Esse post é só pra registrar: aconteceu de novo.

There’s always that one person that will always have your heart.

E pra fechar, releiam esse post antigo, porque voltou a acontecer:

http://makingmyheartsing.wordpress.com/2009/06/03/shine-on/

It is always easier to dwell on what you would like to have more of or what you don’t have that you wish you did have!  But, it is so much more satisfying to focus on what you DO have and be thankful for those things that make your life comfortable and happy.  This time of year – the holiday season – usually brings out these types of thoughts and reflection.  I try to find things to be thankful for all year-round – I’m usually a “glass half full” type of person who tries to find the good in just about everything.  One of my favorite sayings is “everything happens for a reason”.  But, there are times when that outlook is extremely difficult to maintain.  It is those times that it is even more important to focus on what you can be thankful for in your life!

So — in giving with the season — here are the things I am most thankful for:

• I am thankful for my family.  If you know me even remotely, you know that I am close to my family.  I am thankful that I still have my Mom – even though she’s 800+ miles away, we are able to talk via phone or computer every day and we can visit several times a year.  I’m thankful that I can travel to her at least a couple times a year and I’m thankful that she is still able to travel to me at least once a year.  I am also thankful for a brother I have always been close to.
• I am thankful for my friends.  I’ve been blessed with many close friends over the years – some I am still close to, some are fairly new friends, some I’ve recently reconnected with, and some I’ve lost touch with.  But all have enriched my life and contributed heavily to my memories.  I feel lucky to have so many friends I know I can count on, if necessary, and that know they can count on me!
• I am thankful that my Grandparent’s home is still in the family and we can still have holiday dinners in the same room we did all the years I was growing up!  Grandma and Grandpa are gone, now, but my brother lives in their house with his family.  We had Thanksgiving there this year.  And, while it was strange and sad to look around the table and not see Grandma, Grandpa, Poppie, Aunt Betty, and others who have eaten there with us for many, many years, it was still a joy to share another holiday meal with family in that house! 
• I am thankful for my three dogs.  I can’t imagine my life without at least one dog in it!  I have always had dogs who have brought absolute joy to my life.  The three I am blessed with now are no exception.  They are loving companions and make me smile and laugh every single day.  I adore them and am so lucky that they found me and are filling my heart with love!
• I am thankful for my job.  With so many people unemployed and struggling, I am reminded every day how lucky I am to have a job.  It may be stressful and trying, at times, but it sure beats the alternative and I definitely don’t take it for granted!  I don’t understand those who constantly complain about their jobs when there are long lines of people who would gladly take whatever is dished out to them just to have a paycheck to provide for their families!
• I am thankful for my health.  Yes, I do have some health problems – some fairly serious, but nothing I can’t live with and keep under control.  I am blessed with the ability to live a normal life and get around and do just about anything I want to do.  I am reminded that health and life is so precious because of a family friend who is seriously ill.  A little over a month or so ago, he was healthy and active.  Then, he had some stomach pain and they diagnosed him with liver cancer.  In a few short weeks, he went from an active, vibrant man to a meer skeleton going in and out of awareness and ability to make any sense.  He has been given 3 months or less.  We went to visit him in the hospital the day before Thanksgiving and it was heart wrenching!  Be thankful for whatever level of health you are in — it can change in an instant!
• I am thankful for laughter!  I love to laugh and to hear laughter!  Life is tough lately and people don’t tend to laugh enough!  Laughter is healthy and makes you feel so good!  There is an old saying – Laughter is the best medicine!  From little chuckles to hard belly laughs that bring tears to my eyes and make it hard to breathe — laughter is something I strive for every single day to some degree!
• I’m thankful for my home.  It isn’t a mansion and isn’t huge, but it’s mine and I’ve been able to make it a comfortable refection of me and what makes me happy!  The only thing that would make it better is if my Mom would come live with me so we can be together all the time!

So — yeah, there are a lot of things I’d love to have, but don’t and lots of things that I wish I had more of.  But dwelling on them is depressing and unhealthy!  I have a TON more to be thankful for – much more than I’ve listed here!  Life is good!  I choose to be happy and make the most out of what I do have!

What are YOU thankful for?

I always listen to music when I work. I was reading some paper just now.

When I heard this song, a question popped up in my mind.
Have I been just rushing through my life? Have I been ignoring everything/everyone around me… How much am I missing in the process?

What is our attitude towards travelling, and more importantly, living our life-long journing? May be we should slow down and enjoy what life / place has to offer while we still can…

Today is Thanksgiving…

I miss roast turkey, pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce and mashed potato…

Yet, we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving here…

So I have no turkey…

Instead I have KFC… (oh and UPSIZE please…)

And I am thankful for the opportunity to be here…

Cuando una viuda y su pequeña hija, encuentran en una playa a un divorciado solitario con el que unirán sus penas!!!

     Definitivamente me proyecto en contra de los préstamos, ya que este libro cayó a mis manos con la recomendación de la dueña, pero me dejó decepcionada desde sus primeras páginas…

     Aquí se nos narra la historia de Ophelie Mackenzie, una viuda de 42 años de edad que esta pasando sus vacaciones de verano con su hija Pip en el puerto de Safe Harbour, donde ambas esperan paliar un poco el lascerante dolor que las aqueja desde la muerte del resto de su familia…

     Estando ahí, la pequeña Pip deambula por la playa y conoce a un pintor maduro, solitario y atractivo llamado Matthew Bowles, que resulta ser una agradable compañía para la niña y mutuamente se brindan un rato de paz y conversación inocente…

     El primer encuentro de Ophelie con Matthew no es nada placentero, puesto que ella lo encuentra platicando con su pequeña hija de 12 años y supone lo peor de él, armándole una escena a voz en cuello y prohibiéndole que se le vuelva a acercar a su pequeña…

     Convencida de que lo que hizo era lo correcto, Ophelie se siente culpable cuando Pip le dice que Matt era en realidad un hombre con el que platicó tranquilamente, y que fue muy injusta al tratarlo de un modo tan cruel, por lo que Ophelie cede y le pide disculpas al hombre, ganándose en él a un amigo que lentamente comenzará a curar las heridas de su entumecido y dolorido corazón…

Matthew por otra parte, es un divorciado de 47 años de edad, que encuentra en Pip y Ophelie un bálsamo para disminuir la soledad que lo aqueja desde hace varios años, cuando su familia lo abandonó para mudarse lejos y ya no saber nada más de él…

     Así pues, se va dando entre ellos una muy, pero muy lenta relación, que inicia como la más inocente de las amistades, y que se va hadciendo más intensa cuando ambos descubran que tienen mucho que admirarle al otro (ya que ambos salieron enteros de sus respectivos dramas familiares)…

     Los personajes secundarios de la historia cumplen con su función de apoyo a los principales, y no aportan nada significativo a una de por si raquitica novela en cuanto contenido argumental…

     Una historia lenta, llena de momentos que pretenden ser sentimentales, pero que a causa de la repetición de la autora (se te menciona hasta la saciedad como se murieron el marido y el hijo de Ophelie y el dolor que eso le causó), terminan siendo cansinos y ridículos, causando sopor en el lector y haciendo que te replantees seriamente si la historia llegará a algún lado interesante…

Lo mejor: Me agradó que fuera una historia no muy larga, ya que como la terminé a pura fuerza de voluntad (ya que considero que no puedes criticar algo que no terminas de leer), no estoy tan segura de que si hubiera sido más larga lo habría logrado…

Lo peor: Francamente me desagradó sobremanera la prosa de esta autora, puesto que a lo largo de todas las descripciones, tuve la sensación de que quería obligarnos a sentir empatía con sus protagonistas, no a base de una narrativa desenfadada y sin pretensiones, sino más bien a base de una monótona repetición de las pasadas tragedias de sus personajes… Dejándote harto de leer lo mismo, en vez de ansioso por conocer si lograrían reponerse de sus sufrimientos…

Título Original: Safe Harbour…

Calificación Subjetiva: 2/10…

Cuando una mujer cansada de pasar cada día, descubre de la mano de un singular e imaginario hombre la belleza que se estaba perdiendo!!!

     Ahora traigo la segunda novela de esta autora que me embargo a leer, una nueva entrega independiente que al igual que Posdata, Te Amo; se caracteriza por demostrarnos que siempre hay belleza, bondad y esperanza para llenar nuestros días…

     Aquí se nos narra la historia de Elizabeth Egan, una mujer de 34 años llena de responsabilidades que jamás pidió y que no agradece para nada tener: debe encargarse de un negocio por su cuenta en un pueblo pequeño, cuidar de su aparentemente amargado y opresivo padre a la vez que vigila a la temeraria e irresponsable de su hermana menor Saoirse; y por si esto no fuera poco, ser la madre adoptiva de su sobrino Luke, ya que su hermana parece importarse por todo menos por él…

     Elizabeth es una mujer que ha crecido con varias cargas: de pequeña, cuando su madre era un espíritu libre que las abandonó, ella tuvo que hacerse cargo de su hermanita Saoirse y de contentar a su huraño padre, lo que la dejó encerrada en si misma y con pocos deseos de mostrar cualquier arrebato de espontaneidad… Ahora que su hermana también decide vivir en libertad, debe educar a su pequeño sobrino Luke, por lo que cada día para ella es una sucesión de eventos planeados y metódicos, donde todo tiene un orden y un tiempo, y no hay cabida para los juegos o las distracicones infantiles…

     Pero un buen día su sobrino conoce a un fantástico amigo llamado Ivan, que le brinda alegría, comprensión y juegos al por mayor, lo que sería fantástico para Elizabeth al entretener al pequeño, de no ser porque ella esta convencida que su sobrino pudo haber enloquecido porque sólo Luke puede ver a ese supuesto amigo…

     Decidida a no condonar las imaginaciones de su sobrino, le explica que debe dejar de inventar a ese supuesto amigo que no existe… Entonces, Elizabeth conoce a un hombre llamado Ivan, un curioso personaje que parece sacado de una película para niños y que guarda muchos parecidos con el amigo imaginario de su sobrino…

     Ivan es un personaje fascinante, que cautiva al lector logrando una encantadora mezcla entre el encanto y la espontaneadad de un niño y la manera de entender la belleza del mundo y trasmitir ese conocimiento de un adulto… 

     Con todas sus cualidades, Ivan le enseña a Elizabeth que la magia de la vida se encuentra en nuestras mentes, en lo que seamos capaces de asimilar cuando verdaderamente abrimos los ojos y le ponemos atención a la belleza que se encuentra a nuestro alrededor; apreciando la magia de tirarnos a la hierba y observar el cielo, abriendo los brazos en medio de un prado, cerrando los ojos y sintiendo el calor del sol y la frescura de la brisa golpeando nuestro rostro, manchándonos de pintura y mojándonos cual niños pequeños, pero disfrutando cada segundo de ello sólo por estar vivos… 

     Una novela llena de esperanza, y de pequeños y simples momentos que deberían recordarnos que la belleza de la vida no radica en las grandes cosas ni en los momentos aparatosos, sino en los pequeños e insignificantes, que son los que nos hacen disfrutar estar presentes para verlos…

Lo mejor: Me encantó la manera en la que ves evolucionar el carácter de Elizabeth, de ser una joven que se dedicaba a pasar cada día sin disfrutar de nada, sólo añorando que termine para que comience el siguiente, sin apreciar la belleza del mundo; a ser una joven que llegó a disfrutar de todo su alrededor, sin importarle que la gente pensará que estaba loca o que tenía que comportarse de otra manera…

 Lo peor: Me decepcionó un poco el hecho de que Ivan haya tomado su desición de una manera tan fácil, puesto que a pesar de que si se señaló que se encontraba devastado al hacerlo, pasó sin pena ni gloria el hecho de que cada uno tendría que seguir adelante…

Título Original: If You Could See Me Now…

Calificación Subjetiva: 8/10…

**The pictures are not mine

This was the first news that greeted me this morning and I was greatly horrified of what happened.

Click here and here for the news.

100 armed men killed about 40+ people, including 32 journalists, the wife of Vice Mayor Mangudadatu and many other. It was said that the women involve were raped and some were beheaded and buried in a great hurry.

This shows how politics and power can ruin lives. What the murderers did was inhumane and unimaginable. NO ONE DESERVES THIS KIND OF KILLINGS. I questioned myself, ” Is this what humans do now to achieve the power they want?”. We are humans and we are built to love and give help to others not the other way around. Just to think that the person or persons behind this are educated and with high positions in the government. It is disgusting. They were supposed to be the protector of these people.

I personally don’t know the people who died and I wasn’t aware of their existence until now but they are humans like us, who deserves and has the right to live but that was taken brutally.

Home is where the heart is.  Home sweet home.  There’s no place like home.   We know all this, but what makes home, home?  Is it where you were born, where you grew up, where you currently live?  Is it a specific place, an area, a feeling, a structure?  Is it reflective of the # of years you spent living there?  Can there be more than one place you call Home?  I hope it is obvious that I am not talking about just where you hang your hat at the moment, but the place you call “home” when you are talking about it from your heart.  This can be an easy question, but it can also be a complicated one!

For me, Home has always been and will always be my original home town!  It is where I was born and raised and where I plan for my body to go when I leave this earth to walk with the angels!  It is where I have most of my ties – family, friends, memories!  It is where I went to school and where I got married!   It is where I skinned my knees learning to ride a bike, where I tore up the roads learning to drive a car, and where I took more than a few spills learning to ride mini-bikes, dirt bikes, and motorcycles!  I feel comfortable and content when I am there!  It is where I can find peace looking out over the lake or visiting those I have loved and lost at the local cemetery or just being where my history is!  It is where I can laugh so hard I can’t see or breathe and I lose all control!  It is where my soul will forever live!  It is where I know I can always go and not be judged, not be stressed, and just enjoy the love of family and dear friends! 

I never thought I would call anywhere else Home!  It took me many years of living in the city I currently live in to start considering it home.  But, over the past several years, I have gotten active in my community, found some good friends, and am finding comfort there.  I am quickly approaching an equal # of years that I have lived in each area – I lived in my original home town for the first 28 1/2 years of my life and in my current home town for the past 24 1/2 years.  It is finally more than just a place to live and work – which is what it was for far too many years.  It is where I find joy in taking pride in my community and working with non-profits.  It is where I am making NEW memories and learning NEW things and enjoying NEW experiences!  It is where I purchased my first home as a family when I first moved there with my new husband and son.  It is where I purchased my first home on my own and where I have made that home a reflection of my personality and a source of pride in what I have accomplished with it.  It is where I can sit out on my patio on a lovely evening and shut out all the troubles of the day.  It is where I find comfort in mingling my past, my present, and my future with things, memories, and dreams that define each chapter of my life and help to blur the lines between the chapters.  I have come to love my current home town, but find sadness that it is so very far away from my true home town.  It has become my “second home”, but my first home will still always be what I refer to when I use the term ”Home” in reflection of where my heart is!!!!

As for my final home:  I find comfort in knowing where I will go for all eternity and that it is a breathtakingly beautiful place near family!  My Grandfather gave me an incredible gift many years ago – he deeded a spot in the family plot to me.  It is directly beside my Grandparents and an Uncle I never knew because he died when he was just a child.  It is down just a few slots from my Poppie and where my Mom will eventually be placed beside him.  It is in a cemetery where many, many of my ancestors are laid to rest – both those I had the pleasure of knowing and loving and those I never knew in this life, but will meet when we all gather in the after life.  Just this year, I went ahead and purchased a memorial stone that was recently placed on my final home.   I put a lot of thought into it and it is a wonderful reflection of me.  It is made from Himalayan Blue granite, has an angel with a garland of roses on the right side and a rose laying on the bottom left corner.  It includes the words “beloved daughter and granddaughter”, which is something I feel in my heart always.  I also had the phrase “In the arms of the angels” written on the base.   I love it!  While I have absolutely no desire to actually take up residence in this final home for many, many years, it gives me a warm feeling knowing that when that time comes, I will have a place to go that is in the area I hold dearest in my heart, in a place that is so beautiful and peaceful, and where so many of my family and friends are and will be with me.

So, yes — Home can be a complicated thing, but no matter where you are or how you view it, there is always a past, current, and future aspect of what you call Home.  And there is always ONE that is stronger and closer to your heart and what defines that one place is different for everyone!  Think about what defines Home for you and remember it and be thankful for it during this holiday season — reflecting on memories is what makes a Home and what makes the holidays and life in general so precious!

In Search of Lost Time

The other day I met a beautiful antique pocket watch — George Prior Triple-Cased — courtesy of Antiques Roadshow.

I marveled at its triple-layered construction: interior metal casing nested in nickel silver, nested in tortoiseshell. They don’t make them like they used to, so I decided to imagine it still running. Not that the appraiser or owner said as much, so I couldn’t really know that its movement still successfully marked, but it didn’t matter. I just knew.

What really struck me, though, was its provenance. I was astonished to learn of its  Islamic face numbers, and that the London-crafted piece was likely exported for sale in the Middle East, only to find its way to Louisville, land of bluegrass and bourbon, 200 years later. Somehow.

If only tortoiseshell could talk. What could George Prior Triple-Cased tell us about its journey, the days it kept on schedule, the individuals who once called it their own? Did it overhear political debate in a Gentleman’s parlor? Was it safe-kept in a shoebox in a closet of threadbare clothes? Did a war widow thumb it over and over in a pawnshop, struggling to keep food on her family’s table?

It may seem a bit trite, as Roadshow is a showplace solely for vintage and antique collectibles, but this piece struck me in particular: What a gift history has given us.

Consider: A unique set of events delivered this gorgeous curio from early nineteenth century London to the exotic Middle East, where it might have been purchased by an Arab, or a British or French occupier. But as late as 12 November 2009, the watch tick-tocked to the relative humdrum of Louisville, negotiating thousands of miles and a minefield of chances to be destroyed or lost to obscurity, all of which were fortuitously, if almost accidentally, avoided.

Still, how to separate wheat from chaff? Some timepieces chime or tick with a vitality that doesn’t mark the moment as much as exclaim “I own the moment,” while others fast-slide into silence like a pin quick into a cushion.

This one surfaced. How did it resolve from tchotchke to important and rare? Its beauty is certain, but history shows pretty is never enough. Our Prior could have appeared anywhere — or nowhere.

We’ll just consider it our good fortune, thank you — and give it slight advantage as the sort of object that invites sentimental attachment — because like all timepieces, it provides a sense of order in the present by strengthening our attachment with the past. Can you imagine where we might be without our reliance on the principles of  beginnings and endings, seconds and centuries? Fortunately, we don’t have to. Our sense of the hour provides structure and meaning to decisions as small or large as doing the dishes or changing careers.

Because each of our moments is attached to the one that came just before it. While we may not understand why we make our decisions, while we may fret over choice based on gut intuition or rational analysis, we can still acknowledge that regardless of the method, indeed regardless of the actual decision, the result was determined by our previous experiences, the events we registered on our personal timeline, the events important enough to remember and when needed, recall.

Still, while every moment is a choice driven by our sense of the past, we also can’t ignore the looming finish, especially as we grow older and our past begins to overshadow our future. We may not yet know our future, but we can certainly recall  ruminating upon its possibilities, flirting with the pandora’s box of when, where, and how it might end.

Time is short and too easily measured. A mixed blessing to be sure. In the immortal words of Proust, eternally, we’re In Search of Lost Time.

* * *

Remarkable, those memories, lolling around in our subconscious on the off-chance a particular set of circumstances might startle one of them to the surface. Kind of like the snap recollection of a dream you’d forgotten you’d remembered (before it was then promptly forgotten).

For me, that sort of jolting reminder sometimes occurs when visiting family, perhaps on holiday. It doesn’t have to be a dream suddenly recalled by a relative’s turn of phrase or the sight of a forgotten toy. Sometimes it’s as simple as hugging a grandmother wearing her 90s a bit less comfortably than her 80s — breathing in her scent, so familiar, and suddenly recalling the forts you built in her living room decades ago, hiding from the grumps one of your small rebellion rituals, each fortified with cushions imprinted with her flowery perfume.

I remember barely containing my excitement. To build a sofa-fort is never to hide, never just to barricade. For boys, fort building is done for the adrenaline rush, the sense of escape — from the grumps and then back to them — from fleeting independence back to the safety of family. Trembling with toddler excitement, when I just couldn’t stand it any more, I’d reveal myself, revel in that reveal, and be discovered, safe and loved.

A special occasion, a hug, a scent, a memory lost deep in the gray matter, somehow magically retrieved.

I guess in a way I was a pocket watch. No. Scratch that. We’re all pocket watches. Marking time by memory not movement, and not just for ourselves but for each other, for connection with the past, a connection which if nothing else roadmaps the journey to our present selves, a road of reasons that define why we are, who we are, who we might be…and why I’m with you at this very moment.

When my grandmother was born, the George Prior Triple-Cased was already one hundred years old. At 92, Grandma’s memory isn’t what it once was and unlike the watch, her patina isn’t ageless. To be fair, though, the pocket watch of imprecise origin and indeterminate peregrination can’t retain a memory or share the secrets of a long life; even its heart might no longer beat, although I choose to think otherwise.

(I wonder which memories led me to that choice?)

Still, both manage to carry on. And help each other, in their way.

Remember when I used to build sofa-forts in your living room, Grandma? Remember?

Oh my, yes. I do now.

Marty left for for the concrete jungle on Thursday.

So, today is my fourth day out of the fifty one that I’ll have to bear without him. Which is difficult because I’m never going to get a better friend to help me through this particular rough patch. But we’ve been incessantly messaging each other anyway; and as fast as it takes to update a status or compose a wall post (Facebook, of course), we’ve been able to keep in touch. But fifty one days is a whole lot of days to go without someone who’s been there, day in and day out, for you to consult with and calm your frayed nerves. But I’m going to look forward to the 25th December. That’s going to be Christmas, and the day after I’ll be off to Melbourne. Where, after a day and a half of drinking in the sights and sounds as one third of JAP (that’s the travelling and exploring entity that is Jess, Ange and Pat), I’m off again to Tasmania for a three day music festival (Falls Festival). A couple more days to explore Tasmania (we heard that it gets really boring, really quickly). Then back to Melbourne. Same deal as the first time. And, then. Then we come back, and Marty should be pretty much homebound as well! I’m praying that time would help make the time fly and I won’t get so withdrawn about my time away from him. Well, that’s what I’m telling myself anyway. So, it’s only one month to go to Christmas. So… *deep breath*

When we moved to our current abode we thought we’d live here 6 months to a year. As life would have it we’re now approaching the  4 1/2 yr mark. We’ve loved our little “stint in the country”, but have found that we truly are city people at heart. We are looking for a home surrounded by more people than cows We won’t move too far, either to Sola Sentrum or somewhere in Stavanger.

House hunting is fun, stressful, emotional, disappointing and exciting! We haven’t found it yet. In the meantime I’m slowly preparing to move. I’m going through closets and cupboards, shelves and drawers, attic, garage and basement. Garbage bags are being filled, bags of clothes sent off to salvation army, and we’ve begun refinishing some furniture.

I’m a bit baffled as I dig through everything. What one accumulates! That’s what you get for being a bit of a hoarder :/ I have two things working against me. I’m a sentimental fool –  the slightest tug at my heart strings makes it very hard for me to toss something that could even slightly classify as a current or future heirloom. In addition there is the fear of: “…but I might need that one day”. On more than one occasion I’ve had a small raid and decided to throw stuff out. Within weeks I will find that I’m looking for something and suddenly realize “No!!!” – I had thrown it out.

In my ‘prepare to move’ process I’m having to buckle down and decide what truly is worth saving. It’s not easy. I’m getting better at it though I’m slowly making my towards “everything having a place to call home”.

OMG! I just found out that two of my buddies (during my corn field’s life) are expecting their first babies early next year!!!!

Congratulations Liang! Congratulations Adelé!

Liang is a chemist, so as his wife. Adele is a physicist, so as her husband. Gosh, the time we spent together in the lab seems like yesterday… and you guys are becoming parents! It is so exciting to think about the baby chemist and physicst that are about to step into this world!!!

Hey, Liang and Adele,
The world needs you so the human race won’t go extinct!!!! Keep on the good work. I mean… apart from being productive in your work… be reproductive as well!

And I promise, if they turn out to be as good as you are, I would take them up as my students if they happen to be interested in soft condensed matter. Don’t worry, I won’t be linient. I will try my very best to train them so they can become top notch researchers! (You know how it was like at the corn field…) Wahahahahaha!

I love you guys. XOXO

This is freaky awesome, man!!!!

As you may know, women like to talk about their relationship. Whenever my friends and I like it more or less the main topic of conversation, among other things. I like to learn from these stories, though. One issue that we discussed was regarding the birthday gifts. My friend Irene has given me a wonderful vision, which I think is worth sharing with you.

Now, if you're like me and most women, you want a special gift for any occasion is celebrated. I will not even remainsmall player on that side. I love gifts. I like giving these memorable and I realize that to receive too. But Irene made me realize that the problem may exist in this traditional celebration. Let me explain.

How long have you been married, engaged, dating or your special someone? Now, each year to celebrate your anniversary, and the exchange of gifts, right? If you look at things in your jewelry box, your shelves, or belief: we can identify the jewelry, toys, clothing, etc., thatyou received for your birthday? You remember this anniversary? The first, second, 25th birthday? I am not sure how is the memory, but I do not know. There are gifts that stand out, but I remember when I received.

But Irene and her husband has a very interesting solution for their birthday. Who set up goals for each other and reward each other with extraordinary gifts when they have reached that goal. For example, established a goal that can be donetheir marriage in five years online. Irene and her husband undertakes to give each other when they met this year's fifth goal. While celebrating their birthday each year, the gift does not become commonplace. And with these milestones that have trained together, learning to save enough money to buy extravagant gifts for each other.

Not only their extravagant gifts, it is loaded with sentimental value. The gift represents a milestone for the objectivesprepare for another. In addition, there is a special occasion that only two of their parties, their anniversary.

So as you can see, the cap or the targets may increase the sentimental value of your gift. The gift can be anything. A stuff toy that you liked a particular jewel, traveling, etc. Whatever it is, by connecting it to an end, it becomes much more than any birthday present. There is also a gift of realization.

The entry ‘ Do we actually have a choice‘ was written in response to 5points’ decision to travel less for his family’s sake.

His response to my entry is ‘就是看犧牲是甚麼’

My friend, Edmond left a comment for the entry as follow.

‘Don’t be afraid of making sacrifice.
Sacrifice really means giving up something good for something better. But in the mind of the person sacrificing, there really is no sacrifice — only to the observer is it sacrifice.’

I think part of what Edmond said is really to the point. For example,

Flying less for a happier family… in 5points’ mind is probably giving up something good (opportunity to make more? Actually it might be bad in his eyes. Who knows?) for something better.

Yet, if that is the case, there is really no sacrifice… rather it is just a case of utility maximization.

Yes, I have to be away from my family and be alone and be alienated in a foreign country, eating cereals for dinner… We can surely describe my situation in the sadest and most depressing way. Yet, at least up to this moment in time, I don’t feel like I have make any sacrifices. I am doing what I love, and I am given the resources to do it. Doing research is like taking drugs. It is addictive. Do you think an addict thinks about sacrifices?

Does that mean no sacrifice is made in the process? There are sacrifices… Who pays the price? From people around me… from people who love me…

Richard Rorty

(source)

Richard Rorty has an interesting take on human rights. If we want universal acceptance of and respect for human rights, we shouldn’t try to argue about it. We shouldn’t attempt to work out rational justifications of human rights, or arguments that will convince people that human rights are a good thing. Instead, according to Rorty, we would achieve better results if we try to influence people’s feelings instead of their minds. And the best way to do that is by telling sentimental stories like “Uncle Tom’s cabin” or “Roots” etc., or by making political art. Such stories and art make the reader sympathize with persons whose rights are violated because they invite the audience or the reader to imagine what it is like to be in the victim’s position. The victim, who may be of another class, race or nationality and who seems so very different that he or she initially isn’t even considered to be of the same species and therefore cannot possibly claim to enjoy the same rights, is transformed by the story into a living human being. The sympathy engendered by the story gives the victim a human face. This person also grieves for the loss of children, also has an opinion and a moral sense. He’s or she not a barbarian. As a consequence, the victim can be given human rights.

This approach to human rights doesn’t justifying human rights in an abstract and philosophical way – something which according to Rorty isn’t possible anyway (Rorty’s a post-modern anti-foundationalist highly sceptical of the power of reason or rationality). Instead it motivates specific individuals to respect the rights of other specific individuals. So motivation instead of justification. And the focus isn’t so much on human rights themselves, but on humanity. When human rights are violated, it’s often not because people object to human rights, but because they consider the targets of rights violations as somehow outside the realm of humanity. Thomas Jefferson, for example, was very eloquent about human rights, but was a slave holder at the same time. Undoubtedly because he had convinced himself that negroes were more akin to animals than humans.

The big advantage of the sentimental approach is that is can convince people to accept others into the realm of humanity. Sympathy means after all the recognition that someone else’s suffering is akin to your own. Rorty harked back to David Hume for this insight:

Hume held that corrected (sometimes rule-corrected) sympathy, not law-discerning reason, is the fundamental moral capacity. Richard Rorty (source)

David Hume

Hence the importance of a “right to belong to humanity” in the words of Hannah Arendt (see here and here) and of the equal rights provision in the system of human rights.

This approach, or “sentimental education” as Rorty called it, can indeed be very useful, and I regularly use it on this blog (for example, there’s a blog series called “human rights stories“, and there’s also a lot of imagery used here). However, I think we should and can use both strategies, the emotional and the rational one. (I outlined the latter one here. In the field of morality, Immanuel Kant is of course the main exponent of the rational approach).

Thomas Pogge

The emotional approach isn’t without a downside. Human rights violations do not always occur because of a lack of sympathy or because of dehumanization. They are often the result of power structures, cultural practices, legal rules, institutions, international relations etc. Just engendering sympathy won’t do much good there. (Thomas Pogge is known for his work in this field). Moreover, sentimental education implies a willingness to listen – not a notable characteristic of many of the worst human rights violators, i.e. Taliban c.s. – and a certain standard of living that allows people to relax long enough to be able to listen. These are problems which Rorty recognized (source) and which indicate that his approach cannot be exclusive.

In 5points’ article on his flying experience, he mentioned that he has decided to fly less for his family’s sake.  So he had a choice. He made the decision.

Yet, how many things in our life, apart from whether I should have coke or diet coke this morning etc, we actually have a choice in what we do?

The above is a flow chart of  the so-called more important DECISIONS I have made so far. At the point of making the decision, I felt like I had a choice (and obviously there were options. Otherwise there wouldn’t be two paths in each step of the chart!) This was especially true for earlier decision. Yet, for the more recent decisions, such as the last two, I have come to realise that

1. I actually don’t know much about myself (nor what I want).

2. I am just ignorant in general and know almost nothing about the world. (The older I am, the more I understand that I am ignorant)

3. I actually have no control of my life and things happening around me.

So, am I really capable of making a decision? or are there really options or they are just illusional? or in fact I just do what I feel like and I would be following a plan defined by the divine. Well… in a nutshell I am just one of those unsuccessful losers that 5points has described in his blog.

P.S. A continuation of this discussion can be found in ‘what is the price?’.

Regret

As I reflect on paths not taken -
I stand remiss of the words I have left unspoken.
It is not that my heart ached more, or that my heart ached less
but that my heart aches now as I never imagined
how much my heart truly ached
- For you.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009