It is a time to rejoice and a time to bemoan. Brian returns to school; Christmas vacation ends. December was a nice month and 2006 disappeared swiftly in quiet contemplation.
We are over our Christmas colds as the weather in northern California experiences a "spring" hiccup. We see days with temperatures near 70. But the nights are still as cold as an angry wife. It is the beginning of a new year.
The first Redwood Writers club meeting of the New Year convened Sunday evening. The guest speaker was Joan Price, a local advocate for sexuality for seniors. She has written several books, maintains a blog and teaches line dancing. She is an inspiration to be sure. I am proud Sonoma County can boast her as their own.
I haven't forgotten my own redheaded sexuality; it is just taking a back seat to being Brian's social director these days. My mother did the same with my brother and me during the pre- teen years. It is amusing to remember how great she looks after my brother started driving ourselves and she had more time. Although … Brian does think I look great ... but I don't think any 11-year-old boy likes to think of his mother as sexy. I think they prefer we look like Betty Crocker.
Joan talked candidly of her life what has brought her to where she is as a writer. I am impressed with her knowledge of blogging, as media would have the public believe only pubescent teenagers with friends to text have blogs. During her conversation about blogging she shares an example of a phenomenon I have seen too much of on the Internet.
The story is about a group of people from a shock jock radio program that took it upon themselves to blast her blog with negative postings, making fun of people over 60 having sex. Their comments borderline evil and remind me of mob mentality. We are forever talking about eliminating bullies from the schoolyard, only to see them reappear on he Internet. Joan made the mistake of not having her moderator turned on so she can filter out the postings. By the time she realizes what has transpired on her blog, the postings have sat, creating an alternate image of what she stands for.
It was during this time that a local newspaper reporter is reviewing her blog for the first time. I am at a loss to understand why people waist any precious day (in our short lives) berating a stranger. It was lost on me growing up and is lost on me now. It would be more understandable if provoked, but aren't we supposed to be more evolved?
I see the same thing happening on a blog where a young man talks about foreclosure on several houses he bought at the end of the real estate bubble. The mortgage payments are crushing him and he is fighting the thought of financial ruin. He writes with innocent honesty. In response, some strangers will write the cruelest tirades. Again, I am lost as to why. It isn't like his financial ruin affects anyone posting at the site. He is trying to tell his story, and probably sell it in the hopes the money will prevent him from facing a bankruptcy court.
Isn’t this the American way?
This growing climate on the Internet where hatred is spread in the name of “free speech” disturbs me. It has shut down popular chat rooms, newsgroups and conversation postings. Is “free speech” what Hitler called his vision for the future? Or what the murderers of the one million Tutsis slaughtered in Rwanda called it? How do people think atrocities happen? They begin with hatred left unchecked. It grows like an infectious disease silently killing courage. I am bored with the argument of “Who decides what hate speech is?” Oh come on people, we are not THAT stupid. I think we can all agree what is hate speech.
At the club meeting I watch the faces of the other writers as Joan shared this negative experience with her blog. Their eyes swell with the air of reluctance. Fear is a powerful perfume. I think it is a shame if the world is denied the next Hemingway, because he or she is afraid to tell their story. These negative web experiences are why everyone should do a blog and post their thoughts and stories. We cannot let the bullies of the world spread their message of hate and ridicule unabated. We cannot let them silence our courage. I have been lucky enough that all my emails from readers are funny, and many read this site without posting, but I can moderate out content too. But negative reactions won't stop me from blogging.
37 signals writes about this phenomenon in the article, "Why do blog comments seem to bring out the worst in people so often? " so the subject is getting some attention. I am baffled as to why so many people are bitterly unhappy and want to "share" it with the rest of the world. And when did it become okay to make fun of seniors with such disrespect?
Besides. I am all for people having sex until they are well over a 100 years of age. I am behind the boomers blazing THIS trail for me!! You go sista! I was born at the tail end of the boom, so I have benefited greatly by the changes boomers bring to the world. Why shouldn’t we be passionate about life until the day we die? You can’t tell me there is one person out there, who given the choice between dying of a heart attack at age 96 after having great sex or dying in a hospital bed hooked up to tubes and monitors with a bedpan under their ass would chose the latter.
Saturday morning I enjoy my weekly morning coffee call to my mother. She is 78 and turning 79 this June. She looks and acts like a 60 year old. I often tease her that she will live to be 104 because of the longevity genes in her family. I joke how we will be rambling around some house with her telling me to pick up my shoes. I’ll be 73 saying “I’ll do it in a minute, mom.” She laughs and then tells me that she only wants ten more years and then she is done. Ten years. Ten years is too soon to say goodbye. I know she dreams of the day she will see my dad again. I know she misses him. She stays healthy and active out of love for us kids and her grandchildren.
But ten years?
I rather like the dream of having her live with me. But she is determined to leave this world her way. The way she plans things she’ll probably quietly nod off to sleep in church during mass, never to wake up. My father's spirit will be on the other side gently extending his hand, telling her he has been waiting patiently to travel the universe and heavens with her.
Hopefully ... I will be having great sex with the love of my life by then…?
Until next time-
C
