Challenge

The world of Facebook has developed a culture of sharing, liking and socializing. There is also the phenom of pop-up challenges such as ice baths for ALS awareness and scriptural posts for a designated number of days. The intent of most challenges is certainly laudable, however, there is something unsettling about calling out friends and family in a public venue. Please understand, I harbor no ill will toward anyone participating in such challenges. Many have been blessed by them. My uneasiness is born of a need for filtering challenge requirements.

A recent challenge requires participants to post pictures of themselves with their smiling spouses for seven consecutive days. The intent is to celebrate love and promote marriage. Excellent premise. Questionable process. Certainly, it is entertaining to gawk at wedding day photos of couples filled with promise and blissful expectations. Pictures of fun-filled vacations and church directory moments seal the deal for marital harmony. But, do seven photos times the number of your married FB friends really meet the intended goal? My guess is there are a lot of stories stitched between each polished photo that truly tell the story of what it takes to be married. I also feel a sense of empathy for my FB friends who are single or have recently lost spouses due to divorce or death. Splashing twosome photos on their pages seems tantamount to sharing a random couples powerpoint at a singles event.

A photo that spoke volumes to me was recently posted (the old-fashioned way) in my hometown newspaper on the obituary page. It was of a couple who I had the honor of knowing as a child and during my early married years. They had been married for almost 63 years. (Their story has since been picked up by the media.) By the grace of God, the husband and wife passed away peacefully within the same hour. Two of their five children were at their bedsides. The circumstances of their deaths are not pleasant. The wife had suffered from Alzheimer's disease and was confined to a nursing home. The husband had only recently gone to an assisted living facility due to his own health struggles and I suspect, somewhat of a broken heart. On a warm summer's day, he went to visit his wife in the nursing home and sustained a fall that put him in the same room as his wife.  Together once again, God called them home as a couple, the ultimate celebration of love, marriage and commitment, through good times and bad.  If they were alive and well today, I am sure they could tell many tales about the struggles of marriage, child-rearing and making a living during the volatility of economic swings. Maybe our ancestors were on to something when the only photos shared with the masses were a baby picture, a family picture and an obituary picture selected by others.

That being said, please don't de-friend me on FB. I do enjoy escape time into the virtual worlds of others. And I promise never to challenge anyone with a task.

Unless it involves Cheetos.

(Purchased for blogging purposes only.)

Geography

A random question arose in our household a few weeks ago prompted by something I was reading, "How far is it from the Arctic Circle to the North Pole?" I could see the look of despair on my husband's face as he tried to muster up an answer that would stop such nonsense. My college-aged niece was also with us and she politely looked interested. I teach middle school so I am accustomed to blank stares and apathy. I repeated the question again and my husband finally responded with another question, "Isn't the Arctic Circle and the North Pole the same?"

Now I knew I had my work cut out for me. "No, they are not the same. It's like the Tropic of Capricorn not being the same as the equator."

He gave me another loud and clear look of you-are-not-seriously-going-to-continue-with-this-Jeopardy-question, are you?

Undeterred by the lackluster conversation engagement, I asked a leading question, "Let's start by determining the latitude of the North Pole, which is....?"

< Insert crickets chirping>

"You know, the lines that circle the earth parallel to the equator," I added.

It was crystal clear to my husband and niece that there was no way off this convo train until resolution of the matter occurred. Each of them threw out a number with hopeful lilts in their voices. Neither was correct, so I dazzled them with my reasoning, "We live at 44 degrees N. latitude, halfway between the equator and the North Pole. The Arctic Circle is a little more than halfway between us and the North Pole so my guess is that the Arctic Circle is about 70 degrees N. latitude."

Suffice it to say no one was dazzled.

"Okay, let's settle this and look it up in the atlas."

I pulled out my handy dandy World Atlas, circa 1990, and flipped to the map of North America. "Now all we have to do is figure out how many miles are in each degree per latitude and we'll have this puzzle solved."

I dusted off my map skills and began measuring distances and converting them to miles. As I computed out loud, it was clear to all parties that I was losing myself in the weeds. Somehow my math was not matching distances and I was no closer to an answer than when the madness began. My husband was mentally checking out and reaching for the TV remote to create a diversion.

Finally, my niece sweetly responded, "You could Google it."

My husband and I locked eyes and exhaled a sigh of relief. Yes. Yes. That made perfect sense.

I handed my computer over to my niece and she started tap-tap-tapping away and in a few seconds she had the answer to my question. Problem solved.

Clearly, my brain is still paper wired. Telephone books and fold-out maps feel comfortable in my hands. Siri and search engines require concentration and translation. Writing a reminder note in cursive flows easily. Finding the memo app on a screen demands closer scrutiny. My world thinks in World Book rather than Wikipedia.

And just in case you are curious, the North Pole is about 1600 miles from the Arctic Circle. Such information could come in handy the next time you are wandering around in the Yukon Territory.