Monday 13 February 2017
Love is NOT a Diamond! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Love is NOT a diamond -
a bauble that is bought.
It has many facets,
but flashy it is not.
Love is not bedazzled
like jewelry you wear;
not measured in Karats
or debt you need to bear.
Don't believe commercials -
a diamond isn't love.
If you want a symbol,
buy your mate a glove!
One glove can be quite useful -
if the truth be told -
to warm up the other,
the hand that you don't hold.
It will mold to fingers
allowing them to flex;
won't bind them like mittens
and make movement complex.
And when nicely fitted
it's comfy and it's warm -
keeps hand warm and cozy
through every nasty storm.
Why should hands be shackled
by gems that once were coal;
stones mined by slave labour
that sucks a poor man's soul?
Rocks polished to brilliance,
then marketed as "love"?
Ha - it sounds so silly!
I'd rather get a glove!
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb 11th, 2017
"Ha!", you're saying, "I'm onto this Rhyming Muse! She's obviously a very unromantic killjoy who complains about flowers one Valentine's Day and diamonds the next! I'll bet she attacks chocolate next year!"
So let me put your mind at ease. I don't hate Valentine's Day and it's safe to say I'll never complain about chocolate - which is on my top ten list of the best gifts to give for any occasion : )
But I will admit that you're half right. I'm not a huge fan of this particular holiday. It does seem to be mostly a big marketing ploy by florists and jewelers to sell their wares. And all the more power to them, but I'll just never be sold on the idea that flowers or diamonds equal love.
When we got married we were poor. My engagement ring was actually a birthstone ring (semi-precious stones at that!) that was purchased on sale. The cheque written for my very modest gold band bounced. No big flashy ring ever appeared to take the place of that engagement ring, and I'm okay with that. We've been happy - and are happier still because we've never incurred massive debt by spending a ton of money we didn't have on big glistening rocks that are supposed to be proof of my husband's undying love. Did you know jewelers have worked out a formula that estimates what percentage of your income you should spend on an engagement ring? Sorry, but that sounds beyond crass to me.
Maybe I am more pragmatic than romantic, but I just can't help but think that extravagant gifts given on holidays can't accurately demonstrate how much a person loves you. I like the symbol of a ring - the circular shape that signifies eternity, but who says the ring needs to be expensive to mean something? Any gift can mean something - even a glove! Heck - buy a whole pair and you'll have two occasions covered! Now and later symbolism for a pittance!
Sometimes people get caught up in symbols - especially status symbols, like well - ostentatious jewelry. They might attach meaning where there is none - telling themselves they're loved because a big bouquet of flowers showed up on their desk on February 14th or a lovely turquoise box was presented just before dessert. (I think those boxes are pretty. Love that shade of turquoise. - but I digress...) In my experience a lot of the men who make big showy gestures a few times a year don't do much to demonstrate their devotion the rest of the time.
Here's the part where I brag. My husband doesn't spend a fortune on me, but he's generally got a smile on his face when he walks through the door. He speaks so highly of me that I'm always a little worried that his friends and work colleagues will be disappointed when they actually meet me. He gets me - laughs at my lame jokes most of the time and expresses appreciation for the routine things I do. He listens to me, talks to me and actually likes me after twenty eight years of marriage.
So these verses are for him:
And now to you, husband -
so long I shopped for love.
Thankfully I found you.
You fit me like a glove.
You are my rock, my diamond -
my flash of brilliant blue,
and your love is proven
by everything you do.
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone - even if you do have to settle for diamonds or flowers : )
Friday 10 February 2017
Better Questions - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
"The Question"
Don't ask me what I do -
especially for pay.
I'm more than what I do
on any given day.
Try asking what I love.
(To most this matters more.)
Few are well defined by
the work they get paid for.
So ask what makes me tick,
what thrills me to the core;
what tugs upon my heart -
and you will learn much more.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb. 10, 2017
It happened again last night - I was asked the question that I've always dreaded.
"What do you do for a living?"
I hate answering that I'm a housewife, or a home-maker - or even borrowing from Rosanne Barr and saying I'm a Domestic Goddess. I don't like responding that I'm unemployed. Experience has taught me that those answers get no respect. Eyes glaze over and the asker can't get wait to move on to someone with a better answer to their inquiry. So I muttered something about doing odd jobs for my husband who owns a business, figuring that somehow that might redeem me at least a little.
I hate that question.
I wish I had just told the asker that - said it right out loud - just once for all of the hundreds (maybe thousands?) of times I've wanted to say it.
"I hate that question!"
(I wonder what response that would have gotten?)
It's not that I'm ashamed of the fact that I don't work for pay at the moment, or that I felt inferior in the days when I stayed home to raise my sons. I felt completely justified in my choice to be a stay at home mom. It was a pragmatic decision - somebody had to look after our sons, and since I loved them, and had never felt a call towards any particular career, it might as well be me. Most of the time I liked being home with my kids, even though it made me a pariah at work functions with my husband, where "the question" would inevitably be asked...
There I'd be, all dressed up and looking forward to interaction with adults. Hoping that maybe this time somebody would just ask about me - or about my kids - or frankly anything but my profession. Why was it so hard for these people to come up with better questions? Sheesh! I read books, I went to movies and watched the news! I even had an IQ sufficient to allow me to be conversant on a broad range of topics! But...nope. This was just another work function where people didn't know how to be people and fixated on jobs. So "the question" got asked, and I was quickly summed up as another boring housewife. I could almost hear them tsking as they walked away, and asking themselves why Todd would settle for such a boring wife.
But it goes back farther than that.
It goes back to the days when I worked as a fast food server, a sales clerk and a house cleaner. People who asked were always disappointed with how I was supporting myself - even when I was young enough to not have credentials to do anything more. The house cleaning years were worst, even though it was the job I enjoyed most. A few people pointed out that it was demeaning to scrub other peoples' floors and toilets, and that I should try and find a "better" job. This - in spite of the fact that cleaning paid twice as much as any other job I was qualified to do! Furthermore, I liked helping people who were too busy or infirm to clean for themselves. My clients were grateful for the service I provided, and that made the hard work satisfying. But oh - the looks of shock I endured! The looks of disappointment - and the looks of dismissal.
Maybe it even goes back farther than that.
My father was a brilliant man who finished grade twelve when he was about fifteen. He'd attended a one room schoolhouse, and his teachers saw that he was bright and let him work at his own pace. He could work out complicated math equations in his head! Furthermore, there were occasions where he'd challenge people with calculators to add six and seven digit numbers faster than he could without - and he'd win!
When people asked me what my father did I'd have to say that he worked at Algoma Steel - even though I knew that wasn't what he was. I knew it wasn't who he was, and that he had the intellect to hold a more prestigious position in life. (If you'd like to read more about my father, I can direct you to another post called Tapestries.) I knew, even as a child that very few people really want to work in factories, dig ditches or wait tables - but, as my father's life taught me, a lot of people have to cede their dreams and do what they have to do to keep bills paid and food on the table. I understood that these people didn't deserve to be seen as less intelligent, less interesting or less motivated than those who had exciting and lucrative careers.
As I grew up I learned to appreciate how many people work at things that seem boring, or are dirty, laborious, even dangerous - day in and day out. I learned that stereotypes are exaggerated - Preachers can be less than stuffy, undertakers can laugh, and librarians aren't all uptight neat freaks. I also came to understand how many people (like my father) don't get to work at the kind of job they dreamed of having. In fact, I've met very few people who spend their lives doing work they love, and those who do seem to make a lot of sacrifices along the way.
So is asking "the question" really the best way to figure out who someone is?
Next time you find yourself in a group of people, hold off on asking it for a while. Remember that a job doesn't really define a person. Ask them about their hobbies, passions, hopes and dreams first. Ask them about people they love and admire, places they've traveled, and how they'd spend their days if they didn't have to worry about paying bills. Ask them what matters most to them, and how they'd like to change the world.
I think you'll find that better questions enable better - more interesting and revealing - conversation.
Don't ask me what I do -
especially for pay.
I'm more than what I do
on any given day.
Try asking what I love.
(To most this matters more.)
Few are well defined by
the work they get paid for.
So ask what makes me tick,
what thrills me to the core;
what tugs upon my heart -
and you will learn much more.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb. 10, 2017
It happened again last night - I was asked the question that I've always dreaded.
"What do you do for a living?"
I hate answering that I'm a housewife, or a home-maker - or even borrowing from Rosanne Barr and saying I'm a Domestic Goddess. I don't like responding that I'm unemployed. Experience has taught me that those answers get no respect. Eyes glaze over and the asker can't get wait to move on to someone with a better answer to their inquiry. So I muttered something about doing odd jobs for my husband who owns a business, figuring that somehow that might redeem me at least a little.
I hate that question.
I wish I had just told the asker that - said it right out loud - just once for all of the hundreds (maybe thousands?) of times I've wanted to say it.
"I hate that question!"
(I wonder what response that would have gotten?)
It's not that I'm ashamed of the fact that I don't work for pay at the moment, or that I felt inferior in the days when I stayed home to raise my sons. I felt completely justified in my choice to be a stay at home mom. It was a pragmatic decision - somebody had to look after our sons, and since I loved them, and had never felt a call towards any particular career, it might as well be me. Most of the time I liked being home with my kids, even though it made me a pariah at work functions with my husband, where "the question" would inevitably be asked...
There I'd be, all dressed up and looking forward to interaction with adults. Hoping that maybe this time somebody would just ask about me - or about my kids - or frankly anything but my profession. Why was it so hard for these people to come up with better questions? Sheesh! I read books, I went to movies and watched the news! I even had an IQ sufficient to allow me to be conversant on a broad range of topics! But...nope. This was just another work function where people didn't know how to be people and fixated on jobs. So "the question" got asked, and I was quickly summed up as another boring housewife. I could almost hear them tsking as they walked away, and asking themselves why Todd would settle for such a boring wife.
But it goes back farther than that.
It goes back to the days when I worked as a fast food server, a sales clerk and a house cleaner. People who asked were always disappointed with how I was supporting myself - even when I was young enough to not have credentials to do anything more. The house cleaning years were worst, even though it was the job I enjoyed most. A few people pointed out that it was demeaning to scrub other peoples' floors and toilets, and that I should try and find a "better" job. This - in spite of the fact that cleaning paid twice as much as any other job I was qualified to do! Furthermore, I liked helping people who were too busy or infirm to clean for themselves. My clients were grateful for the service I provided, and that made the hard work satisfying. But oh - the looks of shock I endured! The looks of disappointment - and the looks of dismissal.
Maybe it even goes back farther than that.
My father was a brilliant man who finished grade twelve when he was about fifteen. He'd attended a one room schoolhouse, and his teachers saw that he was bright and let him work at his own pace. He could work out complicated math equations in his head! Furthermore, there were occasions where he'd challenge people with calculators to add six and seven digit numbers faster than he could without - and he'd win!
When people asked me what my father did I'd have to say that he worked at Algoma Steel - even though I knew that wasn't what he was. I knew it wasn't who he was, and that he had the intellect to hold a more prestigious position in life. (If you'd like to read more about my father, I can direct you to another post called Tapestries.) I knew, even as a child that very few people really want to work in factories, dig ditches or wait tables - but, as my father's life taught me, a lot of people have to cede their dreams and do what they have to do to keep bills paid and food on the table. I understood that these people didn't deserve to be seen as less intelligent, less interesting or less motivated than those who had exciting and lucrative careers.
As I grew up I learned to appreciate how many people work at things that seem boring, or are dirty, laborious, even dangerous - day in and day out. I learned that stereotypes are exaggerated - Preachers can be less than stuffy, undertakers can laugh, and librarians aren't all uptight neat freaks. I also came to understand how many people (like my father) don't get to work at the kind of job they dreamed of having. In fact, I've met very few people who spend their lives doing work they love, and those who do seem to make a lot of sacrifices along the way.
So is asking "the question" really the best way to figure out who someone is?
Next time you find yourself in a group of people, hold off on asking it for a while. Remember that a job doesn't really define a person. Ask them about their hobbies, passions, hopes and dreams first. Ask them about people they love and admire, places they've traveled, and how they'd spend their days if they didn't have to worry about paying bills. Ask them what matters most to them, and how they'd like to change the world.
I think you'll find that better questions enable better - more interesting and revealing - conversation.
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