At times I have thought it would be very useful for human beings to be able to blend into our surroundings, as much wildlife does. It is a survival ability, but one that mankind usually employs only in wartime, or in so-called war games. Yet, if good people could melt into the woodwork, so to speak, then so could the criminal element. And the latter would not benefit society in any way. Let cowardly criminals stand out in the daylight, where the world can see them for what they are and avoid them.
While both jungle cats and deer match their environments for different purposes, the master of disguises is probably the chameleon (and some of its cousins). These lizards of many species are found in many places in our world, and are able to match their colors to whatever background they find themselves on. However, some reliable sources tend to point out that the chameleon’s skin color changes are mostly due to light and temperature, and whether or not the chameleon is scared out of its wits at the time. That said, changing to green or brown or grey certainly does match many ground and plant environments. Certain other lizards can also change their skin coloring, sometimes to more subtle shades.
Whatever I saw on my way into the office on a very cold morning was a very lucky chameleon/lizard. I haven’t yet found a matching picture to identify him or her, but he was the same color as the aging asphalt in the parking lot. That is to say, a brownish-grey, not black. I sensed that he wasn’t dead, even though he didn’t move when I touched him with my foot. He just didn’t look dehydrated enough to be dead.
However, Sir Lizard was about to get mashed to a pulp where he was. Hundreds of people work and park in the business campus, and most barely care about wildlife they can see venturing from the old reservoir area and down our way. This includes cottontails, squirrels, coyotes and waterfowl. Something as small as a lizard is beneath their radar, and probably their contempt. I put down my briefcase and picked up the chameleon in a gloved hand. When I placed him in the bushes out of harm’s way, he moved his tail and his left hind leg. I had sufficiently warmed him to get an indication that he was indeed alive, just sluggish and highly vulnerable in a busy parking lot in 40 degree weather.
So, I have made another discovery on my journey through life. Small worlds revolve around us 24 hours a day. I hope we can all glimpse at least some of them and treasure those moments. www.shirleyannparker.com/discoveries.htm
In this part of the West, there is little snow so far this year. It’s been downright chilly, especially at night, but the weather has not been right for snow, not even in the mountains. The ski resorts had a light opening this year, not good for business. But, eternal optimists as the operators are, they are hoping Mother Nature will cooperate. Even to make artificial snow, which they do in huge amounts, requires the right combination of temperature and humidity, along with the experience of the snow makers who operate the machines. If Mother Nature doesn’t cooperate, and the crowds are not as huge as they are in their good seasons, there is always next year. They just need to hang on–easier said than done, of course, when one’s very survival is at stake.
For the rest of us, we look at our palm trees, our pine trees, and our deciduous trees, wondering at our good fortune in having a little of so many worlds in this multi-cultural region. All this variety and beauty come at a price, that of overcrowding and its concomitant rudeness, brought by those from elsewhere who are unwilling to adapt to a more leisurely lifestyle. However, for those of us who have served our time in the northern climes, we know we can no longer handle shoveling wet snow, or skidding on the treachery of black ice. Nor can bodies, no longer limber, rebound from the bruises and broken bones of falling on frozen slush, or thaw out frozen car engines several times a day. Thank you very much, but we have been there, and do not wish to revisit our earlier lives.
It is Christmas now and we greet each other appropriately for the occasion. To my Jewish friends, I say Happy Chanukah, as we celebrate our holy seasons at the same time this year. But for me and mine, it is Christmas, and that is the reason we ponder Christmas past, present, and future.
While waiting for the developers to resolve the problem with displays on the blog, I have discovered for myself that it currently does not have the capacity to handle URLs correctly, at least not at the end of a table. I have therefore deleted the links from the December 8 posting. I hope the real solution will be forthcoming in short order, as I am in no mood for being made to look inept. And readers, you all recognize having been put in that position yourselves, right?
Next year I plan to attend at least two writers’ conferences to recharge my batteries, in the wake of an onslaught of spite, criticism, and negativism from most sides during 2005. If we do not believe in ourselves and take those steps needed to forge ahead with our own goals, the other side wins, and that is intolerable. I am one who does not put up with that very well, and neither should you. Those who receive no criticism are generally those who have not tried anything new, and have not spoken up for themselves. However, constant criticism is a drag; it destroys morale in any setting.
The first writers conference I’m planning to attend will be the San Diego State University 22nd Annual Writers Conference, to be held Jan 28-29 at the Doubletree Hotel, 7450 Hazard Center Drive. I’ve heard good things about this conference, although I have never attended it before. If anyone has any feedback from previous attendance, I’d be delighted to hear from you.
The second conference will be STC’s 53rd Annual Conference, to be held May 7-10 in Las Vegas. The event, held at Bally’s Las Vegas and Paris Las Vegas, is considered the world’s largest gathering of technical communicators. I’m looking forward to learning new job skills, networking, and to seeing new product demos. With any luck, I’ll avoid a migraine while there, but with so many people in attendance and so much going on, it could get interesting. But many of you out there understand that already, far better than I.
Memories may get buried under a mound of daily chores and responsibilities. But they are still there. Something as unexpected as a package in the mail from a dear cousin awakens them. The package contains a book of photographs from the town and times we grew up in, and it shakes out plenty of mental cobwebs.
And then the reality of the book’s author hits home, “Good grief! This was written by Mr. Cox, my French teacher.” The decades peel back and we wonder what we have really achieved in our lives. Did our strong academic foundation prove to be of any worth whatsoever?
The truth is that we have all achieved a great deal–a very great deal–in fact, far more than our childhood circumstances saw in our futures. Most of us have seen the equivalent of high school yearbooks, where cruel classmates labeled people as “Least likely to achieve, blah, blah.” Even if it is not written in the books, snickering know-it-alls pointed fingers then. And without a doubt, their ridicule has continued down the years, as they discuss their schooldays.
And do you know what that has done? It has given the victims motivation beyond anything their enemies could have dreamed of, then or now. We have taken their slings and arrows, and turned them about, turned them into beauty and compassion, and a desire to help others at whom the world looks down its cavernous nose. And we have all defeated their snobbery and elitism. Of course, a few of the worst and most spiteful of the perpetrators will indeed find a personal cactus planted on his or her grave, as my poet and mentor has suggested. Certainly, you know who you are.