I am not saying anything new here, but it needs to be said, Social Media is a Pandora’s Box full of information and temptations that will lead you astray, and my warning stems from this …
Last year in a desperate attempt to save my dwindling rose garden, I actually tried one of those “tips” trending on Facebook. This is not something I routinely do, but I am definitely not above trying new things or being influenced by others, so with the same gusto I’ve always taken with peer pressure, I owned it! I was ready to take a simple rose clipping, stick it in a potato and propagate a beautiful abundant bush.
These are the reasons this post intrigued me:
First, it was simple. All you had to do was take a cutting from an existing healthy rose-bush, remove the stems and stick it into a potato, then plant the potato in the ground with the hints of a new rose-bush above the soil. Easy!
Second, I had a dead rose-bush that needed to be replaced and I had a potato.
So, I got to work. I followed the instructions (stem + potato) and stuck that potato dead center. I was right, IT WAS EASY, now all I had to do was water it and wait. This is the easiest thing I’ve ever done!
As the seasons changed, I waited … and … nothing. My dream of a beautiful bush withered and along with it all my expectations of what Facebook could do for me.
Fall, Winter and Spring passed to no avail. Then, Summer, life was rearing its ugly head, making itself known by fighting its way through the ground to the surface of the earth.
It worked! I could see a tiny bit of green, it was alive. Thank you Facebook! With a renewed feeling of worth, I watered, waited, and it grew.
Wait. Whaaaat?!? This must be the ugly duckling of roses, but unlike the beautiful swan that revealed itself at the end of the story, I had nothing but a spud.
Yup! I planted a potato and that’s exactly what I got.
Sometimes a rose is still a rose … until it’s a potato.
Now that my six year-old, Azul, has incorporated the word “epic” into his vocabulary, I have a totally different view of the utterance.
I always used it in its traditional sense, a long poem of heroic deeds, such as, The Iliad and The Odyssey. That definition gives the word a romantic feel, something to ponder, it takes you on a journey to enjoy.
Webster defines it as:
1) a long narrative poem in elevated style recounting the deeds of a legendary or historical hero
2) a work of art (as a novel or drama) that resembles or suggests an epic
Today, either used alone or paired with “fail,” it has lost its perception of grandeur. No longer is it a beautiful way to experience a legend, but a word that is only defined as “big.”
I know many terms come in and out of fashion and have a circular life cycle; that makes me wonder if Homer was belittled by his peers who said, “Epic? Bahahaha! Dude that totally just means ‘big.’ ”
Although I am not willing to completely give up on the romanticism of the word, currently, anyone using or overusing “epic” just seems as if they have the vocabulary of a first grader, or they’re trying way too hard.
“That was epic!”
The funny thing about motherhood is that it changes so much of your life, but in some ways it keeps you stuck in a rut. Your emotions change, your body changes, and life as you know it, changes. Everything is different and even the changes are consistently changing too. One thing that hadn’t changed for me, was my hair.
The last time I had significantly refashioned my hair was when I was pregnant. I fell for the false theory that short hair is easier to care for by new moms who now have a baby slung to their chests and have less time to be worried about their appearance. Wrong! I still made the time in my day to style my now short hair, just as I did my long hair. During pregnancy my hair was growing rapidly due to the hormones having a heyday in my system, ten inches were removed and donated to Locks of Love, again prompted by the hormones. Just thinking about children having to deal with cancer would bring me to tears.
Well, I haven’t been pregnant for seven years and for the last several years I have been wearing my hair long, maybe the longest since I was a little girl, and I have been afraid of cutting it. I don’t know why. I really need to cut my hair.
When I turned forty I decided I couldn’t cut it then because I’M FORTY! And I didn’t want it to become my “midlife crisis hairdo,” so I immediately came to the conclusion that forty and forty-five were off-limits for cutting my hair. Both of those ages seemed to be the stereotypical midlife crisis ages. With that line of thinking, I knew forty-two was the right age for me to get out of my hair rut. So, I kicked the midlife crisis can down the road.
Forty-two really is a good age, you’re no longer uncomfortable with facing the fourth decade of your life, it’s a confident age, a comfortable time and still closer to forty than forty-five. Whew. Well, I am anxiously seven months into my “comfortable age” and my hair has not changed. Until now.
My almost twelve inches will again go to Locks of Love and I figured if Jared Leto could do it, so could I.