Friday, August 16, 2013

Meet people where they are

I have been spending a lot of time with my nieces to much time and Smokey the cat. I enjoy being with my nieces and nephew, they are the reason I came back to NYC. I very much want to watch them grow and learn. I want to see them as they head off to school, learn to read and navigate the minefield called elementary friendship.

My nieces all have quirks, (if they ever read this they will probably strangle me) SJ tugs on ears to signal she is sleepy.  Gray does a scalp massage thingy when she is sleepy.

SJ is smooshed up against my side with her hand hovering over my ear as I type this. Should I move her? Probably, but that will only wake her up. I want her to sleep not because I want the peace and quiet I really do. As uncomfortable as I at the moment these are the memories that leave deep grooves so that the memory skips like a scratched record. I remember carrying her when she was born, her little face red like an apple, her eyelids fluttered rapidly. I wondered what do angels dream about?

When Gray was born I felt like I had received yet another amazing gift, when I pick her up and she throws her around me and squeezes it is my heart that cant breathe. Gray's hugs feel like the purest, cleanest air.

Today as I sit here having my poor earlobe abused, I guess I could say no and move her hand. SJ would be deprived of her favorite method for self soothing and my earlobe would feel awesome but I would miss out on what makes SJ unique. SJ reminded me that we all have quirks and sometimes we just have to meet someone where they are.

Granted it is difficult meeting adults where they are, most adults have baggage, can be abusive and sometimes we cant even see their quirks. Maybe this is just another lesson in life presents itself when the mind is open.

I have to go now typing with one hand is difficult and my other arm is numb, and I wouldn't change a thing

Thursday, June 27, 2013

I don't know

So I moved, everyone is telling me how exciting it is to move and how this changes everything. Moving is only exciting if someone else is handling the nitty gritty otherwise moving is tiring.

Does this change everything? Waking up each day changes everything. Not showering changes everything.  Change is inevitable

Am I excited about the next chapter in my life? Meh. I know great things will happen and not great things it is a part of life. I think I will just sit back now and enjoy the ride.

Don't get me wrong I still have those dreams that are locked like Fort Knox in my heart. I have the secret wishes that is part of being a human being.

I feel that one of the reasons I have been so disappointed in the past is because I have stacked the deck so heavily with expectations.

Expectations are like a slow moving poison you don't realize the damage until it is to late.

So I am not slacking or indecisive, I would meet each moment as it happens.

I don't know the Sheepdogs

Monday, June 24, 2013


This chapter is ending, I feel as if I should say goodbye. I feel as if I should exit with eloquence and meaningful parable to give gravitas to my time here in the DMV. 

Instead of saying goodbye I will sum up some of my experiences and what I learned. 

Being bilingual can be a pain in the behind. People who speak Spanish will be hostile and suspicious because I speak English. 

People who only speak English are resentful and suspicious of people who speak two languages. 

I learned that southern cuisine is over rated. 

Sadly I saw the casualties in the "immigration reform" debates and they are all children. 

All over the DMV area I saw undocumented individual working hard to provide for their families. 

I saw kindness when I was on the bus this morning a woman who had just been released from the hospital got on she didn't have money to ride the bus. A senior citizen tucked her walker in she pulled our her change person not much was in it and she handed the lady the money needed to ride the bus. 

I saw people from all over the world visit the nations monuments. And I will never grow tired from the looks on their faces. This country still has magic. 

I remember the chair knocking episode aka the earthquake. I was visiting one of my schools and Ms. Meredith grabbed me and pulled me into a door her concern was making sure I was ok. Afterwards she wanted to know if I was ok. 

I learned that wheel locks are important, wish I had known that before all my wheels and rims were stolen. 

I learned that football is a religion here. 

I learned to always search for the pockets of kindness that are littered the hours of the day. 

Goodbye DMV you are now a part of my DNA and memory banks. 

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Single Dads

So thanks to Amazon and my inability to say no to an e-book I have been reminded countless times that June 16th is Fathers Day.

I normally treat Father's Day like Mother's Day a commercial venture to inspire guilt and cause financial shake down which would make the mafia proud. But as always dear reader I digress, this year my thoughts on Mother's and Father's day has changed.

I have been digging deep trying to understand my current fascination and then memories of conversation floated up and then I realized that the memories were overlapping. Conversations I had with single dads in NYC, only at the time I didn't realize they were single fathers. When I moved to DC I noted the increased number of single dads at meetings, conferences, plays and at first I chalked it up to conflicting parental schedules.

And then the conversations started at no point did I ever have man tell me he was a single dad. And then I noticed that being a single dad came with a set of labels, stigmas, short-comings and assumptions that would make Hercules scream submission.

Most of my single dads wrestle with the feeling that their partners left them and their children. Worse is the feeling that partner who left has no interest in maintaining contact with the child. Most of the dad's blame themselves as if they had performed whatever magical recipe was necessary "she would have stayed."

Single dads also wrestle with the fact that society expects them to date but sometimes they are not ready or unsure if they can trust bringing in a partner into a child rearing dynamic. 

Single mothers have been broken by all the labels and demands heaped upon them and I have seen how the mom's work to include single dad's in activities and create a more gender neutral atmosphere. Single dad's are always grateful for the support and resources even if they can't verbalize it.

So maybe it isn't just Amazon's fault that I have Father's day on the brain so much this year.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Kool-Aid and Jealousy

I find it troubling that I want to admit this. I find it even more troubling that I feel this way.

As far back as I can remember I have always been jealous of people who can accept anything. The green headed monster fills me with poisonous jealousy when ever I am around people who will believe whatever they are told. Why can't I be like that. Why can't I just suspend the ability to question and live in ignorant bliss. Why can't I just look at reason and logic and discard them like yesterdays newspapers.

Just once I want to swallow the kool-aid, I want to throw rational thought to the wind and pretend wooooohooooo yes this will work no matter how improbable.

Just once I want develop a cult like devotion to some unimportant nonsense. I want to look at opinion polls and say "yes that sounds right" I want to think that popular opinion is right.

I want to feel the comfort of group think and the status quo. I want the feeling of "not my problem". I want to walk by and say: "thank goodness that isn't me." I want the arrogant feeling of moral superiority because I am with the majority.

Yes I am jealous and this is eating at me. I don't want to drink the kool-aid I want to bathe in it. I want it seep into my pores until I am OK with the popular opinion du jour.  Yes I am ashamed.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

But I won't do that

Today was a long day or as I have marked my calendar it was visit each section of DC day. I started off in the SW for meeting one. My eyelids were open, I nodded politely. My timing was excellent and I responded to questions I didn't find particularly interesting or worth listening to closely.

On to the next the meeting in the NE because not skipping all over town would have been to easy. By the way with all this modern technology why is a physical presence still necessary? But I digress, I inhaled another espresso and was verbal enough to make the meeting participants feel that they had scored some real achievements. I on the other hand spent my time wondering if I was going to beat the rain going home.

Meeting number three I could see the home stretch, more of the same only now my stomach had woken up to bad stomach we are in the SE the only thing on every other corner is a fried chicken and we don't touch that stuff. My stomach rebelled promising not to listen. I pointed out that we hadn't listened all day stomach decided to go passive aggressive rumble and grumble. OK you win stomach you embarrassed me.

And then I blinked the fourth meeting in the NW was over. Yes the lunch crowd was long gone I had my pick of places. And then the stomach decided to play we don't know what we want. Thankfully I was standing next to Cosi so I made an executive decision.

Ah Cosi with your wonderful signature salad how I drool over thee. I sat in my table feeling like royalty with a feast. When I noticed that off to the corner sat two gentlemen having a late lunch.

Tap, tap tap. Yes G+ updates.

"I am not shaving that" Ears perked up. "She asked you to shave that?"
"I am not gay what will people think if I shave my ___" Damn it  I couldn't hear the deal breaker. What did she want him to shave? Was it his head, arms, legs, arm pits? I faked stretched, moving closer, hoping to finally catch the mysterious patch of offensive hair to be shaved. Sensing that they had an interested third party the two gentlemen through out the remains of a lunch that had long been eaten.

I sulked, now I would have to actually imagine what she wanted him to shave?  So if you are in the NW happen to stop off in Cosi after the lunch crowd and you hear of shaving adventures please fill me in I am burning with curiosity.

Yes I did beat the rain, you are still thinking about the shaving I understand.

I would do anything for love

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Love Jones

I watched the movie Love Jones in the theater when it first came out. I will never forget the audiences reaction when Darius (Larenz Tate) recited this poem. I loved poetry before this movie but after I could not read or listen to a poem if it didn't have the power to create such a powerful and visceral reaction. I still remember the end of the scene when Darius walks off stage I can honestly say i felt "spent."

Every so often I will play this poem and I have the same reaction. Good stories, poetry etc stay with you a life time pulling all sorts of emotions. Great stories, poems etc will evolve and change as you mature so as you revisit these old friends you learn that they too have grown.

Love Jones is a very good movie, the characters are complex and they don't offer standard answers to the question of love, monogamy, intimacy etc.

Love Jones also taught me poems are like music they should not be read but heard.

I present to you a "Blues for Nina"

A Blues for Nina

Friday, May 24, 2013

Questions you should never ask, unless you want to be unhappy

This blog post is inspired by a conversation I overheard. Long story short relationship are difficult. Relationships can become painful when requesting honest answers. So in the spirit of ignorance is bliss never ask the following questions:

1. Are you listening to me? If you have to ask the answer is no
2. Was it good for you? If you have to ask the other person will lie to save your feelings
3. Want to try that again? If the other person wanted to try it again they would speak up quite loudly.

And this concludes Lisbeth's guide to a happy relationship.

Good night :)

Cherchez la femme. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world

The first time I heard the term Cherchez la femme I didn't think much of it. I figured that it was just men casting the normal aspersions on women. 

Then today happened. Yes I was angry, oh I was boiling tea kettle angry. I was fit to be tied. And as my anger grew, my feelings of having been disrespected and stepped on increased. And then *click* the anger was no more and I realized that while feeling angry is a normal human emotions it is what we do with the anger that determines outcomes. 

And then I remembered Cherchez la femme and I thought to myself "Yes!" I am that woman. I am the woman who will not stand by and allow injustice. I am the woman who will call out ill manners and bad behavior. I am the woman who will create an opportunity to take a negative and turn it into a positive. 

And now the more I think about it the more I believe that the term Cherchez la femme  was created because a woman refused to sit idly by and pretend all was OK. It is those types of women who will not have their voices silenced. It is those types of women who change the world because they don't like the current version. It is those women who look around and say: "I am not going to wait for someone to save me, I will help myself."

So the next time you hear a man nudge and wink and slyly say Cherchez la femme  realize that it is only because she was the one willing to take the risks to change that which no longer fit in the world.   

cherchez la femme 

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

I switched seats to sit next to him.

I don't consider myself shallow, I find beauty everywhere. And I have been told I must be blind because I have met very few unattractive people. I look at people and all I see is the beauty and the potential for greater beauty.  Having said that, I am not immune to the charms of a well dressed man. When I was younger I believed that clothes could enhance a persons look. I have learned that it is the person who can take a rag and create a new fashion trend.

One of the things that we women lament about at ad nauseum is that we dress for women and not for men. On my less charitable days, I am inclined to believe that dressing for men is a waste of time. I have lost count of the number of times when in a rush with unbrushed hair, wrinkled mis-matching clothing men have flocked to me like fates in Greek mythology who beckon men to their destruction.

On days when I am presentable I am become invisible, I consider that a good thing 100% of the times to be honest.

So I asked my sisters, if we dress for women, do men dress for women or for men?

Silence   For a good 20 seconds my sisters thought hard. The only consensus we could honestly reach was that 90% of men couldn't dress themselves at high noon with mirrors, visual aids and instructions from a saint.

My sister made a head scratching observation: "was it possible that women dressed for women because men would take social cues from the attention the women would receive?"

My other sister then asked if society had programmed women to "dress" in order to attract a partner.

I would rather sit on a space heater in the summer than admit to a cliche and I wondered if perhaps socio-economic factors actually influence how men attract women through clothing? Could it be possible that men do in fact dress to attract women?  And then I realized that men dress much more subtly to attract a partner. 

I will be the first to admit that when a man regardless of looks is dressed in well fitting clothing I do take a second and third glance. A watch or cuff links ensures that I will take a fourth or fifth glance.  Pants that are properly hemmed with shoes that are polished and ding we have an attractive man (regardless of looks).

I think that men and women have evolved different approaches to capturing a partners eyes. I am guilty of having changed seats on Amtrak this weekend, I was originally sitting with a very cute guy with the typical rumpled t-shirt and jeans and sneakers. When the less attractive Mr. Gingham shirt, wool trousers and loafers asked if I would like the window seat I jumped ship (no pun intended) his confidence and easy manner won me over for an enjoyable train ride full of charming conversation.

If I had to guess I would think that cute guy, knows he is cute and he doesn't have to try as hard. Whereas Mr. Not So Cute has had to develop social skills and learned to enhance his appearance.

So what is the take away? Basically men and women are visual creatures and we like what we like. Or as my naughty mother would say there is no accounting for taste, and in the end all cats are black in the dark.

Suit and Tie

Saturday, May 18, 2013

We are nerds we are the hands that turn the wheel

I am a nerd! I would wear a button if they gave them out. I would rock my button with pride. I went to see the Star Trek into Darkness with family and friends. No worries this is a spoiler free zone.

After the movie of course the inevitable Star Trek, Star Wars, Battle Star Galactica, Dr. Who etc. lines were all drawn.

What was at stake? Money? Fame? Power? No. Nerd cred was at stake, we all know that nerd cred super cedes money, fame, power, love etc.

Who would take top honors? I sniffed in polite disdain when someone mentioned the superiority of Star Wars. I bit my tongue Star Wars? People who run around fighting with glow sticks? I don't think so.

The arguments flowed back and forth each person defending their side valiantly.

At some point, I sat back and let the conversation wash over and me and I realized that everyone was passionate each person was pursuing truth.

Every statement made in favor of one series was based on a greater calling. The series represented for each proponent something bigger than the individual it represented how society can best move forward in a more perfected union through hardship, blood sweat and tears.

I continued to listen, I was no longer interested in winning. I realized that we the nerds had won. We who invest our selves in the truth where ever it may lead. We who go in search of adventure, we who look for answers after other have walked away in frustrations.

We are not leaders, soldiers, fighters. We are those who will move humanity forward. We will evolve humans not for selfish desires but because we understand that our brief time on this beautiful little planet is brief but even a small person can leave a mark.

We are nerds.

I gotcha your number right here

A few days ago I saw on post on G+ offering a fool-proof method to acquire a kajilion new G+ members over night.

I scratched my head for a while, but curiosity won out and I clicked on the persons profile. I scrolled through an endless stream of re-post and one word response to re-posts.

I scratched my head some more. This individual offered no original content, when this person responded it was "yes" or "Great" or "awesome" After 50 posts I gave up on looking for anything longer than one sentence or original content.

Why bother having elventy billion followers or people circled have close to zero interaction.

I will admit I am biased, I enjoy the hell out of G+ every day I have an opportunity to talk to passionate, intelligent, charming, witty people who stretch me in ways I hadn't thought possible. I will also admit that G+ has spoiled me, I welcome meeting new people every day even as I my circles have evolved to include people whom I now consider friends. I know some people would say that friends is to strong a word for people I have not met but I disagree.

If I am quiet for a few hours or a day my notifications will ping with someone asking me how I am doing. My notifications show messages from so many different people sharing information they think I would be interested in reading or seeing. If I miss a certain post people will loop me in.

Here on G+ people care about each other it is obvious from the subtle forms of gentle, positive but firm support.

When I feel frustrated I know I have at my disposal a group of people who will listen and offer feedback without preachy advice.

So to the person with the eleventy billion people circle. I congratulate you but I am sad for you because I can't help but feel that you mis-understood the social network platform. It isn't a numbers game, it isn't even a game it is about connecting authentically with people we don't have access to because of time, space, geography etc.

My circle count may not be impressive but the people I interact with are awesome and I am grateful for them all.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

A funny thing happened as I walked down the hall....Love became a burden....

"He wants to move in can you believe that?" Catherine asked

I continued walking behind Catherine and Lois they knew I was behind them and didn't lower their voices.

"He wants to move in, he is moving fast you two have been seeing each other for a year." Lois responded.

We had reached the door and they held it for me. "What do you think?" I blinked, I didn't know what to say. Catherine, Lois and I work together, they are both young professional women and they have both been divorced.

Waiting for an answer I decided to turn the tables, I had no desire to placed in the middle of what I knew was coming. "How do you feel about living together?"

We walked into the office and sat down, I had dodged that bullet. "I like him a lot, and we have an nice time together but-" Catherine trailed off.

"But" I prompted wanting to hear my suspicions confirmed. "But, I don't want to take care of another man, I've already been married and well I would rather us continue our relationship the way it is." I couldn't help it I needed to poke and prod. "So you consider what you have a relationship?" I asked.

"Hell no! "That is why I want to keep things the way they are." "He already has mentioned he would like to have kids and I told him I already have a child and don't want any more children."  Catherine answered emphatically. I leaned back in my chair.

 Lois patted Catherine's hand, "I don't blame you, raising and taking care of a second husband is no fun."

Curiosity was still eating at me and I had to ask, "does he know how you feel?" Of course, he keeps bringing up the moving in together because he says that way I can make a better decision since I already told him I did not want to get married."

"Maybe he thinks you are playing hard to get." I said lightly knowing full well that Catherine was not the playing hard to get type. 

A variation of this conversation has been playing out for a few years now that I have reached the age where my social circles are seeing a lot more divorce and separation.  At first I thought it was an anomaly when I heard women state they were not looking to get married again or date seriously. But now I hear it constantly women at all income and education levels are saying: Tried the marriage thing I have (or don't) a child and I am not looking to add any more complications to my life.

Some how as we age our romantic relationships become complications and burdens. The women I have spoken to aren't fearful of commitment they have tested the waters and found that freedom to raise their child and themselves is enough.  I find this equally interesting because a few male friends have been on the opposite side.

Larry and Barry (lets call them that) both divorced and within a year were dating. Larry dated a divorcee like himself.

Barry dated someone who had never been married.

Larry laments that his "girlfriend" whom views herself as his FBF (Friends with Benefits would be a polite term) wont commit and Barry couldn't get his new girlfriend down the aisle soon enough.

Bary is happy to be married again and is happy that his new wife wants to have with him child.  Barry is an excellent father and provider to his first child and he and his first wife are on friendly terms.

Does any of this mean anything? Probably not. I am not a sociologist nor do I play one on TV or online. But I am curious, when did romantic relationships become such a burden that people are choosing to opt out?

And yes, you are right, what I have described is my personal experience you may be experiencing something quite unique in your own social circle

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

The Willy Wonka brain

Pure Imagination

I remember watching the original Willy Wonka and thinking the Chocolate Factory is nice but I can create one better.  And so I built a wondrous enchanted land so magical and colorful that I spent days refining this beautiful place.  I sat down to convey the majesty of endless fields of grass so pure and clean that during each inhale lungs became strengthened and super powers increased. I wanted to some how capture the water so clear that fishing became a spectator sport the goal to identify the beauty of its diversity. If I could paint the canvas would fill an entire city block to capture the beauty of this land.

But my gift is in words, and even on my best of days I fall short of properly capturing and conveying all the intricate nuances that create not prose but a story.

A story starts with pure imagination it gestates not in the womb but in the brain, it is nurtured with love from the soul and inspiration. When the story is created a new life is born.  A good story can not be contained in ink and paper.

A good story sits next to you, and little by little it enters your system, and before you know it you have fallen in love with this story. The characters are real, created and refined by millions of ideas that float like fog on the water.

Which brings me back to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory pure imagination feels magical, the real magic is in being able to capture all those ideas, thoughts and mental images and turning them into a story.

I enjoy the act of pure imagination, my mind has infinite idea sometimes I have wondered if I could hire myself out to those with writers block.  My biggest challenge is in finding a balance between imagination and creating.  The heady experience of giving my creative side carte blanche is exhilarating but equally fantastic is when my fingers caress the keyboard bringing the creativity to the table in a manner of speaking.

The internal struggle to balance creativity and creation is worthy of self reflection but only if it allows you to achieve your goal. 

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Cynicism? No. Innocence.

"I am in the 7th grade!" I stomped my foot and yelled from my bedroom. <insert laugh track>

"I don't want you going on the train alone!" My mom yelled back from the kitchen. I walked back to the kitchen. "I am 13 stop treating me like a baby, I am not scared of the trains." My frustration started to mount.

"We will all go your sisters would also love to see the Frick Collection." And just like that Ace I needed from the deck of cards shuffled by the fickle hand of fate appeared. You want us to all go, after what happened with S two months I ago? I pointed my younger sister S for emphasis who looked on innocently unaware of any conflict. My mother looked at S, and then I played the ace of clubs, "you know how C gets when she has to walk to much."

I could tell my mom was reliving the nightmares of a few months earlier we had all gone down to Herald Square and we had lost S. Technically S was not lost she was following us as we searched for her. <insert hysterical laugh track> All this while baby C was adamant about not wanting to walk because she was tired.

My mom knew I had won that round. "You can go with but only if you take Gabby with you." Not a victory or a loss in my book. Great.

Saturday finally rolled around, it was a bitterly cold Winter morning. I had lost my gloves yet again, before my mother could ask I dashed out the house. I had met Gabby 3 years earlier, she had been placed in our classroom mid-year.

From the moment I met her I felt like she was one of my sisters, I already had 3 one more would only make it even. Gabby commanded attention, her doe eyes, languid, unhurried movements from years of ballet had given her something that can only develop after teen years. Gabby had grace, before I even understood the concept of grace.  Even when we did our NYC walking hers was different, she was like a gazelle fast, sleek and graceful. And as if to add insult to injury she could walk in this fashion while carrying her school and ballet gear.

The wind was so viciously cruel that I was ready to quit as soon as possible, which was just as well Gabby had her ballet recital. I decided, to skip her recital as I had a book back in my warm cozy bedroom calling my name.

I jumped on the train and found a seat, I almost started to cry, the train had no heat. I couldn't shove my hands in my pockets because people were sitting on either side of me. My red, raw hands hummed and throbbed with pain. The pain became more unbearable.  In an effort to pretend it wasn't real I became rigid, I slowed my breathing. I was cold therefore I would become a statue like the ones I just saw at the Frick collection. I didn't need to move my eyes to my Swatch watch, I knew the train ride would take 45 minutes if no delays occurred.

The pain in my hands increased, the train car was so cold I could see my breath. I started to sweat it I was so cold. I swore that I would never lose my gloves again and I would jump under the covers as soon as I got home.

My thoughts raced, my misery only increased with each passing minute but I did not dare move for fear that my hands would fall off. 

And then I felt something different, the urge to move was strong, I shifted my eyes to the left. At first all I saw was a bent head close to a pad, my brain was pre-occupied with the pain in my hands. He looked up, no he didn't look, he looked at my hands his head bent lower and his hands worked faster.

He was sketching my hand, still not moving I looked down. My hands were wind chapped, cracked, red, raw and swollen. I watched him, as he continued to sketch, soon I forgot my hands. I wanted to see his sketch, now instead of burning pain I had burning curiosity to see what he had captured.

We were only four stops away, my pain had long since been forgotten, just as I was about to contrive a reason to get up and look at the sketch his head popped up but this time he remembered he was inside of a train, he leaped up, sketch pad still open so I could catch a brief glance of his charcoal drawing. My hands!

The doors closed he was gone. Only three stops to go. I sat back in my seat the train was nearly empty I could put my hands in my pocket if I wanted. I didn't know what to think he had sketched my hands feverishly but my hands looked horrendous. I was baffled, art created beauty, no beauty could be found in my hands at the moment. I still did not dare move them as they hurt so much.

On four additional occasions over my train riding, my hands were sketched by art students. I was always baffled, was it because I stood still? Was it something about my hands? I would examine them closely after each encounter.

Cynically after my last encounter I decided that in the universe of things my hands had been destined to be sketched by the random powers of fate and time.

Tonight I was on G+ and as is the norm, I let the stream of pictures, stories, wash over me. And as the posts flowed I realized that the more things change the more they stay the same.

It wasn't to long ago that people would bring a boom box on the train, now they dig out their cellphones and blast their tunes. (FYI, if you are ever on a train with someone who just got back from Louisiana festival just change cars, listening to more than 30 minutes of Zydeco will burn your brains and ears.)

We jump on the train and we take furtive pictures of each other. I remember when we sketched each other. We sit with our laptops tapping out stories, I remember when people would pull out a batter notebook and in barely legible penmanship write out scenes and dialogues.

I look at G+ and I realize that technology has given me the innocence I thought was scared off by old cynicism.

How is it possible that technology with its cold, shiny, plastic, buttons has allowed me to view the world with wonder?

I don't know.