers anyway when we have everything automated nowadays?

Wait did I just say that?

Yes I did.

Is America Lost?

Funnily enough I was born in America, the land of the free and the home of the brave. THE leading country in our world today. Yet, (in my opinion) internal deterioration and fraying of the edges of OUR vision is beginning to show around the world at a time when LEADERSHIP is needed (And I am not a politician nor do I believe in what I am seeing with the blatant commercialisation of politics in America).

When I come home for a visit, having lived overseas for about 18 years, I am saddened to experience what (my friends tell me) is wrong with America, first hand. Where did the "heart" of America go?!!! And how long can/will/should the United States of America maintain its world leadership position at this rate? Who will take the responsibility to make it all better or all go away?

Well the sad news is that it is up to you and me and to those who notice what is going wrong to begin to take stock and take action to make it all better because it will NOT go away! (Wow. I think I should be a speechwriter for some politician.)

The person who wrote me talked about weakness coming through “homogony” and this is a great word (similarity of origin or common descent) as to what is happening. When what we really need is to bring what is DIFFERENT (not the same, not to aim for conformity) together around ONE vision in a way that actually works (shades of The Day the Earth Stood Still).

Blame the Church

Funny, my friend brought up the church (small "c") as part of the problem and he is right (IMHO). The rigidity found in most churches today is brought about to repress questions and creativity and (most of all) personal responsibility (When I was three, Mommy didn't give me a chocolate bar when I wanted it, so I have a perfect excuse for misbehaving today. (Do they teach Freud in the church?)).

FYI: The Bible does NOT support this! The sad fact is that in my experience I have met few people who have actually READ the entire Bible (unless they were forced to (and therefore resisted it as drudgery) and many grew to hate the church and all it represented because of this forced march).

There are even fewer who (if they use the Bible as their template for behaviour) seek to use the principles for their own edification rather than trying to make others conform to their personal interpretation of what is actually there. (Matthew 7:1-5, if you don't have access to a Bible, this is about first take the log out of your own eye before you talk with another about the speck in theirs) and for other purposes than the stated one in Scripture (Matthew 28:18-20 and Acts 1:8 – to share the Good News). And no, I am not a pastor or "religious", but a student of what the Bible says).

Dying for What is Right

Recently, I quoted Patrick Henry, "Give me liberty or give me death," in a discussion about being discriminated against in a new realm, and I still mean it (RL - real life and VL - virtual life or any life!). I am, after all, recognised as the troublesome “drama queen” there (responsible for -- of all things -- passion and role play - a powerful, drama- and incendiary-rich combination, isn’t it?)

Think of me (and I say this with humility and respect for what these two characters stood for) as sort of a Joan of Arc or Braveheart. Foolishly, it seems to most, I must fight for what I see is right for the freedom of those around me who are hurting.

My morning writer said, “rigidity crushes creativity. In dying realms there is safety in knowing that homogeny (conformity to one way of thinking or acting) exists. The result of homogeny is sameness and loss of individuality. Ultimately, Inquisitions and Witch burnings occur from such rigidity."

I have (and perhaps continue to) personally experienced the inquisition (and have many scars and burns to prove it). I have certainly been pilloried and keel hauled a few times so far; even burned at the stake twice (by being banned from a beloved land). Yet, I still stand and hold up the banner of sensitivity and common sense for as long as I have breath. Someone must -- and I have enough ego to think what I do counts for something (anything)!

How’s that for DRAAAAAMA?

If you are my friend, just help hold me or at least hold my hand as I go up the scaffold – please. And do not think I am mad or foolish. I would hope instead to be as wise as a dove and as clever as a fox or for that matter, as clever as Br'er Rabbit in Uncle Remus tales of “Br’er Rabbit”.

Hope Lost

I had flown and waited in various airports for over 18 hours. My friend Allen picked me up when I arrived. We hardly spoke. I could barely speak anyway, having cried most of the trip in the dry, plane air. His hug didn’t registered as he threw my one suitcase into the trunk of the car and sat me in the seat next to him. He held my hand the entire way there.

Nearly an hour of driving and we were there. We entered the building, cool and quiet and smelling of pending death. Allen held me tightly to keep me from falling as we walked to the ICU (intensive care unit). Clearing my identity with the officials in white he gently led to the door of her room.

It was so quiet and seemed foggy. Allen let go of me and said he would wait for me outside. I stepped tentatively across the threshold into the sound of competitive machines pumping and beeping and chiming in some sub-syncopation. I took a deep breath and looked at the large bed standing so lonely in the middle of the large room.

I couldn’t look at the person laying there, knowing the moment I did, I would have to deal with the reality that I had only imagined during the almost 30 hours since my journey began to reach here.

So with my eyes averted, I walked to the far side of the room and pretended to look out the window, knowing she did not know I was here. She was in a deep, drug-induced coma.

I turned back and took my first look.

I can still feel the grip on my heart -- even today. She was so still. I moved closer to her, right up to leaning on the bed rail so I wouldn’t fall over from grief. Every place a needle or tube or monitor pad could be placed it was. There were bruises all over her arms and neck. There was a tube in her nose pumping sustaining substances into her; and a big tube taped carelessly to her face and in her mouth to breathe for her. Worst of all, her eyes were covered with pads and tape as if she was already leaving this world.

I knew people in comas could hear you, sense you and could react to you and I gripped my heart so hard to hold onto the tidal wave of emotions of pending loss so I would not betray my fear of no hope to her.

I reached my hand out to the only island of skin I could find that wasn’t pierced by some needle or covered with a bruise and rested my hand there and crooned to her of my love and that everything would be alright now, because I would make sure it was and that she was not alone. I would not leave her until I took her back to her little unit.

No response. Not even a twitch. I watched. No finger moved. The monitors remained stable. Nothing. She hadn’t heard me. I moved my face closer to hers and spoke again. But she did not seem to have a way to acknowledge me. I was too late…

To be continued….

Reality of the Real

Sometimes when we spend so much time in a virtual world, we can forget to keep a balance with real life. Think of the minutes, hours, days you have missed with family, loved ones and friends. Time is of course linear and it seems finite. So we can’t go back and redeem the time the locusts have eaten away, but we can look around us today -- right now in fact and before it is too late.

Yet, in the virtual world we can and do make real, deep and lasting friends with real people, just as we might if we were depending on letters written by hand on paper sent to us from afar by someone we have never hugged. And it is the hearts of people that we must always keep in mind.

A friend sent me a very wonderful email this morning and I need to share just a few of her precious words with you. This precious friend lives over 10K miles away and is as dear to me as someone who lives next door, yet we have only met in the virtual world. We are both concerned with the trouble in our virtual world lately and here is how she sees things…

“I think the virtual world is the most unstable place I have ever encountered. People throw themselves at you (as if in love) for almost no reason and leave you just as quickly the same way.

“And the pain is far worse than RL (real life) because, when something goes wrong, you lose everything... your whole life on your sim (simulated land or realm you live in). In RL we can at least retreat and lie low in the safety of our homes and maintain the rest of our life when things go wrong.

“In the virtual world you are left with “virtually” nothing. But then, in RL, I don't think people would behave as badly as they do in the virtual world either. Somehow, being without the other aspects of our being... our body language, our facial expressions, our tones of voice... suddenly we are subhuman and not real beings at all.

“Everyday we need to remember that we are real, we feel and we can be hurt. Not many in the virtual world remember that I think. To some, it is no more than a game.”

We Never Know, Do We?

Our lives touch others for the decisions we make and that is all we can hope for. That somewhere along the way our choices support or inspire others to keep trying.

Double Blessings

A little rest, a little folding of the hands is how William Shakespeare put it. Where do we go when the world piles up on us real life and/or virtual life?

The first time I started my own business I moved my desk right up beside my bed. That way, in the middle of the night if I remembered something I had to do, I could just lean over and work on it from my bed.

I was working way too many hours, So, one day I walked to my favourite bookstore, the Oxford Book Shop in Peachtree Battle Shopping Centre. It was the largest bookstore in the South East USA at the time (long before Borders decided to destroy all small bookstores with their mega-monopolies), boasting over one hundred thousand titles. And we computerised those titles from microfiche when I was there (what a task that was).

Nevertheless, I knew the store inside and out because as much as I enjoyed my work, I love books more. I also knew all the staff, so as I checked out the night manager was there and I asked him of the possibility of some part-time work. He gave me an application and I went home and filled it out for night work.

And viola, I had a part-time job of six hours on Saturdays and four hours three nights a week. This, I knew would be a vacation for me. To be surrounded by books (a generous lending plan and a 35% discount on purchases!) and there was even a wonderful coffee shop upstairs with the science and technical section.

Tilted Picture

What’s wrong with this picture? Well just that for all of it I hoped it would be more like a holiday, it didn’t take me long to be nominated as night and weekend manager. That meant my hours extended and I stayed late and closed the store and was in early every weekend to ensure the store was ready for shoppers.

I lived closest to the shop, so I was constantly being called out for any and every situation around, including a massive fire we had one very early morning that ended up being my challenge to manage. What fun that was!

Pattern Observed

Why am I telling you this, because it happens to me all the time. I even entered the virtual world thinking I would have a “holiday” and in less than two months I was on my way to more and more responsibility.

Someone in the virtual world recently told me I should relax and just go with the flow of the rushing river instead of fighting so hard to fix things and help others. It reminded me of something I’ve always believed from a poem from e e cummings:

“to be nobody-but-yourself -- in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else -- means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”

My Way Alone

Everyone else seems to be going in the other direction around me as I stop to help others along their path. I choose to walk the other way, to try not to bump into people along the way, to miss the mass marketing opportunities, the mob mentality, to walk alone if need be, etc. And every occasionally someone stops and turns around and begins to walk with me. Sometimes they walk with me for a long time, sometimes just until they bump into the first person who tells them they are walking in the wrong direction.

Personal Inventory

But it got me to questioning: What is wrong with me? I am competent, I am gentle and respectfully opinionated and I am right more times than I am wrong (you only need to be right 51% of the time to stay on top you know). I am moral, optimistic, have a strong personal code of ethics. I'm a creative and highly intuitive person who is humbled by the wonder of her life. Most of all, I care deeply for others, and usually at my own sacrifice. I have, and continue to live both lives this way.

And when I die, I know that like Frank Sinatra, I will have done it my way and even though that has isolated me from many people (except on superficial levels) for my own survival and protection, some will have been faithful friends and some have even loved me (and many I do not know love me still).

I like walking this way. And I know there are many who do turn and walk with me sometimes and that encourages me too. You see I live a blessed double-life.

A Secret

When you were a child did you ever create a secret language or a secret code that only you and your special friend shared? Well I did.

It allowed you to say something forbidden right in front of Mom and Dad. For instance, that you didn’t like your lima beans, you were going to play sick tomorrow or that you were not going to clean your room. And even though you always cleaned your room and eventually ate those sandy lima beans and went to school unless you were really sick -- you always felt powerful if only for a moment.

Fire Walk

I remember when Anthony Robbins was a nobody! I found his book Unlimited Power in one of those airport bookstores on a bottom shelf as I reached over to pick up a gum wrapper I had dropped.

It had a reference to "Peak Personal Achievement" (which I thought was a book by the author of Peak Performance, that I really enjoyed). I opened it and looked through the contents, noted the chapter names and then one quote at the beginning on a page all by itself entitled, Success, by Ralph Waldo Emerson, as follows:

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to fine the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.”

I bought the book

I want to be successful just like you do or are (or were perhaps, or thought you were). After I finished I conceived a my “fire walk”. A fire walk is doing something you are scared to death of doing or that you know is way too hard for you to do.

Where the term comes from is you can go do Anthony Robbins four or five day course and at the end to graduate you must do a dinky-di ("authentic" in Australian) fire walk across hot coals. But as Tony (I of course call him Tony, now that I did my fire walk) explains, it is not walking the hot coals that is the point, but achieving your own personal victory over your own reluctance.

Fear of Small Craft

Well no one ever knew this and I will deny it if you say it is true, even today, but once I had to take a flight in a small 20-seater plane in Texas, and I could barely stay on board it caused me such angst, because the plane was just too small! So for me, as I was on my way for my second holiday in Australia I pre-booked (and paid for) a flight over the Tanami Desert Wildlife Sanctuary and nearby uranium mines in a “light plane”.

Several days into the tour and we are in Alice Springs (A Town Like Alice is the movie that explains most of this town quite well, if you’re a movie buff). And we’ve toured a bit already to get to the little out-back airport.

We file in to the corrigated steel building. I move reluctantly (having last minute second thoughts) and therefore am the last one out of the air conditioned tour bus. We are marched quickly passed a tiny, insignificant plane just for torture sake alone and I note with some trepidation that this thing could not fly as it is a toy and is likely just the model.

Nemesis in Kaki

Everyone is told to pair off and those who brought or hired friends, stand in a Noah’s-like queue (we don’t stand in lines in Australia only queues). I am alone milling about thinking my solitary status will grant me a reprieve when through the doors bursts a very enthusiastic woman of major proportions announcing she can hardly wait to get on the plane because she LUUUVES flying in the smaller-the-plane-the-better planes.

I look around for some good excuse (hoping to find a crutch or a fainting spell nearby) when she makes a bee line for me and gives me a great and hearty pat on the back.

“Hi, you don’t look so good. Are you afraid of flying in this little plane? It is a piece of cake.”

I about puke on her foot (perhaps a puking green excuse will get me out of it) but I didn’t have lunch yet, unfortunately, so only bile reminds me that I better just not worry about such a detail as puking.

She, who loves to fly in small planes, thinks we are at the front of the queue, but we are at the end. Two by two all those on the bus go off and come back white knuckled and white faced with just a little sweat still on their upper lip.

My stomach is churning and I am trying to act brave (whistle a little tune if you are afraid) and wishing this woman would just rush off to catch a mali fowl when the last in line are next. We march to the plane – I hoping not having a will will still mean they cart my body home to my parents.

A 16-Year Old Wonder

A teenager is sent to shepherd us to the plane, and climbs in as well to, I imagine dust the seats or something. He grabs a hat on the dash board of the plane and puts it on his head to announce, with some pride, that he (HE) will be our captain for this flight. This is too much.

Then, you have to literally climb in, ducking down and crawling to a seat. Once inside there is only the pilot’s seat (filled with said teen, complete with acne), your seat and a little seat in the back. She-who-has-no-fear grabs the seat in the back so she can, she tells me, lean out (I am not kidding) the back window once we are flying.

I turn to focus on the “technology” of this miniature anti-natural wonder and note with some concern that one of the dials has a great big crack right across the face (thinking I remembers something about vacuums in these dials being necessary, and thinking this plane will be down for maintenance now.

Take Off Straight Up

But I am wrong. The flight attendant/pilot says, “Buckle up and hold on,” and fires up the loud engines so they cannot hear you scream and proceeds with no more ado to make a short run down the bitumen (we do not have asphalt in Australia) runway and take off almost straight up.

The wind is high and the wings bounce as if they might break loose and I am trying not to keep my eyes closed so I can focus on the dial readings, just in case he fails to see one falling or something.

I sneak a peek out the window and find myself transfixed by what I see. Such surprising beauty!

I grab my camera and begin to snap shots and would have stood up and leaned out the window if I could have. Lucky I have my very powerful telephoto lens with me.

The entire flight I can hear nothing but the screaming of the wind and the engines as I just keep taking photos and hoping the flight will not end soon. The animals, the patterns on the earth – simply unexpectantly awesome.

Shot after shot. We are buffeted about mercilessly and my only discomfort is my annoyance that some of my shots will not be in focus! The landing is outlandish as a cross wind drifts the tiny little craft to the side and we stop as abruptly as we took off and before I realise how wonderful and how little fear I actually had.

And In the Back?

I look around to the back seat and what do I find….Miss I-love-flying-in-small-crafts, has not only puked in her little puky-bag and now holds it in her lap with paralised hands, she is also as green as a Brisi green tree frog and she can barely speak with her eyes fixed so wide open I wonder if she might have Addison’s disease.

Firewalk Over!

I am, however, victorious and do not have time to gloat. I bounce off the plane to assure the others on the tour that not only did I survive, but I thrived (the mantra you are to say when you do good in positive thinking circles).

That was my firewalk – doing something way too scary for me and way too hard for me. And I lived and I loved it. Sometimes the hardest and scariest things you have to do bring you the greatest joy. It is just climbing into your fear and feeling it and then finding out where the beauty and joy is within the fear.

I need to remember that lesson. Because sometimes fears become so big to me they can’t even be real. As they say, realisation is greater than expectation and for all of us that is true. Good luck out there and just do it!

He Said, She Said. The Truth.

I hate arguing and hate the thought of trying to defend myself and those who actually know me understand this. I grew up in an abusive family and am well trained to never argue or talk back; to only listen and apologise – to promise never to do that again….whatever “that” is. So for me writing is the way I can express my concerns.

I’m not sure this makes sense in a virtual world where you can be suspect just because of the way you “assemble” the looks of your AV or the way you can spell or cast a phrase or the speed at which you cast that phrase.

In my virtual world I have many good friends and after my dad passed away (RL real life) and the departnering with the “cursed one” epic (VW virtual world) of my life, I began to isolate myself. And one of my dear friends, in fact my first real friend in a new land, came to me and asked me to be gentle on myself now and not to enter into any serious-looking relationships, but to take time to heal and to recover and to have some fun.

So I enjoyed the grand Faire and I enjoyed spending time with old friends and new people. I helped with old and new tasks, I built a memorial garden and went about the work I was given with focus and peace. It was pretty neat actually for someone who had been averaging way too many hours on the virtual world. I even began to get some rest and to have dreams.

Mistaken Identity

Then I met someone from my past (who I thought was the “long lost true love of my virtual life” -- If you're in world check my Picks.). I was so excited I forgot my friend’s warning about no new relationships for awhile. And now I am living with a new whirlwind sweeping around me, threatening to drown me and causing me grief and pain.

Yet this new person-of-mistaken-identity (who I did confess my mistaking of his identity to the moment I realised it, as well as sharing this realisation immediately with our leader, in the event he would take action of his own consideration) was being very kind and seemed so sincere and so supportive. And it was wonderful to relax and enjoy time together with someone who seemed to want to take care of things with me for awhile.

It soon became apparent, however, that he wanted every moment of my virtual time in world. If he didn’t get it he insisted on knowing who I was with and what I was doing. Even if I was in a “family role play” he would pull me away wanting to have me to himself alone.

Once as I was leasing a property to someone, he even tracked me down and came to confront, and then threaten the person, which to me seemed like an unreasonable action and certainly one I had not asked him to take. He refused to listen and I had to take action to protect the other person. To others the man-of-mistaken-identity now accuses that by this action it proves I was harbouring and protecting the “cursed one” from him by banning him from this place.

Peaceful Withdrawal

Like a gentle coitus interruptus, this man-of-mistaken-identity offered many times to “leave me in peace at just my word”. He would, he promised, “disappear without a trace never to bother me again”, the same awful and confusing threat the “cursed one” made to control me too.

Strange how many times the man-of-mistaken-identity made that promise and yet now it seems others are aware of his perspective that I wronged him. It hurts because I have, as I habitually do, tried not to hurt him and to handle this privately, at my own expense.

He now accuses me of abuse and cohorting with the identified enemy – the “cursed one” What has this man-of-mistaken-identity been seeking all this time? He accuses me of unfaithfulness (which is not true, but not relevant because we were only role play husband and wife in one realm - not in the VW or RW)!

Why should it matter so to anyone what is happening in the private lives of two virtual entities? Is this still what I inherit from the past epic with the “cursed one”?

Carrying Our Words

A great deal of cutting and pasting of words out of context seems to be going on (see earlier Blog segment on “Carrying Our Words”), as he sent our private words to those he argues his case with. Others send me his words to accuse me or vindicate me, as they see fit.

It is too hard to read them for fear they will not be accurate (having lost my great love over “doctored” I.M.s (internal private and confidential messages in the virtual world)) and they were part of our private conversations. It is like wire-tapping and then playing someone's phone conversations!

To my regret, I did send one conversation to only one person, asking for complete confidentiality, as I asked him to help me know how to better deal rightly with the man-of-mistaken-identity. And this has been used against me, even though no one should ever have known about it except this one person and myself!

Every Word Kept

I can, having had training in this way, pull every word uttered to me in private and open conversation from this man-of-mistaken-identity -- and did last night pull up all the (private) conversations in the thought that I would try to vindicate myself with the same weapon that seems to be being used against me.

There were 532 pages of private conversations since 22 October, when the man-of-mistaken-identity first entered my new realm life! And 36 pages of SKYPE chat! And that is after deleting the “more private” conversations.

But how could I choose a representative conversation or two to demonstrate what it felt like to me to feel possessed and stalked by someone who believed they loved me and couldn’t be in world without being right beside me at all times? Every conversation, might contain words, but the increasing intensity could not be felt. The conversations would all, therefore, be out of context.

600 Pages of Evidence?

Tell me who would read almost 600 pages to feel the discomfort and eventual fear for his safety and for my own? No one! This is a game not a trial!

And then the questions from the inquisitors,

“How did he abuse you?”

Answer, “He never abused me, he overwhelmed me and suffocated me.”

“Who is this person? Is he an alt of the ‘cursed one’?”

Answer to this frequently-asked-of-me question: “No.”

“Why do you comment on the ‘cursed one’s’ blog site?”

Answer: “I comment on many blog sites and did not realise my out of world, occasional comments would be of relevance.”

Over and over questions from this person and that person. Is it any wonder I don’t want to go in world?

In my other realm something like this would NEVER happen publicly but would be handled discretely behinnd the scenes -- even if not always the way anyone would like. Yet, no one but the specific parties would be involved. It would not be subjected to a public pillorying by people who neither have all the facts or seem to consider there are many facets to any situation. (Although I must commend at least three people for trying to search out facts rather than base their conclusions on opinions.)

More Pain & Loss

The fact remains, the man-of-mistaken-identity was lovely when he wasn’t pushing and stalking and insisting on possessing me -- especially when I was still in such a fragile state.

He has a right to his view of this situation as unfair and/or wrong. I know I began to grow desperate and more strong with my communications with him as time went by. He offered to step away in peace, yet, as many of his statements, they do not seem to be fulfilled in actions.

I found reading through so many of our earlier conversations heart-breaking. I did care for him a great deal. But needed time, as my dear friend told me all along. Yet had this man-of-mistaken-identity not taken such increasingly strong action with me and then such drastic and conclusive action secretly, he is certainly someone I could have grown content with.

Yet all my begging for his indulgence of my hesitation fell on dead ears, if ever so enthusiastic and eager ears. Ears so determined to convince me "right now" was the only "when". Those I turned to for wisdom and support and advice also tried to help, and for that I am grateful that they cared enough to try.

Bottom line: I am weary of the unnecessary drama caused by this. There is always my side, his side and the truth. No one but God can know the pure truth. I was fearful of his love and devotion. He was convinced I was "the one" and could not wait. The truth is it does take two to tango and two to tangle. But now, I just want to get on with my virtual life….!

What's Good For Me?

Searching and hoping and looking and needing and never knowing. Who knows where the answer is?

French Kissing

You know what I’m finding? If I get a little more sleep, I can remember my dreams! And last night I had a dream for the first time since I last reported one to you. And this one was, as so often happens, strange and curious and filled with lessons.

I was with a man who could only speak French (I always love that accent) and we were walking along together and he put his arm around me and I was fine with that and we went see a movie and he reached over and gently pulled me toward him in the dark to kiss me.

He put his tongue in my mouth (remember when before you experienced good French kissing and it sounded so very yukkie?) and his tongue was narrow rather than wide and he kissed me and kissed me and it was wonderful, until I kissed him back. That was a mistake, because two things happened…one his cultural upbringing and education went into over drive (as did his hormones) and the clarity of his communications began to blur for me as I realised and feared the “translation” to my kissing him back. (Needless to say I woke up abruptly!)

And I thought what a perfect example that is for the dialogue we engage in with others in the real world and the virtual world.

9 Reasons Communications Succeed

I spoke of the seven reasons communications fail in an earlier blog article and now wonder why they succeed. Hummm

1. Clear understanding of definitions
2. Appreciation for cultural differences
3. Interest in the topic
4. Appropriating necessary time
5. Organising communication
6. Word choice
7. Listening
8. Emotional content
9. Listening

Definitions

Clear understanding of definitions seems rather basic, but yesterday (for example) in my virtual world I was late to a discussion group and when I arrived there was no clue as to what the topic was, so I listened. Finally I asked and was told it was “the meaning of life”. I listened more and just couldn’t engage until I took a moment to look up the word “meaning” in the dictionary, because that seemed to be where the discussion was stalled. Once the meaning of the word was clear, the discussion could actually go further in that direction.

Culture

When you think about it, the little story about the French kisser brings clarity to the understand and appreciation of cultural difference. If you ever go to Japan, for instance, and you are an American, you will easily realise there is a spacial difference to communication (in America the distance between two people speaking averages around a meter or three feet, that distance closes between Japanese to about one foot because of their cultural difference). This can be offputting because an American may see this closeness as threatening or may simply prepare for a French kiss.

Interest

Interest in the topic is rather clear as well. If you want to talk about the Democratic Party activities of an upcoming election with me you will find I have other interests as I would if you wanted to speak of Euclidean mathematical theories or for that matter maths in general.

Time

Both in my real life and my virtual life I am too guilty of not stopping long enough to actually have an indepth conversation. You must stop and make time to listen and comment and listen and discuss and listen, etc., otherwise you never hear the end fo the story (Lady Sheridanne writes this down on an index card and pastes it up on her desk to remind herself).

Organisation

Someone recently said they enjoyed reading my blog because I organised my writing and thinking in a logical way that flowed. Well that is what we need to do when we talk with people. How many times have you been in a conversation with someone, get all excited about something (like going to a romantic sky box for a little French kissing) only to find out they left out the most important fact early in their conversation, (that you are not the object of their affection – someone else is)? Well perhaps you can think of a better explanation, I am still thinking about that kiss frankly.

Words

The thirteen-year old in my life who hopes to be an author and writer like me, takes great pains to scour the dictionary to find the most fancy-dancy, obscure, difficult to pronounce and spell words for really simple stuff. If communication is what you hope to achieve, then communicate. If you want to impress someone with your erudition, then erudite alone….

Listening

Two ears and one mouth – the mathematical ratio is pretty trustworthy. We learn heaps about talking and writing, but almost nothing about listening. One of the courses I have written and facilitate is on customer service. Nothing is more important to customers feeling good about you than when they think you are listening -- so I have a vareity of exercises and information in the course about listening. Most are amazed at how poor they are at listening. This is related to time and word choice….well actually to all of the above and the two below.

Emotion

Thirty-seven percent of our message person-to-person comes through the tone of our voice, our pitch and inflection….so how we say things helps us communicate better or worse. And nothing is worse than trying to talk when you are emotional (unless it is shouting for joy when Ohio State wins their game or you are having a lovely French kiss (in which case words probably won’t be appropriate anyway). But you know what I mean. When you are angry people can hear it even if you have that quiet, icy calm in your anger or you tend to let it all out.

Listening

Finally, the key to the best communication: LISTENING. Oh did I say that one already? Well you know the formula: two ears and one mouth.

Virtual Communication

Strangely enough all nine apply within the virtual world, in fact some apply more strongly, so be wise about this.

I have been shouted at, romanced, threatened, courted, dismissed, thanked, ordered about in the virtual world. I have been insulted, lied about and French kissed in the virtual world. Interesting all feel about the same as when it happens in the real world (except French kissing, of course). So be careful, it’s a jungle out there!!

To the Lady Este...

They say it is always darkest before the dawn in the world. Perhaps this is true, but we can count on the dawn. And what we learn in the dark, during our struggles does make us stronger, if we do not give up. You inspire me. And look at the result of your patience. Thank you !

No Power - No Virtual World, Yet...

Yesterday, I was running through Avilion in my virtual world and merrily meeting people when I sensed something was different. I looked around at everyone I could see (perhaps someone was griefing the SIM (meaning they were trying to do something technically that would stop the GRID (remember the Matrix)). The light was dim, so I (who have power over a few interesting things) changed the world light from midnight to noon. Humm, very little difference.

You can get so intent in the virtual world that you just miss things. I realised it was also strangely quiet all of a sudden, or my perception was that it was very quiet. I sat up straighter thinking perhaps I was going to faint as it was that kind of snow-sucked silence that also happens right before you pass out. No difference. Just the absence of sound.

I turned to keep walking but seemed frozen in my steps so I decided to ask someone standing near me in the virtual world, if they could see and hear what I was seeing and hearing. I typed words (the preferred means of speaking to another) and nothing happened.

I looked at my little map and noticed that, yes, that must be it, it had gone red, a sure sigh that I or the SIM had crashed. The frequency of this happening goes up proportionally to the recency of an upgrade and today of all days I have finally given up and downloaded and launched the latest wonder-version. So I was not surprised.

I closed the virtual world and then noticed that something was still wrong, my Internet connection was closed. Even more of a concern, the power to my high-powered laptop was also off. I checked the battery life and had about 2 hours left!

Out of World

I went to my email system and tried to send some emails but the modem didn't work and the wireless link was also off. So I turned off the laptop and unplugged the power cord and the broadband connection. The absence of sound was everywhere. Wow the power must be off throughout the house, not just a circuit. Yes, checked the light -- nothing.

Some friends were over and they also noticed it but were leaving anyway, to come back a bit later for dinner, and left me to sort it out.

I went to the circuit breaker box and it was covered with spider webs, which did not set well with me and I peered in through the plastic cover and couldn’t see anything that looked wrong (I don’t remember ever looking at it before actually, so probably wouldn’t have known something WAS wrong).

Busy --Non Technical --Work

So knowing the power always works, thought I would just use the time to sort through a huge pile of mail and it would be up again. Through the mail and nothing. Reorganised some stuff on my desk, replaced all the books I had out for a couple of articles I was writing, worked on my clip file and then found my powerful wireless mini-laptop and powered it up. It had four hours of power so I was set, however the signal strength to the local source was very low and I realised I couldn’t actually work easily on it as the key board is meant for midgets and for petite women like my best friend, Carla, who has doll hands.

So I closed it down. I read some articles until it was too dim to read much and moved to another room where there was more light, but that too was futile.

My friends returned and were surprised that almost two hours had passed and still no power. We called the power company because it was apparent by now that every house around was also without power. The recording (for no human beings work at the power company nowadays (no human beings work in most places nowadays)) the recording was too funny to bear: “We know about the outages, but have not yet discovered the source, however all power should be restored by 9:30PM. We roared on the floor laughing at that!

Fun In the Dark

The boys thought it was great fun as they could not remember a time where there was no power. So we began to look for candles and torches (flash lights to the Yanks) and Carla told us all how when she was a little girl they didn’t have electricity where she lived and she studied by a kerosene lantern. We all tried to imagine that: opening books, using paper and pencil. Now too like a fairy tale for the boys to conceive of.

There was a sense of agitation from the youngest (7 years old) who has never liked the dark and he could not stop checking that his torch still worked even though we kept reminding him that batteries run out and he wouldn’t have it if he needed. He never got that message.

We cooked dinner on the gas (thankfully) stove by torchlight and then lit candles for the table. We talked about what we would do for the rest of the night and it looked grim because we are people who love to read and there was no light. The boys have just gotten a new bit of technology called a “WII”, and after only one and a half days of trying it out, they are now lost without it.

Me? I worried about the spiders who would certainly be out in force now knowing no one could see them slink around and pounce.

So we ate our meal and did something we rarely have time for, we talked with each other about our plans and hopes and dreams for the coming week. It was really neat.

As our meal was ending and we were thinking about how long milk would last without refrigeration, the power came back on. It had been off over four hours !! We all cheered and went back to our old routines.

It was really a gift you know, not having electricity for a while; not being able to go in world…

The Recluse & the Huntsman

Ever have one of those mornings? My routine calls for making my bed first, so I had just drawn the doona (comforter) over the top of the covers and was walking around to straighten everything when I felt it.

I live in Australia, and we have the most, highly poisonious critters in the world, so you are ALWAYS alert. It was a spider web. And from its position, it could only mean that I had shared my bed with the spider (now of course missing).

The Huntsman

I lived in Okinawa Japan for some time and it was a cultural awakening for me in more ways than I could ever imagine. One thing I discovered was gigantic bugs including huntsmen spiders that were the fastest running insect in the world – the equivalent of 35 miles per hour!

The floors throughtout the entire house were chocolate linoleum (you know so the four- to six-inch, flying cockroaches were more able to hide when you ran after them with passion and one slipper). I gingerly walked out one night very late to make a quick trip to the bathroom. Once in there I was confronted by a flying cockroach of monstrous proportions and screamed into the souless night for help. Then ran into the living room to stand ceremoniously on a chair. What was I thinking?

I was screaming for help when I noticed it….a huntsman who casually walked to the middle of the now back-lit door way from the bathroom to the chair I was standing on and like in the movie High Noon, he stood there. Fiddling I imagine with his poison filled side arm, twirling it to ensure I knew I was definitely in trouble.

Now I really screamed and started jumping up and down in the chair (what was I thinking) and watched completely mesmerised as this amazingly large, hand-sized brown, hairless spider caught me in its fractiled gaze.

Two legs raised from the floor to salute me and then it took off straight for me at full speed. There was no possible escape as I stood transfixed to the spot. Just as it would have pounced on me, a broom came smashing down upon it. Whew that was close.

The Recluse

Back in the USA, under more civilised conditions the man in my life went off on a Air Reserve exercise one day. He came home ten days later than expected, chauffered in a bright white "limosine" that looked very much like an ambulance. His right thigh was still almost twice the size of the other from the hidden and quietly painless bite of a recluse spider that had wound its way carefully up his pants leg -- biting him on the front of his thigh (sparing more important parts of his body from this amazing and very painful process).

When the brown recluse spider bites, it leaves a venom in the wound that begins to break down and sort of melt the tissue. It seems like a little mosquito bite at first. By then the culprit is long gone. Then itching and reddness. Then a little fever. Then a little more reddness and itching and the bite area raises. Then the bite mark begins to blacken and the flesh sinks as it deteriorates. Typically people who are bitten don’t have a clue until it is very late in the game and they are very ill from the bite.

Sneaky Critters

But what is especially interesting about these two kinds of spiders is how easily they can hide in the most unlikely spots. They can remain so very still you think they are part of the wall. They can press their rather large bodies through small holes and cracks to be places you would never expect them to be. They hide behind pictures hung on the walls, on the side of the sofa or once I found one on my closet door knob clinging there like it was part of the pattern on the brass fittings, just waiting for me to turn the handle.

They are very sneaky and once you disturb them they take off and chase you (well I understand it is the fear pheromones they are attracted to, and for me that would be very attractive). Their behaviours remind me of a few people I have known in my life (both real and virtual). But you have to live with them somehow because they do keep down the number of other bugs.

And if you’re wondering….I finally found the spider in my room. It was hiding right beside the drape pull cord, silently and deadly still waiting, skulking, hoping I would never find him, until he hurt me. But I did (and screamed a lot too). Now he will never bother anyone again. (One last small detail I left off earlier -- they always come in twos.)

Sometimes, you must take drastic steps to have peace in your life and in your bed!

To Lady Este

They say it is always darkest before the dawn in the world. Perhaps this is true, but we can count on the dawn. And what we learn in the dark, during our struggles does make us stronger, if we do not give up. You inspire me. Thank you !

Angora Yarn

I’ve had a remarkable life (both first and second) and I have struggled mostly alone. Firstly because everyone I leaned upon was more interested in leaning on me. Then out of habit I never leaned again.

That has made me both strong and weak. Others can see my independence and some fear it, some admire it and many don’t have time or the interest to give a darn about it.

For a long time I used to long to be weak like all the other girls I saw around me. This started when I was in high school and first noticed many of the really pretty girls had managed to snag a jock with a letter sweater and were wearing his class ring, well wrapped with lots of pretty angora yarn.

But not me.

I carried my own books -- thank you very much! And I was in the top five percent of my class for academics. I was in more activities and groups than most everyone I knew – which was a blast when everyone had to sign my class year books and I had more stuff from more people written in mine that anyone else.

I could hop from one group to another with no difficult and got to know a wider cross-section of the population…everything from the physics club to the butterfly collectors and Bible study group.

I was lonely.

My life was a mile wide and an inch deep or so it seemed. My family life was not typical and this “hidden secret” kept me happy to stay at arms length away from everyone while appearing close to everyone. (a neat technique I fall back on even today in RL (remember real life) and in my virtual life.

The greatest amount of my time in high school was spent in developing and polishing my singing and speaking voice. I had and have the lung capacity of a trained athlete. And in high school and for many years afterward, had the most remarkable voice coach. I had a surprisingly wide high soprano range, with the ability to clearly hit notes most found completely out of reach – which helped me achieve many awards in competitions (and also helped pay my university fees).

In my senior year, I decided to change to be popular. Now that was a mistake if I ever made one. I would sneak clothing that was a little shorter out of the house under my “conservative and well accepted” clothing. For instance, I remember a wrap skirt I would be sure to wear a little open (even with a full slip under it, if you know what that is nowadays) that made the boys take notice of me.

And I flirted.

I’m sure I wasn’t very good at it, but the boys seemed interested (but then they had just noticed hair growing in all sorts of unusual places and muscles where smoothness once was).

I giggled a lot too because I was scared to death someone would actually like me and I would have to go buy a lot of pretty angora yarn.

I enter theatre and speech classes and found heightened excitement from having to play the part of a wife or girlfriend (I had no idea what a lover was and absolutely no idea where flirting was supposed to lead, although I had a clear picture of fallopian tubes and the art of sperm swimming against the tide).

Anyway, enough of those photos that still flash in my mind….In theatre class, I would get to play a part across from some really cool guy that was likely a jock and who had a class ring and a letter sweater.

Really Cool Parts

Once I even played the part of a girlfriend and had to get regularly chased off the stage by THE hunk in our school -- who not only had the ring and the letter sweater -- but his dad owned a new car dealership and he was going to be the valedictorian of our school that year. (BTW: His name was Jim Berry and he died a year later of Hodgkin’s Disease in the university hospital I worked in at the time.)

What I found out during all this time and even today –- is that some people just like me and some people just don’t like me. But what I still have not figured out was what to do with that knowledge.

I like people and always find my greatest joy is being there for someone and just caring about them. To make time for someone when my needs are screaming at me. To take abuse when I should turn away and deflect it. To make excuses for bad behaviour. I struggle to always believe the best about someone until I have bloodied my forehead against a brick wall just one too many times with trying to believe.

Someone once called me Braveheart, from the movie, but I didn’t know what he meant at the time. Now I do -- and perhaps, being hopelessly romantic and sincerely optimistic is not actually wise, but I like living my life (first or second) this way more than I would like to live it by being suspicious and distant.

Who knows, perhaps this inner passion is why I still have that ball of lovely, lavender, angora yarn.