What every child should be told about regrets

Biting the Belgian One…

Must be this grey ick weather… or yet another culture shock. In reverse this time!

I am having the hardest time adjusting back to my own country. Too many years defining myself by being a “not” – being the different one, the imposter with barely a little something that is not quite what it should be – to fall back easily into the skin of a local. It should all feel familiar, and to a certain extent it is. Like a childhood dinner favorite that feels just a little too bland to the adult palate. But naturally everything has moved on, so much so that even Proust would have a hard time tracking down his beloved madeleine…

Admittedly it is the first time I move in a hurry, with no particular plan in mind, with no set destination/job/apartment/school waiting for me upon destination. Could that be the reason behind my current sense of dislocation? Or at least a part of the puzzle?

Another deep breath. The sky is so low. I miss the Big Horn mountains in their rosy morning glory. I miss the Seattle skyline from the ferry or driving towards Lake Union or downtown, up or down I-5. I miss Mount Rainier serene in the distance. And yet, it did not feel like the end of the road (well, to be fair maybe Wyoming did a little). I hate these low nondescript clouds that blend together with all the grace of a wet mop. I feel oppressed and my eyes keep tearing up. Another deep breath…

Reboot.

Repeat. The. Mantra.

It’s all about the journey… It’s all about the journey… It’s all about… Maybe one day, I will drum up the courage to actually step into a tattoo parlor and get the journey rune tattooed under my right foot, as I keep promising myself to do. Because, in the end, we are born, we live, we die and it really is all about the journey!

In the meanwhile, changing the title of my blog once again, and rebooting for the 15th time (can it be that many already), really does bite the Big One. Or the Belgian One, as the current case may be!

Pure human magic: the largest touchscreen in the world

So sue me! I am a geek. Not quite part of the ones who inherited the Earth in the recent decades… but enough of one to marvel at what Man can do when he sets his mind to it.

I am Powerful…

Bearing children.
Bearing water and firewood.
Bearing the weight of prejudice and poverty.
Bearing the weight of their own tears.
Because they are powerful beyond measure.
Because Nature did not go wrong in making them the bearers of so many burdens.
Head the graceful movement of their heads rising in pride.
Head the soft sound of their feet carrying them forward.
Head the mountains they are moving.
They are women, like you and me…
And We are Powerful!

Enter Michael ‘the Walrus’ Jackson… Rock on!

Embracing our inner girl

Mind-boggling… I guess everyone’s got to make their mind one way or another.

The following videos were copied from BlitzAce322. I don’t even know where to begin, processing all of this in my mind… Somehow the lame Roswell cover-up does indeed lead me to think that there is way more than we are told in general. It is also true that other governments, notably in Europe, are starting to leak out the fact that they are taking the UFO sightings as something real and not hoaxes.

The big questions that remain for me is basically who they may be and what is their agenda as far as the denizens of the planet we personally call Earth are concerned… Of course, there are no heroes to save the day and we are basically a minute away from inventing the wheel in the grand scheme of things. So here goes, everyone, make your mind up.

The dark side of a Prairie Tale…

My childhood ideal of a perfect family

Michael Landon as a perfect “father”, Karen Grassle as a loving “mother”… Who wouldn’t have traded anything growing up to be that little girl, on a set of the 19th century West? Melissa Gilbert’s character got me to read the original series of books, and to this day, memories and images of both the books and the series lie deep within the little girl’s heart inside of me.

The article – by Mike Celizic – on Melissa Gilbert’s upcoming memoirs was a real eye opener. And a fabulous sales pitch for the book. Which ex “Half-pint” wannabe is going to resist reading it?☺ As an all-growed-up woman – as much as I hope to be for now – my mind does acknowledge that ideal situations often come with a much darker side… but I cannot help wondering how “fallen from Grace” that special place inside my soul will feel once I have read the account from behind the scenes.

In the nine or so months that I spent in Wyoming, as I drove around through the same prairie that had seen the tracks of so many wagon wheels, the real Ingalls family was ever present in my mind. I realized just how much that part of America’s past had colored my perception of America today, and my expectations for my own American experience/dream… Talk about a defining event! I don’t know if I’ll ever get my 11-year old son to read the books – doubt it somehow – but I guess one day I’ll have to come clear with him and let him know just what it was that helped tip the balance when I decided to leave our lives behind and head out West to the US.☺

A serious contender for Susan Boyle

Just wanted to share some of the warm and fuzzies I got from listening to Jamie Pugh. How can one not be moved to see a grown man cry because he is overwhelmed by the praise he deserves?

Thank you, Jamie, for a soul-stirring performance and for showing us that men also need to be empowered to believe in themselves. I hope you will get all the recognition and fame you deserve from now on and that your life will be all the more pleasant because of it.

An average rainforest frog… with some rather influential friends! ☺

This is a video created for Prince Charles’ Rainforests Project, with one very lucky little frog. Quite a few people I would love to meet in this clip… *sigh* Why but of course, I meant Kermitt the Frog! Who else really.. ☺

More seriously, the oldest ones amongst us might remember an earlier awareness campaign to save the rainforest, spearheaded by Sting in the late 80′s, with the Amazonian Chief Raoni in tow. Maybe it was because I was still so very young and candid, but I really felt that the message had been heard and that all the regional governments concerned would act. Yeah. I know, I know… I was THAT young. And those were the days when we just had the certainty that things would change on our watch. Such foolish arrogance!

It’s been 20 years. We’ve all grown – as demonstrated quite efficiently by two all-growed-up boys named William and Harry – and gone on with our lives. Sure enough, there are so many worthy causes out there, so many wars to stop, so much suffering to alleviate, so much injustice to denounce. And let’s be blunt: forests do not hold press conferences. Neither can they pack up in a hurry and flee for their lives to some UN refugee camp across a border. They also die quite noiselessly. Just a large crack followed by the whooshing sound of the leaves slicing through the air as the tree hits the ground.

No worries… No harm done. Only a few plants. Animals can always move further. Humans can be relocated. And surely we cannot forbid developing countries the right to exploit their own resources. Yadda yadda yadda… It’s just trees, really. It’s not like we’re hurting anyone.

And yet…

If we don’t take action, we could lose another 100 million hectares of tropical forests over the next 10 years – that’s an area the size of Egypt.

Saving the rainforests will give the world a better chance to achieve its goals of stabilising climate change, while also preserving important ecosystem benefits, not to mention the fact that over one billion of the poorest people on Earth depend on the rainforests for their livelihoods.

It’s just a simple signature and maybe a few spare dollars. But together we can go a long way to make sure that our great-great-great grandchildren (and all the generations in between) can still breathe enough clean air to climb the few trees we left them.