Hooked on Mac

This is me on Mac. Not very attractive really.
And this, my split personality. If only there were really four of me. I could be out cultivating the garden and riding my bike, and folding laundry right now.

Cyber Overload

I can't keep up. I feel as if I have crossed a line. As if I have made some sort of Faustian deal with the devil. I have chosen to trade the sometimes dull, but very authentic reality with the very exciting and sparkly, essentially heartless virtual reality.

It is spring, beautiful spring. My garden is calling me. A wide swath of dry earth begging to be turned, nurtured, stroked and fertilized. I am sitting inside, cultivating my cyber existence.
There's always one more thing to do. One more thing to check. Isla sees this little MacBook open in front of me and comes running, waving her arms and shouting "Nooooooooo!" She is so right on, yet, I can't shut it. I can feel it humming beneath my fingertips.

Damn you, Bill Gates for providing me with that first joint in the form of my starter PC. And damn you, Steve Jobs for pushing me over the edge with this sexy little heroin laptop with wireless capacity.

And damn you, Blogger for your little "start your own blog, it's free" message. I don't come here a lot. But I think about coming here every day. Every day, I think, "I should update my personal blog. Oprah might stop in to read it."

And damn me for being so weak I can't resist any of it. The lure, the potential, the endless stream of information, feedback and immediate gratification it all provides.

But it's shallow, so shallow. And my muscles and lungs , eyes and ears are starving for the sounds, feels, sights and demands of the real world.

More rambling can be found here and here, over at BabyCenter.

Her good eye

I reluctantly handed over the camera to Esther on our walk the other day. Here is what she came up with. It's kind of a unique little peek into the mind of a six-year-old. Was she really looking when she depressed the button? Or was she merely pointing and clicking as she has seen me do. I like to imagine that she looked through the viewfinder until her eye rested on something that really pleased her, then she clicked.

She is an artist, my girl. She sees things, she observes, she retains details I never noticed in the first place. "Did you see that lady's nail polish?" She'll ask me while walking down the produce aisle in the supermarket?
Or, "I hate that look," she'll say when we're watching a movie and two people are falling in love. (Don't worry, it was Fiddler on the Roof. "What look?" I ask, feigning ignorance. "That look, when two people are real close to each other and they're thinking about kissing each other." She knows smarm when she sees it. And she knows what's lovely too.
I've got a new, Esther-worshipping post up here.

A sense of place

I'll never truly understand the powerful effect the sight of something as old and naturally beautiful as a stone wall running down a row of trees has on my psyche.
It makes my pulse slow, my breath get steadier and deeper, my mind calmer. It gives me hope and comfort. It gives me the sense that this is all meant to be. Me here in Vermont, the land of my birth, settled within mere double -digit miles from my family home. I've gone nowhere and everywhere all at once. And it's okay. It's okay.

I'm ready

That's grass under my feet. And it feels squishy. And, I might be imagining it, but I can smell the earth.






Isla is the only one disappointed we can't use these anymore.





Esther's self portrait. She's diggin' the squishy earth as well, but in a much less conservative way.
For more of Esther's take on the world, read this post, over at BabyCenter.